Definitions, categories and use cases for anyone keeping the record of a body of work or a collection: artists, collectors, estates and heirs.
This is research, not a buyer's guide. It describes how the software in this category is built, what the records in it are about, and who needs what. It names no products. Where it names something, it's a free, published standard that anyone can use.
Flip through it at lunch. Find your page during the workshop. Take it home.
Most people pick up a catalog because something forced the issue. Find yours, and start there.
Throughout the guide, a box like this one lists the questions your catalog should be able to answer. If yours can't answer one of them yet, that's worth knowing, and it's worth bringing to the workshop.
A painting is a physical object in a room; a catalog is a row in a database; and almost everything that goes wrong in this category is a failure of the link between the two.
Imagine a family photo collection. There are three ways it can exist.
Photographs in a box. You can look at them. You can't find one. You don't know who is in most of them. And when the last person who recognized the faces dies, it becomes a box of strangers.
Ordered, with names and dates under each photograph. A person can search it now, and it outlives whoever put it together, because they wrote down what they knew.
A number on the back of each photograph, and a separate list saying who is in number 47, who took it, when, and who has the negative. Anyone can search it, and it can be split up without being destroyed.
Software for cataloging art is the third one. Everything in this guide follows from that: the identity of each work doesn't depend on where it sits.
What the object is: title, maker, date, materials, size, condition. The part everyone expects, and the easiest.
Which physical object this record is about. The hard part, and the link that fails first. See p. 9.
What has happened to it: who owned it, where it was shown, when it was cleaned, what it sold for. History only ever grows.
The people connected to it (maker, buyer, lender, photographer, conservator) and in what role.
Cheap software does the first well and the fourth not at all. Expensive software does all four. That's most of what separates the prices, but not quite all of it. The next page explains why.
The category looks like one market with a price ladder. It's really two different kinds of record with similar-looking screens. Choosing between them decides which questions your catalog can answer in thirty years.
The subject is a saleable object with one current owner. It knows everything the sale taught it: who bought it, what they paid, where it went.
The subject is an object surrounded by people and events, and each of those is a record with its own life.
Paying more for a commercial record buys more fields. It doesn't buy the second model. Three questions can't be answered from a commercial record at any price:
| Question | Commercial record | Curatorial record |
|---|---|---|
| Which works did this person photograph? | A name typed into a notes field, if it's anywhere | A search: the photographer is a person linked by role |
| How do we know this? | One record, edited in place. The old basis is gone | The arrival is its own dated record, kept apart from the description |
| Who held it between 1974 and 1989? | Only the sales it saw. A gift, a loan or an inheritance is a note | Every change of hands can be recorded, sale or not |
An estate needs both. From the commercial record: values, sales, where things are, and a public face a buyer can find. From the curatorial record: arrivals, people with roles, and events, because the estate's real asset isn't the inventory. It's the account of the work. Each kind of software carries only its own half.
Free, open-source software built by museums exists and has deeper models than anything sold to artists. What it costs instead is setup and a technical person for as long as the catalog exists. That's a good trade for an institution with staff, and a hard one for a single person running an estate.
Most of these come from museums, where people have been keeping these records for a century. Some pairs look like synonyms and aren't, and those are the ones that matter.
2026.14: the fourteenth thing to arrive in 2026. Never reused, even after the object leaves.Two documents for two audiences, drawn from the same records. An insurance schedule is a list of works with values, for an insurer. An appraisal is a professional opinion, written by someone outside the catalog. Software makes the first and stores the second.
Any work has at least three values at once, and mixing them up is the most common error in this kind of data.
| Value | Answers | Used by |
|---|---|---|
| Fair market value | What it would sell for between willing parties | Estate tax, donation, sale |
| Insurance / replacement value | What it would cost to replace | The insurer |
| Asking price | What the studio is asking today | The gallery, the buyer |
A catalog with a single "price" field holds whichever number was typed in last. An estate that reports it as fair market value on a tax filing has made a consequential error, and the cause is the shape of the record.
An appraisal is an opinion as of a date. Keeping every value with its date, instead of overwriting the old one, means a work's value is a history, and a collection's value over time becomes a chart rather than an exercise.
Museums treat insurance as a subject of its own, with policies, coverage periods and values per policy. That handles a work covered under a different policy while it's out on loan, or a lapse somebody needs to date. For most private owners, an inventory report with a value column is enough.
Provenance is the story. An accession is the receipt for the chapter you witnessed. Nearly all software offers the first and almost none outside museums offers the second, and the second is what makes the first defensible.
In most catalogs, provenance is a list attached to the work: prior owners, in order. Each owner is typed text. The line has no document of its own and no record of who said so, or when. That's enough to print for an appraiser. It isn't enough to defend a claim, because the record doesn't carry its own basis.
In a museum system, each line points to a person record, and each arrival is an event with a date and an agreement. Ask "on what basis do we say this passed to X in 1974?" and there's a place for the answer.
It isn't exotic. It's the ordinary way an estate grows. A former student, a sitter, a neighbor or a relative has a painting nobody knew about. They offer a photograph, or the work itself. That record has three properties most catalogs can't express:
The artist never gave it one. Forcing one onto it quietly asserts a catalog history that never happened. Having no number is a fact about the work.
It's part of the body of work and belongs to someone else. "Available / sold / on loan / not for sale" has no option for "held by someone, never sold by us."
What's known comes from the person who has it. In thirty years, "documented from the owner in 2026" versus "attributed" is the whole value of the entry.
For each work that arrives from outside the original inventory, write down:
| When you learned of it | Who told you, as a person in your records, not a string of text |
| Their relationship to the artist | Student, sitter, family, buyer… |
| The basis | Their word · a photograph · a document · you saw it in person |
| Rights given | None · use of the image · reproduction · ownership |
| What they said | In their words |
A spreadsheet is enough for this, and it's roughly what much of the museum world keeps underneath its software.
Every catalog stores a record of an artwork. The record is only useful while something links it to one physical object in the world. That link is rarely discussed, and it's the first thing to fail.
| Mechanism | How it works | Fails when |
|---|---|---|
| An assigned number | Someone writes an identifier on the stretcher, frame or a label, and types it into the record. | The label is lost in reframing or cleaning, or the numbering scheme lived in one person's head |
| The photograph | A person matches the painting in front of them to the picture in the database. This is what actually happens. | Works look alike: studies, demonstrations, twelve versions of one still life |
| The object's own surface | A newer approach: an identifier derived from minute physical details of the surface, with nothing marked on the work. | The surface changes in conservation, or the registry holding the prints closes. New, and not yet proven |
They fail independently, which is the argument for using more than one. Any catalog worth building does the first two. The third is worth watching and not yet worth depending on.
An estate inherits a numbering scheme with no key, and the number of works whose labels survived is the number of works that can still be identified. The works most likely to look alike (studies, class demonstrations) are also the ones most likely to be undocumented, and most likely to surface later.
Photograph the verso of every work at the same resolution as the front, and keep it on the record. The back carries the labels, stamps, gallery stickers, the inscription in the artist's hand, stretcher marks and repair history. It's where provenance is physically written, and it's unique to the individual object in a way the front often isn't.
Nearly every workflow throws it away, because it doesn't photograph well and nobody wants to look at it. Any catalog can store a second picture. Almost none of them tell you to.
A photograph of an artwork has two copyrights in it. The painting belongs to the artist or the estate. The photograph belongs to whoever took it. A catalog that records only one will eventually publish an image it has no right to, or fail to credit someone who's owed it.
So: is the photographer a field, or a note? In most software sold to artists and galleries, a note. Pictures are attached to works, and the person who made them isn't recorded. In museum systems, the photographer is a person linked by role, and the rights position is tracked for each object.
The standard for exactly this problem exists and travels inside every image file. IPTC photo metadata has a set of fields for an artwork shown in the photograph, kept deliberately separate from the photograph's own fields:
Two creators, two copyrights, one file, and the standard says which is which. It even expects the image to point back at the catalog record. Cataloging software generally throws all of this away on upload and keeps only the pixels.
An estate gets photographs from several sources: a professional shoot in 1994, the artist's own slides, a student's phone picture in 2026. That's three different rights positions and one picture field. The difference survives only in whatever someone remembered to type into a notes box.
For each picture: who took it (a person, not text) · when · rights (we own it · licensed · permission only · unknown) · credit line, exactly as it must appear · and may publish: yes or no, defaulting to no. That default is the part that matters. An image of unknown rights that's publishable by default is a rights problem waiting for a website redesign to set it off.
A catalog holds two kinds of fact about the same work. Title, year, medium, size, a picture and exhibition history can go on a public page. What it sold for, who bought it, what it's insured for, where it's stored and the owner's phone number must never appear there.
| Approach | How it works | Right for |
|---|---|---|
| A switch per work, publishing to the vendor's site | Private by default; switch a work on and it appears on the software company's public pages, alongside other sellers'. | A studio that wants buyers. The wrong room for a scholarly record. |
| A separate public site you control | The public catalog is its own site, fed from the private one. It holds only what was sent to it. | Anyone who shows a fraction of what they hold, which is nearly everyone |
| One database, rules by person | Different people see different subsets: family sees everything, a researcher sees no valuations, a gallery sees only its consignments. | An estate or an institution with several audiences |
A report for an appraiser has full provenance and condition; a consignment report has locations. They're files, they leave, and no switch governs them once they do. The most common way private data goes public is an emailed PDF.
A high-resolution image published for scholars is the same file a forger wants. Resolution is a rights decision, not a display setting.
A public list of 436 works with 12 marked "private collection" tells a reader you hold 424. Publishing part of a collection reveals the shape of the rest.
The buyer of one painting in 1996 often sits in the same table as the newsletter list. Their privacy depends on nobody running the wrong export.
Two catalogs, one of them authored. The private catalog is the record of everything. Publishing is a step a person runs, sending an explicit subset they can review before it goes out. It isn't a checkbox.
Two people describe the same painting. One writes "oil on canvas", the other "oil paint on canvas support". One writes "Gary Faigin", the other "Faigin, Gary". One says "Seattle", the other "Seattle, WA". Each pair is the same fact. As typed text, they're four different strings, and no search will ever join them.
Authority control means linking a field to a published, identified term instead of typed text. The record doesn't hold the word "etching". It points at a concept that has an identifier, a preferred name, other names, a definition, a place in a hierarchy, and someone who maintains it.
It's the least visible gap between the two kinds of record (p. 4), because a controlled field and a text field look identical on screen. Nobody notices until two catalogs have to be combined and there's nothing to join them on.
| Vocabulary | Covers |
|---|---|
| AAT | Art & Architecture Thesaurus: types of work, materials, styles, cultures, techniques, roles |
| ULAN | Union List of Artist Names: artists, architects, studios, collections, patrons |
| TGN | Thesaurus of Geographic Names: places, past and present, with coordinates |
| CONA | Cultural Objects Name Authority: individual works (rarely used so far) |
| IA | Getty Iconography Authority: subjects, characters, events |
Published by the Getty Research Institute under an open license, as linked open data with a public search service. Museum systems use them. Software sold to artists and galleries doesn't: there, medium, style, technique and place are free text everywhere.
For a working artist it's over-engineering, and free text is the right answer. For anything meant to be read by a second institution, cited by a scholar, or merged with another catalog (an estate, a catalogue raisonné, a museum), it decides whether the data is usable outside the system holding it.
A catalog is meant to outlive the events that make catalogs necessary. Over fifty years it will outlive at least one vendor, one file format, one hosting arrangement and one person who knew how it was organized. So what matters most isn't what the software does. It's what's left when the software is gone.
Among the products researched, ten of fifteen state no export path at all on their public pages. Most probably have a spreadsheet button. The point is that none of them treats it as a selling point, which tells you how well it's likely to be maintained.
One row per work: title, medium, size, value. It looks complete. Pictures, provenance, relationships, documents and every value history stay behind.
Records with their nested parts intact, pictures as files, and a list linking them. Someone technical can rebuild it elsewhere, with work.
Records in a published format another system already reads (LIDO, Dublin Core, MARC), so the move needs no translation project.
Most software sold to artists, galleries and collectors exports at grade 1. Only part of the museum world reaches grade 3, because museums move data between institutions routinely.
Six kinds of people keep these records, and they don't rank. The catalogue raisonné project has the most exacting needs and the smallest budget; the gallery has the biggest budget and the shallowest need for provenance; the working artist needs speed above everything and would be harmed by depth. Nobody is only one of these.
Fifteen years in, 200 to 800 finished works: some sold through galleries, some from the studio, some given away, some in storage, one on loan to a restaurant that closed. No staff. Paperwork happens on evenings that could have been studio time, and that constraint governs everything.
Needs: entry fast enough to do from a phone when a work is finished, or it won't happen. Where each work is and its status, with dates. Which gallery holds what, on what terms, since when (the most common loss in a studio career is a work that went to a gallery that closed). A public page that doesn't need rebuilding. Sales as a list for the accountant.
Doesn't need, and shouldn't pay for: arrival records, loan and crate management, rights machinery, conservation history.
40 to 400 works by other people, bought over decades, hung across a house, an office, a second home and a storage unit. Some lent to museums; some inherited with paperwork of unknown quality. A broker asks for a list once a year. Past about 100 works across several places, nobody knows what they own without one.
Needs: value as a history (purchase price, dated appraisals, insurance value kept apart from fair market value). Location by wall, room, property and crate. Documents attached to works (for a collector, the paper is the provenance). Privacy by default; a public marketplace profile is a risk, not a feature. Something an heir can use.
A painter has died. A spouse, an adult child or a former student now administers several hundred works, a studio, decades of slides and a record that stops somewhere before the end, because an artist who is ill stops updating a database long before they stop painting. Nobody here is a registrar, and the person doing the work is grieving and learning the job at the same time.
Within two years, often two months, they'll be asked by people who won't accept memory: an insurer wants a schedule; an estate-tax filing wants fair market value on a date; a gallery proposes a memorial show; a collector wants a work authenticated; a former student offers photographs of paintings nobody catalogued; a buyer twenty years from now wants to know the work is what it's said to be.
What makes it different: the maker can't be asked, so every record has to carry who said so and when. Works arrive from outside, with no number, an owner who isn't the estate, and someone's word as the evidence. The catalog splits in two, a public scholarly record and a private ledger of patrons and prices. And the horizon is fifty years.
Two to eight staff, fifteen to forty artists, inventory mostly on consignment, a few art fairs a year, a mailing list that is the business's most valuable asset, and a website that has to look like the gallery.
Needs: consignment as a relationship with terms, dates, splits and a statement per artist, not a status. Contacts tied to what they've actually bought. A website fed from inventory, so a sold work stops being offered. Documents on demand. Something that works in a booth with no wifi.
What it forgets: the mailing list and sales history are its balance sheet, and they live inside a subscription. Ask for a sample export file before signing, not a feature list.
2,000 to 50,000 objects, one to three staff who touch the collection, volunteers, a board, an annual budget and an accreditation body. Unlike everyone else here, it has a registrar: somebody whose job is the record.
Obligations, not preferences: accession and deaccession under a written policy; loans in and out with agreements, insurance and condition reports; provenance research; repatriation law (NAGPRA) for anything in scope; public access that funders increasingly require; grant reports on what's been catalogued and digitized. It needs a person table with roles, interchange standards, and public pages with addresses that stay put.
The trap: adopting a cheap monthly product built for artists because the board approved that number. It holds the objects and not the accession records, and years later the institution leaves with a spreadsheet. The museum record model is available free as open-source software, or for a one-time price in the hundreds of dollars. The monthly option only looks cheaper.
A scholar, foundation or committee compiling every known work by one artist, usually after the artist's death, over years, with contributors spread out. It makes a claim that has to hold for a century: this is the complete list, and each entry is by this artist.
Needs: a source behind every assertion (which document, whose testimony, what date). Attribution with states (accepted, rejected, doubtful, under review) that change without erasing what was believed before. Publications and exhibitions as records of their own. Export in a standard format, and public pages that can be cited. A work known only from one line in a 1961 exhibition catalog, with no owner, location, price or picture, is a complete and valuable record here. An inventory system can't hold it, because its subject is a thing you have.
The estate and the catalogue raisonné need the same things: arrivals, people with roles, claims with sources, works nobody owns. Almost no software company lists them as an audience. They're also the two whose work lasts longest.
The gallery, which needs the least durable record, pays the most. The catalogue raisonné needs its record to survive a century and runs on a grant that ends. Free museum software exists because institutions built it for their own obligations.
They work in any software, including a spreadsheet. Nobody sells them, and each one is worth more than the choice between two similar products.
Permanently, on the back. Everything else depends on it. It costs nothing today and decides what can still be identified in thirty years.
Same resolution as the front, kept on the record. The verso is where provenance is physically written.
Every fact that came from a person rather than a document should say whose word it is. In thirty years, that line separates "documented" from "attributed".
Named by inventory number, backed up in two places. Then moving to new software moves records, not the irreplaceable files.
Embed the photographer's credit when exporting from the camera or editor, so attribution travels with the file into every system that won't record it.
Not to use it: to find out what it leaves behind, while the system that has the rest is still running.
Print an inventory with values. Store it with the will, and write on it where the catalog lives and how to get into it. The person who inherits the collection may not know the catalog exists.
Write down the questions from this guide that matter to you, and any it missed.
We show the before-and-after for somebody's records, make changes to a working system while everyone watches, and then everyone in the room builds something of their own from their own records.
This workshop is for you if you keep your work, your collection or your estate records in a spreadsheet, in folders, or in a program nobody can open any more.
Leave your address and I'll write when the next one is scheduled, along with samples of what we've done for other participants.
If this guide is more use to someone else (an heir, a gallery, the person who'll inherit the paperwork), give it to them. It's licensed CC BY 4.0: copy it, share it or adapt it, even commercially, with credit to Ivan Schneider and a link to ivantohelpyou.com/art/workshop/resources. Pass it on whole, back cover and all — only the book cover art on it stays out of that licence.
The true stories of Captain Leon H. Schneider. Leon came of age poor in New York during the Great Depression, hitchhiked across the country as a teenager, and joined the Merchant Marine. He was torpedoed twice in the Second World War, told to LIFE in August 1942, and spent two decades as a ship's officer.
As told to his son, Ivan Schneider.
"It was a bunch of stories before, but it became a life story."
Ivan Schneider, in Real Simple, February 2021
LEON: A LIFE cover © Ivan Schneider. Share it on this page, with this guide; reuse of the cover art on its own needs permission.