Who else heard the news about the Klimt painting selling for a record US$135 million recently? I think it's great. I'm not sure if it's worth quite that much, but I hope whoever purchased it is very happy with their new acquisition. You often hear stories of people at yard sales who find some yet-undiscovered masterpiece, and others still of people who think they picked up a rare find, when infact it was a forgery or cheap copy. Cheap copies of art are quite common to come across in Second Life yard sales, so while paintings don't have the same sort of hold in the digital world, art—with its many messages and mediums—still grips the human emotions.
Say there was something worth a lot—not a specified cash value, but of great price nonetheless—and you saw a lot of other people passing it by, not filtering it in against the noisy din of everyday life. But you see something special. You know what it's really worth. If you were in the possession of such intuitive abilities, what would you do? Consider that for a moment.
I see a lot of great up-and-coming artists in Second Life, perhaps some who don't really even have much previous experience. They work in the medium of prims, primitive building blocks. Like Legos, snap (link) enough of them together, texture and alter numerous properties, and you may have something truely special. Heck, some don't own land—they're on free accounts! Or, just not enough land to hold their many-primmed creations. So they plunk them down in public sandboxes, perhaps day after day, and may even scoot away because they're introverted.
Along comes the art collectors, recognizing not just the potential but having a very clear mental picture of what could transpire if this work was shown to the right people. Not just for the glitz of fame and fortune, but connecting someone who appreciates the art with its creator. What's so special in Second Life is you can get in touch with the people who make your fave stuff! (Being a living artist has a certain advantage.) I do it all the time. I come across some watermelony variation of furniture out in the boonies, and I send out a personal message—or at least make a mental note to later if my hands are hurting too much. Of course, it's not just about watermelons, but my senses to connect with a piece, created by someone thousands of miles away and shared through me through this computer screen, and I feedback.
I don't think it takes any esoteric talent to be an art collector; nor does it to be a chess player. But it requires listening to yourself and being honest with who you are, without having to say so explicitly (people who do are often hiding something). It's essential to be true to what you enjoy, and if you like a poem, painting, piece of music, or even the shade of your shoes when you stare down at them, then it's your truth.
In this day and age of confusion and fear of each other and one's own existence, being able trust yourself is perhaps the greatest trust of all.