The art critics on some of Britain’s newspapers could as easily have been assigned gardening or travel, and been cheerfully employed for life.
I don’t buy art in order to leave a mark or to be remembered; clutching at immortality is of zero interest to anyone sane.
There are no rules about investment. Sharks can be good. Artist’s dung can be good. Oil on canvas can be good. There’s a squad of conservators out there to look after anything an artist decides is art.