It was Philippe Quint’s lucky night. At a post-performance dinner in Buffalo, New York, the Russian-born violinist was seated across from Clement and Karen Arrison, philanthropists who let slip that they own a rare Stradivarius—and sometimes lend it to promising young players.

So began an 18-month email courtship in which Quint played the Arrisons like, well, you know. “He knew we liked him,” says Karen, 53. “He stayed in touch.”

But the Arrisons had an agenda too. In exchange for a year with the $2 million Strad, Quint is contractually obligated to perform three free concerts for the couple in their home or at a venue of their choosing.

Such are the rewards of one-to-one arts patronage, a rising trend in the rarefied world of high culture. For some wealthy benefactors, it’s no longer enough to see one’s name in the program or even etched into the wall of a symphony hall. Today’s Medicis are seeking the personal connection—and, yes, the bragging rights—that comes with supporting an individual artist. Cultural institutions are tapping this desire by increasingly offering opportunities to sponsor specific singers, musicians, and dancers (see “How to Be a Sugar Daddy”), and patrons like the Arrisons are working with brokers who match affluent benefactors with up-and-coming musicians.

Quint, a Grammy-nominated violinist with a busy concert schedule, struck the Arrisons as the perfect recipient. That the 33-year-old presents well didn’t hurt: Dolce & Gabbana sometimes provides his concert wardrobe, and his looks helped him clinch a role as an émigré violinist in the independent film Russian Blue, scheduled to start shooting this summer.

To formalize the deal, the Arrisons turned to Bein & Fushi, a Chicago dealer of rare instruments, and asked the firm to draw up a contract. Demand for this service is such that Bein & Fushi has a growing division, the Stradivari Society, whose sole purpose is to pair owners with musicians. (Other beneficiaries have included violinist Joshua Bell and cellist David Geringas.) For his part, Quint is required to pay the $6,000 insurance premium and submit the violin for regular inspections. “You’re talking about young people,” says Clement, 77, the retired president of an industrial-machinery company. “You have no idea of what they can be involved in.”

The Arrisons have already begun reaping the karmic rewards of fostering Quint’s career while buffing their reputation as arts patrons. Cashing in one of their private-recital chips, they asked Quint to play at a fundraiser for the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra last year, and in January they brought him back to perform with Vadim Gluzman, another accomplished violinist, in a concert billed as Dueling Strads. Afterward, the Arrisons received a note from an audience member saying the concert was more memorable than a private dinner she had attended with tenor Plácido Domingo. “That was very gratifying,” says Karen.

Not that the Medici role doesn’t create its share of stress for the couple, who own (and loan) two other rare violins as well. While Maxim Vengerov, their first recipient, couldn’t have been more gracious, they say, other players have been uncommunicative or have gone into a professional slump—a development that can trigger the termination of the contract. One of Quint’s predecessors, Ilya Gringolts, a protégé of Itzhak Perlman, failed to return phone calls and didn’t perform the required number of concerts for the Arrisons. “Not being able to find the musician, sending emails that don’t get returned—you get very worried,” says Karen.

Quint’s contract is up at the end of the summer, but Karen says he will likely get an extension for good behavior. At the finale of the January concert, he announced from the stage that the Arrisons’ Strad “is the finest instrument I’ve ever played, and even though I won’t have it forever, I’d like to.”

“He’s shrewd,” says Karen. “And more power to him.”