Monday, August 12, 2013

Nasty Addictions and Searching for Dorthy

Collecting is an intense experience. It is right up there is sexual desire. My condo’s walls are packed with paintings prints and the floor is a maze of sculpture. At a certain point, I have to say enough is enough and I put up 500 works for auction and donated to local galleries and schools. The later shocks people. Putting valuable art in the area of kids. I remember going to a rather tough school as a child and seeing copies of impressionist paintings on the wall. It was a ray of sunshine in mud. I still look at these works at the National Gallery to calm my nerves. Like a glass of tea, it is a bromide against harsh reality.
Even JP Getty, who let his nephew loose an ear to leftist kidnappers, rather than pay ransom, noted that after “…. acquiring a large number of examples of fine art, one develops conscience pangs about keeping them to oneself.” This is quite statement from a world class hard hearted bastard. I negotiate “aggressively” when buying from private dealers. These guys need to move art and they have a hard point, where they will sell to keep inventory moving. I fund acquisitions through sales of earlier purchases. Buy early, sell, and use the liquidity to buy better. Most importantly, I develop relationships with emerging artists. Like high tech start-ups, artist often develop their craft and move forward. The hobby keeps me engaged with people who are functional, smart, and can earn a dime or two. It is also a screen to keep out psychopaths. You do not build a unique art collection if you have no capacity to feel. Further, it takes real intellectual work to build a collection. Others would rather do other things.
It is a hobby that builds a social life. Most importantly, I like the women who sift in these circles. I am not a big fan of artists. I do not have much in common with individuals with this type of divine insight. But I certainly like the collectors, the critics and the curators. Indeed, the women in this circle are often very interesting and engaging. My personal hero is Herbert Vogel, a postal clerk in New York, and his librarian wife Dorothy. While they lived on her salary, they devoted his earnings to art, primarily minimalist and conceptual works on paper. They packed their modest apartment with so many works that they barely had room to move. In 1992, they donated more than 800 works to the National Gallery of Art in Washington and other institutions.
I am personally looking for Dorothy. I have not found her yet. But she may be busy collection. Until next time