It`s springtime in Chicago, a season when many people are tempted to buy their first work of art.
Some of the encouragement doubtless is provided by the Chicago International Art Exposition, which for one weekend each May (this one)
doubles the number of galleries in town. But whatever the influence, it can lead to pretty much the same result: equal parts elation, hesitation and confusion.
Judging by the correspondence received here over the years, one must conclude that few business transactions intimidate more effectively than the buying of art. At the very beginning, the silver-tongued fall silent and the lion lies down with the lamb.
Why this should be is a puzzle, especially to those who collect art. So it is not inappropriate to share some ideas that are common among the experienced. Buying art is like anything else: Practice makes perfect.
A parable: Not long ago a collector of considerable means was offered a Rembrandt painting. It was in the United States and experts had determined the work was authentic. The collector examined the painting and found it to his liking, yet before he started to transfer funds, he asked the opinion of a dealer with whom he had often done business. The dealer had not seen the painting but after hearing about it said, ”It`s not for you.” And the collector did not buy it.
Now, among the many lessons that can be learned from that tale, one can be adopted as a basic principle: Nothing is more important in the buying of art than having confidence. It is the single attribute necessary at every economic level. No matter what anyone says or does, the decision is yours, and it can be made much more firmly after examining motives.
Oscar Wilde wrote that ”all art is quite useless,” which reads well but is not true. He certainly was aware of a category called ”furniture art”–
art chosen for a decorative purpose, to go above a sofa or brighten a room. It is thought not to be serious and usually is dismissed, though a great deal of art has had a decorative purpose ever since the Ice Age and the cave paintings at Lascaux.
Then there is the social function. Critic Robert Hughes recently reminded us that ”art is the saving grace by which any nasty Croesus with more money than he knows what to do with can look virtuous.” On one level its possession says the collector has a soul; on another, it gives proof of culture and refinement.
Finally, art can also gain for the owner a slice of history. The values an older work embodies are, in effect, transferred to the collector, just as contemporary work suggests adventurousness, foresight
and risk. In the eyes of society you are what you own. An involvement with art is one way to shape that illusion.
Some might say that acquisition should remain apart from all such motives, but really, one has to be pragmatic. We commit few acts with absolute purity of spirit, and those that seem the most selfless should be examined the closest of all. Better to admit to ourselves why we want what we do. Confidence does not come easily to the deluded.
Let us assume, then, a degree of self-knowledge that cannot be diminished. Now one is ready for the first encounter with a dealer.
Twenty years ago critic and curator Lawrence Alloway wrote that art dealing is ”not a profession, in the sense that law, medicine and
architecture are professions. Internal self-regulation and the suppression of doubtful claimants are at a minimum.” Time has brought few changes. So it should be emphasized that though there are many exceptions, dealers are required to know nothing more about a work of art than how to sell it; at least then one can admire their ingenuity.
The most common dealers nowadays are involved with contemporary art, though others may show modern masters (circa 1830 to 1950), old masters (the Renaissance to the 19th Century) or antiquities. There also are dealers with specialties, such as a group of artists with shared interests or a medium or a style.
Before the present government in Turkey cracked down on the sale and export of antiquities, the finest experience with dealers was provided by the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. There, in shops scarcely larger than closets, one sat and drank tea and was presented with all manner of obvious forgery as part of getting acquainted. If such pieces were praised yet turned away with courtesy, the dealer knew to bring out the real material, in the second phase of his ritual.
This phase included smiles, moderate encomiums and–now that the morning had waned–a lunch conducted with no obvious concern for business. Only afterward, having finished with coffee and the proffered cigarette, did one return to the objects and the reason for the visit. Yet now all congeniality appeared to vanish as each party feigned shock at the prices and counteroffers bandied about. Understood but not spoken was the idea that a sum could be arrived at that allowed both negotiators a measure of dignity, and sure enough, after more tea, one was.
In almost every case, the amount could have been determined minutes after the viewer entered the shop–but at the cost of the ritual. And that is something to remember. All dealers have a ritual they expect to carry out;
some pretend not to have, but the show they make of it is enough. The prospective client functions as an interlocutor in a piece of participatory theater.
Still, here are some scenarios one should avoid. The dealer who offers a work ”on sale,” for example, is only acknowledging it was previously overpriced. The one who provides assurances of investment value starts from what is a secondary consideration. The dealer most loquacious is skilled in a manuever that may be fine for advertising but prevents the viewer from taking a long, hard look.
One also would do well to ignore the resume or vitae that lists collectors and exhibitions of an artist, used as if it were the confirmation of a higher authority. A different ploy, but one more often encountered, is the description that aggrandizes by comparison. This is the M.B.A. gambit:
Merit By Association.
The crucial discovery has to be that each viewer is responsible for his or her own research. So one should never be afraid of asking questions, even questions whose answers one already knows. If the gallery director cannot give satisfaction, check history books before periodicals, because reviews in the latter are almost invariably partisan and too
often concerned with the writer or his theories instead of the work.
All of this, of course, is supposed to lead to the fixing of a price that indicates fair value. But Hughes put it cogently when he wrote that ”there is no rational price for a work of art.” The price, he continued, ”is solely an index of desire, and nothing is more manipulable.”
One can cite, then, a work`s rarity and condition, characteristic qualities of the artist, even the artist`s reputation in a given place at a given time. Yet the most basic consideration does not change. A work is worth simply what a lot of people are willing to pay for it to satisfy their own motives, their own desires.
For this reason dealers are prepared to bargain; they may not like to but are nonetheless prepared. There have been stories of collectors planting themselves in front of them and not moving until one or the other wears down. Certainly the process does not always unfold as a stately ritual. Some of it is degrading sport, but for those who endure it, prizes may be won.
The idea, in any case, is to acquire the best one can afford, with a single fine piece being better than two or more at even a slightly lower level. This can be a solid beginning in which impulse is allowed to play a part. But this is buying. Collecting demands more.
To collect successfully, one has to be singleminded, deliberate and fairly strict. The most distinguished collectors get to know a specific area and stay with it, rarely moving outside. They read everything that pertains to it, gradually deepening their specialized knowledge. Then, after a number of acquisitions, the collection takes over, presenting strengths to be bolstered and lacunas to be filled.
At that point one has to cooperate with the collection as if it were a partner, for it does take on a life of its own. And so, in seeming paradox, through strictness one is brought back to flexibility and a willingness to learn.
Being confident of one`s motives is not the same thing as being closed. For whatever the motive, one buys a work of art and comes in contact with something that reflects a bit of oneself while still remaining apart and always other. How that otherness works to enlarge the owner is the fascination of what is essentially a life-affirming process of growth.
