It has never been easy to see the Barnes Collection, hidden away in this small Philadelphia suburb.
Although it contains hundreds of masterpieces of French painting, the collection was kept out of public view for 60 years by the express wishes of its founder, Dr. Albert C. Barnes. Barnes was an eccentric chemist, businessman and millionaire often on the outs with Main Line Philadelphia society. After amassing his collection, he built the Barnes Foundation to display it, but at the same time he established strict limits on who could see the collection and under what conditions.
Barnes invested heavily and deeply in certain artists beginning in 1912 and extending into the 1930s, acquiring paintings like others purchased shares of stock. He was the type of collector who could purchase 13 Cezannes in one fell swoop–without even seeing them. A hard negotiator who loved bargains, he also paid top dollar to get paintings he desired. “I am convinced I can not get too many Renoirs,” he once said, and scarcely two years after he began collecting, he had already gotten 25 of them. By the time he was done, he had amassed the largest holding of Cezannes and Renoirs in the world.
The collection that Barnes put together single-handedly is most often described in terms of sheer numbers: 180 Renoirs, 69 Cezannes, 60 Matisses, 44 Picassos, 21 Soutines, 14 Modiglianis, 13 DeChiricos, 11 Degas, 10 Klees, 7 Van Goghs, 6 Seurats and so on. He also collected furniture, pottery, 20th Century American paintings and African art, of which he was particularly fond. He amassed more than 2,000 items, all of which are on display in Merion.
To house his art, Barnes created the Barnes Foundation in 1922 for the purpose of education and enlightenment, and he always insisted it was not a museum but an educational institution. (It was not accredited and never awarded degrees.) Vehemently opposed to any random or unscientific viewing of his art (such as is common in a museum), Barnes sought to severely limit public access. Thus for years, with few exceptions, one of the greatest collections of modern art remained closed to all but a few handpicked lucky souls.
Barnes, who died in 1951, was nothing if not dogmatic. He insisted that his personal and carefully thought-out arrangements of paintings and objects–his “assemblies”–could not be altered after his death. He also decreed that his paintings would never travel, never be reproduced in color or ever be part of any other collection. Barnes wanted his art seen only in the way he thought proper and only by those he thought deserving. Period.
To have tourists flocking to see his collection would have been Barnes’ worst nightmare. But under the terms of his will, control of the foundation passed to Lincoln University in 1988, and the new trustees sought to loosen Barnes’ binding directives and make the foundation more like a museum. The change was vigorously opposed by former students and others loyal to Barnes’ original intent, and it was only after lengthy court battles that the trustees were successful in extending hours for public viewing–the foundation is now open Thursdays through Sundays. Other changes permitted by the court included mounting a traveling exhibition, publishing a coffee-table book to accompany the exhibition and creating a CD-ROM of the collection.
I arrived at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station and changed to the R-5 Paoli local for Merion ($5.50 round trip). Trains run every hour, and after only two stops and just 10 or 12 minutes, I descended at Merion, a small suburban station. On Sunday everything was shut tight, not a soul in sight. There was no information relating to the foundation, no map, not even a sign. But two people out walking their dog pointed the way to North Latches Lane, a brisk 15-minute walk on a bright cold day past huge houses–any of which it seemed could be museums. When I began to see a line of cars parked along the curb (the foundation has no parking), I knew I had found my destination. I paid my $5 at the gate and, full of anticipation, walked up the sweeping driveway to the front door.
I was not prepared for what I found inside–the wonderful art and the peculiar way in which it is displayed. By noon on Sunday when I arrived, the foundation was already crowded. I saw remarkable paintings hung everywhere, and it took me some time to get my bearings. In the first (and largest) room I immediately recognized two masterpieces–Cezanne’s “Card Players” and Seurat’s “Models”–but I found it hard to focus on them. Nearby, cheek by jowl, were paintings by Picasso, Matisse, Renoir and others I wasn’t immediately sure of, all competing for my attention. I counted 18 paintings on just one wall.
The other rooms of the foundation were even more tightly hung. All the rooms are small, and “intimate” easily becomes “cramped” with more than a handful of people crowding in. Paintings are stacked–“skied” to use the term from the French salons–so that each wall has paintings several rows high. The floors are parquet, the walls are covered in muted fabric, and each room has at least one window to provide natural light, although even on a bright day, I found the rooms generally dark. Many paintings are hard to see.
The most noticeable feature of the walls is the near absolute symmetry with which paintings are arranged. Each wall is anchored by a large painting dead center. Pairs and groupings of smaller (but hardly less important) paintings radiate outward from the center. They are arranged strictly according to size, the smaller paintings higher up and farther out.
The walls are also eclectic; on a single wall, I saw paintings by Glackens, Corot, Daumier, Tintoretto, Giorgione and Renoir. Trying to ascertain the overall theme of any wall seemed impossible. There was no readily discernible organization according to subject or style, school or date. In retrospect, the audio tour (available for $5) might have helped provide an explanation for the arrangements, but upon entering I had decided not to be programmed in my viewing.
It is the Renoirs, collected in great depth by Barnes, that dominate almost every room. (One feature unique to the Barnes Collection is that the entire collection is always on view.) The Renoirs that Barnes favored over and over again as he built his dominant collection are the nudes and bathers–oversized, soft and pink women. There is an abundance of flesh, giving some rooms the feel of a Turkish bath.
There is no room devoted to Cezanne–the collection is not organized in that fashion–so one sometimes has to hunt for some of the smaller but exquisite Cezanne landscapes, still-lifes and portraits. Masterpieces are often placed in obscure locations. In the crowded rooms dominated by the Renoir women, other paintings often get lost. Trying to look at some of the Cezannes or Seurats or Matisses nearby is like trying to have an intellectual conversation in a nudist colony; it can be done, but it requires great concentration.
There are other idiosyncrasies in the displays that I could not help but wonder about as I walked through the foundation. There are no wall notes or labels to identify the paintings. Instead, the foundation provides large plastic cards that are placed in side-saddles affixed to the ends of benches in each room. The paintings are numbered on the cards but not on the walls. Dates of most paintings are not given. Moreover, there is a separate card for each wall of each room, so those who want to check artists and titles on all four walls need to search through the saddles four times per room to find the corresponding cards. When rooms are crowded, there are not enough cards to go around.
Gradually I became used to such quirks, and as I began to absorb the peculiarities of the displays, I was able to focus more on the exquisite art I had come so far and waited so long to see. After more than two hours of intense looking on this first visit, I felt I’d gotten what I’d come for–and quite a bit more.
I left the Barnes Foundation more curious than ever about Barnes himself, his educational theories, why he limited access and chose to display his treasures in such an odd manner. Whatever his motives, we can be thankful to Dr. Albert Barnes for putting this collection together–even as we rail at him for keeping it locked up for so long.
DETAILS ON THE BARNES FOUNDATION
Getting there: The Barnes Foundation is at 300 N. Latches Lane in Merion, Pa., just outside Philadelphia off City Line Avenue (U.S. Highway 1) and minutes from the Schuylkill Expressway. You may reach the foundation through public transportation using the R5 train or the 44 SEPTA bus from Center City.
The basics: Hours are 12:30-5 p.m. on Thursdays and 9:30 a.m.-5 p.m. Fridays-Sundays; admission ($5) is on a first-come, first-serve basis–and admission may be limited. Tickets can be purchased only at the door and only on the day of your visit. Reservations are possible (and required) only for groups of 10 or more. Hours and admissions policy are subject to change.
Paraphernalia: A CD-ROM of the collection, “Passion for Art,” published by Corbis Corp., is available through the foundation shop for $30 (plus $10 shipping) or through your local retailer of computer software.
Information: Call 610-667-0290.
