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June 08, 2008
The complex design of charitable incompetence
Yesterday I visited the famed Barnes Foundation (noted for its huge Impressionist collection) but no photography is allowed. Well, unless you're writing about the museum's controversial history for the New York Times. Then you're allowed to take photographs like this: And then you can yell at bloggers like me who utilize them to depict That Which May Not Be Depicted. (Actually, for those who are interested, high quality pictures of many of the Foundation's most famous paintings can be found at the Wiki entry.) Of course, the Barnes is doomed. This "small, idiosyncratic museum" (built by an idealistic millionaire specifically to display his art collection forever) is being moved to Philadelphia. To say that it will lose its character is understatement in the extreme. This was Barnes original intent: In order to preserve the institution's identity, Barnes set out detailed terms of its operation in an indenture of trust to be honored in perpetuity after his death. These included limiting public admission to two days a week so the school could use the art collection for student study, and prohibitions against lending works in the collection, touring the collection, and presenting touring exhibitions. Matisse is said to have hailed the school as the only sane place in America to view art.People who have known and loved the place over the years are appalled: David Nash, a Manhattan dealer who appraised the Barnes collection many times when he was director of Impressionist and modern paintings at Sotheby's, said of the ruling: "It's a terrible shame. The whole concept of the Barnes will be ruined. The installation, the building itself, was like seeing something under a glass dome. It would be as though the Frick were dismantled and put back together at the Met."Of course, the dismantling is making the movers and shakers in Philadelphia very happy, as they've been coveting the collection for years. No one but an emotional blogger would dare call it looting, but that's exactly what I think it is. According to the director of the Pew Foundation (itself long departed from its original purpose), though, the dismantling and the moving is just fine. Ms. Rimel [Rebecca Rimel, president and chief executive of the Pew Charitable Trusts] said that "Dr. Barnes would never have imagined the constraints the foundation is currently facing." Barnes described the foundation as a place for "plain people, that is men and women who gain their livelihood by daily toil," she said. By moving the collection from an affluent suburb to downtown Philadelphia, she said, more of those "plain people" will be able to enjoy the art.Never mind the fact that the place is situated just on the other side of Philadelphia's City Line Avenue, and a short walk from the R-5 SEPTA line. And never mind the fact that admission prices will double. The sad and squalid story of what happened to the Barnes is detailed in a book called "Art Held Hostage" which Amazon calls a "truly American tale of power, litigiousness, and boardroom antics," and "a book for those interested in the dark underbelly of the business side of the art world." From Publisher's World: " Anyone interested in the intersection of art, race and power politics will find this tale engrossing-and depressing.From the New York Times' review: In 1951, the endowment of the Barnes Foundation was $9 million, equivalent to about $62 million today. Corruption, bungling, greed and changing financial standards have depleted it; now, there is no endowment left. ''Art Held Hostage'' -- a morality play masquerading as a legal thriller -- tells us what went wrong. Part of the problem was Barnes's indenture, which mandated investment only in government securities; its terms were responsible for the endowment's contraction by about 80 percent (in inflation-adjusted terms). But the total depletion of the museum's coffers owes much to the interplay of racial, local and personal politics.This has been largely glossed over, and many observers agree that the local Philadelphia press (with a couple of exceptions) has behaved as if they're in cahoots with Philadelphia's powerful insiders to downplay the tale of unbelievable shenagigans that led to the Foundation's economic demise and spin the move as a win-win. Not that I blame them. Were I a prominent Philadelphia booster, I'd want the art too. Years ago, he collection was conservatively estimated as being worth $6 billion (today it's more like $20 billion), and it includes 181 Renoirs, 69 Cézannes, 46 Picassos, and 59 Matisses. The real tragedy is that Barnes himself saw the possibility of something like this happening -- and tried to avoid it: Barnes spent virtually his whole life at war with the Philadelphia cultural establishment, believing its members more interested in money and influence than art. He'd also seen the collection of his friend and lawyer, John G. Johnson, posthumously hijacked in the 1930s when the Philadelphia Museum of Art went to court to break Johnson's will so the art could be transferred to the museum.What fascinates me the most about the tale is how the director (Richard Glanton, "a lawyer in a prestigious Philadelphia firm") whose villainy led to the financial ruin cleverly avoided the scrutiny he deserved by playing what is naively called the "race card": In Anderson's account, Glanton swept onto the Barnes board like Genghis Khan, throwing out the established procedures of the institution and setting up a new order that served his interests entirely. Some of what he did was overt: in 1995, for example, he was accused of running up personal expenses on the Barnes account of ''almost $57,000.'' Other activities were not so open. He fired the long-term security provider for the Barnes and hired another, without telling his board, allowing his enemies to accuse him of doing it to strengthen his hand in local politics. He chose a lawyer for one of the Barnes's legal actions (to the tune of $448,127.01) who would later become one of his major supporters at his law firm. He regularly acted without board approval and failed to heed the letter of Alfred Barnes's indenture. When asked, later on, about his methods, he said, ''I was the Barnes Foundation.''Normally there's a rule along the lines of "never attribute to design that which can be explained by simple incompetence," but what happened was so fiendishly systematized that I think it goes way beyond incompetence -- especially if we look at the end result. Even the Times review dangles a hint that something does not make sense: This is a bonfire of second-rate vanities, which reads best as a portrait of a man pathetic not only for his aspirations, but also because he is clearly smart enough to have done something better.Something better? Look at the result! The Barnes is moving to Philadelphia -- something all the power and money in Philadelphia agree is better. So maybe he was not only smart enough to do something better, but maybe he did. Another book ("Barnescam: Or How to Steal $20 Billion" by history profssor Robert Zaller) takes a more scathing view: The last ten years have seen that strategy played out to near-perfection. The prevarication and legal trumpery involved would have shamed most cities, but not Philadelphia.And, As one of the Inquirer's own critics commented privately, the Pew Foundation had acquired a $20 billion asset for an outlay of $150 million--a steal, one might add, by any definition of the word.Whether this was design or by incompetence (or by a design that deliberately embraced and encouraged, or certainly ignored incompetence) may never be known. I think it's sad, though. It's just another example of the way things happen in the shady and unaccountable world of "Non-profit." But what will probably be my last visit to the Barnes made me remember some photo impressionism. I use the "impressionism" reservedly, as that wasn't the goal of the distorted photos which follow, which are probably a result of deliberate incompetence by design (although I can't be sure). Here's a view under glass out my window: On the road, from the car, and through the windshield, minus flash: In the yard at night minus flash: I wish I could paint like that. posted by Eric on 06.08.08 at 11:52 AM |
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Having spent most of my life in Wynnewood, (now in Houston, TX) I have followed the Barnes story fairly closely. A large part of the opportunity(and problem) to move the Barnes collection came from the Barnes' neighbors. These Nouveau Riche moved in to the nice Merion neighborhood, and then, to their horror, had people parking on their streets!!!! And thus, the complaining began. And then "plans" to limit attendance to the Barnes...and on certain days....can only park here.....lalalalalalala all led to directors saying that without the tours, they can't be profitable, maintain the facility, etc. Much later on...in fact, far too late, the nouveau riche decide that, Hey, this is a pretty cool thing here,,, ritzy, exclusive and classy. Maybe we should keep it here because it really adds to the neighborhood. Sadly, the Montgomery County Orphans court thought differently.
To me, the most shocking part of the whole situation is the complete and utter disregard for Barnes' will. It could not be more clear that the Barnes is to remain where it is, as it is. But, Al is dead, governments want "revenue", what's a little common law to stand in the way of "progress"