Isabella Stewart Gardner, Katherine Sofie Dreier, Colette Allendy, Hester Diamond
Against the idea that art should be reduced to mere interior decoration, here is a selection of collectors who have made their collections a matter of identity.
Pairing a painting with a sofa is a no-go. Indeed, such a statement is akin to an eternal damnatio memoriae, with no chance of redemption. At least to those who, puritanical in their modernist creed in the wake of Freud, believe that the thinking man is by definition upright and not seated, and that art is sacred, making it unfit to descend into the ordinary banality of our lives (1). The heart, brain, and loin of the observer, it’s best to keep them separate. On the other hand, this is a fundamental aspect of consumer culture, which demands individuals and bodies in constant motion and flux. In other words, a seated patron is unlikely to bestow grand gifts, so let’s bid farewell to armchairs and chaise longues (2). Imagine then contextualizing art, stripping it down to a mere decorative accessory that, in the name of that mothball-scented rigor, would dilute its message. Yet, paintings, sculptures (and why not? even millionaire bananas), could one day step into a dimension that, with the gallery or the museum, those silent sanctuaries par excellence, has nothing to do with it because the mechanisms of visibility, conventions, and protocols that distinguish the public from the private sphere are different.
What happens when art finds its way into your home? On the other hand, is it acceptable for furniture to be housed in a museum or gallery? Journalist Holly Peterson, interviewed in the documentary ‘The Price of Everything’ (2018), sheds light on the insecure and neurotic tendencies of certain collectors who, in the same New York building on Park Avenue, on the sixth, eighth, and tenth floors, ‘own the same paintings and the same artists hanging on the same walls’. Let’s imagine, much like in George Perec’s novel ‘Life: A User’s Manual,’ uncovering the facade of a building to find ourselves in a doll’s house, where every room is a mirror image of the last. But, what a horror! The worst way to appreciate a work of art. On the other hand, as Amy Cappellazzo, founding partner of Art Intelligence Global, rightly points out, there are three types of collectors: those who see, those who see when shown, and those who do not see. But let’s move on, let’s not worry about the latter, except hoping for their partial redemption, and consider the case of those who not only have demonstrated an eye but have implemented, in a more or less reckless way, an overall and provocative vision, which incorporated works of art on the one hand and their setting on the other, beyond the whips and intransigent diktats often preached by those who know the price of art or little more. History has a wealth of examples to offer.
In Boston, at the turn of the last century, Isabella Stewart Gardner commissioned the construction of Fenway Court, a palace of Italian taste, to house her remarkable collection. Isabella, a close friend of Berenson, made her debut by acquiring none other than the original manuscripts of Dante Alighieri. She spent her days freely associating her museum trinkets, sometimes as a collector, sometimes as a curator and interior designer, without relying on art and interior consultants, who are most of the times not that well-informed and reliable, but are currently all the rage especially among those who are prone to miss the name of the artist who painted the catchy picture above the king-size catafalque. Isabella relied solely on her instincts, proving that works exhibited with taste and personality can touch not only the intellect but also the senses.
This is the case with Titian’s Europa, eagerly awaited by the patron, as she wrote to her friend (3), as the canvas crossed the Atlantic. The painting was hung in a room entirely lined with red silk trimmed with white lace, a legacy of the previous residence. Underneath, a fabric insert from a Worth dress alludes to the owner, as if Isabella created a direct bridge between herself and the painting’s subject. The embroidered motif echoes Zeus’ horns in the form of a bull, while the legs of the cabriolet armchair leaning against the wall emphasize the voluptuous curves of the abducted woman. The intensity, or rather the focus of Ovid’s tale, is amplified, as the myth intertwines with the personality of the fortunate owner.
Following her, we find Katherine Sofie Dreier, who had a deep appreciation for the works of Wassily Kandisnky and a strong affinity for Marcel Duchamp. In 1926, she spearheaded the inaugural International Exhibition of Modern Art. The goal was to convince the public that this exhibition was not at odds with domestic life. To achieve this, the exhibition was set up at the Brooklyn Museum as if it were a house equipped with a living room, dining room, and bedroom, allowing visitors to ‘internalize’ the artistic experience.
Until Alfred Barr, the first director of the Museum of Modern Art, arrived on the scene. Following in the footsteps of Henrich Tessenow, one of Hitler’s architects, and Alexander Dorner, who insisted on hanging paintings at eye level, Barr pioneered neutralized museum contexts and white-plastered galleries. These spaces, known for their minimalist design and lack of furnishings, were often described as severe and impartial, as recalled by gallery owner Betty Parson, who stated, ‘There was nothing in the gallery, except for a chair or a bench.’
In 1957, the merchant Leo Castelli, while maintaining a certain Calvinism, went against the trend by transforming his Manhattan apartment into a gallery, hosting the first exhibitions of Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg. ‘We lived there. There was a small kitchen in the entrance, which we always kept closed. Two additional rooms in the back, one for me and the other for Ileana (Sonnabend), with no living room, dining room, or anything else. It was perfect for breakfast, as our lifestyle was distinctly bohemian’ (5). Hybrid figures of intellectuals, collectors, and merchants, who not only attracted but also created artistic movements, leaving a lasting impact on the history of art and the market.
Across the ocean, in France, Colette Allendy, nicknamed bonne dame by Pierre Restany, was the owner of a hôtel particulier at 67 rue de l’Assomption. This place became a favorite crossroads for abstract artists in the late 1950s. Among tables, chairs, and fireplaces, Picabia, Hartung, and Tapié (6) exhibited their works. In Paris, during the 1970s, we meet Ghislain Mollet-Viéville, the promoter of Conceptual and Minimal art. The case of Mollet-Viéville, who self-proclaimed himself as an art agent, is a curious one. He was simultaneously a producer, curator, and client of the exhibited works. The apartment, situated not far from the then-under-construction Pompidou, was intended to be transformed based on the proposed works, blurring the boundaries between production, performance, and reception. It was a space dedicated to the private exchange between artwork and observer, occasionally serving as a photographic studio for fashion shoots (7). Today, the apartment and its contents, featuring works by Carl Andre, Sol Lewitt, On Kawara, and others, have been transferred en bloc to the Museum of Modern Art in Geneva, with the stipulation that the interior be cyclically renewed. In a recent article in the New York Times, Kin Woo argues that, at the beginning of the 20th century, with the rise of abstract art, the art world gradually favored bare, impersonal environments to elevate the works by extrapolating them from the lived experience.
However, today, a new generation of gallery owners specializing in art or interior design, such as Michael Bargo, Jonathan Pessin, Florence Lopez, and Tiwa Select, are increasingly opting for domestic solutions, following in the footsteps of the aforementioned pioneers. One of the reasons is the sky-high rents, but there is also a desire to welcome customers in familiar settings that foster a more personal connection with collectors. Emanuela Campoli, whose apartment in Foro Bonaparte in Milan hosted the exhibition of Laëtitia Badaut-Haussman for six months, inviting her to reinvent the space, alongside works by Cinzia Ruggeri and Emily Sundblad. This is where the scene unfolds, with houses that filter into museums, houses that transform into museums, and apartments converted into galleries. This dynamic back-and-forth movement breaks down rigid boundaries between spaces that were once categorically defined.
Of course, there are various approaches, but the game truly shines when the director, merchant, and collector let their creativity run wild. And at the pinnacle of masterful whimsy, we conclude our review with the legendary Hester Diamond. The charming and spirited mother of Mike D, a former member of the Beastie Boys, passed away a few years ago. Her impressive collection, featuring a sculpture by Bernini and paintings by Dosso Dossi, was auctioned off by Sothebys. Beyond Diamond’s impeccable selection criteria, what we truly want to emphasize is the aesthetic scope of her domestic experimentation. In a drastic change of direction, she decided to part ways with her collection of modern art, which included Brancusi and Léger, to name a few, and instead embraced the great masters of the Italian and Flemish Renaissance, with forays into the Baroque. But instead of following the footsteps of the Anglo-Florentine collectors of a few decades earlier, such as Herbert Percy Horne, Mason Perkins, and Berenson of Villa I Tatti, the energetic lady opted for a bold and cacophonous color palette of yellow, blue, and pink, further accentuated by postmodern furnishings by Philippe Starck, Patricia Urquiola, and Costantin Grcic. In this way, Diamond not only expressed her creative streak but also demonstrated that centuries-old paintings and sculptures could seamlessly coexist with hyper-contemporary furnishings, creating unexpected and surprising narratives. Dostoevsky, in writing The Idiot, observed that ‘the lack of originality everywhere’ was consistently regarded as the primary requirement and highest recommendation for the active, effective, and practical man. At least ninety-nine percent of men (at the very least) have always shared this view, while perhaps only one percent holding a different perspective. When it comes to art and interiors, let’s think outside the box.
1. Sigmund Freud, The Discomfort of Civilization, Universale Economica Feltrinelli, chapter IV, 2021.
2. Johanna Burton, Lynne Cooke, and Josiah McElheny, Interiors, Sternberg Press, 2012, pp. 14 and 75.
3. Bernard Berenson, The Letters of Bernard Berenson and Isabella Stewart Gardner 1887-1924, edited by Rollin van N. Hadley, 1987, p. 64.
4. Richard Meyer, Big Middle-Class Modernism, October, no. 131 (Winter 2010), pp. 69-115; Laura de Coppet and Alan Jones, The Art Dealers: The Powers Behind the Scene Tell How the Art World Really Works, C. N. Porter, 1984, p. 23; Bernard Berenson, The Letters of Bernard Berenson and Isabella Stewart Gardner 1887-1924, edited by Rollin van N. Hadley, 1987, p. 64.
5. Leo Castelli interviewed by Paul Cummings, May 14, 1969 – June 8, 1973, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.
6. Michel Seuphor, At Colette Allendy’s, in Art d’Aujourd’hui 2, no. 7, July 1951, p. 34.
7. Elisabeth Lebovici, Ghislain Mollet-Vieville: Bodies in the Décor, Public, no. 3, 1985, p. 41.
8. Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot, ET Classici, 2014, p. 322.
December 20, 2024
