It was a long and exhausting day at the Art Gallery of Ontario. What had initially seemed like a chance to broaden my mind and become “culturally literate” had devolved into a laborious exercise in trying to figure out what, exactly, any of the paintings meant. “I think it’s trying to evoke the meaninglessness of our society, or something,” I said to my friends — a statement I would eventually say many, many times.
But within the gallery’s spacious hallways, amidst the paintings of Jesus and the samples from Picasso’s blue period, was a giant portrait of two frightened little girls: the daughters of basketball star Steve Nash. Nash, it turns out, had commissioned American artist Julian Schnabel to paint the portrait. At first I was filled with self-satisfaction for knowing who Steve Nash was, redeeming myself for my ignorance of the identity of Pope Gregory XV. But then I was struck with a dismal thought: will basketball stars’ daughters continue to hang alongside portraits of kings, aristocrats, and popes? Growing up, I saw only the beauty of art. It was a magical creation, a pure act of self-expression. Most importantly, I only saw art for the sake of art — I never thought, “How much is this painting worth?” But in this instant, I realized that my idyllic childhood view of art was missing key perspectives: the role of the market, the dealers, the collectors — in other words, the rich and the powerful. These are the true players in the art world.
If you stroll into the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, the AGO, or any major public gallery, you’ll see rooms named after gallery donors; names such as Lehman, Rockefeller, or Ken Thomson. These are not the names of artists, but rather the rich people who can afford such expensive pieces of art. These men and women are subsequently rewarded for their generous contributions with gold-letter plaques across gallery walls. With Ken Thomson’s name hovering above great works of the Group of Seven, it would seem that power, art, and wealth are never completely separate. As the street artist Banksy famously remarked, “When you go to an art gallery you are simply a tourist looking at the trophy cabinet of a few millionaires.”
But the connection goes beyond rich people looking to show off their wealth. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a handful of men made it rich through railway building and oil mining. In the United States, at least, taxes caught up with these business magnates, and by cutting a deal with the government and galleries, they received tax reductions by donating their art collections.
University of Toronto fine art Professor Jens Wollesen points out that, though there is an integral connection between art and wealth, it is not necessarily a bad thing. Wollesen cites operas in which the production costs would exceed the potential amount of money earned back through ticket sales. Thus, a wealthy businessman would fund a show, receive tax benefits, and both the artists and the wealthy would benefit. “So wealth and art, in a way, must not necessarily be affected by a negative label,” says Wollesen.
Art and wealth appear intertwined, and while there are positive aspects to their relationship, there are also many negatives. Wealth and power often lead to corruption. One famous example is Jacques-Louis David’s painting of Napoleon’s coronation. Present in the painting is Napoleon’s mother who, in reality, never attended her son’s opulent display of emperorship. It was Napoleon, the commissioner, who forced David to paint her into his work. What can be seen from this is an example of the powerful manipulating art, but while this seems upsetting and detrimental to the popular idealized perspective of art — as a form of pure self-expression, inner discovery, enlightenment, and beauty — these kinds of manipulations are commonplace. It is modern times that beget the notion of the artist as a figure superior to the patrons with the purse strings. Historically, most artists had to submit to the whims of their patrons because, without funding, creating art would simply have been impossible.
The Dutch painter Rembrandt van Rijn is one example of the modern notion of the artist. The painter had been commissioned to paint a Dutch town hall, and for various reasons — he might not have emphasized what the government wanted, or he overtly sexualized the women — the government did not like it. Unlike most artists of Rembrandt’s time, the painter refused to make a new, more satisfactory piece. “Rembrandt had the [same] kind of view of an artist as we do today: that they are greater than the world outside,” explains Matt Kavaler, an art history professor at U of T. “That they have a say over their commissioners.”
It is this view of the art and the artist that makes the business side of the art world seem so unappealing, yet the connection between art and the wealthy is an integral one. “Now and always, the wealthy and powerful have driven production and innovation in art,” says Kavaler. “Artists need to be supported. They need people to pay for them to run their lives, and most normal people don’t have the income to support another person.”
In the last thirty years, art prices have soared. Damien Hirst created a stuffed shark and then sold it for twelve million dollars. This stuffed fish, along with other “abstract” pieces, debuted at world-famous millionaire and art collector Charles Saatchi’s art exhibit, Sensation. The show toured the world, but was criticized for its blatant connection to those wealthy enough to support the art market.
Toronto artist Judy Singer believes that the Saatchi collection, along with other international collections, represents a general loss of standards within the art world. “People who buy luxury goods are associated with people who are wealthy. That is why there are all these designer clothes that people desire. It’s all ego,” argues Singer. “It’s the same in the art market. If somebody like Charles Saatchi buys it, people believe that he must know what good art is.”
From Picasso to Pollock to Hirst, propagandizing “good art” is something done by art collectors and critics. The art world has turned into something very similar to real estate: buying art is considered, by some, a good investment. But when a piece of art is bought for the sake of investment, it usually gets put away in a dark storage room, and doesn’t see the light of day until it increases in value. “I’m totally divorced from the art market when I’m creating something,” explains Singer. “I can’t say that about all artists. But I couldn’t create work if I thought about who was going to buy it and where it was going to go.”
Singer goes on to describe what she sees as the hierarchy of the art world. “At the top are the collectors. In the middle are the dealers, and at the bottom are the artists. That’s how I see it. Very few artists become art stars. It’s a very small population of artists. The general artist, like me, has no power.” Singer sees many of these new art stars as great creative art marketers. Hirst, she explains, has a factory where he has people helping him create things, like his giant sharks. Singer points to an exhibit Hirst did of his own drawings, and “the reviews were scathing… but here he is, one of the highest paid artists.”
Somehow, out of this world of investment politics, a new art form emerged. “Street art is the most visible branch of a kind of art that is trying to resist all of that,” says English Professor Nick Mount. “That is street art’s incredible power — that it’s able to give itself away.” Notable street artists like Banksy and Shepard Fairey have gained international recognition, but as Mount points out, “Artists need to live. I don’t begrudge them that living. Street art’s relationship with commerce has, by and large, been very compliant. Once a street artist hits a tipping point, they are happy to sell merchandise, T-shirts, and wrist bands.”
Mount also points out that a lot of street artists have begun making prints and selling them for the relatively low art market price of one thousand dollars each. “The art world smells money in street art. It has started to step into the fray,” he explains. “I don’t think Banksy is terribly unhappy that there are a bunch of wealthy people that want to buy his stuff. Street art does try to circumvent the market — its whole impetus is to give itself away. That said, in the world of capitalism, it is impossible to escape capitalism. It can’t be done. So either the artists themselves embrace it, or, even if they don’t want to, the capital will embrace the artist.
“The wealthy are one of our arbiters of taste. They are paying attention,” Mount continues. “Attention seems to follow money. A lot of people weren’t paying attention to who Banksy was until someone bought a painting of his for two-hundred thousand pounds at Sotheby’s. The tipping point was that large amount of money began changing hands. It brings art to wider public attention — that is one function the wealthy can serve.”
While the majority of the world will never be able to afford a Rembrandt or a Monet, it doesn’t mean that art isn’t part of our lives. “Art is very important to normal people,” argues Professor Kavaler. “That is why U of T teaches courses in art history but also teaches courses in the making of art. Visual studies allow students to appreciate the self-expression art brings, and that is not dependent on wealth.”
On my way out of the AGO, I checked out the gift shop and I saw a poster that I liked. The little bourgeois boy inside me contemplated whether I should buy it. It would look nice on my wall, and if I took an hour of my time, I could probably read the painting’s entire Wikipedia page and become really knowledgeable when people ask me about my poster. This delightful pretentious daydream came to an end when I saw the price tag. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “Twenty bucks? Like I have that kind of money to throw around!”
