The Art of the Steal

Matisse said the Barnes House was the only sane place in America to view art.

Once upon a time, a century and a half ago, a few unknown artists in France had a new vision of painting and visual art. They painted in a style that was an affront to the art establishment which largely dismissed them and their work. They were mostly excluded from the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture in Paris because their works did not invoke a kind of idealism that "the powers that be" felt should be in art. They won no prizes for their efforts, and they had to create their own galleries and exhibition venues. But there was one American art collector, a little-known medical scientist who helped develop cures for gonorrhea and venereal disease, who had an eye for modern art. He used the money he made from his cures to acquire paintings by these mavericks that no one else wanted. At the time, they were quite attainable. So, the doctor-scientist begin amassing a collection of these artworks sensing a value and aesthetic in them that most of art connoisseurship had dismissed. But later that would change.

Today, these unknowns and mavericks are household names: Czanne, Matisse, Picasso, Renoir, Monet, Manet, and Van Gogh, and their work is what we now call "impressionism" and "post-impressionism". The man who acquired so many of these works was the late Albert Barnes (1872-1951). He amassed a collection in the early 20th century that makes even the Louvre shake their head in envy. The collection boasts more Renoirs than the entire nation of France! In the current art market, the collection is worth far more than he ever could have paid for them at the time he acquired most of them, reportedly between 25 and 35 billion dollars US (2010). In all likelihood, not even the Louvre or the Metropolitan Museum of Art could afford to buy the entire collection at market value. What we're talking about here is a priceless collection. But instead of donating the collection to a museum, Barnes decided to create a kind of educational institution with the collection as its focus. He arranged the paintings in an unconventional manner that matched like-quality and like-inspiration rather than by stylistic period, which is the norm in most museums. This way students could see a painting from the Impressionists period next to a Rembrandt, and understand the similarities.

Barnes died in 1951 and left what he thought was an iron-clad Will to keep the paintings in the Barnes' house and maintain the same arrangement for his school. It was essentially kept that way until the death of the first Trustee head who died in 1988. Now the Barnes Collection appears to be destined for the City of Philadelphia housed in a new museum, something it sounds like he never would have wanted. "The Art of the Steal" chronicles the myriad lawsuits and wheeling-dealings that destroyed the integrity of one man's unique vision of his art and collection. According to the documentary, the paintings will be moved into a museum for the tourist crowd rather than maintaining his wishes for an art school.

Most of the "talking heads" of the documentary are those opposed to the relocation of the collection, which makes the documentary rather lopsided in that direction. However, it is interesting that many people involved in the actual deal, the new Board Members of the Trustees of the Barnes Foundation, refused to be interviewed. In other interviews and statements outside the documentary, they claim to honor Barnes' desires as outlined in his Will. But they refused to be interviewed for the documentary which begs the question, if they have nothing to hide, why not let the chips fall where they may, including the current head of the Trustees, Dr. Bernard C. Watson? And if they have the facts on their side, why did they exclude the filmmakers from attending a press conference? Whether mostly accurate or inaccurate, there is one person you can't so easily dismiss: former NAACP chairman Julian Bond. Bond is one of the most level-headed people on the planet and not prone to extremism. When he sees this as a plundering of a great collection, I am bound to listen. It sounds like the vision of the collection for art students is being thrown away in favor of tourism.

The only advocate for the collection's relocation who appears on camera is the Governor of Pennsylvania, who speaks at length about the advantages for Philadelphia, saying it was a "no-brainer". Of course. Honoring the Will of a dead art collector who won't be contributing to any political campaigns pales in comparison to the big-wig moneyed forces that wanted the collection moved. But never once in the interview does the Governor say he's doing it in the best interest of the wishes of Barnes. He's doing what's in the best interests of his political future is the message.

Former President of the Trustees, Richard Glanton, appears to be the where the trouble started. He makes no bones about having made all kinds of deals regarding the collection which seems served more Glanton than the wishes of Barnes. He authorized a tour of the works worldwide. Certainly, people should be able to see the collection, but would have Albert Barnes approved of this?

The only shortcoming of the documentary I felt was again the lack of a narrator. There were many facts I wanted to know more about that were not covered by the interviewees, particularly stories about from whom and from where he acquired many of these paintings. Still a fascinating account of a very controversial subject. Should the paintings be accessible to a greater public? Yes. But should the integrity of the collection be compromised for this goal? I leave that up to the viewer.

"The Art of the Steal" follows the fate of The Barnes Collection, the most prestigious and valuable post-impressionist art collection in the world, tracing the battle between collector and museums over the course of 75 years. The origin of the collection is quite a story: Dr. Barnes, who had gained wealth in breakthrough scientific research, acquired some of the best modern paintings of the time by having something that museums and art critics of the time didn't have - taste and pure intuition. Over time, however, the artwork garnered the acclaim it deserved, but Barnes was determined to keep his collection private and have it appreciated by those who were willing to give the paintings the proper study they deserved. This belief became a trademark of his estate, but after Barnes' death and the passage of time, ownership of the collection became more and more blurry and penetrable to former enemies of Barnes, namely The Philadelphia Enquirer and The Philadelphia Art Museum, who wished to make the gallery public. After years of legal struggle (a series of back and forths the documentary covers to an almost painful degree), the city finally obtains it for a measly $107 million, a shadow to the estimated $25 billion the collection is worth.

The documentary is very clear in pointing out that the fate of the collection is directly contrary to what Barnes had wished for it. In fact, everyone who has hands currently on the collection are the very people who opposed and battled the existence of the collection to begin with. What the documentary doesn't present very well is the passage of time - Barnes has been dead for nearly 60 years, and keeping the wishes of a dead man alive when that much money is at stake and ownership is juggled around naturally becomes a more and more difficult thing to do. What it effectively portrays is the tourist attraction that art has become, a cash cow to governments who have the opportunity to capitalize on it. Whether this is a travesty or not is up to debate, but what is certain is that the city of Philadelphia effectively stole the property of Barnes and mocked the idea of personal wealth. The overall outcome is that now the collection can be viewed by anyone and everyone publicly - a point that the documentary seems determined not to emphasize (one reason is probably because 90% of the interviewees were associated with or supported the original foundation.) As nothing more than a spectator, I'm personally excited that this legendary artwork will be on display for everyone to see for the first time, but being aware of the underbelly of politics behind the gallery makes the silver lining all the more bittersweet.

I've lived in the Philly area my entire life & followed the Barnes Foundation saga from the very beginning until its tawdry denouement and I don't understand some of the bizarre postings above.

No doubt the filmmakers had an agenda, which was that the Barnes should stay in Merion but the power brokers in Harrisburg and Philly colluded to drive it into the ground to force the move to the BF Parkway, which was entirely at odds with Dr. Barnes Last Will & Testament.

This was pretty convincingly driven home by the movie.

The collection isn't invitation only, you simply request a timed ticket on their website and you're in. The entrance fee is a reasonable $15 and the museum housing the collection is truly world class, on par with the Villa Borghese in Rome or the Frick in Manhatten, only better. It is truly one of a kind, one of the treasures of the art world.

It's true that the Barnes was mismanaged by Richard Glanton, the President of the Trustees, during the 1990's. His lawsuit against the Merion Neighbors Association was as disastrous as it was idiotic. But that was no excuse to move the whole operation to the Parkway. It seems it would have been quite easy to raise the money to keep it at Merion.

Who cares if the number of eyeballs weren't maximized? It was never intended to be run that way. And after Episcopal Academy moved away from it's previous City Line Ave location, an entrance from Route 1 (City Line Ave) could have easily been paved (Episcocal even offered to donate the land to make it happen, a fact oddly not mentioned in the film). This would have entirely eliminated the neighbors complaints. However, those talks went nowhere (did the power brokers intervene to squash that also?) Saint Joseph's University ended up buying the entire Episcopel property. I have no doubt SJU would have been more than willing to work something out with a treasure like the Barnes. Having a world renowned art institution as a neighbor would be woth that much, at least.

The question arises, "what would Barnes think of the move?". He despised the stuffy, Republican WASPs that ran Philadelphia and who looked down their noses at the upstart Barnes and his post impressionist art. He left control in his will to the downtrodden African Americans who ran Lincoln University, as a way to "stick it" to the powers that be. But now that those outsiders are actually the insiders, and helped engineer the move to the Parkway, would Barnes object? Who really knows.

In any event, I thought the documentary was great & recommend it highly.

It's about time this story was told for the entire world to hear the facts.

I am unnerved by two problems with previous reviewers here:

1) The Barnes Foundation is NOT a "museum"! It is an educational art foundation! Please do not keep referring to it as a "museum"!

2) Every, I repeat, every film has a point of view, and every documentary has its own "slant" or perspective. Why do reviewers think that a documentary must show all points of view. Did Fahrenheit 9-11? What about Food, Inc. or Supersize Me? Or The Smartest Men in the Room? Or Millhouse? (Do you want me to go on?) Please give one example of a documentary that gives all points of view!

One very salient point in this film is that Dr. Barnes' (and he did have a medical degree, so it is not dishonest to give him that label) will was thrown out by the court. A legal precedent which will have very serious ramifications.....

"'The Art of the Steal' is a documentary that chronicles the long and dramatic struggle for control of the Barnes Foundation, a private collection of Post-Impressionist and early Modern art valued at more than $25 billion."--Film publicity.

Actually, it's $25-$35 billion. The value is really incalculable. Albert C. Barnes (1872-1951) was a Philadelphian of working-class origins who used his fortune from an antiseptic compound called Argyrol to collect: 181 Renoirs, 69 Cezannes, 59 Matisses (including his commissioned, unique, Art of the Dance murals), 46 Picassos, 21 Soutines, 18 Rousseaus, 16 Modiglianis, 11 Degas, 7 Van Goghs, 6 Seurats, 4 Manets and 4 Monets. And these are quality, not just quantity: they include some of the named artists' best works. For Renoir, Cezanne, and Matisse, this collection is unique, and there may be no other private collection of such work of this magnitude.

Barnes was a great collector. He was also famously cranky and opinionated. He deeply and lastingly resented the fat cats of the city of Philadelphia who mocked the work in his collection when it was first shown. He chose to keep the collection away from those Philadelphian fat cats. A friend of the philosopher and educational theorist John Dewey, he built a museum in Merion, Pennsylvania (five miles from Philadelphia) on his own land, a 12-acre Arboretum, and restricted visits, running the Foundation as a teaching institution, which was his main focus in life from the Twenties till his death in a car accident in 1951. The collection was displayed as in a house, arranged with furniture and decorations, in aesthetically pleasing (if rather overly-symmetrical) groupings, rather than in the contemporary museum's open space, white wall style.

Barnes' will specified that the collection must never be loaned out or sold. His will put Lincoln University, a small black college, in charge of the collection after his death.

For a long time the Foundation was run by a close follower of the Barnes spirit, Violette de Mazia. But after she died in 1988, gradually, and recently quite rapidly, the will has been abrogated, the trust broken. In the Nineties, an ambitious man named Richard H. Glanton, who was then in charge loaned the collection to various major venues, including the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, and ending, ironically, at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, ostensibly to raise money. More recently a powerful nexus of politicians (the governor and the mayor of Philadelphia), the Annenbergs, the Philidelphia Museum, and rich charitable organizations, mainly the Pew Foundation, have worked not only to get control away from Lincoln University but to move the whole collection to a new building in the city of Philadelphia, where Barnes emphatically did not want his collection to be.

The documentary focuses on and sides with the opposition to this development. There was a court challenge to Judge Ott's decision allowing the move, but he opted not to consider it and the opposition has not appealed this decision.

That's the focus of the film. I confess to somewhat mixed feelings about these complex issues. I grew up in Baltimore, where the Cone sisters gave their extraordinary (if smaller) collection of similar work to the Baltimore Museum of Art in the Fifties, so anyone could look at it. But in those years, it was hard to get to see the Barnes collection, and even after it was opened up (against Barnes' will) it remained out of the way and so I've never seen it. In some sense it seems better that it may now be viewed by a lot of people in Philadelphia. Barnes shouldn't made a collection of this magnitude so difficult of access. On the other hand, the fat cats have raped Barnes' will and ignored his intentions. It has now been stolen away from its original administrators and all Barnes' wishes have been willfully violated. Two wrongs don't make a right. There was a problem, but this is not the proper resolution.

Emotions run high among the talking heads; most of the principals responsible for the latest, final takeover declined to be interviewed. Biased though this film is, it has law and the rights of collectors on its side. And it reveals some political funny business that would make Michael Moore salivate. It's an ugly picture of art being turned into a battle for power and money and exploited for political luster and tourist potential. Instructive and disturbing.

An official selection of the New York Film Festival at Lincoln Center, shown earlier in the TIFF, the film now (Sept. 21, 2009) has been picked up by a distributor, IFC.

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