The Bond Between Art and Economics:

from Gonzaga,Vollard, and Parsons to the age of Gates.

by David Whittaker.

 

David Whittaker graduated from Bradford University, London, with a degree in Electronic Imaging & Media Communications in 1995. At Bradford, he was Arts Editor of the university magazine, writing mainly about visual art, cinema, and music. He now works as a communications consultant specialising in new media technologies (Internet, interactive computing, multimedia). Mr. Whittaker is reading Art History part-time at Birbeck College, University of London.

 
"Never mind the quality, feel the width." That's fine when you're buying oil, news paper, pork bellies, or any other mass produced commodity. Art though, surely, is a different matter: here value comes from vision, expression, a transcendent or revelatory quality which is anathema to the quantifications of modern business. We all know museums and galleries have had to swallow a stiff dose of commercial savvy to remain viable in an increasingly competitive leisure industry, but how far does the influence of finely-machined and precisely-tuned economics permeate the inherently imprecise and subjective world of aesthetics, and the evolution of a fine art that is traditionally recognised as being far removed from the everyday monotony of industrial labour? Perhaps more to the point, what does it mean for contemporary art production and the future, specifically the young artists that are going to create it?
 
The art market has always been in thrall to the wider oscillations of the general economy, but the development of artistic styles and business theory has never been seen as other than separate. The hegemony of late twentieth century capitalism, however, is leading to revaluations of this basic assumption, and the corrections could well prove both more important to the past than we have previously thought, and more crucial in the future than we may have expected.
 
One way in which art does correspond to orthodox, free market ideas, is in the benefit of competition: innovation in art, as much as industry, is liable to stall if the motor of competition in the race to succeed is switched off, but, as politicians like to keep reminding industrialists, another prerequisite is investment. In Silicon Valley, that might come from venture capitalists; in the art world it comes from dealers, and their pivotal role is perhaps still veiled by Romantic notions of the artist as a lonely, creative genius, hanging over from the last century. The clarity of vision, and no-nonsense pragmatism, of the 1980's laissez-faire generation is demystifying this picture, and characteristically, giving the business angle far greater prominence. The short-term prospects this suggests for young artists today is not altogether rosy, but first let's take a step back to look at two of the seminal movements of the last 100 years.
 
Cubism is now generally accepted as being the most important redefinition of pictorial space since the Renaissance, the result of two men's experimentation with form in that simmering time around 1910. In documenting the change from a representational to a conceptual art, what most accounts fail to mention is the role of Parisian dealers, such as Kahnweiler, Vollard, and Bernheim-Jeune, save for their jobs as portrait models. To see the contracts between them and leading artists like Picasso, Braque, and Matisse, however, is fascinating from both artistic and commercial perspectives.
 
Their basic method of setting prices by canvas size seems at once incredible yet wholly sensible, even if a 60 x 80cm picture by Picasso only made him 1000 francs in 1912. That he was only allowed to keep five paintings a year, and had to give all his output, and the rights to reproduction, to Kahnweiler, might at first seem harsh or restrictive, but, after all, a smaller picture used less paint, therefore it should be cheaper; and, this is the critical point, the artist was guaranteed payment for everything he made with no restrictions. How many contemporary artists would kill for the chance to sign a contract that enabled them to create, unhampered by worries about where next month's rent will come from?
 
Not everyone in such a position would necessarily have found Cubism, or an equally monumental discovery, but if one artist can concentrate full time on his work, while another has to take odd jobs to make ends meet, who's most likely to advance fastest?
 
The chapter of Cubism can also be seen, in terms of the general economy, as coming part way between the dictatorial merchants of the pre-industrial period, and the rampant corporatisation of the post-war years. A lineage can be traced from the first wealthy entrepreneurs of the fifteenth century, the Gonzagas, the Strozzi, the Medici, to those of our own time; all used art, and culture in the broadest sense, to enhance their public prestige, but, in line with the tenets of laissez-faire operations, where artists were once intimate with, or even wholly employed by their illustrious patrons, today it's a collection of more or less shrewd players, mediated by no less astute professional dealers, that constitute the system of trade.
 
If the Parisian avant-garde defined where modern art and society was at, as the Belle Epoque faded into memory, New York assumed the mantle after 1945: economically the USA became the major economic power for the next 40 or so years, driven by the momentum of recovery after the Depression, relatively untroubled by bombed-out competitors; similarly the artists that began to forge their aesthetic in the depths of the 30's assumed centre stage as the Abstract Expressionists of the 40's and 50's. Unsurprisingly, they had no rich patrons to nurture their talents in the early days; indeed the government, by way of the WPA, was the only source of support following the Crash. From the 40's, however, when a more normal quality of life had started to return, protagonists began to champion their art, eventually making it the powerful partner of theAmerican Dream's democratic capitalism.
 
Thanks to dealer-patrons, such as Castelli, Guggenheim, Barr, and Parsons, another generation of painters were separated from the collectors who actually bought their work: no need for compromise, courtship, or catering to the whim of clients. They not only achieved in reality what Whistler had only been accused of, throwing a pot of paint in the public's face, they ushered-in an new aesthetic, and got the public to buy it into the bargain. By no means did they have the comparative luxury of a 'buy all' contract like Picasso; starting out on the breadline, even Pollock's work only broached five figures after his death; but with connections to the 'right' people and institutions, they accrued the necessary freedom to breach artistic boundaries, and the necessary intellectual and economic strength to stamp their name into history.
 
So what can an artist expect in the age of Soros, Gates, and zealous free-marketeering? The cult of individuality has led to fewer long-term relationships between dealers and artists, though certainly some successful partnerships continue, and some artists find eager collectors for even the most idiosyncratic objects. Some newer dealers, though, work on a more ad-hoc basis, even arranging all their shows as one-offs, rather than cultivating a regular stable of hopefuls. There are undoubted advantages to this approach, not least that unknowns stand more chance of getting a foot in the door when there's a minimum commitment from both parties, and they may even reach a wider audience; but how many can really give 100% to their work when the tedious pressures of simply living keep interfering? The increasing number of co-operative work and exhibition spaces, managed by the artists themselves, are another good way in to a competitive sector, but when they're doing the jobs of creator, curator, and salesman, might not something get lost in the division of duties, perhaps the spark of divine inspiration that can only come with a healthy disinterest for market trends, and a purposefulness that requires total concentration?
The fin-de-siecle is traditionally a time of rupturous events, and great leaps born of turmoil, as those few people that are already living in the new century drag the majority after them, kicking and screaming. As we approach the next millennium, though potentially creative tension and strife may not be in short supply, how optimistic is the outlook for art? With capitalism enshrined in a seemingly unassailable position, the market becoming more fragmented every day, and even the prospect of people in 'regular' jobs becoming a vast pool of temporary labour, patrons are almost obliged to pick and choose from the supermarket of culture, and therefore dealers are obliged to cater for fast-moving fashions, rather than slowly gestating talents.
 
If many artists feel they 'can't afford' to be unorthodox and selfish enough to please themselves; if they feel they daren't adopt that in-your-face, take-it-or-leave-it attitude, because without the support of committed dealers and collectors people are just as likely to leave it as take it; if amongst all the fireworks and fizz of the big 2000 celebrations, contemporary art can muster little more than a whimper, who do we have to blame?