The Gloomy Gardner

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston has a lot in common with the Barnes, now in Philadelphia. Both are private, idiosyncratic collections amassed early in the 20th century by a single individual, and both are, or have been, severely constricted by the founder’s deed of gift. The collections, of course, differ: Barnes was into the modern art of his day, Gardner collected Old Masters. But for both, the setting was a major part of the art, and they both mixed paintings with decorative arts objects, although Barnes was more focused on his ironwork, whereas Gardner threw in a little bit of everything. Neither allowed loans, so to see the collections you have to go to the original museum.
Except in the case of the Barnes, the original museum has moved, and although the layout remains as originally conceived, the galleries are now enclosed in a magnificent contemporary architectural skin and new, better light has been thrown on everything. The Gardner, as well, added new contemporary architecture, by Renzo Piano, a year ago, but it does nothing to improve the original display. The new glass wing is all about visitor services – restaurant, gift shop, concert hall, entry vestibule, classroom, etc. The artwork is as entombed as ever in the gloomy “palace.”
And I do mean “entombed.” The place is positively funereal. Although it’s not true, one gets the feeling that nothing has been dusted for the last 45 years – or since I went there as a Harvard undergraduate. It is the best approximation in America of visiting a museum in Italy! It doesn’t help matters that none of the works are labeled, so you have to carry around a worn, laminated sheet to know what you’re seeing. Further, the sheet is only for one wall, so you have to consult four separate sheets and have to figure out which wall is west, etc.
Because the works are arranged as Mrs. Gardner left them (I assume), it takes some work to separate the gold from the dross. Not only tastes, but attributions change over the decades. It would be exciting to see how a contemporary curator, given free rein, would rearrange the paintings, giving pride of place to key works and downgrading, perhaps to storage, some of the “school of.” And best of all would be letting modern lighting bring the place alive.
I had hoped to discuss my favorite paintings by referring to the good-looking book of “masterpieces,” called “Eye of the Beholder,” which I didn’t buy for $60 on site so I wouldn’t have to carry it on my travels and thinking that everything is cheaper on Amazon, anyway. Little did I expect that Amazon’s price would be $245! I do love the Sargent “El Jaleo,” and I am not a Sargent fan. I am a Piero fan, so it was good to see his only fresco in America, Hercules, although as Pieros go it is not the best. I liked the bottom half of a Fra Angelico, liked the Rembrandt and Durer portraits side-by-side, but didn’t leave with many other images firmly in mind. I like Carlo Crivelli and was pleased to see his St. George prominent in the gift shop, but again, it was not a favorite. I have never liked Titian’s Rape of Europa, the #1 work at the Gardner, and still don’t.
One could also compare the Gardner to the other private-individual galleries that dot the East Coast: the Phillips in DC, the Walters in Baltimore, the Clark in Williamstown and, in its own league, the Frick in New York. While it can be nice to see the historic context, I would rather let the art breathe and live in the present. The Frick is the best counter to this argument; the Gardner is its proof.

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