With the phenomenon of the Grand Tour something of perennial interest to both Keith McCullar and me, we were eager to visit the exhibition ‘Canaletto and his rivals’ at the National Gallery. For all the English milordi fortunate enough, and their were many, to further the worldly education thought necessary for those who were the inheritors of the mantle of not only civility but civilization, following the de rigueur stay in Rome required to absorb what one could of the classical world, the ultimate goal, then, was Venice. The Las Vegas of its day, Venetian view painters daubed busily to render the views of Venice that were then sent to England as pleasant reminders of what were in most cases memorable visits. Reminders that could, of course, be displayed in polite company.

The exhibition was noteworthy as it was curated not by a museum professional but by the dealer in view paintings, Charles Beddington. The exhibition itself was not large, and featured, as the name implies, works not only by Canaletto, but also by his contemporaries and students- Marieschi, Bellotto, and Guardi. As well, the exhibition featured works that predated Canaletto’s preeminence- Vanvitelli and Carlevarijs most prominently- giving us some artistic and commercial context from which Canaletto emerged as a major figure.

Although a number of the paintings were pictures we were already familiar with, it was none the less pleasant to see them all grouped together. Sadly, though, the exhibition and the catalog provided no new scholarship, and, in fact, mostly consisted of a rather trite formal comparison of the work of one artist to another, using Canaletto as something of a benchmark. What would certainly have added interest to the exhibition would have been, at the very least a discussion of the pigments that made view paintings look the way they do. Venice’s long history as a port made it a bonanza for artists and their colormen, with imports of rare, expensive and unusual pigments typically available in a broader array than perhaps anywhere else in Europe. Further, it is hard for me to imagine that an exhibition limited solely to 18th century view paintings could be complete without a discussion of Prussian blue. The first synthesized pigment, it solved a centuries old problem for artists- an inexpensive blue that was also non-fugitive. The expansive skies of Canaletto’s, and all his contemporaries, probably are in no small part influenced by the ability to conveniently use Prussian blue to achieve them.

Interestingly, Brian Sewell, the long time art critic of the London Evening Standard was likewise disappointed at the level of scholarship. But Sewell was more than anything alarmed that the National Gallery in London, where the exhibition originated, should have allowed a dealer whose stock in trade are Venetian view paintings, to mount such an exhibition. Heretofore, I would generally argue that a dealer is a great person to curate an exhibition anywhere, as dealers not unusually have a greater knowledge base than many academics and museum professionals. The reason for this, in general terms, is that dealers, whose own academic backgrounds often match those whose sole profession is scholarship, have the advantage of seeing many, many more objects. A museum professional’s particular familiarity with his own institution’s collection often leads to a type of tunnel vision. The dealer, on the other hand, will perforce have the opportunity to see and examine a much broader range of material at auctions and in private collections access to which academics or museum professionals might not be privy. What alarms Brian Sewell is that the Canaletto exhibition seems to have an overarching commercial imperative, with the associated catalog with its dearth of scholarship more on the order of what one might expect in a selling exhibition.

Unfortunately, in this Sewell and I agree.

Not surprising to find that Keith McCullar and I are cultural tourists, and, given our vocations, it might be more precise to say we’re material culture tourists. Though not  spiritualists, we every now and again find a nearly palpable presence visiting certain historic sites that preserve and contextualize the habitation and personal property of the original occupants. One of those places is Mount Vernon.

Despite the hordes of visitors, Mount Vernon nevertheless carefully preserves a mansion and farm that I would venture to say the nation’s first first couple would, were they to return, not only recognize as little changed but also find instantly habitable. Although George and Martha Washington had no children together, Mrs. Washington’s descendents and General Washington’s nephews constituted an enormous extended family that, upon the death of Martha Washington in 1802 resulted in the dispersal of a significant amount of the original contents of the mansion. That said, all the articles removed from Mount Vernon were instantly accorded the status of relics by subsequent owners such that their preservation was insured. Consequently, in the fullness of time, articles have found their way back to Mount Vernon in such significant numbers that one can gain a real sense, at least visually, of what life was like during Washington’s final years there.

An understanding of all this is helped immeasurably by the catalog The George Washington Collection: Fine and Decorative Arts at Mount Vernon, written by estate director of collections Carol Borchert Cadou. Along with the descriptive text, the original acquisition of virtually all the items by the Washingtons is given some considerable measure of context by the citation of family correspondence related to each item. Often it is a letter from Washington himself, either to his London agent or some such other trusted friend or relation, requesting that a purchase be made in his name. What’s particularly interesting is the frequency and specificity with which Washington, while seeking pieces of the best quality in the latest fashion, gives the admonition that, in purchased articles, any thing of a showy mien be avoided. One could say that these sorts of inclusions in the catalog might serve a hagiographic purpose, but I rather think the ostensible serves to reinforce the actual, that Washington was thoroughly the prudent, practical figure that he is always thought to be. Though knowledgeable in the ways of the world, through the catalog his possessions speak of someone who is not precisely worldly and, moreover, consciously seeks to avoid any such association. His ongoing attachment to Mount Vernon and its furnishings reflects very little in the way of self-aggrandizement, but more in consonance with a manifestation of the virtue of rural life Washington felt accorded with his own position as a member of the gentry. As a military and ultimately a political leader he knew himself to be a public figure whose every action, and every acquisition, must be in keeping with this same virtue he knew his countrymen should, and hopefully would, emulate.

My last blog entry engendered some response from dealers I know, decrying the fate of the fairs and echoing the open question I had closed with- what to do. Sadly, no one offered any particular suggestions on how to improve matters.

What was asked of me was why I thought the fairs were on the ropes, and in this respect I have an opinion, and you, my gentle blogophiles, by the fact of your reading this, perhaps can guess what the answer is. As with the retail venue, the fair is being displaced by the virtual venue. For those of you who keep track, and we certainly do, our gallery traffic is at best static, but our internet traffic- site hits, inquiries, unique visitors- increases nearly every month, and has seen a 40% increase for the month just completed compared to April, 2008. Do we have a corresponding increase in sales on the internet? Not exactly, but what I can say is that buyers who formerly traded only with us in our galleries now buy from our website. Put another way, once someone has stopped in and satisfied themselves with our offerings, they have then felt comfortable to buy online. More significantly, though, it is a rarity to find any first time visitor who has not prior to darkening our threshold browsed our website.

The problem with the fairs is that a prospective buyer who traditionally would attend to browse the offerings of a variety of dealers now has the opportunity to do so 24/7 on the internet. Where formerly it was the perception that, with the fair in town, that represented the window in which to browse and make a purchase, now no such time constraint exists. For all practical purposes, a virtual fair exists on the internet at the beck and call of the web browser.

Somehow or other, with tough trading conditions, the presumption seems to be that the art and antiques business is fusty and needs to rejuvenate, and I mean that literally, to attract younger buyers. Reading some of the advance press for a fair now recently completed made an elaborate point of this, with one of the organizers encouraging younger buyers to attend, and stressing that much of the offerings at the fair would be in a lower price bracket. The irony is that it is just that lower priced material that is more prone than anything else to being searched for on the internet.

In an effort to reinvent fairs, many have lost their character, redefining themselves as luxury goods venues, offering things like jewelry, wine futures, and classic, and new, cars. While the notion of this is to broaden the appeal of the fairs by attracting all manner of moneyed folk, it has the unfortunate effect, through its disparate offerings, of diluting the focus on art and antiques. What most people fail to realize is that, no matter how much of the ready any punter has, when they work through the fair entrance, they’ve already decided how much they plan to spend. The more that’s spent on bling, the less that’s spent on art and antiques.