An Accidental Art Collector

Two favorites from our collection
Left: Robert Robinson, "Edgy" (2018); mixed media on paper, 61 x 46 inches
Right: Frank Oriti, "I Got Stripes" (2014); oil and acrylic on canvas, 40 x 30 inches
Used by permission of the artists

It isn't always an egregious expression of privilege to collect art.

But my perspective is inflamed by the jet-setting denizens of the so-called art world, who flock to elitist international art fairs like Art Basel, Frieze, and New York’s Armory Show, to name three. 

These astonishing events are catnip for one percenters and social climbers. They attract pompous power brokers, posers, pedants, and assorted poobahs from the four corners of the planet.

A visitor views artworks during the Frieze Art Fair
in Regents Park in London on October 13, 2022
Isabel Infantes, Getty

High-end art fairs are also highly entertaining for the people-watching and outrageous works on view. I wish the parodist Christopher Guest would make a mockumentary like the hilarious Best in Show to puncture this subculture and its pretensions. For middle-of-the-roaders weaned on Monet and the Mona Lisa, the art on view is both insane and mind-blowing.  

Joe takes in a sculpture at Lehmann Maupin Gallery in Chelsea, New York, 2010
Angel Otero, "The Enlightenment" (2010)
Desk, chair, wood, resin, oil skins, and spray paint, 88.5"x60"x44"

Traditionalists are put off by contemporary art because of its weird, abstract, and inscrutable characteristics. For my part, I love the new and outlandish and embrace the challenge of decoding veiled meanings. These naysayers might be surprised to learn that contemporary artists are exploring today’s most pressing topics, from immigration to cultural identity to climate change. 

John Bock, "Palms 2007"
 Installation and video 59:14 min.
As seen at Guggenheim Bilbao, "The Luminous Interval," 2011

But along the way, you may encounter an artist's hallucinatory vision of a Lincoln convertible spewing bright red tentacles. Or maybe a gallery filled with motor oil, or a grouping of dumpsters.

Joe and I have seen all of these things. Our quest for art has led to many strange and wonderful discoveries. At the Tate Modern in London, we beheld a gallery filled up to the middle of its wall with slick, black motor oil. We once traveled four thousand miles to Bilbao, Spain, only to discover an assortment of dumpsters and their contents on view at the Guggenheim. 

That joke was on us. But elsewhere, we were amazed by an ambitious installation that featured colossal red squid arms cascading from the hood of a vintage car. And the main event, the museum itself, designed by Frank Gehry and a masterpiece of 20th-century architecture, forever changed our ideas about what a building can be. 

At the Guggenheim Bilbao, 2011

The often absurd and self-important machinations of the larger art world were once enough to make me pause before pursuing even more approachable, home-scaled art -- art that is emphatically not from Art Basel and none of which involves squids, dumpsters, or oil spills.

Marc Ross, "A Declaration of Red" (2019)
Acrylic, color pencil and pencil on canvas; 54 x 55 inches
Used by permission of the artist

I may resist thinking of myself as an "art collector," but fortunately, my ambivalence does not stop me. It is specious to conflate what transpires at an international art fair or a museum in Bilbao with building a congruous and meaningful personal collection.

Art seems to be coming out of our ears since Joe and I moved into our new home in the fall of 2020. Over the years, our collection grew organically, almost accidentally, and without much intentionality. True, our trusted interior designer Mary Burkhardt challenged, emboldened, and steered us. But all in all, we just pursued what we liked -- some of it from dealers and galleries, some from flea markets and estate sales. The art we own brings us much pleasure. 

Abe Frajndlich, “Cindy Sherman: NYC, Walker Street Studio, 1987” 

Archival digital print, 40 x 34 inches

Used by permission of the artist

And while a few of the more provocative images we display may raise eyebrows, for the most part, they won’t bite.

Since becoming involved with a couple of local galleries, I have learned how much it means for artists to be supported. I have mad respect for them. Several have reached out to thank me personally for acquiring their work. It is I who should be thanking them.

Their art does much more than just adorn the walls. It stimulates me to think and feel, which, in the end -- the noise and hullabaloo of the greater art world notwithstanding -- is the privilege of being human.

An abstract work in our collection
Pat Zinmeister Parker, "My Washing Machine is Broken" (2021)
 mixed media on canvas, 48 x 36 inches
Used by permission of the artist

NOTE: Special thanks to Marcia Hall, Bonfoey Gallery, Cleveland, for her kind assistance.