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Achin' for Eakins? Count me out
Robert Zaller
Achin' For Eakins? Count me out
ROBERT ZALLER
It’s a cautionary tale: A latter-day Cruella De Vil in the person of Alice L. Walton, the Wal-Mart heiress, blithely waves the family’s ill-gotten millions in the face of a needy, or perhaps simply greedy, local institution that happens to be the custodian of The Gross Clinic— the treasure that, even more than the Rocky statue, defines Philadelphia’s civic heritage— and proposes to decamp with it to Bentonville, Arkansas to delight the local booboisie. Cries of outrage on every side: from city fathers; from art historians and town preservationists; from Philadelphia’s newspaper of record; even from Jefferson University alums. The community mobilizes, the citizens march, cash is raised. A heroic effort is made to keep Dr. Gross hanging on his wall.
It’s the stuff of a Jimmy Stewart movie. And make no mistake about it: No accident here. It’s the same Ms. Walton— Cruella to you— who just walked off from the New York Public Library with Asher Durand’s Kindred Spirits, a painting that defines the Big Apple no less than the The Gross Clinic does Philadelphia. The lady isn’t just interested in collecting trophy art. She wants to break hearts. It’s the Wal-Mart way.
Why root for Alice Walton?
So why do I hope she gets away with it? Why do I hope that, if Philadelphians actually raise the $68 million in ransom for The Gross Clinic, Lady Alice simply doubles the price? (Not beyond the realm of possibility, either: Recent auctions have fetched such sums for not-so-Old Masters, and even more.)
Mind you: of course, The Gross Clinic belongs in Philadelphia. Of course it will be a cultural atrocity if the painting leaves town. Personally, though, I’m loving every minute of it. No city could deserve the shaft more.
Ms. Walton is trying to make off with a single painting. Philadelphia is trying to steal an art collection from its closest neighbor that, at today’s runaway prices, is worth no pittance of $68 million, but probably in excess of $30 billion. It’s trying to do it, moreover, not merely with money, but with lies, conspiracy, defamation and fraud.
I refer, of course, to the collection of the Albert C. Barnes Foundation.
Lies and conspiracies
Lies? How about the whopper that the Foundation can’t pay its bills, while the hired guns running it won’t even charge the legally-permitted admission fee so they can run up the red ink?
Conspiracy? How about allocating $107 million in the 2002 state capital budget to move the Barnes before any petition to do so was filed by its trustees?
Defamation? How about invoking the 1871 Ku Klux Klan statute to smear the Barnes’s neighbors with slanderous charges of racism?
Fraud? How about concealing the fact of the state appropriation from the judge before whom the petition to move the Barnes was heard, and misstating in court papers the Foundation’s actual operating deficit by a factor of at least 100%?
What does Philadelphia deserve?
I make my living in Philadelphia. I root for the local teams. I’m proud to be part of the community where American independence was born. I grieve for the senseless violence that plagues it, for the abuse and neglect of its children. I hope for its future, and try to contribute my own mite to it.
But Philadelphia deserves to lose The Gross Clinic. It deserves to feel what it’s like to be on the other end of grand larceny. It deserves the feel the pain it is inflicting on its neighboring township, and the arrogance of those who want to steal another community’s treasure because, in the immortal words of the Barnes’ former director, Kimberly Camp, “they just want it.”
Well, Philly, Alice just wants it, too. After all, what’s a girl to do with all those millions? And who are you to complain about a rip-off?
Look on the bright side. The Barnes trustees still need $100 million to pull off their move. If Alice digs a deep enough hole in the city’s pockets, perhaps the Barnes trustees won’t get it. Then, also perhaps, Lower Merion can keep its 181 Renoirs, 69 Cezannes, 60 Matisses, 44 Picassos, etc., where they belong. And Philadelphia can hang on to its precious Eakins. At least until the next Miss Moneybags shows up at Jefferson’s door.
To view responses, click here.
To view a response by Gresham Riley, click here.
To view a response by Patrick Hazard, click here.
To view other commentaries on The Gross Clinic, click here and here and here.
ROBERT ZALLER
It’s a cautionary tale: A latter-day Cruella De Vil in the person of Alice L. Walton, the Wal-Mart heiress, blithely waves the family’s ill-gotten millions in the face of a needy, or perhaps simply greedy, local institution that happens to be the custodian of The Gross Clinic— the treasure that, even more than the Rocky statue, defines Philadelphia’s civic heritage— and proposes to decamp with it to Bentonville, Arkansas to delight the local booboisie. Cries of outrage on every side: from city fathers; from art historians and town preservationists; from Philadelphia’s newspaper of record; even from Jefferson University alums. The community mobilizes, the citizens march, cash is raised. A heroic effort is made to keep Dr. Gross hanging on his wall.
It’s the stuff of a Jimmy Stewart movie. And make no mistake about it: No accident here. It’s the same Ms. Walton— Cruella to you— who just walked off from the New York Public Library with Asher Durand’s Kindred Spirits, a painting that defines the Big Apple no less than the The Gross Clinic does Philadelphia. The lady isn’t just interested in collecting trophy art. She wants to break hearts. It’s the Wal-Mart way.
Why root for Alice Walton?
So why do I hope she gets away with it? Why do I hope that, if Philadelphians actually raise the $68 million in ransom for The Gross Clinic, Lady Alice simply doubles the price? (Not beyond the realm of possibility, either: Recent auctions have fetched such sums for not-so-Old Masters, and even more.)
Mind you: of course, The Gross Clinic belongs in Philadelphia. Of course it will be a cultural atrocity if the painting leaves town. Personally, though, I’m loving every minute of it. No city could deserve the shaft more.
Ms. Walton is trying to make off with a single painting. Philadelphia is trying to steal an art collection from its closest neighbor that, at today’s runaway prices, is worth no pittance of $68 million, but probably in excess of $30 billion. It’s trying to do it, moreover, not merely with money, but with lies, conspiracy, defamation and fraud.
I refer, of course, to the collection of the Albert C. Barnes Foundation.
Lies and conspiracies
Lies? How about the whopper that the Foundation can’t pay its bills, while the hired guns running it won’t even charge the legally-permitted admission fee so they can run up the red ink?
Conspiracy? How about allocating $107 million in the 2002 state capital budget to move the Barnes before any petition to do so was filed by its trustees?
Defamation? How about invoking the 1871 Ku Klux Klan statute to smear the Barnes’s neighbors with slanderous charges of racism?
Fraud? How about concealing the fact of the state appropriation from the judge before whom the petition to move the Barnes was heard, and misstating in court papers the Foundation’s actual operating deficit by a factor of at least 100%?
What does Philadelphia deserve?
I make my living in Philadelphia. I root for the local teams. I’m proud to be part of the community where American independence was born. I grieve for the senseless violence that plagues it, for the abuse and neglect of its children. I hope for its future, and try to contribute my own mite to it.
But Philadelphia deserves to lose The Gross Clinic. It deserves to feel what it’s like to be on the other end of grand larceny. It deserves the feel the pain it is inflicting on its neighboring township, and the arrogance of those who want to steal another community’s treasure because, in the immortal words of the Barnes’ former director, Kimberly Camp, “they just want it.”
Well, Philly, Alice just wants it, too. After all, what’s a girl to do with all those millions? And who are you to complain about a rip-off?
Look on the bright side. The Barnes trustees still need $100 million to pull off their move. If Alice digs a deep enough hole in the city’s pockets, perhaps the Barnes trustees won’t get it. Then, also perhaps, Lower Merion can keep its 181 Renoirs, 69 Cezannes, 60 Matisses, 44 Picassos, etc., where they belong. And Philadelphia can hang on to its precious Eakins. At least until the next Miss Moneybags shows up at Jefferson’s door.
To view responses, click here.
To view a response by Gresham Riley, click here.
To view a response by Patrick Hazard, click here.
To view other commentaries on The Gross Clinic, click here and here and here.
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