What makes a good art dealer
The other day a friend said I had benefited from an interesting life and that I should remember some of it. He explained that my son, now aged 8, may one day enjoy reading about it.
I thought about this proposition for a while and concluded that my life was not overly interesting but I had met some interesting people. I thought it might be interesting to write a little about them. Which is really writing about myself but indirectly.
As there are quite a few of these interesting people, deciding who to start with was not easy. If I started with one, and then became bored with the activity, I might miss the odd entertaining individual or so. This influenced my choice of choosing a strategy on where to begin. This strategy is revealed in the title of this essay 'What makes a ...?'. I decided to categorize by activity and then ask a question or two about the activity.
I have enjoyed (or not) professional relationships with a few art dealers. The best art dealer I ever knew was also the worst one. He was a very interesting dealer however.
North Gower Street.
In the summer of 1973 Jack Wendler held three exhibitions featuring young artists working in London. John Murphy, Darcy Lang and Bruce Robbins. As far as I know no photographic records or significant documentation exist of any of these three exhibitions.
The fact that not much material evidence of these exhibitions exists is germane, and it fits well with an aesthetic that was prevalent at that time. Loosely labeled conceptual art, this work embraced an ephemeral material presence. The format of these three shows could be loosely described as a type of art labeled conceptual.
As a gallerist Jack had a policy of buying a work from each exhibition he held, this way the artists was always paid something. As a side effect Jack and his wife Nell got new work for their private collection. As an art dealer rumour had it that he only sold one piece during the three years the gallery was open (1971-1974) yet a more trusted source informs me that he sold 10 works including one to Gilbert and George and one to Marcel Broodthaers.
John Murphy's piece consisted of four pieces of string, one in each corner of the small room that comprised the gallery space. John had some of his manuscript books laying around. These were books of loose musical staff sheets which John commissioned a bookbinder to bind as hard back books. I did own one of these for some time, I am not sure where it is now. I am not sure what happened to the string, I think longer pieces were installed at the home of Jack and Nell.
Darey Lange's work was a sequence of videos, the subject of which was sheep shearing in New Zealand. As far as I know some of these video tapes may still exist, at least in one form or another, but as it was a video installation a part of the experience would be missing. Jack and Nell added one of the tapes to their collection.
Mine comprised of a bound collection of photographs of the Gallery with some text dry rubbed onto the walls. The text was removed before the exhibition opened. The book of photographs could be anywhere or nowhere, I left it on the last train from London to Maidstone one evening and it was never recovered.
I had always wanted to make a piece specifically for the Wendler's house in Greencroft Gardens. The piece for the exhibition was specifically for the gallery and ceased to exist as soon as the exhibition ended.
Openings
The opening parties for each exhibition were a touch riotous. They were held on a Thursday evening. The one that stands out most in my mind was Darcy's. The sound of sheep baa-ing featured quite strongly in a video showing them being sheared. The sound of a very drunken Mario Merz, baa-ing on hands and knees, and Gilbert and George entering the room also baa-ing, individually loud enough to drown the sound of the ovines on video, makes an impression on the memory.
The London art world was manifest in a season of private views. Depending on which camp you were in depended on which opening parties you were invited to. They all provided wine and more importantly to catch up with friends, mainly other artists but also the odd academic, critic or curator.
London is big compared to other cities.
London is big compared to other countries.
The consequence of the size of London is that as a social construct, the London art world is also spread across a large area. The opening night party was a big event because it concentrated friends and others in a single space for a short period. When the opening closed they scattered only to then reconvene in the nearest pub.
Many galleries would whisk the artist and close associates of the gallery to a restaurant so as to spend the rest of the evening with the gallery owners and a few important cohorts.
The Wendler's had a different strategy. They took the artist out to dinner the night before the opening and invited everyone back to their house on the night of the opening. This gave an opportunity to see the Wendler’s collection and eat Nell’s wonderful food. It was also an opportunity to to get quite drunk and to meet some fairly interesting sorts.
The house
A year or two before I showed with Jack, I sent out an invitation to an exhibition in Maidstone. It was held in a derelict house. It had the same format as the subsequent North Gower St exhibition: letraset applied directly to the walls and a single bound catalog of photographs of the interior.
The photographs were black and white and all done under natural light so had a kind of grainy contrasty look. This look was simply a by-product of the location, the low cost photo paper available and the fast film stock. I did not aim for the look or contrive it but none the less I quite liked it.
The 'art design' for the shoot was done by the casual inhabitants of the house who used it while sleeping rough. I changed nothing and re-arranged nothing, the destitutes would leave an empty bottle here and arrange some newspaper based bedding there along with other organic things best not explored too closely. I did place a bit of temporary text on the walls which I later removed. I felt I should leave nothing nor take anything away.
I spent the day waiting for visitors. The varied vagrants who frequented the house did not stop by. I expected no visitors despite sending out invitations so I went home around 1.00 pm. I left the catalog there and noted that I had gone for lunch adding where I was to be found.
At 3.30 visitors called at my house. They had been to the exhibition at the derelict house. The visitors were Jack and Nell Wendler and Erika Fischer. Erika was the sister of Konrad Fischer another seminal gallerist who died in 1996 . I thanked them for visiting and offered them tea. We chatted a short while and after 30 minutes or so they set off back on the 30 mile drive back to London.
I was surprised that they enjoyed the exhibition. Later Jack invited me to join his Gallery. In retrospect I think it may have something to do with my style while being the gallery attendant for the exhibition. The process of sitting waiting for no one to arrive and then deciding to leave and go off for lunch may have had some resonance for Jack.
I visited Jack's Gallery often yet very rarely caught him in attendance. A handwritten note on the door would inform you that it was either in the Italian cafe across the road, or in the pub down the road, or the pub around the corner.
No matter what motivated him to invite me to show with him, to join a gallery that was at the center of everything I thought art should be was as good a start as any to the career of a new artist. There is no doubt that the Wendler Gallery was a major influence on art of the 70's and beyond. It was one of three decisive private London galleries that internationalised and fermented a significant art movement.
The Jack Wendler Gallery
What the gallery did for me and many of those who exhibited there was afford access to a world view. It was a particular view through the eyes of the early and late 60's early 70's art world. A world where art works were by intention contradictory and fugitive. As if their material presence was tainted and needed to be subverted, denied, destroyed, or at least reformed.
Many of the artists would later change their approach and make much more manageable commodities but, at this time, a feature of conceptual art was that it was just that: it existed above all else as a concept. The roots of conceptual art were; on one side of the atlantic minimalism and on the other surrealism.
The Wendler Gallery was interesting because it closed the continental divide by finding the common ground across the divide. This was that intangibility that existed between the idea embodied in the work and the material manifestation of the work. Indeed this gap was the subject matter of much of the work shown in the gallery at that time.
From the new world Doug Hubler said "The world is full of objects, more or less interesting; I do not want to add any more." From the old world Broodthaers made a video of himself orating at 'speaker's corner' in Hyde Park in which he not uttered a word. Broodthaers also made a silent film about how he planned to write something; 'La Pluie' (Projet Pour Un Texte) the subject of which was rain falling on his notepaper and washing away his words as he was writing them.
At that time the other common strategy for artists on both sides of the Atlantic was to create art as a result of process. Predicated in the desire of Marcel Duchamp to avoid 'retinal pleasure' by creating mechanical perspective and optical drawings. Sol LeWitt bridged minimalist and conceptualism using this procedure; he did it with works that were delegated to others to construct or not to be constructed at all.
Robert Barry looked at the unseen properties of objects rather than the object. Daniel Buren showed a painting that was dependent on the history of the gallery and that would in turn affect the meaning of future exhibitions held in the gallery. Incidentally, visitors to this exhibition would not have seen the painting unless they asked to do so. The photograph below is of Jack responding to such a request.
Most exhibitions at the gallery shared a sparseness on the visual front but were quite rich on the meaning side. At the time there existed two other galleries with a similar agenda, the Lisson Gallery run by Nicholas Logsdail and the Nigel Greenwood Gallery run by Nigel. The Lisson Gallery is still running strong, Nigel, who died in 2004, closed his gallery in 1992. Jack closed his gallery in 1974, three years after it opened.
The final exhibition at the Wendler Gallery was by Mario Merz. The work was formed from; the initial numbers from the fibonacci series in neon alongside photos of people arriving at the pub around the corner from the gallery. They arrived in the order of the series - 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21 ... I assume that while they were being photographed a note was at the door of the gallery saying "at the pub around the corner ".
The Pubs
Most of the pubs I met Jack in will have been closed now. I can not remember the names of them all. Aside from the two round the corner from the gallery there was the two near Jack and Nell's house. One close to the overground train station (one stop away from the gallery) was 'The pub'. There was also the 'Irish pub' nearby that Jack used as an alternative.
On Sundays both 'The pub' and the 'Irish pub' came into play. The former was where Jack first introduced me to Paddy Burns. He was one of the 320 Irish men who served with the International Brigades, a quarter of which were killed in action. Paddy was entertaining, full of knowledge and very funny. The 'Irish pub' was where Jack introduced me to Mac MacNamara an educated and garrulous chap with acres of anecdotes, he was also very funny in a Joycean sort of way.
Jack used 'the pub' as a place to stop for a pint on the way back from the gallery, sometimes he would invite me to join him. Sometimes I would just meet him there uninvited. Often he invited me back to his house to join himself and Nell and the kids for dinner. My love of the impromptu invite was no doubt bred from these occasions. Aided by the memory of Nell's cooking.
More than any restaurant, Nell introduced me to great food. She was also very entertaining and very funny, she entertained as she cooked. For her the kitchen appeared to be a place of calm and ease. When I cook these days and things get a little hectic I picture Nell's serenity at the stove as an antidote.
Meals at the Wendler's house were not short occurrences but the stage for much chat and much wine. Nell was also very sage, but she did not eat her sageness quickly, she percolated it late into the night. She scrambled brains as well as she did eggs. On occasion Jack took responsibility for pudding and had a tendency to make ice cream in the most theatrical way.
When I cook these days it is probably closer to a picture of Jack's pudding creation. Much thrashing with a large whisk in a stainless steel bowl, oh and the tinge of panic. I still like the ritual of the pre-meal trip to the pub. When working it provides unwind time and a chance to talk about anything or nothing at all, and on occasion an opportunity to invite someone back.
Willes Road
I used to drink in another one of Jack's old haunts the George IV in Kentish Town. This was my where my girlfriend (Joy) and I was looking after Marcel Broodthaers daughter, Marie Puck. It was during the time Marcel was working on a sequence of large European exhibitions.
The Broodthaers lived in a rented house on Willes Rd. Joy and I lived there while we warded Marie Puck. Jack and Nell had rented it previously and when they moved to Greencroft Gardens they passed it onto Marcel and his wife Maria.
Jack used to come around to visit his old haunt. The George IV was an Irish pub that ran an annual trip to only pub in the UK that the Guinness brewery owned. Something to do with a rule that a brewery had to own at least one pub to be able to trade its beer products. It amused Jack that all the clientele of the George went off to a Guinness house to then drink whiskey all night.
At that time I did not drink Guinness at all, it was not to my taste. Although I remember as a child, our housekeeper Mrs Allroyd, used to feed me a dry muffin and a glass of Guinness. This was when I was five and my mother entrusted me to her charge for the afternoon. The Guinness had the no doubt desired effect of inducing sleep. Lunchtime pints of the dark stuff still have this soporific influence, I just am not sure if it is now a desired effect or not.
Jack convinced me to try a pint of stout at the pub in Belsize Rd. that he had started to use. I could not manage more than two pints to start with but through much will and endurance I learned to like it. I have since drunk it regularly with great enjoyment.
A couple of years later, at the end of one evening in the Burlington Bertie in the company of; John Murphy, Roy Grayson and Stephen McKenna, we counted 64 empty pint Guinness glasses on our table, I thought we had only 56 pints but hey it's easy to go couple of rounds over the barrel. I am not sure how we developed an octal system of drinking stout but we continued to spent quite some time practicing it.
In those days there were two pubs in London that had their Guinness shipped over from Ireland. Mooneys in the Strand and Wards in Piccadilly Circus. Wards was a downstairs bar, smelled like urinal and was full of murderous types, but it did serve great Guinness.
I recall being in Wards one night when an Irishman with a good drink inside him, an empty pocket, a great tongue, the scars of multiple brawls and deep black stirrings engaged us. He started talking to Nell and I felt as though I should look out for her. I was a tad apprehensive and while not a shrinking violet when it came to conflict or violence there was no way I was keen to take such hulk on.
He asked Nell "what are you going to do to help a broken faced Paddy like me then?". The tough as he was Nell out toughed him. She did not patronize him but simply put him in his place and his submission acknowledged such. I told her that I had thought we were in trouble with him. "Fuck no" she said "I lived in New York, he's nothing to some of the guys you have to deal with there".
This Reminded me of an occasion Earlier stood outside of Gallery House, a venture that Sigi Krauss and Rosetta Brooks were curators off. It ran some groundbreaking exhibitions. It was the occasion when, after meeting him at his show in North Gower Street, I first got into conversation with Marcel Broodthaers. I asked him if he wanted to drink. Yes he said he would love one but as he had a serious liver complaint it was not an option.
Faux pas made I looked at a couple of familiar broads, Nell Wendler and Jan Craig-Martin (wife of Michael) and hinted that Nell could possibly ease me out of this quandary. She just replied 'Bruce, you only dig a hole to sit in it'. It then occurred to me that this is what New Yorkers are, not necessarily born natives of the city but residents who absorb and take on the qualities of the place.
Marcel Duchamp commented that American women were the most beautiful in the world. I think there is America and then there is New York - Damon Runyon eat your heart out. Smart, pragmatic, strong women; not seeking social equality just assuming it as of right. I think this was a blueprint for how modern people could learn to live together, something to do with the humid heat in the summer and the ice wind of the winter.
Ireland has a similar ability to permanently impregnate its properties within those who live there. Some 18th British Military type commented that the Irish leave Ireland but remain Irish for many generations whereas Brit lives in Ireland for a relatively short time and then becomes Irish forever. He thought this was something to do with the rain.
The combination of Guinness and banter has been a fairly consistent companion to me around the world. In pubs across England, Ireland, New York, even Johannesburg. With friends or strangers the opportunity to tell or listen to a tale, be interested, laugh and take everything not too seriously is well worth the price of a pint.
The Two Chairman
The pub is located in the heart of Trafalgar Square just around the corner from the Institute of Contemporary Arts. The main curator of the ICA in the seventies was Norman Rosenthal who went on to be the Exhibitions Secretary at the Royal Academy.
Memorable exhibitions at the ICA during this period were 'Art into Society; Society into Art: Seven German Artists' which was sort of hijacked by Joseph Beuys who talked to visitors about art and democracy while writing notes and diagrams on blackboards . Much more interesting was the show 'Eight Artists, Eight Attitudes' which included Jannis Kounellis , Antonakos , Lucas Samaras and Takis. Norman was awarded the Iron Cross and received a Knighthood, which were a pretty good combination as far as honors go.
Barry Barker curated an exhibition of mine at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in 1975. He was responsible for the exhibition program in the two upstairs galleries. I showed a series of collages comprising passages of text relating to the cultural significance of the Gallery alongside a floorplan of the rooms.
The two Upstairs Galleries in this beautiful Nash building were symmetrical, so the collages were apparently repeated, the distinction was the meaning of the texts, while appearing the same they were in fact direct contradictions of each other. The exhibition catalog also had a third version of the text, again apparently the same but contradicting the other two. By changing a verb or an adjective here and there the catalogue further contradicted the texts hung on the walls.
The following exhibition was of the surrealist artist Man Ray. Roland Penrose was involved in founding the ICA. At the time he was married to Lee Miller, the war photographer and Man Ray’s muse. In their haste to get the Man Ray exhibition up Penrose and Miller took my work off the walls a day before the show ended. When I visited the ICA to collect it it was not to be found.
Barry later discovered it discarded in a janitor's room torn, cracked, creased and fit for nothing. He arranged an insurance claim to compensate me for the loss of may artworks. It is amounted to £ 25 or so which is what he estimated to be the cost of the materials used. The assumption was I could then remake it. As it tooks months to produce the first eight panels, dry rubbed text and draftsmen pen drawings being time consuming activity, this was an insight into the perceived value of intellectual labour. I never contemplated remaking the work but instead went to the Two Chairman and bought a few drinks for friends.
Prior to the ICA exhibition I showed a prototype to Marcel Broodthaers, it was three similar looking political passages each with a very different meaning. I am not sure if his English caught all of the nuances but regardless he chided me for attempting to make political art. He mentioned how he was not pleased to have been in an exhibition entitled Art and Politics. He asked me if I had brought this work as a gift for him, I said he was welcome to keep it if he wished but this was not what it was planned for.
He kept it and gave me two works in exchange, one was a print (that I later sold to the critic Michael Newman) the other was a copy of the book ‘A Voyage on the North Sea’. Marcel was of the view that the latter was more interesting of these. In the book the leaves were uncut and the insides of the leaves were not printed. This was where he signed and dedicated the copy to me. The opening page warns the reader to beware before cutting the pages, in fact it goes on to forbid the act completely.
Broodthaers: I do not believe in film, nor do I believe in any other art. I do not believe in the unique artist or in the unique work of art. I believe in phenomena, and in men who put ideas together.
Broodthaers did one of his last great exhibitions at the ICA in the upstairs gallery titles 'Décor: A Conquest' in 1975. This made a good endnote to that period of exhibitions starting with the earlier performance by Beuys, in the main gallery downstairs.
Broodthaers open letter to Beuys (below) points out that the political power, that Beuys attributes to art, is in fact but magic or illusion.
Politique
Mon cher Beuys, Düsseldorf, le 25 sept. 72
Il y a longtemps, que je t’écrivis une lettre ouverte (juin 1968), Aujourd’hui, l’occasion de te faire signe, se précise. Je renoncerai cependant à ce véhicule. Les lettres ouvertes sont le plus souvent oblitérées par les négligences de plume et deviennent caduques avec le changement des circonstances. J’ai découvert dans un taudis délabré de Cologne qui était lui-même difficile à découvrit une lettre. Je l’ai déchiffrée, poussières et pluies ont effacé ici, quelques mots, là quelques phrases entières. Victime du travail chimique des pollutions, le papier où à peine, j’ai pu lire la signature de Jacques Offenbach est devenu si fragile que j’ai préféré recopier la lettre en gardant toutefois cette forme manuscrite pour montrer sur l’honneur écrit de mon écriture que cette lettre est véritablement authentique.
M.B.
Mon cher Wagner, Cologne, oct. 18…
Je viens de mettre la dernière note à la Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein. Et je suis loin de Tristan et Isolde. Et je sais que je m’en éloignerai encore. (Notes de musique) et — Oui et Non… qu’en dira la postérité ?… Peut-être… le doute m’assaille… Alors!… 1848, de 1849. Ton essai L’Art et la Révolution de… magie… politique… dont tu ne parais guère avoir conscience… La politique, de la magie ?… De la beauté ou de la laideur?… Messiah… Ha… Le drame musical, pour combattre la dégénérescence de l’Art serait la seule forme capable de réunir tous les Arts. Je suis peu d’accord avec cette position que tu assumes, en tout cas, j’exprime mon désaccord si tu inclus dans une définition de l’Art, celle de la politique… magie ?… Mon cher Wagner, nos rapports sont malaisés. Et sans doute, est-ce le dernier message que je t’envoie. (La lettre trouvée à Cologne semble indiquer que J.Offenbach ait renoncé à la faire parvenir à son destinataire). Le roi Louis II éconduit Hans H. de ses châteaux. Sa Majesté te préfère à ce spécialiste des compositions à la flûte. Je comprends, s’il s’agit d’un choix artistique. Mais cette passion que le monarque nourrit à ton égard n’est-elle pas également motivée par un choix politique ? J’espère que cette question te troublerai autant que moi. Wagner, à quelles fins servonsnous? Pourquoi? Comment? Pauvre artistes que nous sommes! Vive la Musique.
J. Offenbach
P.S. Un exemplaire en deux volumes du roman de Stendahl — Le Rouge et le Noir — (Levavasseur, Paris, 1830) gisait aussi pari les gravats répandus sur le plancher. Ni chaises — Ni table — C’est tout ce qu’il y avait sans cette mansarde. Je conserve précieusement ces reliques.
M.B.
[«Mon cher Beuys », lettre ouverte manuscrite en 3 langues, publiée en allemand sous le titre «Politik der Magie? » in Rheinische Post, Düsseldorf, 3 octobre 1972; reprise en fac-similé ainsi qu’en français et en anglais in Magie. Art et Politique, Paris, Multiplicata, 1973.]
The Plough
It is hard to underestimate the pivotal role that pubs played in the creative climate of the early 70's. The main art journal of the day, Studio International, was run from the Museum Tavern in Museum Street. It was replaced by Art Monthly (the main art journal of the 70's) which was run from the nearby Plough Inn. Jack and Nell were involved as founding publishers of the Plough based publication, Peter Townshend having left Studio joined Art Monthly as the editor.
Art schools were always a part of the London Art scene and much of the money earnt from part time lecturing ended up over the bar. The Plough was no exception but also provided a meeting place for different camps. Howard Hodgkin had a flat more or less above the Plough and a number of his generation of artists (late 60’s) such as Patrick Caulfield would drop by. John Murphy was at Chelsea Art school when this cohort were teaching there so it provided a link into 60’s. Michael Craig Martin and the Goldsmiths MA staff would bob in as would Bruce McClean and Charlie Hooker. So aside from these artistic academics meeting on the train from one art school stint to another the museum street pubs provided a meeting ground.
As a result of the closeness to Studio International and then Art Monthly to the Plough and the Museum Tavern, these pubs were where I was introduced to writers, critics and literary / arty types in general. As it was also the 'Gallery Pub' of my new art dealer, Barry Barker whose gallery was also located in Museum street. Barry opened his gallery after leaving the ICA. The Plough (or Pluff as we called it) was the pub where I got to know Peter Townshend a lot better. More of that interesting person later.
The Barry Barker Gallery, where I showed during the mid 70's, virtually lived in the Plough. The founding artists of the gallery were John Murphy and myself. Barry had an artist investor in the gallery who he gave a sort of vanity to show to. Aside from us I do not remember him having any other artists on his books for quite some time. He did later take on Roy Grayson which was not a bad choice.
Roy was a good friend of both John and myself, he was also our boss at Brighton School of Art where we all worked at the time.
The department that Roy was called 'Alternative Practices' and was for those who specialized in modes of production other than painting or sculpture. This included, film, photography, text, performance or almost anything. John and I once planned to run a life drawing class where the students would sit on donkeys. The only problem would be getting the donkeys up stairs to the life room as we intended to use beach, not beech donkeys.
John (Murphy) and I later encouraged Barry to give Stephen McKenna a show. Stephen was a very entertaining Irishman who married badly, more on this later. John described Stephen as looking dissolute and I found this a good reason to recommend him. He is a really lovely guy, very generous of spirit, sharp minded, witty and a really bad painter. For the show at Barry's he exhibited a painting after Rubens.
Stephen was friendly at the time with Maria Gillesen Broodthaers who described it as a painting of a Dusseldorf Prostitute. It was certainly a painting of a loose woman, the arms, legs breasts and head do not appear to be attached to the torso and appear as though they may drop off at any moment.
Unlike the Rubens where all parts look firmly attached.
The Barker Gallery was physically similar to the Wendler Gallery. In that it comprised one small room and it had an Italian cafe around the corner. Indeed it was located in the original office of Art Monthly when it was formed by Jack and Nell as publishers and Peter Townshend as editor. When the magazine took on more staff (they never had more than 2 I believe) they moved upstairs into a slightly bigger office.
John did the opening show at the Barker Gallery, I did the follow up. It was only due to run for a month but Barry did not have a replacement. Unlike Jack, Barry did make some sales. He also secured substantial backing, from Konrad Fischer who in addition to funding gave him the rights to broker a number of big league works by Andre, Lewitt etc. none of which he managed to shift.
Barry frozen, by fear of or something, did not really grab the bull by the horns as a gallerist but the funding allowed him to take Francesca (a former receptionist at the ICA) to some prominent restaurants. After a couple of years Barry moved out of the private sector and worked through public spaces which suited him much better. A lack of belief or passion for art is not an impediment in state funded institutions.
My show was visually a kind of homage to Broodthaers who had died earlier that year. The invitation tried to point this out but I suspect many missed that. Marcel once said to me people "Liked his images but did not understand his work at all". I can not really complain then if; my use of picture lights above panels of text and having a desk lamp the only forms of illumination were a touch misunderstood.
I thought of Marcel as a romantic yet hard boiled figure a l Raymond Chandleresque. A wisecracking, hard-drinking, tough private eye type, who was quietly contemplative and philosophical and enjoyed chess and poetry. The connections between Dulwich college and Marlowe house (named after Christopher Marlowe ) and the parallel to an avant garde French film hero were too good to miss in my view. Even if they were missed by the audience.
The dedication to an American pulp novel detective should have given the game away. Lemmy Caution was also the name of the hero in Godard's Alphaville.
Barry was taken to wearing a brown felt from Bates at the time. I sort of liked the seedy office PI connotation and contrived to enhance it in the way the office/gallery was decorated for the duration of the exhibition. Rosetta Brooks reviewed the exhibition for Art Monthly in Feb 1977, John McEwan wrote the review for the Spectator in March of that year.
Rosetta slated the show, she even went on about the small size of the room. When I next met her she was embarrassed by all of this. I told her truthfully that she did not need be, I liked her review, and that I thought it was intelligent and she understood my work very well, in fact much better than John McEwan's supportive piece. It was simply the matter of us disagreeing on strategy and having different agendas. She commissioned some very supportive and intelligent reviews of later works of mine for her influential magazine ZG (Desire Issue No7 1982).
One of the side effects of the Exhibition running for such a long time was that it became a place to meet people as they passed through London as well as somewhere to meet my friends before the pub opened.
Konrad Fischer and Rudi Fuchs spent a few days sitting in the exhibition chatting and waiting to go to the pub. Rudi bought the whole piece and one supplemental work on behalf of the arts council and for their collection. Konrad said I should visit him in Dusseldorf. which I did later that year
The Hallam Street Rugby Bar
Barry's wife worked for the BBC, they lived in a tiny apartment in a serviced block in Hallam Street, just around the corner from broadcasting house (it was connected to the corporation). In the basement was a bar dedicated to Twickenham. It was a very refined building with good 30's proportions and decor, a permanent porter. The apartments had bathrooms but no kitchen as it was expected residents would always eat out.
The Belgian collector Herman Daled visited London just after the exhibition ended so we went round to Barry's flat to view my work where he bought a number of pieces off Barry. On the way to meet them I went into a wine merchants in Hallam street and bought a very good claret to take round. In some respects the excellence of the wine was accidental, but Herman liked it and it may have oiled the sale.
As in backing horse I made the selection based on the name. Palmer as in Ch. Palmer, Margaux. I liked the spy (Harry Palmer) who featured in the Len Deighton books; played by Michael Caine. Since then I have often bought in, en Primeur, many vintages of Palmer Margaux and to date have never managed to sample any. It has been one of those wines that I have been lucky enough to sell at a profit before I had a chance to have it brought home.
Seven or so years later I visited Barry in Southampton, we stayed at the house he was renting. I made dry martinis using the snow from the garden to chill both gin and glasses. John Murphy was showing work at the John Hansard Gallery that Barry ran. While at his house I discovered that Barry had a piece of mine ("Elliptic") which was in the Arts Council touring show featuring the work Rudi Fuchs had bought. After all those years it surprised me to see it again. I assumed it was still with the Arts Council as the Languages Show was a traveling exhibition.
Marcel Broodthaers had told me of a strategy he used with all new art dealers. It was inspired by Dean Swift's 'Direction to Servants' which is a set of rules Swift drew up for servants to follow when out to 'rob, cheat and get the better of their masters'. Swift cautions on a trick as employed by a master to test the honesty of his staff.
It involved leaving a shilling placed within the house as though lost and then waiting for the under test servant to either return or pocket it. Thus showing their honesty or otherwise. I had not set such a trap for Barry but on seeing the missing work it reminded me of the shilling. Marcel said he always used this strategy when leaving works with dealers. He would slip in a small piece between other works as though it had been got there by accident.
Broodthaers told me that, with only one exception, every dealer he had ever worked with had appropriated the work without mentioning it. Every dealer, that is, except Jack. Marcels widow should have kept this in mind some years later when she fell out with Jack and Nell. It should be noted that Marcel once said "Yes Jack is a rich and therefore bourgeois and as such is prone to the traits of this class, but Nell is so rich she is immune to those failings".
Critical collecting
Jack's father and grandfather owned a carrousel company that manufactured fairground rides in the States this was the source of the inheritance that enabled him to become a collector. Nell’s great grandfather owned the first power company that made power from Niagara Falls, which they sold to both Canada and America. Her family were connected to the Newark Museum.
Nell also owned a lump of Grand Cayman which she described as having nothing but a street of banks, many abandoned cars and a harbor with heavy plant submerged at the bottom. The plant having fallen in while being unloaded and then abandoned. As well as a population of native fishermen, who made enough money to live from relatively few fishing trips and spent the rest of the time enjoying doing nothing, and bankers it was sparsely populated, had nowhere much to eat and drink. She thought it was very boring, I thought it sounded idyllic. One day I may go there.
Jack bought a piece of mine off Barry. It was one of my early fan pieces and I am not sure if he bought it because he liked it. He said he bought it because I had moved away from the look of Broodthaers and he wanted to encourage that move. He said he was hoping to see the same shift from John Murphy soon, alas on occasion John appears to have moved closer to this look rather than further away.
This idea of critical collecting was interesting to me. It points to the collector as an influencer of artistic direction. It had not occurred to me before then that collectors assume this responsibility. It may have been a bit naive of me not to notice that collecting art is a critical activity. Like most revelations once made it appears to be mind numbingly obvious.
Given the revelation that collecting art is a critical activity Jacks collection and what he had done prior to moving to London and opening his gallery, his way of working and his subsequent pursuits make more sense. I have often quoted Ted Power, an inventor and a prolific collector. Apparently when asked why he collected art Power said that "He liked the idea of spending money on useless things, and art fitted that description". Power was a founder of Murphy Radio which later sold to the Rank Organization.
Jack did not exclusively collect art without much material existence he collected other objects with much material presence. He had a MG TD, the classic British sports car. He bought a classic racing yacht, a Herreshoff H23, and maintained it prior to giving it to a museum. Both Jack and Nell had an eye for very nice art deco furniture, silver, and objet d'art. Neither were immune from the look of a beautiful object or the resonance it holds.
The Wendler collection was, and still is, interesting because it demonstrates the liking for artists as much as for art. "I do not believe in art. I believe in artists." is a quote from Marcel Duchamp that could also be used to describe the way Jack operated.
Greencroft Gardens
If the Plough was where you met writers Jack and Nell's house was where you met the artists as they passed through London. I first met Lawrence Weiner there, Jack once remarked that I was myself 'like Larry' complicated. I do not think this was intended as a compliment.
Lawrence is a real pain in the arse, but he is quite a good artist and quite entertaining so I did not mind being compared to him too much, many would have been really pissed off with it. As an example of the way Lawrence is complicated, he once remarked on a tattoo he had. It was a small red star on his forearm, Lawrence said "the one thing the bourgeoisie can not accept are tattoos".
I pointed out to Lawrence, that King George V had tattoos and although the bourgeoisie in France had played a big part in wiping out their monarchy the English bourgeois were very accepting of their monarchy. Many in fact aped Royalty in as far as they could. Further my father had assured me that many of his fellow naval officers bore tattoos, he had a tattoo of a swallow and an anchor.
Previously we had been discussing semiotics. Both of the icons included in my father's tattoos are available to semiotic de-construction. In naval tradition one (the swallow) designating the sailor had traveled 5,000 nautical miles the other (the anchor) that he had traveled crossed the Atlantic. This illustrates the kind of hyperbole that Lawrence and my complications engage us in. The mix of irreverence, academic pedantry, appropriateness and playfulness was not uncommon.
Another artist I met at Greencroft Gardens was the Californian John Baldessari a huge chap with a big sense of humor. Rudi Fuchs took delight in repeating these two anecdotes from John. Baldessari was on the plane as it was descended into Koln airport and remarked "Look this is the Germany of Beuys". He was also credited as coining the phrase "Beuys will be Beuys"; Both referring to Joseph Beuys, who is one artist who took himself very seriously.
One Sunday lunch at Greencroft Gardens had, Marcel Broodthaers, John Murphy and myself sat around the dining table. Nell was serving Japanese food and had provided chopsticks. Marcel stuck one in each ear. This may sound very schoolboy-ish but had us falling apart with laughter. Marcel was a very serious artist who in contrast to Beuys did not take himself too seriously. This was true of most of the Wendler's guests; there were exceptions but many did share a self deprecating humor.
The same was true of the Wendler's themselves. Both Jack and Nell were happy to make fun of themselves and their collecting. They had two Picasso prints hanging in the lavatory, one etching from the cubist period and one 'Artist and his Muse' etching that Jack said was possibly accredited as a Jean Cocteau forgery. They were not precious about the works in the collection. They lent to exhibitions freely.
The Carl Andre brick sculpture in the living room was not roped off the one in the Tate was. People occasionally walked over it, I unintentionally once danced over it. Their dog Lucy delivered the first two of a litter on a pre-revolutionary period Russian chair that was also the resting place for a number of Mario Merz table paintings.
There was no lack of respect for artists, it was just they treated art as a material object the same as any other object, not to be vandalized but not to be treated as an object of worship. I really like this view. Some artists should adopt this attitude in respect of their own work, and maybe more importantly to themselves.
Others
I'm just answering my own question. I worked with a number of art dealers. After Barry I joined the Robert Self Gallery (1975), along with Bruce McClain, Gilbert and George, Gerrard Hemsworth, John Hilliard, Victor Burgin and others. It did not have a gallery pub but we met for drinks in the 7 dials Club in Covent Garden.
The Self Gallery later became PMJ Self reflecting the backing of Princess Miriam of Johore. The opening exhibition was Bruce McClain. The princess, full title, Tunku Miriam binti al-Marhum Sultan Sir Ibrahim, was at the opening. At the time she was married to Barry Ryan (of the Ryan brothers the singing duo who had a hit with Eloise and were the offspring of the fifties pop vocalist Marian Ryan) .
On leaving the exhibition the Princess(MJ) returned shortly after announcing that her car would not start. Jack volunteered to give her a push and bump start her car. I think he was a bit surprised to find it was an automatic chauffeur driven Mercedes. I was standing outside the Haunch of Venison with the barrister and the driver behind Art Law, Henry Lidiate. I remarked that this was how the new world underestimated the resources of Eastern Royalty, I think the quip passed Henry by.
The PMJ Gallery disintegrated. There were a few shows of photographers and rumor had it that Robert Self ended up in prison for trying to sell artifacts stolen from graveyards.
I showed with Oliver Dowling in Dublin. He and his partner, the artist Cecil King, single handedly brought modern art to Dublin. Amongst others they showed the work of Michael Craig Martin. Dowling mainly showed Irish artists, Craig Martin was an American but had an Irish passport.
Rolf Ricke showed some work of mine. Ricke really enjoyed opportunities to debate art and worked closely with his artists, his was a very American perspective, and in this sense I found this very German. His father was put into a concentration camp during the war for selling books. It is easy to forget that fascist Germany was indiscriminate in whom it persecuted, having a bookshop, being Jewish, disabled or a gypsy could all take you to the same place. Knowing someone who has touched so closely reminds you of this fact.
Rolf Ricke also developed an interesting collection which found a good home across three German Museums. I enjoyed showing with in his Koln gallery, he was a passionate gallerist and an interesting guy. His gallery showed work across the Pop Art, Process Art, Conceptual Art and Minimal Art spectrum. He organised a lot of events in Koln and was a co-founder of Art Cologne which was one of the first Art Fairs. Indeed it was the first Art Fair I ever visited, John Murphy and I went there together in 1974 and delighted in the beer, sausages, lavatories and the curator Kasper Konig .
In 1982 I was with the Lisson Gallery. Nicholas Logsdail made his gallery successful and remains one of the strongest dealers in London. I still rather like Nicholas. Nicholas came to look at work when I was in Ireland, most of the time he sat by the fire (it was a very rambling cold house). I was doing the stables four times a day (feeding watering and mucking the horses out) I could not get Nicholas to come down the yard and look around for love nor money.
When horses are in training you can not really break their routine. One evening we were out for dinner, on returning and still formally dresses I went to the stables to feed and water the residents. Nicholas still on day three of his visit still refused to see our bloodstock I decided to ride one up to the house. Putting the snaffle on a bay mare I rode bareback through the demesne to the front door, pushed it open and rode into the front hall.
Nicholas hearing the clatter of hooves left the fire to find us circling in the hall, catching and detaching the edge of the Queen Anne stair case. "I'm not going to tell anyone in London about this" he said. I am not sure why he said this but it was always difficult to see into his mind.
His uncle, Roald Dahl, gave a speech at the opening of the new gallery when Nicholas returned it to Lisson Street in the 80's.
The speech referred back to how Nicholas as a young boy was interested in the painting that he owned. So far so good but then it went on to belittle Nicholas and make him out to be an idiot. I concluded that what I suspected from reading his books was true; Roald Dahl was a nasty sort. Maybe it was the reason Nicholas could run his two selves, the pragmatic and the passionate, these tendencies were not merged but parallel.
The Lisson had a gallery pub, the Brazen Head, the pub appears to have changed a bit in that it is billed on Google as a Pub showing live sport, offering no-frills dormitory accommodation upstairs. I am not sure of the significance of this change but in the late 60's, 70's and 80's the Lisson had its ups and downs and survived because it was fueled by Logsdail's true passion for art.
Burlington Bertie
In 1984 I held my last ever exhibition at the Edward Totah Gallery. The gallery was split between some of my large paintings and works by the Chilean surrealist painter Roberto Matta. I never saw this exhibition but John Murphy told me it worked well. Edward died 1997. The paintings from this exhibition and indeed all of my remaining works were stored by Totah at Momart. I suspect not much of them remain after the fire at Momart, one day I must check and see if anything survived.
The Burlington Arms was not the Totah Gallery pub alone but served a wider constituency of galleries, mainly those in Cork Street but also Anthony d'Offay. The d'Offay gallery held many interesting exhibitions and the openings provided a good excuse to fraternise before repairing the Burlington.
Cork Street and its environs was where the official London art world existed throughout the 70's. I always felt like an interloper and although I would speak to many of the gallerists, their artists and their visitors I never felt like a part of ‘that’ art world. I was very comfortable in this other world art spread (albeit thinly) across continents, an art world that the Wendler's brought to London with them.
Elsewhere in the world
Traveling to visit galleries, curators, critics and friends was a definite benefit of the job and an opportunity to bathe in other cultures. New York had some great bars where artists met. Ranging from Mickey Ruskin's Max's Kansas City , and 1 University Place, the Ear Inn on Spring St., and the Mud Club .
New York's big advantage is that it's dense, and you can walk more or less anywhere. The other strange thing is that everyone you met there, be they waitress, shop assistant or customer, was an artist in one form or another. This made New York like a big playground for creatives and so much fun.
On the down side I hung a few paintings at Mary Boon in New York. Mary Boon represented an aspect of the art world I found it very difficult. The speculative rational that her gallery promoted at that time did not sit well. The predominantly ‘art as a the form of commerce’ sentiment is a touch ugly. I was glad to finish the task of putting four paintings on the wall and getting out, never wishing to return.
On leaving I chose to rid the bad taste with a pair of martinis in the Spring Street Bar. While there a limo pulled up and a lady of indeterminate age, yet over 69, came in. Dripping diamonds and clad in sable she ordered a zombie, drank it with ease, then took another. She then slid off her stool as the chauffeur came in to guide her and eased back into the limo. Maybe she had also been hanging paintings somewhere nearby.
Other dealers
I spent a few days entertaining (or not) John Weber. I was friendly with respectable and worthy dealers such as; Nigel Greenwood, Nicola Jacobs, Kasmin, Paul Andriesse and Anthony Reynolds but I would never consider showing with any of them. I was also friendly with dealers such as Michael Werner and Richard Bellamy where I would have been happy to hang work on their walls given the chance.
After 1984 I only went to see exhibitions in private galleries if they were of the work of close friends. I did however visit many museums concentrating on one or two works per visit. I kept the best of the 1970's dealers as my friends, I have not seen Nicholas Logsdail for some time but we were never that close.
So what makes a good dealer? An easy question to answer, a passion for art and or artists. Which dealer would I most like to revisit the art world for, meet for a beer and chat, again easy question. If I ever get to San Francisco I will look him up and do just that. By any criteria he made a good dealer, perhaps the best I have known. Was this despite the fact that his gallery was short lived or perhaps because of it.
Cheers
