Memories of an art collector E-Book

Jorge Helft

• Herausgeber: Senda Florida
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 148

Beschreibung

Memories of an Art Collector arises from the need to gather, organise and disseminate the experience, memories and reflections of Jorge Helft as a collector of contemporary art, manager and promoter of cultural activities, and as a privileged witness of the national art scene since the late 1940s. Different aspects of his rich background are revealed in the intergenerational dialogue he establishes with the co-author, in which he reviews his main collections, his interest in and support for fundamental Argentine artists —such as Grete Stern, Antonio Berni, Líbero Badii, Clorindo Testa, Alberto Heredia, Edgardo A. Vigo, Jorge de la Vega, Alberto Greco, Juan Carlos Distéfano, Víctor Grippo, Pablo Suárez, Liliana Porter, Graciela Sacco and Guillermo Kuitca— and his close ties with other collectors, managers, key players and personalities from the international art scene over the course of four decades. The book is aimed at anyone interested in the behind-the-scenes of art management and art collecting in the last century. The reader will find here a fluid, personal and entertaining narrative that weaves anecdotes, memories and thoughts into a valuable testimony.

Leseprobe

Jorge Helft

Magalí Saleme

Memories of an Art Collector

© 2023. Senda Florida

Spain

ISBN 978-84-19596-66-6

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher or the copyright owners.

I would like to dedicate my part of this text to my wife Sylvie. Since we met, more than 21 years ago, her broad general culture with emphasis on music (she has diplomas in choral and orchestra, in addition to being a singer) led her to fully understand the passion I had not only for music and opera but even more so for the visual arts. This allowed us to share the strong emotion that enables a sheet of paper or a canvas to acquire the magical power only art produces. Together we’ve built up a collection admired by connoisseurs. Our life, often in houses with limited space, led us, for insurmountable reasons, to concentrate our collecting towards small or limited formats. By the way, this limitation never prevented us from surrounding ourselves with masterpieces. Without her support and dedication, without a certain fanaticism shared by me, we wouldn’t have been able to build such a singular and coherent collection like the one we have today.

Jorge Helft

Index

Foreword | 6

1. A semantic problem | 9

2. Collecting and family history | 18

3. Informal education | 25

4. Jorge and Marion Helft Collection | 31

5. Jorge and Sylvie Helft Collection | 44

6. Peripheral activities | 52

7. Collectors I have met | 70

8. Key players from the art world | 86

Acknowledgments | 98

Dossier of images | 99

Foreword

This book was born thanks to a hazardous affinity. As a young master›s thesis student in search of cases for a research project on art collecting, by the end of the year 2018 I found myself reading Con pasión. Recuerdos de un coleccionista (Jorge Helft: 2007). I must say it immediately grabbed me. First of all, it’s not usual to find books written by collectors in the first person. But what really caught my attention was his humor, warmth and honesty in addressing topics ranging from the most traumatic experiences to the greatest delights. I thought “I like this guy”. So I decided that my master’s thesis would focus on the Jorge Helft collection, which other contemporary art collectors often described as a major reference (“a lighthouse”, “a model” and “the first modern collection”). I looked for previous studies on the subject, and I was surprised to find almost nothing had been done. I then contacted Jorge and Marion to verify the feasibility of my project and was thrilled by the kindness and generosity of two people my grandparents’ age. From the very first moment they opened their doors to me and did not object to my countless requests for information about works, years, techniques and other details. I met two exceptional people, who also gave me their blessing to carry out my thesis.

I soon discovered that among the reasons why Jorge had occupied such a relevant place in the history of private art collecting in the second half of the 20th century in Buenos Aires were both a sustained commitment to public-private articulation in artistic initiatives  which included, for example, his participation in state and private institutions in the country and abroad-and a particular liking and support for renovating languages that were aligned with some of the international trends that prevailed in that period at the institutional level. Likewise, a disposition maintained over several decades to facilitate access and deepen cultural dissemination within our country, as well as abroad. 

I enjoyed every conversation with Marion and Jorge and perhaps that is why, after a year of research, Jorge suggested to write together a book about his work as a collector. These conversations took place between the end of 2020 and the beginning of 2021, amidst the COVID-19 outbreak, so we couldn’t meet personally (he lived in France, I lived in Buenos Aires). Nevertheless, we felt that we knew each other, perhaps because of that random improbable affinity between a twenty-year-old woman of Lebanese origin, who attended an Italian school, and a eighty-year-old French-Argentinean of Jewish origin who was educated in an American school. 

A few months later I accepted the proposal and we began to work. I was concerned about two issues: the repetition of what had already been said in his first book and the problem of the narrator. The repetition of issues addressed in his first book was not an inconvenience to Jorge, so it no longer was an inconvenience to me.

The second issue was more complex: since it was going to be written by collector and researcher, what exactly would be my role? And what would be his role? After shuffling through some possibilities together, I suggested we should replicate what we’d done in our previous meetings. That is, the book would be a series of interviews but, unlike the ones we had done for my thesis (where I guided the matter by asking about the topics that were relevant to my work), this time he would put together a table of contents and we would shape the chapters around each particular topic. The result is Memoir of an art collector. Conversations with Jorge Helft, which I hope collectors, art lovers and all the reading public can enjoy and value as a worthy testimony.

Magali Saleme

1A semantic problem

“Art is something much more transcendent, that approaches the sacred, and if you don’t grasp that special peculiarity, you don’t have the slightest chance of understanding what we are talking about”.

JH: I’d like to start by stressing the importance of the semantic problem. I think it’s fundamental to define clearly from the very beginning what we’re talking about when we talk about art. Most people think that a painting is art, that a print is art, that a sculpture is art. I believe that a painting sufficiently remarkable for having been bought by a museum may or may not be art. It depends on who’s looking at it. One out of a hundred paintings hanging in a museum may or may not be art to me. The others are paintings. Period. Something similar happens with the lexicon: there are thousands of painters that are not really artists. They produce paintings, but not art. I know that my position is arbitrary and that it may be seen as not very nice. However, I feel that calling anyone who paints an artist leads to many misunderstandings. The true artist (in my opinion) has the “magic” to turn an image into something almost sacred that goes far beyond a simple representation.

Halfway through my training in visual arts, I had the good fortune to delve into what Marcel Duchamp taught us. For me, this is his most important contribution to the history of art: he redefined what art is. With that single concept he taught us that what one person considers as art is not necessarily so for another person. We knew it, but no one had ever said it.

MS: A definition focused on the particularity of the link between the artist’s work and the individual perception…

JH: Yes. In 1912, Duchamp dared to throw all the previous voluminous theories out the window and said that for something to be art it must produce an “aesthetic echo” in the spectator. Thus, he admitted that it’s the viewer who ultimately determines whether something’s art or not. That too had always been obvious, but no one had ever said it. This brilliant concept is identical to what Borges wrote: “The author proposes, but it’s the reader who decides”. Brilliant. A book that is great for one reader may not interest another reader.

MS: So the “aesthetic echo” is given by free choice?

JH: Well ... Duchamp admitted that he found it difficult to define with precision what the «aesthetic echo» really is. He said that it seemed to him something similar to what a believer is supposed to feel when he prays (since he was not a believer and neither am I, this definition hardly clarifies the question). He also said that the “aesthetic echo” is similar to the feeling, the vibration, the emotion that we feel when we meet another being with whom we share certain affinities, which may be intellectual, sports-related, sexual, etc. He clarifies that it’s not exactly equivalent, but it’s similar. Molière or Borges can deeply impress one person and bore another. That doesn’t make them better or worse, that doesn’t mean they produce masterpieces or not. We can say the same thing about a Brahms’ symphony. It can enchant us as background music. It can bore us. Or it can move us if we give it the proper attention.

MS: Then the “aesthetic echo” is a subjective affinity and, therefore, there’s no sense in trying to build hierarchies of values or in claiming universal legitimacy ...

JH: Of course, Duchamp says so: it’s not a name that you have to like. The main thing is whether the work says something to you or not. For example, I’m very interested in Picasso’s work, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t consider that he painted hundreds of paintings that don’t interest me in the least.

What artist can claim to have thrilled us with everything he produced?

To try to make a work produce an “aesthetic echo” in ourselves, we must spend time, a lot of time. To look is not to see. It is not the same thing to look at a work for the first time, than to look at a work we already know. Kandinsky thought that the aesthetic echo is more easily achieved with a work when you have already achieved it previously with that same work. If we want to know it in depth, it’s crucial to dedicate a few minutes with great attention. That first time, or maybe the following ones, new details will appear, new harmonies, new reasons for us to be moved (or the other way around, to stop being interested). The same thing happens with literature. I read the seven volumes of In Search of Lost Time, by Proust, twice (an undertaking that took me several months). The first time I was 17, the second time I was over 40. Did I read the same books? Not at all. They were two very different experiences.

MS: You don’t bathe twice in the same river ...

JH: That’s right. And the art spectator has an enormous advantage compared to other audiences, such as music listeners. He can rest, concentrate on some detail according to his own interest, look again at the work as a whole. Walk away. Get closer. With music, none of that’s possible. If you haven’t heard or retained a phrase, too bad. You will have to wait until the next time you listen to the same piece to fully grasp it. That is why contemporary music (today we say new music) is much more difficult than contemporary art. We must not forget, however, that music comes to us through the talent of a performer (or lack thereof). Most of the time, the composer presents his work through the writing of a pentagram, a system that’s not only from the Middle Ages but also not very precise (in the last seventy years, many composers have modified or replaced it): what we hear depends in large part on the interpreter. On how he feels. On how he has understood the indications from the composer, on how he interprets his numerous indications. Just as with visual arts, the interpretation of a certain piece of music can move us and give us an aesthetic echo as long as we devote all our attention to it, while other music does not even interest us ... Going back to the visual arts, it’s important to learn to see, to detect in which ways the work we’re looking at may have been transformed over the centuries. As this requires the knowledge of a specialist, reading and study can help a lot to “know” the truth: few ancient works have come to us even close to what the artist painted. The various restorations, repaintings, cuttings, and modifications of the composition, among other processes, force us to decide if what we have in front of us will be able to give us an aesthetic echo, despite being quite far from what the artist intended to express.

Here I will elaborate a little more, if I may, but I would like to share two examples (although there are hundreds): these are two undisputed masterpieces that on numerous occasions have given me remarkable aesthetic echoes despite being far from what two geniuses of Western painting have bequeathed to us. First I choose The Marriage at Cana by Veronese, one of the major works of this colossus of the 16th century Venetian art. Located in the Louvre, just a few meters away from the Mona Lisa (whose fame and subsequent presentation prevent any emotional contact with her numerous admirers), it’s a work that has been mistreated by men and women, especially since the end of the 18th century, when it was moved in infamous conditions from San Giorgio Maggiore to the Louvre. It measures 6.77 by 9.94 meters. It’s composed of six strips of cloth sewn vertically as best as possible with very tight stitches. Despite the utmost care, when the canvas began to “belly up” it was nailed from the surface to the stretcher in three horizontal lines. The nail heads were concealed as best as possible with layers of plaster and then painted. The canvas was torn from the stretcher to roll it up, and it broke horizontally where it had been nailed. These tears altered the beautiful blue sky, the balustrade in the middle and the characters below. The details of the transport make our blood run cold. The enormous roll was moved several times until it reached its destination, where the restoration took months of work. One of the many manipulations at this stage was the decision to cut the canvas vertically down the middle and reattach it to two frames. It’s documented that paint chips were lost. Later, once in its new place, Napoleon gave the order to take it to another room in the Louvre. Much more recently, during a restoration, I was told by those in charge that the enormous canvas leaning against a wall fell forward. In its path was a chair that pierced the canvas and the resulting “seven” (an angled cut) had to be stitched and repainted. And in spite of all this, what a wonderful painting it is!!!!

My second example is Rembrandt’s most famous painting: The Night Watch. Its title was given to it in the 19th century. It’s one of those paintings revered by many generations, and it justifies a trip to Amsterdam just to see it up close. By the way, we can add that the Rembrandt Research Committee (the international entity that brings together the most expert scholars on Rembrandt recognizes today as authentic less than half of the works  that were certified as such before World War II. Two more “details” about the mentioned painting. During a cleaning a few years ago, while removing some of the thick layer of varnish, the restorers realized that it was more of a “day watch”. For over a century we had been assured that the walk in question took place at night. Part of the error was due to Rembrandt himself, who mixed bitumen with his oil paint to achieve the texture he desired. This bitumen had darkened over time and gave the impression of a night. But that’s not all: in 1975, a visitor cut the painting 12 times with a knife. In 1990, another visitor threw concentrated sulfuric acid on it. Finally, a few months ago, two vertical strips 60 centimeters wide belonging to the painting were found in the basement of the museum ... The paintng had been cut in the early 18th century to move it to the Town Hall, where the doors were too narrow. Today, restored by the most modern techniques, it continues to give us (at least to me) aesthetic echoes. Meanwhile, other paintings considered masterpieces by many leave us completely cold or simply do not interest us.

Returning to the main point, I insist on my interest, or rather my passion, for Duchamp. Instead of going through the theories of all those voluminous books written by famous art historians, he threw them all away and limited himself to two or three fundamental concepts that explained everything thoroughly. It’s so evident that the emotions of each being are different ...

MS: I’m interested in what you’re saying because Duchamp is usually considered one of the fathers of contemporary art, but the notion of “aesthetic echo”, at least in your terms, would seem to have more to do with the sensory ...

JH: Art was born to move us. In order to achieve this, it must appeal to our heart, to our sensibility and to our brain. All art for me has both components: emotional and intellectual, obviously in very different degrees. I imagine that, in its time, Masaccio’s last painting hanging on a church’s wall in some neighborhood of Florence may have had some conceptual feature for the parishioners (perhaps they recognized the artist’s last girlfriend, disguised as Saint Augustine?). Duchamp’s urinal today has managed to bring me some emotional enjoyment, even though I don’t deny that its conceptual message is much greater. In my current home I have invested two months of my time to make installation tests for Duchamp’s Bottle Rack (1914) (of which I have a false copy given to me by a stranger) so that it manages to tell me something.

And, if you allow me, I want to go back to something you said. Evidently, it’s customary to describe Duchamp as the father of conceptual art. I won’t deny it. But when studying him in depth, it should be noted that all of his experiments with movement, with kinetics, are mostly visual. And let’s think for a moment about what may be his greatest work: Étant donnés