December 23-29, 2004

slant

Bad Move

Why we shouldn't relocate the Barnes Foundation collection.

by Christine M. Flowers

Ah, the proletariat. We in this democratic society have always praised the virtues and promoted the rights of the common man (and woman). Unlike the Europeans, who gave us the Enlightenment and its egalitarian ideals while harboring a preference for the elite classes, Americans take as our role models the self-made, unpretentious figures immortalized by Frank Capra, who became succesful despite, and not because of, the establishment. In fact, our favorite presidents -- like Lincoln and Truman -- have been brilliant but folksy men of the people. On the other hand, those like Wilson and Bush the Elder, who were clearly well-qualified but a bit too remote, were respected, not loved. We tend to abhor snobbery unrelated to merit and look down our noses at inherited wealth, inherited title and inheritance in general.

The greatest good for the greatest number, we say. And this seems to be what Judge Stanley Ott was thinking last week when he ruled that the Barnes Foundation's collection could be moved from its current location on the Main Line to a site within the city limits.

Not surprisingly, there have been hosannas of praise from editorial boards, art aficionados, city boosters and those who feel that the magnificent collection of Impressionist art should be made available to a wider audience. It's as if they were all saying, "Let's liberate the collection from the prison in which it has been held captive by the mean elitists, and give it back to the common man!" A latter-day storming of the Bastille, so to speak.

Those who supported the move cited a litany of undeniable facts: that it was extremely difficult to gain admission to the gallery, that parking and hours were problematic, that the paintings were not displayed to their best effect (no offense, Dr. Barnes), and that the continued financial survival of the institution was imperiled. Only the last argument had any real merit, and it was probably the one that swayed Judge Ott.

Those who fought desperately to keep the Barnes in Lower Merion had only one real argument, and they kept repeating it over and over again: Dr. Barnes' wishes must be respected. It was, after all, his bequest, one which he had struggled mightily to create. The doctor left no doubt as to his wishes; the masterpieces that he had painstakingly gathered in a lifelong pilgrimage devoted to art were to be displayed exactly as he wanted, in the location that he had chosen, for the purpose that he elected, i.e., instruction. If he had wanted the world to see the paintings and other works of art, he could have sold them to the Philadelphia Museum of Art (a famous rival) or moved the collection himself during his lifetime. Instead, he never wavered in his plan, and for this reason alone the Barnes became the unique jewel that we have come to appreciate.

Well, most of us, anyway. In the name of expediency and some mistaken sense of fairness, some people have decided that Dr. Barnes' legacy should be sacrificed. It is highly unlikely that the irreplaceable, quirky charms of the collection will be capable of reproduction in another site. Sure, an exponentially greater number of people will be able to troop through its new corridors, filling our public coffers with tourist booty and making our city fathers that much happier. But the true beauty of the collection will be forever lost, its soul extinguished.

And what of the sanctity of wills? Precious little attention has been given to the fact that Dr. Barnes' clear and unambiguous testament has been at best ignored and at worst shredded into unrecognizable tatters. Judge Ott's decision completely ignores the sacrosanct ability to distribute our earthly goods according to our own desires. And for what purpose? To counter the effects of racism, as was argued when Stephen Girard's will was gutted? No. Dr. Barnes' last wishes were nullified because beauty and justice usually lose when they engage in a battle with powerful special interests. In this case, Machiavelli won the day, with the end (tourist dollars) justifying the means (destroying Dr. Barnes' vision).

So, the proletariat has won. The throngs will be able to visit the collection without having to be inconvenienced by making appointments or taking public transportation to the suburbs, and the city will revel in its new source of revenue. Power to (some of) the people. For the rest of us, it's a very cold day.

Christine M. Flowers is a lawyer. If you would like to respond to this Slant or submit your own (800 words), contact Duane Swierczynski, Editor in Chief, City Paper, 123 Chestnut Street, Third Floor, Phila., Pa., 19106 or e-mail Duane Swierczynski.