Why is it considered unethical for nonprofit or public sector museums to sell art, except for cases when the proceeds will be directly used to acquire new art? At the Art Law Blog, Donn Zaretsky points out that if a private collector decided to open a space to display some art he owns to the public, but later decided to sell some of it, for whatever reason, it would be hard for anyone to object. But if the collection becomes a nonprofit museum… :
One answer some might be tempted to give is that becoming a museum carries with it certain tax benefits, which in turn brings the ethics rules into play. But that seems odd to me. I can understand the argument that those tax benefits carry with them certain obligations — the museum must be generally open to the public, everything it does must be for the public benefit (so using sales proceeds to pay for the founder’s kids to go to college would no longer be possible), and so on. But how do you get from there to a commitment to the deaccesioning-to-buy-more-art-good, deaccessioning-for-any-other-reason-bad museum “ethics” rules. Those rules are the rules of a private organization (the AAMD) that seems to think they make sense for some reason. They don’t flow naturally from the fact that an institution is tax-exempt. (Tax-exempt artist foundations like the Warhol Foundation, for example, sell work and use the proceeds to fund their operations all the time, and no one thinks there’s anything wrong with that, nor should they.) So how is it that calling yourself a museum automatically brings them into play? I’ve never seen a good answer to that question.
In the past (here and here) I have tried to make the case that the sanctions on deaccessioning might be a useful discipline device for the board over management; managers will know that should they make poor financial decisions, exercise lax fiscal control, selling art will not be an option for bailing them out of their misjudgments. This doesn’t seem to convince many people, so let me venture another possibility (on twitter yesterday I asked why academics tend to go for such hesitant titles for papers, like ‘Toward a Framework for a Theory of X’, instead of ‘A Theory of X.’ And I’m about to do just that, sorry).
In large, complex nonprofit organizations, in the long run, what determines the general direction and structure of the institutions? Formally, it is the Board of Trustees. But the framework for how the organization works is determined by the specialized talent that does the primary ‘knowledge work’ of the organization. In hospitals, this could be said to be the physicians (A classic (1970) economic analysis on nonprofit organizations, from Joseph Newhouse, models the nonprofit hospital recognizing this explicitly, such that the outcomes of the hospital sector are driven by the preferences of the doctors). In universities, it would be the permanent faculty; although faculty will sometimes complain that they have become further divorced from important decision-making in the university, the structure and character of the modern research university, including its defining policies regarding tenure and academic freedom, result to a degree from faculty preferences and influence over what a university ought to be.
And in major art museums? By analogy this would be the curatorial staff, and museum directors largely (though not exclusively) come from this world (as most university presidents began in the faculty ranks, and hospital CEO’s are physicians). So, suppose we went to the world of art history and the curatorial staff to find out their thoughts on deaccessioning policy, what do you think we would hear? Again, I am just speculating here, but I am imagining we would hear about the sanctity of preservation of the collection as it stands (except to acquire new art), and that selling art for other purposes such as building, or debt reduction, would be out of line. This is of an importance to them that is greater than would be understood by a layperson. Don’t think of the AAMD and rules of deaccessioning as something they thought up in the abstract; ask the background of the individuals who inform AAMD policies. (Related: ask doctors, professors, curators, how they feel about the appointment of a CEO that does not come from within their ranks, who ‘would not understand the traditions and values of the institution’).
And if I haven’t been cautious enough already, let me add the further caution that this doesn’t mean we get bad policy: That physicians strongly influence how hospitals work, that academics strongly influence how universities work, that curators strongly influence how art museums work, is not the worst outcome by any means – we rely upon their talent at decision-making in the fields where their expertise is unquestionable. But it does give an idea of the source of what we observe in the nonprofit world, and maybe an answer to the deaccession puzzle.
UPDATE: Donn Zaretsky replies (most generously), noting that ‘capture theory’ might be an explanation, though it’s not evident that all curators feel the same way about deaccessioning, and also that it leaves open the question about the weight we ought to give to such preferences.
This article misses an essential actor in the de-accessioning puzzle: the artist.
When an artwork enters a major public collection, be it through purchase or a donation by the artist or artist’s representative, it is one of the most significant validations possible for an artist’s achievement. If that artwork is de-accessioned, you could argue that it represents an equal and opposite invalidation of that achievement.
An illuminating example which makes the artist’s (and the public’s) potential loss particularly clear is when Lincoln Center was considering the sale of Jasper John’s “Numbers”.
http://observer.com/1999/01/art-in-the-gilded-age-lincoln-center-czars-hang-up-jasper-johns/
Kirk Vardenoe, who was at the time chief curator of painting and sculpture at MoMA, characterized the proposed sale in an open letter to Lincoln Center as “betraying the understanding under which Johns made the work.” In his own open letter to Lincoln Center, Johns asked us to “Imagine a great singer agreeing to a charity concert, and then discovering that, years later, when his or her reputation had grown, the tape of this concert was being sold by the Center to the music industry for a hefty price.”
Johns was among a number of artists who were commissioned to create artworks for the Grand Promenade of the New York State Theater. His contribution was a site specific work which has an imprint of Merce Cunningham’s foot in the corner. Johns was a close friend of Cunningham’s and a significant artistic collaborator: two years after Johns made “Numbers” he became artistic advisor of Cunningham’s dance company. If memory serves, Johns once joked that he had added the footprint so that Merce could get his foot in the door of the nation’s premier dance venue.
The grain of truth in that joke was there for all to see decades later when the Lincoln Center Festival presented multiple performances of Cunningham’s works at the New York State Theater – and thousands of audience members experienced Johns’ artwork (which once its market price had been made public was cordoned off behind ropes and monitored by a security guard).
That story of “divine justice” – or divine punch line, if you will – has now become part of the work’s provenance, and essential to the work’s meaning, which would have been at best damaged and at worst lost had the work been removed. Thankfully, Lincoln Center withdrew the work from the market following objections by the artist and others.
Of course this work was exceptional in having its meaning so integrally connected with its place of display. However, the sense of betrayal at this meaning being threatened is something that every artist (or artist’s family, close friend and followers) must experience at the prospect of a work being de-accessioned from a museum’s collection.
(Also, when the role of the artist comes into play, I can’t quite see how an analogy between an art museum and a non-profit hospital would hold up.)
As Vardenoe pointed out, this is “tricky and potentially dangerous territory.” All the more reason to give careful consideration of the place of the artist – at an equal if not greater level to the curator – if we are to get to grips with these kinds of transactions.
But the owner of the Johns’ “Numbers” painting in the lobby of the (former) State Theater in Lincoln Center was not and is not a museum. I presume the owner was the Lincoln Center Corporation, and the strictures that Michael Rushton is talking about apply only to museums.
I chose that example because the response of the artist to the potential de-accessioning of his work was made public in some detail. In my experience, that’s quite rare. If you have other examples, I’d be very interested to see them.
What I’m saying is that the meaning Johns attached to the installation of his work at Lincoln Center is analogous to the meaning that artists attach to the placement of their work in museums. And that artists whose work are de-accessioned from museums must feel the same way as Johns did to some degree.
Until fairly recently, many museums had rules against accepting works by living artists. However, I really don’t see why a museum has an obligation to consider the market value of a living artist’s work; that’s what galleries and dealers are for. And a museum provenance is often considered a plus, not a minus. (Contemporary artists are not averse to having their works included in museum shows even when there’s no question of acquisition.)
However, the rule about not deaccessioning except to open funds to acquire new art is a protection of the core mission of the museum. If you are going to sell off your Winslow Homers to pay for a new roof you’ve pretty much got your priorities reversed.
The point remains – the intentions and reputation of a living artist, or the artist’s legacy if he or she is no longer living, should be taken into account in any attempt to solve the de-accessioning puzzle.
I have a fairly lengthy article, unpublished as yet, that goes into some detail about the pitfalls of de-accessioning. Mostly it’s a reminder that today’s expediency often comes back to bite institutions that think they can out guess history. If stock brokers can’t do it, what makes director and curators think they are know better. Using a museum collection like an ATM simply ignores the premise that the collection is the museum. Even the AAMD’s dictate that funds from de-accessioning must go toward the purchase of other art works is fraught and the damage to donor confidence, among other issues, does not go away. Deaccessioning is akin to eating one’s onw progeny–Goya’s painting of “Saturn Devouring His Child” comes to mind.
I remain amused by the fact that out of approximately 12,000 to 16,000 museums in this country, maybe 1,000 are accredited by the AAM. And nearly 1/2 of the 1,000 accredited museums have annual budgets under $1 per year. Yet, when speaking of the “art world” we bring examples of Jasper Johns and Lincoln Center. Even AAMD does not allow full participation of directors from small budgets. They only have 239 members. The high profile examples of museums deaccessioning weren’t always cut and dry. One congressman wanted the University of Iowa to sell its Pollock mural and use the money for scholarships (perhaps for art students). $100m would provide many scholarships. I would have been appalled; but do you think this plan was ethically bad? What about the Stieglitz Collection going to Crystal Bridges? Sure a legally binding will was broken, but was it bad for the art? And if breaking a will is bad, what about that shop of horrors at the Barnes? No deaccessions, but bad policy drove their modus operandi. Speaking of deaccessioning in the abstract might be useful for students, but those generalities often do not apply to the real situations that many museums face.