Rembrandt in the Cellar

There is a notion that is trotted out, reliably, by commentators, possibly not informed commentators, possibly self appointed commentators, but commentators none the less, every time a famous or at least expensive painting is sold, that the painting will never be seen again by ordinary folk.  That it will, instead, spend the rest of its existence in a vault, or in the Secret Basement Gallery of the wealthy purchaser.

Art is an investment, and it is often bought by banks and other financial institutions in the hope that the value of the piece will appreciate and it can be flogged on.  In the meantime, banks do what banks do, and store their wealth in a vault.  Probably a nice vault, but a vault nonetheless.  This causes consternation among those who espouse the view that famous art should reside in a public gallery, preferably near them, where it can bore schoolkids and never be seen by those ignorant sods who have the poor taste to live some distance away.

Special resentment is reserved if the buyer is suspected to be an individual.  In such a case, commentators choose to ignore the evidence of the countless little plaques placed discreetly beside works of art on temporary or permanent display that read ‘On load from’ and instead intimate that the artwork will now reside in the Secret basement Gallery of the wealthy buyer, possibly illuminated by a single spotlight, while the new owner squats in a leather armchair facing the art with a glass of brandy in one hand and his cock in the other as he feverishly goes to town on himself like a lusty gibbon, drooling over a classical nude.  Or a Pollock, there’s no knowing with these perverts.

Rich people, it would appear, love an underground room, be it wine cellar, art gallery, panic room, murder room or simply a well appointed sex dungeon.

The message of the commentators though is that art should be for the masses and should not be hidden away in dimly lit rooms.

This despite the fact that the masses prioritise other stuff above art.  Do huge crowds go to their local art gallery every Saturday?  No.  Do they go to watch the footie?  Yes.  Even if this means travelling long distances, which is more than most people would do to get a glimpse of a painting, even of sunflowers.

Art began in dimly lit rooms.  Banksy’s ancestors painted the walls of a cave, not with Neolithic Farrow and Ball but with pictures intended to bring luck to the Woolly Mammoth hunt.  And there is good reason why some art is exhibited in dimly lit rooms.  This is not because the owner is a Bond villain.  Well, not always.  It’s because some images, such as watercolours, fade over time with prolonged exposure to strong light.  Watercolours, it would appear, are intended to be viewed in a Victorian drawing room, either by gaslight or by daylight filtered through windows tinted with the smoke of industry on the outside and the smoke of enthusiastic pipe smokers on the inside.  The best way to preserve a watercolour painting is to cover it in tissue paper, put it in a cardboard folder, and put it in a draw.  Then close the draw.

This provides problems exhibiting the piece.

As a result, delicate drawings are usually exhibited in artfully lit galleries for short periods.  This is done to preserve the piece and so prevent the embarrassment of having to hand back to the lender of the artwork a blank piece of paper on which once resided a delicate watercolour, probably of a canal.

The National Gallery in London takes measures to avoid just such an embarrassment by placing their Rembrandt exhibition in the basement, of the annex.  It was not quite a case of descending a rickety staircase with a torch, there is after all a brightly lit gift shop.  And the exhibits themselves are magnificent, if you like unsmiling folk in ruffs, which I do.  Also on display are delicate sketches of landscapes, mostly canals and cottages, occasional tree, which look as vulnerable to sunlight as vampires.  A good thing then that they are secure in this art bunker.