The Art World’s Ground Zero
The Man and His Collection
Where to start? Without Dr. Barnes, and one could say, the influence of his childhood friend, the painter William Glackins, this wealth of art would undoubtedly have been disseminated across continents, and considering the vicissitudes of war, in some instances, destroyed or never to be found again.
The journey to seek out this treasure trove began in earnest with a trip to Paris in 1912. Subsequently, Dr. Barnes sent Glackins back to purchase modern paintings for him. Glackins met Leo and Gertrude Stein and the race was on. Out of 20 paintings in all, he returned with such gems as Cézanne’s Toward Mont Sante-Victoire, Van Gogh’s The Postman, Joseph-Etienne Roulin, Picasso’s Woman with a Cigarette, Renoir’s Child Reading, and more. But how did Dr. Barnes afford such an undertaking, even at such an early date?
A Pennsylvania working-class native and graduate of the University of Pennsylvania medical school, Dr. Barnes made his money through pharmaceutics. With a partner he developed Argyrol, an antiseptic silver compound used to prevent infant blindness. It was a huge success, and Dr. Barnes, also passionate about psychology and a scientific approach to aesthetics, turned to the collecting of art as part of his social vision of democracy.
Another lifelong friend, the philosopher John Dewey, held great sway over Dr. Barnes’ vision for the future. The Foundation was set up as an educational institution, with stewardship in the hands of Lincoln University, a historically black college in southeastern Pennsylvania. His lasting conviction that racism would only be conquered when African Americans embraced learning goes a long way toward explaining the eclecticism and egalitarianism of the collection.
It’s a veritable street carnival — invigorating but at times an almost indigestible feast for the eye. This is not a complaint, because this is one banquet with something for everyone.
All one has to do when entering the labyrinth of rooms is to challenge oneself to find a focus in one or several of these precious images. There is certain symmetry in the hanging, but to find the verisimilitude among so many contrasting images is bewildering at best. In every room, benches are available with laminated cards mapping each wall’s contents. A good suggestion would be to linger long enough in each gallery to pick out a favorite or two, and then identify it for your own edification. Even that isn’t really necessary. Each picture or object is worth a thousand words, and chances are, you can look up your choice online. You will even find a hinge or two or three similarly cataloged but I don’t think that will be your first priority.
Just consider. In the main room upon entering, as aforementioned, Matisse’s nymphs from The Dance on the opposing wall hypnotize us with their supple-blue limbs. On the left wall, The Large Bathers by Cézanne rest above Renoir’s The Artist’s Family. This large-scale, multi-figure portrait harkens back to the aristocratic families that Titian, Velasquez, and Rubens understood so well. It is largely devoid of the blurred luminescence of Renoir’s nudes. Only the little girl in the white dress gazing outward suggests the innocence of new life.
Dr. Barnes could be relentless in his acquisitions. He was so taken with this family portrait that he insisted that the dealer advise Renoir of his intention to buy despite the artist’s reluctance. At this point in 1915, he had 50 Renoirs in his possession for 1.5 million francs and planned to make this collection the best in the world. Though it turned out not to be the self-portrait Dr. Barnes had hoped, he bought it for $50,000 when it descended to the youngest son, Claude.
It is flanked by a small Corot and a Daumier and on the other side of the painting, Daumier returns with a Tintoretto, a Chardin, and a smaller scale Renoir. The Seated Ruffian by Matisse is another unmistakable presence in the room at large, commanding our attention with the heated Moroccan colors he came to know so well. (On the second floor, a cornucopia of early Matisses meets the eye, so a bit of advice to be heeded when stymied by the main course downstairs is to keep the upper level in mind for dessert before your departure. A rest in between wouldn’t hurt either.)
Before exiting the main gallery, you will want to pause before Cézanne’s The Card Players. The powerful, rough-hewn but sure geometry of the painting will cause pause to any viewer. But how can we leave? You mustn’t miss Boy in a Red Vest, by Cézanne, only one of several outstanding portraits by the painter, which projects a tenderness and melancholy in the pose rarely seen in the artist’s work. Another similarly haunting painting of a young boy in one of the smaller galleries is Gauguin’s M. Loulou, an enchanting portrait of a very young boy in a dress and ruffled collar (a typical costume of the period for males until the age of six).
Traversing these rooms is a bit like a scavenger hunt. One startling image whets the appetite for more. An irritating, but perhaps necessary, interruption is the constant surveillance by museum guards, reminding any traveler who crosses with so much as a toe the rectangular borders inlaid in the floor for a closer look that he had best step back.
Just when you think that Dr. Barnes was a bit of a modern romantic in his obvious obsession with his Renoirs and Cézannes and Matisses, you will come upon Chaim Soutine’s The Skinned Rabbit, an eviscerated hare which cannot help to bring to the modern-day viewer the harrowing images of Francis Bacon. For Dr. Barnes, as quoted in Great French Paintings from The Barnes Foundation, 1993, Soutine “took the method of so simplifying and distorting objects as to make them appear monstrous or grotesque, but without loss of essential reality.”
One of the most disturbing images in the collection is by Toulouse-Lautrec. A Montrouge – Rosa La Rouge is atypical of Toulouse Lautrec’s prostitutes. Her disheveled, brooding pose, in dark, muted reds and browns carries a tragic sadness. Some scholars have concluded that this Rosa and Carmen Gaudin, who infected Lautrec with syphilis, are one and the same.
Ironically, prints of this painting top the charts. According to Andrew Stewart, director of public relations, “There’s no formal survey but based on reproduction sales in our gift shop, the most popular images are Monet’s Studio Boat, Cézanne’s The Card Players, Modigliani’s The Redhead Girl in Evening Dress, Van Gogh’s The Postman, and Lautrec’s Rosa.”
It is impossible, finally, to exhaust this mind-boggling inventory. One can only speculate if Dr. Barnes had not suffered an untimely death in 1951, how it would have grown, along with his own obsessive tastes. Former Foundation president Richard H. Glanton, in the Great French Paintings catalog, recalls how odd Barnes’ choices were thought to be at the time. The Paris dealer Paul Guillaume wrote in a 1926 letter to Dr. Barnes that he overhead a very solemn visiting American pronounce that “Dr. Barnes is crazy.”
That may still be in some people’s view, but it’s good to remember what astronomer Carl Sagan once said: “Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it, we go nowhere.” Let’s hope from now on the visitors to Philadelphia will be imaginative enough to add along with the Liberty Bell, the Barnes Foundation to their list of “must-sees.”
The Barnes Foundation is at 2025 Benjamin Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia (215)278-7000. For reservations and information, go to barnesfoundation.org.
