The Cranky Visionary: Albert C. Barnes and His Artistic Legacy
Albert C. Barnes, a self-made millionaire and one of the most eccentric figures in American cultural history, defied conventions in both business and art. While many plutocrats of his time spent their fortunes on lavish lifestyles or political influence, Barnes chose a more unconventional path: building one of the world’s greatest private collections of modern European art. His journey, marked by brilliance and belligerence, is a tale of artistic passion, intellectual arrogance, and the challenges of legacy. His story, as chronicled in Blake Gopnik’s The Maverick’s Museum and Neil L. Rudenstine’s The House of Barnes, is both inspiring and cautionary, offering insights into the complexities of genius and the perils of founder’s syndrome.
From Poverty to Patronage: The Making of Albert Barnes
Born in 1872 into a poor Philadelphia family, Barnes clawed his way to success through intellect and grit. He attended the University of Pennsylvania’s medical school, but his true calling lay in chemistry. In 1902, he struck gold with Argyrol, an antiseptic that became a staple in American maternity wards. The wealth from Argyrol funded his passions: fast cars, fox hunting, and, most notably, art. Barnes’s journey into the art world began in 1912 when he enlisted the help of his friend, Ashcan School painter William Glackens, to acquire modern European art. Over the next decade, he amassed an extraordinary collection, including works by Cézanne, Renoir, Matisse, and Van Gogh, surpassing even the great museums of Europe and America.
But Barnes was no mere collector; he was a man of intense convictions and contradictions. A fan of pragmatist thinkers like William James and John Dewey, he believed in the transformative power of art and education. His factory, where he employed Black and white workers alike, was an experiment in progressive labor practices. Yet, Barnes was also notoriously cantankerous, lashing out at critics, rivals, and even friends with scathing insults. His bile knew no bounds, as seen in his attacks on the Philadelphia Museum of Art, which he derided as a “house of artistic and educational prostitution.” Ezra Pound aptly described him as living in “a state of high-tension hysteria, at war with mankind.”
A Visionary Collector with a Misguided Mission
Barnes’s collection was more than a reflection of his wealth; it was a manifesto of his artistic philosophy. He prioritized form over context, believing that line, color, and space were the essence of art. His collection, which included African sculpture, Native American crafts, and even handwrought ironwork, challenged traditional hierarchies between “high” and “low” art. While he was not the first to mix modernism with folk and non-Western art, his fusion of these elements was undeniably bold.
Yet, Barnes’s rigidity often overshadowed his innovation. He insisted that art could only be truly understood through his formalist lens, dismissing art history and scholars as distractions. His 530-page treatise, The Art in Painting, advanced this idea, reproducing works without titles to avoid swaying readers with subject matter. While his theories were groundbreaking, they were also inflexible, alienating even potential allies like John Quinn, a visionary collector who embraced Cubism and Marcel Duchamp’s radical experiments. Barnes’s feud with Quinn was so intense that he resorted to hiring private detectives to discredit him.
The Barnes Foundation: A Museum Like No Other
When the Barnes Foundation opened its doors in 1925, it was less a museum than a revolutionary school. Located in a purpose-built neoclassical building surrounded by a 12-acre arboretum, the foundation was designed to educate rather than entertain. Visitors were not merely spectators but students, required to apply for classes in Barnes’s unique method of art appreciation. His arrangements of the collection, known as “ensembles,” mixed objects from different periods and cultures, creating a visual symphony that compelled viewers to see art in new ways.
Admission to the foundation was no simple feat. Barnes detested the idea of art as a social status symbol, rejecting even luminaries like T.S. Eliot, Le Corbusier, and the heads of MoMA and the Whitney. His second-in-command, Violette de Mazia, enforced the rules with equal fervor, monitoring student behavior and ejecting anyone who questioned their method. The atmosphere was both exhilarating and suffocating, fostering a cult-like devotion among some while alienating others. Barnes’s stated goal was to democratize art, but his approach was undeniably elitist, leaving many to wonder if his vision of accessibility was as revolutionary as he claimed.
The Turbulent Legacy of the Barnes Foundation
Barnes’s death in 1951 left the foundation in a precarious state. His will stipulated that the collection remain untouched and inaccessible to the public, but financial struggles and legal battles soon erupted. De Mazia, his loyal protege, guarded the collection with fierce devotion, turning the foundation into an insular, almost hermetic institution. By the 1980s, the foundation teetered on insolvency, and its board, dominated by Lincoln University, a historically Black institution, proposed a controversial solution: relocating the collection to Philadelphia’s Museum Mile.
The decision sparked outrage among Barnes loyalists, who accused the board of betraying the founder’s vision. The 2009 film The Art of the Steal captured the fury, with one commenter ominously wishing the Philadelphia Museum of Art would “burn to the ground.” Yet, the move ultimately ensured the foundation’s survival, opening its doors to a broader audience while preserving Barnes’s carefully curated ensembles. Today, visitors can experience the collection in a more accessible, albeit consumer-friendly, environment, complete with a café and gift shop selling Van Gogh mugs and Horace Pippin-adorned socks.
A Tiresome Genius: The Tragic Legacy of Albert Barnes
Albert Barnes was a man of contradictions: a visionary collector who hoarded his treasures, a democratizer of art who despised the public, and a tyrannical educator who believed in the transformative power of beauty. His foundation remains a testament to his genius, but it also reflects his flaws. As art critic Arthur Danto noted, Barnes is remembered “for the spectacular collection of early modern art that bears his name, for the enthusiasm with which he kept people from viewing it, and for the terrible temper he expended on behalf of these two projects.”
Barnes’s struggle to solve the “riddle of art” was both noble and naive. He believed that art could unlock the subjective experiences of others, but his inability to understand the perspectives of those around him made his quest both heroic and tragic. In the end, the very qualities that drove him to greatness—his intensity, his convictions, and his refusal to compromise—nearly destroyed his life’s work. Yet, as the Barnes Foundation thrives in its new home, it serves as a reminder of the enduring power of art, even when its creator’s vision is imperfect.
