Arts

Previously, under different circumstances, I had attended a live auction in one of the auction house’s secondary locations, where paintings by second-tier artists are sold, usually an unimpressive building near the main auction house. Very few people were there. I came only to bid on a self portrait of Frederick MacMonnies, a very well known sculptor (Horse Tamers at Prospect Park, Brooklyn) who happened to be tired of the rigors and time investment of sculpture and decided to do some painting as a relief. I knew all about him. That was my good luck. I bought the portrait for a price so low it surprised me. I was the only bidder.

Perhaps because auctions are stressful, I’ve bought most of my paintings from galleries on New York City’s Upper East Side—located in the 70s, to be specific. I like these galleries because they display their art beautifully and in top condition. The frames are also accurate for the time period. They also amass a lot of research about their paintings and the artists, which is advantageous. The galleries also often have transparencies (fine color facsimiles) of paintings that you can take home and study, to help you decide whether or not to buy the painting you’ve admired. Sometimes, you can make an offer lower than the price. Sometimes, it isn’t accepted. I think they give good advice. I once considered a floral painting by Adelheid Dietrich but was concerned about the stiffness of her flowers. Gallery owner Vance Jordan said to me, “If you’re looking for more relaxed flowers, choose another artist. Northern German artists don’t paint relaxed flowers.” Who knew?

I rarely buy impulsively—and yet careful scrutiny never mitigates the feeling of anguish that overcomes me every time I choose to buy. The exception occurred in 2001, when I received a catalog from Spanierman Galleries in New York. It had a picture of Summer Twilight, a Barbizon-style painting by William Morris Hunt that captured me immediately. The picture is this: On a gloriously beautiful late-summer afternoon, four young boys splash and soak in the Charles River. Theirs is an attitude of gaiety and abandon—surely the result of being released from a hard day of work. (Child labor was common in Boston in 1877.) Excited, I immediately arranged a flight to New York City to see it in person. I was so afraid that someone would beat me to it. The Hunt painting didn’t disappoint me. I paid full price for it, didn’t even ask for the usual 10 percent discount that most galleries give. They didn’t offer it to me, either.