Vermeer's best-known
portrait has joined a list of masterpieces deemed too fragile or too precious
to be loaned
After a triumphant tour
of Japan, then the United States and ending in Italy, the Girl with a Pearl
Earring has returned home to the Mauritshuis royal picture gallery in The
Hague. For ever. The museum, which reopened last month after two years'
renovation work, will no longer allow Vermeer's masterpiece out. Officially the
Mona Lisa of the North has been gated in order to please visitors to the Mauritshuis
who only want to see that painting. Its fame has steadily increased since Tracy
Chevalier published her novel in 1999 followed in 2004 by the film by Peter
Webber starring Scarlett Johansson. Anyone wanting to see the portrait will
have make the trip to the Dutch city.
Girl with a Pearl
Earring thus joins the select band of art treasures that never see the outside
world. Botticelli's Birth of Venus never leaves the Uffizi in Florence; Las
Meninas by Velázquez stays put at the Prado in Madrid; Picasso's Guernica
remains just down the road at the Reina Sofia museum; and his Demoiselles
d'Avignon can only be seen at MoMA in New York.
Other sedentary art
works include La Joie de Vivre by Matisse, Le Facteur Roulin by Van Gogh and
Les Joueurs de Cartes by Cézanne, which are unlikely ever to leave the Barnes
Foundation in Philadelphia. It is impossible for the Isenheim altarpiece to
leave the Unterlinden museum in Colmar, or for Degas' Petite Danseuse de
Quatorze Ans to escape from the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC.
Needless to say, the Mona Lisa is under lock and key in the Louvre, Paris.
So why are all these
famous pieces so stay-at-home? Predictably the principal reason is their state
of health. Many of them, including the Mona Lisa, were painted on wood and are
very sensitive to climatic changes, making travel a major worry. This is
equally true of anything made of wax, as is the case with Degas' original
Danseuse, which is dressed in a silk bodice, a tutu and slippers, with a wig of
real hair. "We cannot even imagine a situation in which we might loan
it," says Deborah Ziska, head of public information at the National
Gallery of Art. The versions seen elsewhere – in the Musee d'Orsay or the
Metropolitan, for example – are bronze casts made in 1922, five years after the
artist's death.
Many 19th-century
paintings are fragile. "They were the victims of artists testing new
materials which aged badly," says Sébastien Allard, head of the painting
department at the Louvre. For instance, when Géricault painted Le Radeau de la
Méduse, he used Judea bitumen as a primer. It took so long to dry that tiny
cracks have formed on the surface.
As it happens, just the
size of the painting (4.9 metres by 7.2 metres) makes it impossible to remove
from the museum. The canvas would have to be rolled up, a practice most
curators now consider far too risky. Many paintings in the Louvre never move,
due to their dimensions. "When we wanted to restore Veronese's Wedding
Feast at Cana (6.8 metres by 9.9 metres) or La Bataille d'Eylau by Gros (5.2m
by 7.8m) we put up scaffolding and screens, and the restorers worked on the
spot," Allard explains. "In the early 1990s, to move David's Sacre de
Napoléon (6.8 metres by 9.8 metres) from the Mollien room to the Daru room, we
had to cut notches in the door frames; otherwise it wouldn't have gone
through." Loaning these king-size works to other museums is obviously
unthinkable.
Weight is a problem too.
The job of restoring the Winged Victory of Samothrace is a case in point. The statue
alone weighs 32 tonnes, not counting the 23 blocks of marble that make up the
pedestal. There is no question of transporting it to the laboratory of the
Centre for Research and Restoration of the Museums of France, at the other end
of the Louvre. After 10 years' hesitation and preparation, it has finally been
moved almost next door to undergo restoration.
But the last wishes of
donors represent the most pressing constraint. When they leave their treasures
to a museum many collectors impose strict conditions. The Van Gogh paintings at
Musée d'Orsay donated by Paul Gachet's son can only be lent to another
institution for retrospectives. Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe by Manet and Les
Coquelicots by Monet , which originally belonged to Etienne Moreau-Nélaton, cannot
be shown anywhere else.
"The same rule
applies to La Jeune Fille au Jardin, by Mary Cassatt, for which we receive many
applications," says Xavier Rey, head of collections at the Musée d'Orsay.
"We always say no because the painting, along with our finest pointillist
Pissarros, belongs to the group of works bequeathed by Antonin Personnaz, with
no scope for loans. Obviously we always comply with the conditions for a
donation, if only as a matter of respect, not to mention legality. But also not
to put off future donors." This is an important consideration, because as
all curators know well, museum collections would not be what they are without
the generosity of private collectors.
The most extreme
restrictions often concern museums set up by private collectors. Convinced that
their collection is a work in its own right, they confine it forever behind the
walls of an institution. Witness the Wallace Collection in London (one of the
finest sets of 14th- to 19th-century paintings, including Fragonard's delightful
Swing). The same applies to two-thirds of the Frick Collection in New York (the
fortunate owner of three of the 37 known Vermeers). Albert Barnes, a successful
pharmacist from Philadelphia, forbade his foundation from lending anything or
even making minor changes to the disposition of his 2,500 works, which include
150 by Renoir, 69 by Cézanne, 60 by Matisse, several dozen by Picasso, not to
mention some superb pieces by Monet, Toulouse-Lautrec and Van Gogh ... and the
world's most beautiful Seurat, Les Poseuses.
The Duc d'Aumale, the
fifth son of King Louis-Philippe, gave his estate at Chantilly to the Institut
de France, along with his collection, which included three paintings by
Raphael, three by Fra Angelico, five by Ingres and more works by Clouet than
even the Louvre. They draw art enthusiasts from around the world. But this may
not be good news for the Musée Condé. "The world of museums is highly
competitive. It's a real handicap not to be able to loan works," says
Nicole Garnier, the head of the museum. "It's quite simple, if you don't
lend to others they won't lend to you." Which means it is difficult to
stage exhibitions that attract the general public. Curators must work very hard
to organise events that will draw local visitors, and convince them to repeat
their visit, one of the key challenges for museums today.
"In scientific
terms it really is a pity not to be able to take part in major international
shows," Garnier adds. "That's where art history is happening now,
through the confrontation of works." A well-designed exhibition does not
simply bring together paintings or sculptures; it should also be an opportunity
for curators to confront and examine works close-up, some of which were created
centuries apart. Or to gauge the influence of one artist over another. "We
[have sent] The Burial of Casagemas to the Prado for an exhibition on El Greco,
who was a major inspiration for Picasso," says Sophie Krebs, head of
collections at the Musée d'Art Moderne in Paris. "The museum in Madrid has
nothing to lend us in return, but it's a very useful contact."
Some masterpieces are not quite as immovable
as one would be led to believe. There is growing pressure for them to venture
outside their safe havens, the number of exhibitions having steadily increased
since the second world war and rising steeply since the 1980s. Not only are
museums in need of funds, but they also have an image to promote. For example
Daniel Percheron, the leader of the Nord-Pas de Calais regional council, is
determined that the Louvre in Lens should one day exhibit the Mona Lisa.
Even the biggest
attractions have to move sometimes. During the second world war the immovable
Winged Victory was taken to the Château de Valencay, near Châteauroux, and the
lady with the inscrutable smile was hidden under a curator's bed. Museums
sometimes have to close for repair work, and rather than putting paintings in
storage curators rent them out, to pay for part of the work. So the terms of
Barnes's will did not prevent part of the collection going on a rewarding tour
in the 1990s.
"A curator is by
definition a rather schizophrenic character," Rey asserts. "It is
their duty to protect their charge – which taken to its logical extreme means
putting everything in the freezer – but also to show it to the largest possible
audience."
"It's all a
question of balancing risks and benefits," says curator David Cueco.
"For example Delaunay's Equipe de Cardiff wasn't in very good shape when
Suzanne Pagé, head of the Paris Musée d'Art Moderne, agreed to lend it to the
MoMA for the High and Low show. But her move opened the way for some great
Rothko paintings we'd never seen in France."
Lastly, curators are not
immune to political pressure. In 2013, Antonio Natali, head of the Uffizi
Gallery, allowed Titian's Venus of Urbino to be shown in Venice, yielding to
the Italian premier, Mario Monti, in person. It was a symbolically powerful
moment, the aim being to compare the old master with Manet's Olympia, the
painting it had inspired, loaned by the Orsay. Even the Mona Lisa has taken
part in two diplomatic missions, to New York in 1963 and Tokyo in 1974,
stopping off on her way back in Moscow. Each time it was due to a request by
the French president, against the curators' recommendations.
Would that be possible
now? "I doubt it," says Allard. "Above all for its own
protection. The context has changed too. There are far more visitors now: 9.3
million a year, compared with a few hundred thousand in those days. And over
two-thirds are foreign visitors often on a once-in-a-lifetime outing to the
Louvre ... to see the Mona Lisa." It would be terrible to disappoint them,
just as for Girl with a Pearl Earring in The Hague.
"Museums are
increasingly inclined to turn their masterpieces into icons, and in so doing
into tools for communication," says arts management consultant Jean-Michel
Tobelem. "Successfully so, what's more. The opposite extreme is the
Pompidou Centre, which is packed with fabulous art none of which has come to
symbolise the museum. Which is probably why there's rarely a big queue for the
permanent collection. It's hard to strike a balance between investing excessive
importance in specific pieces and the need for fame." To be on the safe
side it is probably best to book ahead for the Mauritshuis.