I knew the Victorians liked to collect things, but I hadn't really thought about why. Now I know.
This is an excellent book, a very readable history that uses the specific examples of five very different collectors to put the theory of collecting in its historical context, and to tackle the history of two associated disciplines, art history, and curatorship - by which I mean, the theory behind how collections are displayed.
Until the Museum Act, collecting and displaying your collection was the province of the rich. Though many private collections could be viewed, it was by appointment, and so pretty much excluded the poor and the illiterate. But as the industrial revolution progressed and working-class people got more leisure time and a bit more money to spend, the Victorian Establishment began to fret that without any more edcuational delights to distract them, the great unwashed would take to the pub. Thus, the Museum Act, which provided for taxes to build museums, but not to buy anything to go inside them. And so private collectors became public benefactors, and the great debate about what should be show, what constituted art, and how displays should be made, began.
I confess, it's not something I'd given much thought to until I read this book, but it's a subject matter that Yallop deals with lucidly and entertainingly. Should collections remain together under the benefactor's name, even if they are a mish mash of objects? Should chronology play a part? And what about context? Obvious questions to us, used as we are to sophisticated displays and a wealth of choice, but when museums were in their childhood, these things had still to be addressed.
Then there's the issue of what, exactly, is worthy of being displayed? The debate between intrinsic beauty and provinence is one that raged in the early days of the British Museum and what became the V&A. When the world began to open up to the Victorians, and artefacts from South America, China and Africa came on the market, curators didn't know how to classify them - were they art, or just interesting objects which demonstrated how 'inferior' were these primative civilisations.
Fascinating as these arguements are, it is the actual human examples which Yallop uses which bring this book to life, from the slightly manic Robinson of the V&A, to the celebrity-mad Mayer, whose collection included (apparently!) a pair of slippers worn by Queen Victoria on her wedding day, and the austere and knowledgable Charlotte Schreiber, one of the few women collectors taken seriously by the Victorian Establishment.
Murray Marks, friend of the Pre-Raphaelites and dealer to some of the wealthiest Americans, is the first of what we'd recognise as an art dealer. Towards the end of the century, as the display of 'art' in a new-made ancestral home by one of the new-made industrial elite sent the price of 'art' soaring, people like Marks made a fortune - and so did the fraudsters. The fact that some fakes had as much artistic merit as the originals brought the 'what is art' question to the fore once more. Fakes confused the Victorians, who liked order, black and white answers with no shades of grey. The idea that artistic merit, as opposed to provenance, could influence the value of something sent their logical heads spinning. Enter Oscar Wilde, and his 'art for art's sake' quote. And, sadly, the end of this book, which has left me very hungry to know more.