How should we estimate the worth of the objects we pay for?
What gives this 1960 work by Mark Rothko, estimated at $60,000,000, such staggering value?
What happens to the viewer when one’s favorite picture takes permanent residence in the home?
The Rothko is one of a kind. It falls into the category of abstract expressionism, which the painter, along with a few other artists, is credited with originating.
Some might consider it an investment, something purchased that will increase in value. Others might be taken with the image or wish to gain stature within the wealthy collectors and wannabes community.
An art critic friend added this: If you place an expensive artwork on the wall of your residence, you should be prepared to live with it day after day.
Many of us who admire an object’s presence over time discover that it gradually blends into the background. Think of it as the smell of a new car or a small child’s Christmas gift after a few days.
Time works a disappearing act on our senses, reducing or erasing intensity and interest in many material things.
Years ago, I enjoyed spending an afternoon with a retired Chicago Symphony player and his wife. They lived in a high-rise whose enormous windows revealed a breathtaking view of Lake Michigan and the curvature of the Earth in the distance.
I was stunned. I complimented the couple on the wonder of their daily vision.
The kind lady thanked me, of course, but then said their experience of living each day with such breathtaking work of nature had become routine. The impact I enjoyed for the first time had long since departed for them until a visitor reminded them of it.
We tend to think of the owners of a painting of staggering beauty or a home in an enchanting natural setting as possessing an abundant advantage over us. No matter the value of these properties in dollars and cents, we imagine they remain a godsend or blessing—enormous good fortune at the least.
Envy of their luck isn’t surprising.
There is an irony here, however.
If the gift of ownership results in familiarity to the point of erosion of the joy that first attracted them to the object, are they so lucky?
Is it possible that a portion of what we enjoy in a mural or a landscape is its flabbergasting unfamiliarity—the astonishment and emotional flood that overtakes us? Is it like an embrace only repeated when lovers reunite after a long absence?
How much do we revel in vacations to new places because they are new?
Perhaps we should consider the owners of paintings by Rembrandt or van Gogh as less fortunate than we are; and of ourselves, upon visiting a museum or the Grand Canyon, as the lucky ones.
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The painting is Gray, Orange on Maroon, Number 8. It is the property of the Boijmans Van Beuningen Museum in Rotterdam.
This is one of your best, and that’s a high bar.
Good to hear from you, Steven. A compliment to remember. Thank you!
well said, Dr. Stein!
Appreciated as always, Beth. Thank you.
As always, you provide plenty to ponder and your post runs parallel to a chat I had yesterday with a former client. Affluent…successful by all of his measuring sticks, but unaware of his good fortune, commenting that he thinks nothing about the precious objects in his home, his cars, saying, “I don’t even see them anymore…”
When you wrote this: …”familiarity to the point of erosion of the joy…” it was as if you were there, too, Dr. Stein. 💕
Perhaps I was hiding behind a post, Vicki! A nice coincidence. Sounds like a fellow who needs to reflect on how he values things. He is in your good hands.
So nice of you to say. As you know well, self-awareness is a potent place to begin. ❤️
Let’s hope the young man has made a start.
Ever hopeful. I’ll take the synchronicity with your post as a good sign. 🥰
“If the gift of ownership results in familiarity to the point of erosion of the joy that first attracted them to the object, are they so lucky?” An interesting question, Dr. Stein. As I see it, the value we place on things and the spaces we occupy serve only to separate us into classes of people.
Agreed, Rosaliene. As my post suggested, the unstated competition among the rich for the most money, things, power, and stature is a neverending process in which the word “enough” is mostly absent. Unfortunately, it is also a game played with other people’s well-being. Thank you.
I love how you flipped this on its head, Dr. Stein. All of a sudden the flowers in the field are looking like the best thing to enjoy because they are always new! Here’s to appreciating the artwork surrounding us, whatever it may be. Great perspective, as always, and I appreciate you so much!
Thank you, Wynne. As you know, if one looks at a subject from multiple sides, it becomes easier to flip. Really, the situation is there to be understood and studied. The new perspective was always there, waiting to be seen in an unconventional way. Once one recognizes it, the world changes.