Let me show you something. Three things. Artworks — EXPENSIVE ones. Let’s talk about that.
Artistic creations, including the performing arts, are not necessary in the way food, water, and shelter are. Yet, a life lacking them is considered less fulfilling.
Imagine your existence without TV, movies, fiction, drawings, paintings, music, theater, dance, sculpture, and the comic relief of a standup genius.
What amount of time do you spend enjoying them? How much would you pay for the opportunity?
On November 9, one possible answer came at the sale of Mark Rothko’s 1955 painting Untitled (Yellow, Orange, Yellow, Light Orange).
Christie’s sold the item at auction for 46.4 million dollars. Now, assume you loved his color-layered floating forms to the point of purchase and had enough money to do so. Let’s also imagine you intended to hang it on a wall in your residence.
Assuming you saved $100,000 annually after taxes and every other expense, accumulating the means would take 464 years. So much for your retirement plans.
Let’s say you’d like something closer to what you can afford, this time by a female. At the same sale, Joan Mitchell’s 1959 Untitled painting, described on ArtNet as “a 7-foot riotous explosion of color in the artist’s signature sweeping, muscular brushstrokes — netted $29.2 million.”
Your $100,000 would require only 292 years of life and labor to reach the needed sum. I’m sure you’re jumping on the train to the nearest fine art gallery now.
Whatever painting you might obtain, think about the experience of placing your favorite where you will see it every day.
Would you spend hours basking in your superb luck and the genius of the genius who was its author?
Might you have bid in pursuit of the canvas as an investment? Many do.
Or was your desire for its beauty trumped by your search for the applause and jealousy of those who wished they were in your shoes? You’ve met people who live to “top you,” I’m sure.
Like a new car smell or a child’s Christmas toy, any masterpiece would, to a significant extent, sneak into the background of your life.
Why? Even a recording of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony would wear on you if you listened to one version daily. The composer’s grip on your attention diminishes with excess repetition over time.
Humankind doesn’t seem to stay satisfied. No matter the wonder of a delicious meal, people get hungry again before long. They have sex, but however spectacular, they don’t remain ecstatic forever. Not even a piece of chocolate is enough to satiate men and women, not to mention the kiddies.
More is required. Robert Wright, the Princeton psychologist, talks about this in lectures on Buddhism. He believes this is part of why people come to be dissatisfied with how things are.
Were anyone over the moon about a single supper — contented for weeks — they’d starve to death. Nor would a one-time, permanently blissful sexual encounter 5000 years ago have motivated the pair to try again. Without the ongoing sexual desire of our ancestors, we wouldn’t exist today.
Most of us search for a spark because we encounter the gradual diminution of the light.
I’m guessing you might not approve of those who view material things as a way of generating envy or treat masterworks as a path to riches.
However, before criticizing these folks, remember that wealthy people have been responsible for preserving art forever. Not stopping there, they form small groups of like-minded associates to start and support magnificent musicians, hospitals, and museums.
One example of such civic virtue relates to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO). The Theodore Thomas Orchestra was a touring ensemble named after the conductor who created it near the end of the Civil War. He could only hope for a comparable group in one location when few cities had one.
The CSO’s website tells the rest of the story:
In 1889, Charles Norman Fay, a Chicago businessman and devoted supporter of the Theodore Thomas Orchestra, encountered Thomas in New York and inquired, “Would you come to Chicago if we gave you a permanent orchestra?” Thomas’s legendary reply was, “I would go to hell if they gave me a permanent orchestra.”
The inaugural performances took place in 1891 without a hellacious detour.
The maestro had no complaints. Perhaps one should be careful about vilifying the rich without first consulting the conductor’s ghost.
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The final painting above is Richard Diebenkorn’s Recollections of a Visit to Leningrad, 1965. It was also sold on the same evening as the others for a fantastic sum.
