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Museum deaccessioning done right

L.A. County Museum of Art has made the most of a donated Latin American collection's stars and sold other pieces to successfully enhance its holdings.


Jose Clemente Orozco was one of 20th century Mexico's great socially minded muralists. A stark 1929 easel painting made at the dawn of the Great Depression helps to show how. The Los Angeles County Museum of Art bought the modestly sized tempera and oil painting last year -- its first painting by the artist -- and today it hangs on the fourth floor of the Art of the Americas building.

The museum raised money to make the purchase by selling other works from its encyclopedic art collection, a practice formally known as deaccessioning. These days, no museum topic is more fraught with potential land mines than deaccessioning. Public firestorms in recent years and months have engulfed institutions in Tennessee, Virginia, Iowa, New York (upstate and h), Massachusetts and elsewhere.

That's really no surprise. Building a collection is why an art museum exists, so removing any work strikes at the mission's core.

But it's also a shame. Deaccessioning to improve a collection's quality and scope is a critical part of American museum work. It's called the permanent collection, but permanent doesn't mean dead. Unlike in Europe, where many art museums are government treasure houses and nothing is sold, American museum collections are living organisms. They take shape over time.

Indeed, it's actually a routine feature of prudent museum management. When done with care and skill, deaccessioning benefits current and future generations of museum-goers. Consider the small but telling Orozco at LACMA, one of 43 Latin American works bought in the last four years with funds raised by selling other art.

Painted in New York around the time of the 1929 stock market crash, the nighttime scene shoves the sharp corner of a tenement building squarely into a viewer's face. It has the blunt force of an ax-head slicing through a city block. Grids on windows make the tenement prison-like; the zigzag fire escape seems as much a jagged threat as a route to safety. Two hunched silhouettes lumber away from each other in the night, urbanites silent and alone. Harshness and alienation characterize Orozco's vision of the city, an omnipotent symbol of modern life.

The dour painting is a modest but fine example of the work Orozco made in Manhattan during his U.S. sojourn from 1927 to 1934. It also resonates for Los Angeles because it just predates Orozco's fiery and tumultuous 1930 mural, "Prometheus," painted on a wall at Pomona College in Claremont.

Prometheus, the ancient Greek titan, was the thief of fire -- the "means of life," in the poet Hesiod's memorable phrase -- caught and eternally punished by Zeus for stealing the secret from Mt. Olympus. Power will exact revenge, the ancient myth suggests, even in retaliation for actions necessary to survival.

A landmark, Orozco's "Prometheus" is the first work of the Mexican mural movement executed in the U.S. In the darkening hours of the Great Depression, its monumental image of endless struggle is a defiant public shriek. And that cry is being made against the more private human brutalities symbolized in the easel painting from the year before.

The label next to LACMA's painting says, "Purchased with funds provided by the Bernard and Edith Lewin Collection of Mexican Art Deaccession Fund." It was an excellent exchange.


Artful gain

The museum acquired the Lewin collection with great fanfare 12 years ago. At the time, one of its treasures was said to be an Orozco painting of revolutionary Mexicans moving through a landscape marked by buzz-saw-shaped agave.

Not long after, though, and no doubt to the donors' chagrin, that picture was determined to be a fake. The 1929 painting "Street Corner (Brick Building)" replaces it. In one swoop, LACMA's collection was improved, our understanding of a major artistic monument in the region expanded and the donors' original advocacy for Latin American art was bolstered.

That is smart deaccessioning.

Happily, it has been repeated many times since 2005, when LACMA made its first purchase with Lewin deaccession funds. Forty-three acquisitions, with more to come, span Colonial, Modern and contemporary Latin American art.

The late couple made their fortune with furniture stores in the San Fernando Valley and Glendale, but they also operated galleries specializing in Modern Mexican art. Some 4,000 paintings, drawings and prints were in their LACMA gift, reportedly valued at around $25 million, for which the museum paid the couple an undisclosed annuity until their deaths.

The art's quality was mixed, as a modest 1997 LACMA "best of" exhibition showed. An art dealer's inventory is rarely a coherent collection, least of all for a museum. Knowing that, LACMA staff worked with the donors in managing the gift to make it possible to maximize their personal enthusiasm for Latin American art in a publicly beneficial way, without making a fetish of every individual work in the bequest.

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