Nancy Cook, gallerina (5) - By Nancy Cook

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Entry 5

Updated Friday, May 17, 2002, at 12:56 PM ET

Nancy Cook works at a postwar and contemporary art gallery in Manhattan.

More photos from Nancy Cook

The art "collection" in my apartment
(Digital images sponsored by RadioShack)When the staff at the gallery heard about my foray into this diary column, their first reaction was: Slate is owned by Microsoft, Microsoft is owned by Bill Gates, Bill Gates collects weird art. It is all art, all the time. People are classified by what they collect.

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The same holds true for people who work with art. Impressionist people inevitably are more traditional, sometimes even prissy; they all speak French and eat salad Niçoises. Contemporary people, by contrast, swagger. The men wear orange ties. The women wear outfits that foreshadow next season's wardrobe on Sex in the City, and although they do not know a thing about history (they are, after all, concerned only with the last 20 years and the old-fashioned ones, with the last 50), they are hot. Everything is hot. Oh, that is so hot. Kiss-kiss.

But, I digress. Why do people collect art? At Knoedler & Company, the gallery where I work, we sell contemporary and postwar art that, for the most part, has been historically validated. Our artists have been shown in museum exhibitions and their work included in museums' permanent collections. Most of our clients are as interested in the history of the object as the object itself, and of course, its market value (let's not forget the latter stepchild, commerce).

What I appreciate about Knoedler is that many of our clients build collections that they then gift to museums and universities. This philanthropy, in the tradition of the Astors and the Morgans, is very important to cultural institutions—particularly in New York, where cultural funding has recently been reduced. Because museums operate on such small budgets, they cannot afford the high-priced ticket items sold at auction (one example being the Brancusi sculpture that was sold last week at Christie's for $18.1 million). Museums depend upon private collectors for these gifts; without patronage, there would be not be places like the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

But apart from the philanthropic element, why do people collect? Some do it to support a favorite artist; Jackson Pollock, who was poor for most of his life, would not have survived without the help of his friend, fellow artist, and patron, Alfonso Ossorio. Some people collect because they just built a house and need something to match their new leather couch. Others see it as a ticket into certain sectors of society. And my most cynical view is that people collect because they are not creative themselves. The buying of art is the closest they will ever get to the process of creating it. It is a last-minute lunge, a gasp if you will, a homage to the curious and beautiful things—a stand-in for a mid-life crisis convertible.

I do not collect art. I am like the art world's version of a drug dealer; I don't touch the stuff myself, but I am more than willing to sell it. The closest I will get to patronage is the art party I am throwing this weekend.

And what is an art party, you might ask? A group of people dressed in black with pseudo-international person accents, drinking dirty martinis? No, no, it is obviously so much more. The art party will be my spring fète-a-fète, where I will gather together my friends who make art (and do not have places to show their work) with my friends who do not make art (who are either fascinated by it or who just really like to drink). And I do not plan to "curate" this party. Rather, I am going to hang the paintings above my pink couch and in my bathroom and some in the hall, and next to each painting there will be a polaroid photo of the artist so partygoers can seek him/her out if they choose. This is my version of the art world. My roommate made me promise not give out our address.

I am off, dear readers, to an art opening and a dive bar. If you have made it to the end of this diary, thanks. This has been absolutely lovely to write, but now, as my colleague Per would say— it's cocktail hour.

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