The record figures for sales and attendance at the Basel-Miami art fair in December demonstrated not only that the boom in the art market is still with us, but that it is reversing many of the traditional relationships within the contemporary art world. It's not just the relationship between gallerist and collector, in which the gallerist, overwhelmed by eager buyers for his roster of emerging artists, now decides if the collector is important enough to sell a work of art to. There's a second relationship that has changed—the one between millionaire collector and public art museum.
In the old days, an art collection was a way for a millionaire to advance his social standing in his local area or home country. He would donate works of art, or money, to a public gallery; or he would open his own contemporary art space to gain influence with local councils and national politicians. The millionaire would make polite enquiries as to which works of art the museum would like, or how many millions it would take to get on to the museum board, or get a wing named after him. It was the stuff knighthoods were made of.
Nowadays, with the proliferation of art institutions and the internationalisation of the art market, this relationship has been turned on its head. This year, the biggest collectors have been hawking their collections round on the open market. Whichever European capital offers the best deal, the biggest space, the most enticing tax breaks—that's where the art collection will go. The art collection is now displaying the same mobility as labour, and the collector is ready to outsource his collection to places where the economic conditions are most favourable. To paraphrase Marvin Gaye, wherever he lays his art, that's his home.
The French billionaire François Pinault, the owner of Gucci and numerous other luxury brands, spent several years negotiating with the Parisian authorities to open a huge museum of his collection in the old Renault factory on the Ile Seguin. He planned to spend E150m and employ the talents of renowned architect Tadao Ando to transform the site. In return the local council would fund the regeneration of the surrounding area. But in the end Pinault decided to go elsewhere. Writing in Le Monde, he blamed bureaucracy, which is a code word for lack of financial input from the local partners and authorities. Despite their promises, the local authorities hadn't come up with a concrete budget and timescale for their investment. He said: "Little by little I have been forced to acknowledge the lack of any vision for the regeneration of the Ile Seguin… Five years on, no business, no institution, no person has made a firm commitment. A businessman only has his lifetime to make his dream come true. A local council makes its decisions based on endless committee meetings, which can go on for years… Other cities have welcomed me, and in light of this, I have decided not to give up. I no longer have the patience to persevere with the plan to endow France with the museum conceived by Ando, and I renounce this great project with immense sadness."
Instead Pinault has bought an 80 per cent stake in Palazzo Grassi in Venice. Now the mayor of Venice is trying to tempt him with a state-owned property, the Punta della Dogana (renovation costs to be shared by Pinault and the city council). And there's an additional benefit. Pinault, whose artworks are registered in locations outside Europe, will avoid paying import tax if he keeps his works outside the EU and only displays them on a temporary basis at the Palazzo Grassi. Should Venice fall through, however, Pinault can take comfort in the fact that the mayors of Val-de-Marne and Angers are queuing up to make him offers to house his collection.
But there's no need to shed a tear for Paris. The Portuguese collector José Berardo is negotiating with the French government to exhibit his collection, which includes the Chapmans, Vito Acconci, Francis Bacon and another 4,000 modernist works of art, in the French capital. He says he is bored of the bureaucratic demands of the administration in Lisbon, from whom he is trying to secure a suitably grand site. The collector told the Art Newspaper: "If there is no decision by the end of the year, my works are leaving the country." The French government is reported to be tempting him with a space in Toulouse and even with the old Renault factory.
Britain has recently seen its own smallscale version of this new mobility. Charles Saatchi has announced that he is going to leave County Hall and set up his museum in the Duke of York's HQ, after years of rows with County Hall's Japanese landlord. No doubt Chelsea offered some attractive financial inducements. The royal borough of Kensington and Chelsea and the Cadogan Estates would know as well as any European capital that a new museum of contemporary art can boost the local economy. Yet it is typical of the insularity of Saatchi, and the British art world in general, that his gallery has moved only from SE1 to SW3. I am not convinced that Charles got the best deal. Next time he should hawk his collection around Europe—if anyone will have it.
