Questroyal 2009

He was an obnoxious client with a nearly toxic attitude. There was not a race, color, creed, or ide- ology that escaped his condemnation. His wrath was evenhanded, perhaps one might say fair. He never met a man, a place, a country he liked. He loved his dog. He took pleasure in ridiculing the paintings I showed him and the value I placed on them. He had no regard for my ideas or opin- ions and would only listen to them to harvest the fodder to criticizeme with later. I loved this man! “You visit me because I buy your paintings, the ones I hate the least” was his favorite comment. It was not true—I loved this guy! This was a man who could see the lie in things. A bad guy born with a good soul, he com- mitted some acts, just shy of criminal, that you would not tell your kids about. Time tempered his behavior but never his thoughts. How this character came to love art will always remain a mystery—a collector whose principal criterion was to acquire what he hated least—but, take my word, his was a collection I will never forget. It included stunning examples by Cole, Church, Inness, and Cropsey—and that was just what hung in his bedroom. He liked to boast that he spent a lot of quality time there. Educated in the finest schools in the nation, he distinguished himself in his chosen occupa- tion. Occasionally, some genuine insight would mix with his venom: “Buy the best junk when all you can own is junk. If you want to exceed the speed limit, drive a Ferrari, dummy! Never take advice from anyone unless that person stands to lose as much money as you. You’re never as smart as the day you were born.” But he saved the best for last. Months before he died, I told him that I was hesitating to buy a painting I loved because it was The Well-dressed Hunter: A Dealer’s Story expensive. He looked at me from his bed and said, “I hope your miserable face is not the last thing I see before I die. If I gasp, get out and turn on the Playboy channel.” “That’s your sage ad- vice?” I replied. “Young man, some people put their money in banks that have locks on the wrong side of their doors; others enjoy the status attained by having a professional lose their money. But I have mine on the wall where I can see it.” I regret that he did not live long enough to see the scope of his wisdom. There was something about this man’s re- bellious nature that struck a chord withme. I was raised in the suburbs, where differences were neither easy to find nor tolerated. Our yards were strikingly alike; we wore similar clothes and fol- lowed rules. The streets were our concrete play- grounds from which we were all summoned to dinner at the same time. I discovered a dirt road that weaved through towering trees and thick brush with a sky unmarked by telephone lines. I had never seen anything like it. This was the fertile ground that fostered my young imagina- tion, and it was visible only in the little painting that hung in my grandmother’s home. I would stare at the painting and daydream:Where would that dirt road take me? What would I discover? I would never forget how potent art could be. Passionate Collectors Many of the collectors I have known share my passion. They have each discovered it in different ways, but these individuals are alike in the very personal need they have for art. A recently married couple visited my booth at an art fair. They appreciated American art but were not in any position to acquire a painting, as Our art is a treasure not yet discovered by a society nurtured on neon.We will someday grow tired of toys and become as voracious for truth and beauty. — lms, fall 2003 An economy to be infused with nearly $10 trillion is an economy destined to turn inflationary. We know that quality tangible assets fare well in such an environment. Trust in what you know and love and consider the age-old wisdom of buying when others are selling. — lms, winter 2009 This is a pilgrimage every- one should make. I have come to understand that American landscape paint- ings are a reminder of a self to be found and under- stood. A call to the wild, a signpost—a warning! Truth is whispered in these paintings. — lms, “Hiking in the Catskills,” fall 2006