The Gelmans, in turn, used their money to become among the greatest of private collectors. Unfortunately, here, too, the show woefully neglects the tale. Beginning in 1943, the Gelmans amassed three complete collections: European moderns, Mexican moderns, and pre-Columbian art. When Natasha Gelman died in 1998, her European collection, alone valued at more than $300 million, went to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was so thrilled that it announced it was opening a new wing in the couple's honor.
It would be nice to know how they formed each collection, what was collected first and why, how they educated themselves, who advised them, and what was discarded along the way; unfortunately, none of this information can be found in the exhibit or accompanying catalog. Instead, the organizers have thrown in all too typically vapid and uninformative statements praising the couple's collective "eye" and taste. If the 70-odd paintings in this exhibition are typical of their Mexican collection, the selections appear to be quite uneven. With the hubris of the young, rich, and beautiful, they began by commissioning portraits from the Mexican muralists, who had long since forgotten the qualms once professed about easel painting. Some of the results, like Rivera's portrait of Mrs. Gelman, are very bad pictures (even the catalog essay admits this). On the other hand, some of the portraits, notably Rufino Tamayo's portraits of Mrs. Gelman and of Cantinflas, are brilliant. At the same time, they also collected masterpieces, like Rivera's "Women Selling Calla-Lillies"--a picture that, for those of us who live near the border, is at least as familiar as stalwarts like Gainsborough's "Blue Boy" and Wyeth's "Christina's World."
"Portrait of Mr. Jacques Gelman," a 1945 painting by Ángel Zárraga, now on view at the DMA.
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Runs through January 28, 2001 (214) 922-1200
Dallas Museum of Art
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The impression one gets is of two people who went about their collecting systematically, even mechanically, identifying Important Artists and periods, filling in gaps. This may be unfair; presumably, two people who spent this amount of time, energy, and wampum collecting and thinking about art had some relevant points of view. What guided their taste? What did they think about art, or politics, or modernism? Did Gelman's role in Mexican cinema lead him to any artistic opinions? Many of Cantinflas' films were highly political, filled with satire and caricature--and yet, in this collection, the Gelmans seem to have studiously avoided difficult or political pictures. ¿Por qué? What role, if any, did the couple play in Mexico's rich political life? Or did their experience as refugees, perhaps, bring home the importance of having no points of view? Unfortunately, we are given no clues except the paintings--catholic and inscrutable. For this exhibit is about diplomacy and box office--long on praise and myth, short on biography and historical context.
