Damien Hirst never does anything by halves — unless he is slicing dead animals, of course. So you can be sure that his private collection of art, part of which is on public show for the first time with the gruesome title of Murderme, is going to be pretty full on.
It hits you in the face like the Andy Warhol car smash that hangs about like some doorman to greet you: a red-misted vision of mass-produced death. Everything in Kensington Gardens is certainly not lovely. But it definitely has guts.
Hirst’s work always makes headlines. A couple of weeks ago controversy raged over whether one of his paintings was a piece of plagiarism. His shark in formaldehyde, that iconic cruiser of the conceptual scene, is being replaced (it was beginning to look more like some battered stuffed-toy) in an operation involving rubberised jumpsuits and tanks full of pickling fluid.
But now the Serpentine focuses not on Hirst’s own work but that of the artists whom he admires. These are pieces that he plans to install in his stately home: Toddington Manor in Gloucestershire. There visitors will be able to admire his collection in its entirety. Is this a case of a poacher turned gamekeeper? Has the artist turned patron? And are we witnessing the birth of an heir to Charles Saatchi? Hirst insists that he has always been a collector. “You just amass stuff while you are alive. It’s like stuff washed up on a beach somewhere, and that somewhere is you.”
If Hirst-land is a place, it’s a hotbed of revolutionary fervour. It’s a banana republic from which this Goldsmiths-trained generalissimo plotted the coup that took over the British art world. His landmark Freeze exhibition established the Brit-art junta in 1988.
This is an artist, it seems, who has always had the sharp eye and brave judgment of the judicious collector. As the curator of Freeze, he dictated who was in and who was out. He followed this with further curated shows: Modern Medicine and Gambler, both in 1990, and, in 1994, Some Went Mad, Some Ran Away. Hirst helps to shape an aesthetic through his choices. And suddenly Mr Saatchi seems more like some proselytising apostle. Recognising a saviour who could salvage a dreary art scene, he backed Hirst’s Brit-art movement and lent it financial credibility by putting up the cash.
Now Hirst, whose fortune is estimated at £35 million to £100 million, can put his money where his mouth is. He can afford to fork out $3.5 million (£1.8 million) for a small Warhol screenprint. And so he does. No doubt it will prove a sound investment. But it also typifies the commercially driven ethos of the “movement” he made so fashionable.
The Brit-pack is the bedrock of a collection that began on the “swapsies” principle. Here are the sorts of pieces that made Sarah Lucas, Angus Fairhurst, Tracey Emin or Gavin Turk famous: a photo of a chicken strapped on to a girl’s knickers, a naked man cradled by a monkey suit, a filthy sleeping bag in which a tramp sleeps.
Hirst has moved forwards, backwards and outwards from there. Breaking his rule of “never buy anything that costs more than your own work”, he invested in a small painting by his artistic godparent, Francis Bacon. It cost £12 million. He also bought pieces by Richard Prince and Jeff Koons, although he doesn’t have a Bruce Nauman, which he would love, or a Prince Charles. “Maybe we could trade,” he suggests.
This is not one of those dull, fill-in-the-gaps-style collections. It is brashly idiosyncratic. It likes one-liners and dramatic narratives. It revels in sex and death. Works are given guts in its context. It has an energy and passion that keeps it fresh.
On show from today (020-7298 1528)Art of collecting
Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) was an avid collector of artists, such as Cezanne and Matisse, and of objects that had influenced his work. He was also a prolific collector of African art
The Impressionists including Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890) and Claude Monet (1840-1926), were heavily influenced by the bold colours and lines of Japanese prints
Sir John Soane, the British arcahitect, (1753-1837) amassed a wide collection before his death in 1837. It ranged from classical busts and columns to furniture, and included work by Turner and Hogarth
Peter Paul Rubens the Flemish painter (1577-1640) was a prolific collector of other people’s paintings, particularly the Venetian painter Titian
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