2003年7月13日 星期日

The Saatchi effect: Elton John builds gallery at home to show off his private art collection

Several of the nation's leading collectors are planning to put their works on public view for the first time

By James Morrison, Arts and Media Correspondent
Sunday, 13 July 2003

Encouraged by the success of Charles Saatchi's London gallery, a plethora of new "vanity museums" are being built by some of Britain's leading art collectors.

Encouraged by the success of Charles Saatchi's London gallery, a plethora of new "vanity museums" are being built by some of Britain's leading art collectors.

Sir Elton John is to build an extension to his Windsor home to put on public display his vast collection of paintings which includes seminal 20th-century artists from Picasso through Warhol to Damien Hirst.

Sir Peter Moores, the former head of Littlewoods, is about to open a £50m gallery at Compton Verney, an 18th-century Warwickshire manor designed by Robert Adam that sits in a 40-acre park landscaped by Capability Brown.

Not to be outdone, Frank Cohen, 60, the Mancunian DIY entrepreneur who in the 1970s was seen as the Saatchi of his day, is finally preparing to unveil his spoils. His collection, which covers "modern" artists from L S Lowry to the Chapman Brothers, will be made public as soon as he can find a building large enough to house it.

Meanwhile, a similar project is already under way at Crosby Hall, the elegant 15th-century mansion in Chelsea, London, that was once the home of Sir Thomas More. Here the controversial property magnate Christopher Moran is planning a gallery to showcase his extensive treasure trove of 16th- and 17th century furniture and decorative arts.

The unexpected display of beneficence is not confined solely to those who are planning to open their own private galleries. For the first time, Lord Lloyd-Webber has agreed to allow public access to his mammoth collection of Pre-Raphaelite and 20th- century art by loaning it to the Royal Academy for a three-month exhibition this autumn.

The architect Professor Colin St John Wilson, meanwhile, is about to go one step further. His collection of more than 200 works by artists as diverse as Walter Sickert and Peter Blake is to be offered on permanent loan to the Pallant House Gallery in Chichester, which is constructing a new wing to contain it.

News of the array of prospective private galleries is highlighted in the latest edition of the Museums Journal, a quarterly magazine published by the Museums Association. It comes just three months after the Saatchi Gallery reopened in County Hall, the former GLC headquarters on London's South Bank, amid a frenzy of naked models and schmoozing celebrities.

Opinion is divided in the art world over the reasons for this sudden wave of philanthropy. While there are few who do not welcome the thought of these eclectic collections being made public, sceptics sense that the scale of investment being bestowed on the new galleries owes as much to vanity as it does to charity.

The collectors themselves are having none of this. Sir Peter says it has always been his aim to offer the public the chance to view the artworks and antiquities owned by his foundation, which includes one of the finest collections of Chinese bronzes in the world.

"My idea was to have a museum in the country where people can come and have a nice day out but also absorb quality art, without having to go to galleries in sweaty cities," he said, explaining his choice of location. "I was brought up in a fairly arid suburb and I found out when I was at university that there were an enormous amount of things I knew nothing about. You can't shove people through doors, but you can open them and hope they are interested in going through, and that's what we're trying to do."

Mr Cohen, who is looking at a range of potential venues for his prospective gallery, including a listed Victorian market hall and a former mill, says he too has long planned to display his collection. "The thing about this is that you can't do it when you've hardly got a collection - it takes time to build one up," he said. "I've been collecting for over 30 years but it's only in the last four or five that I've really been in a position to think about doing this."

Mr Cohen, who intends to curate his own gallery, disputes the suggestion that one of the biggest incentives for collectors to make their work public is to "offload" their security on to someone else. Prof St John Wilson is open about the fact that he has been jumpy about housing his paintings in his own home since it was broken into 20 years ago.

Mr Cohen said: "Burglars can't sell my stuff in public. Where are they going to sell them? They're interested in Rolex watches and leather jackets. If they saw a piece of contemporary art on the wall they'd leave it hanging."

Not all observers are convinced by these explanations.

Cristina Ruiz, the deputy editor of the Art Newspaper, said: "I'm sure there's an element of pride or vanity there, particularly if you've spent years collecting things.

"Also, if your collection is quite large you have to start looking at things like security and insurance. It may be, that if you've got a publicly visible place to display them you are helped by the fact that the risk is borne by the gallery. It's easier to secure, it's outside your home, so from the point of view of security you are less at risk."

Frank Cohen (DIY entrepreneur)

What he owns: Eclectic 20th-century and contemporary collection. Recent purchases include Lowry's A Father and Two Sons and the Chapman Brothers' Unholy McTrinity.

Where we can see it: Coming soon to a converted 19th-century market hall, or possibly an old mill, in Manchester.

Sir Elton John (singer-songwriter)

What he owns: Paintings by Magritte, Picasso, Bacon and Warhol, photographs by Helmut Newton and Britart works by Damien Hirst, Tracey Emin and the Chapman Brothers.

Where we can see it: A new gallery to be built at Woodside, his £5m part-Georgian mansion in Windsor.

Sir Peter Moores (Littlewoods Pools heir)

What he owns: Priceless collection of Chinese bronzes dating from 1000BC, 16th- to 19th-century Neapolitan paintings and a selection of British folk art.

Where we can see it: Compton Verney, an 18th-century manor in Warwickshire, from next Easter.

Lord Lloyd-Webber (composer)

What he owns: 200 Pre-Raphaelite paintings and works by 20th-century masters, including Picasso's Angel Fernandez de Soto (left) and Canaletto's Old Horseguard's Parade.

Where we can see it: The Royal Academy in London for three months, starting in September.

Christopher Moran (property tycoon)

What he owns: Classic 16th- and 17th-century furniture from the workshops of Hardwick, and paintings including Van Dyck's St Jerome in Penitence.

Where we can see it: Crosby Hall, the 15th-century former home of Sir Thomas More in Chelsea.

Professor Colin St John Wilson (architect)

What he owns: Works by Independent Group artists and other 20th-century paintings such as Peter Blake's The 1962 Beatles, Michael Andrews's Thames: The Estuary as well as an Andrews portrait of Prof St John Wilson.

Where we can see it: A new wing of the Pallant House Gallery in Chichester, West Sussex.

UK buyers make major splash in list of the world's top 200 collectors

Thirteen Britons, including David Bowie, Sir Elton John and Lord Lloyd-Webber, have made it on to the latest definitive list of the world's top 200 art buyers.

Heiress Isabel Goldsmith, Littlewoods Pools millionaire Sir Peter Moores, DIY entrepreneur Frank Cohen and the Sainsbury family are also included on the annual list, compiled by the American magazine ARTnews.

The list, now in its 13th year, contains several surprises. While few will question the inclusion of Charles Saatchi, who regularly appears on it, eyebrows are bound to be raised about the identity of the only Brit to be named in the top 10: the London-based jeweller Lawrence Graff.

Ironically, Mr Graff, whose collection includes a diamond necklace worn by the Dowager Viscountess Harcourt at King George VI's coronation, for which he paid £1.87m, once famously commented: "I like to dabble in art, but my actual hobby is my business."

Less surprising are the mentions given to Ms Goldsmith and fellow Pre-Raphaelite enthusiast Lord Lloyd-Webber, or the rock stars Bowie and Elton, whose love of 20th-century paintings is well documented.

According to the list, the single biggest buyer over the past 12 months was Sheikh Saud al-Thani of Qatar, a London-based collector with a passion for impressionism, Old Masters and Islamic antiquities.

The other British-based collectors on the list are the Syrian-born multi-millionaire Wafic Said, Sir Graham Kirkham, executive chairman of DFS Furniture, shipping magnate Sami Ofer and the businessman Jeffrey Steiner.

The "ARTnews Top 200" was the brainchild of Milton Esterow, the magazine's editor and publisher. He says it has come to be taken increasingly seriously by the collectors themselves.

2003年6月7日 星期六

Pick of the week: Imagine. . . The Saatchi Phenomenon

From
June 7, 2003

Charles Saatchi is the first subject of the BBC's new arts series, but everyone knows it's really about Alan Yentob putting himself in the spotlight, says Caitlin Moran

In the frame

He is a millionaire Iraqi dictator who gained his power by brainwashing a nation. He has a fearsome temper. He likes monumental artworks to be associated with him. One of his friends even says, proudly: “He’s incredibly talented at hangings.” The only difference between Saddam Hussein and Charles Saatchi, however, is that Saatchi would never have given a tu’penny ha’penny interview to Tony Benn on the ITV news in the lead-up to the recent war. Indeed, as we discover in Alan Yentob’s unexpectedly interesting documentary, The Saatchi Phenomenon, the first in the new Imagine series on BBC One, until this very programme, only three seconds of television footage of Saatchi existed. This news — delivered in the context that Yentob has scored a considerable coup by getting Saatchi to agree to being filmed — immediately raises expectations that Saatchi, when he finally appears, is going to loom up as glamorous and fantastical as a yeti in a swimsuit, and shock us more than Sarah Lucas’s fried egg t***.

Of course, when Saatchi does finally appear — wandering around his new Saatchi Gallery on the South Bank a few weeks before opening, and, as promised, going “left a bit, right a bit” in a very committed way, which I presume is part of the process of being “incredibly talented at hanging” — he’s just a fat man in a pair of pegged trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, smoking ciggies and calling his partner, Nigella Lawson, “Petal”.

In the documentary that follows — which is essentially a high-class gossip-fest with the occasional shark in formaldehyde — we learn that Saatchi is inseparable from his short-sleeved shirt, that he used to get so enraged at Saatchi and Saatchi that he threw chairs at his brother Maurice’s head, and that Damien Hirst’s shark smells of fish. It all bodes well for the rest of the Imagine series, which covers the sculptor Barbara Hepworth, some Cuban ballet dancer whom you’ve never heard of, but who looks very cool, a think piece on hip-hop culture and Stella McCartney’s video diary.

Of course, the main focus of interest in Imagine isn’t really the subjects, however many gossipy nuggets are revealed about them — it’s Yentob’s leap over the desk from management to presenting. It generally seems to be considered slightly “off” — like Sir Alex Ferguson running angrily on to the pitch and scoring a goal after David Beckham has fallen over. Myself, I simply don’t have a problem with suits presenting programmes — from the audience’s point of view, you just want the most powerful, persuasive and well-connected person possible to be out there getting the goods. It’s why I truly hope that the next pope is a bit of a televisual wannabe. Previously, the only person who would have been able to persuade people such as the reclusive Saatchi and Stella McCartney to reveal themselves would have been Elton John’s partner David Furnish, who did a notoriously fluffy series on fashion designers last year for Channel 4. The investigative highlight of this was Furnish telling Donatella Versace: “You are amazing and you make people feel amazing — you know that?”

In this context, the worst that could be said of Yentob is that he is the highbrow David Furnish — while not averse to a bit of gossip and flattery himself, he still has a good journalistic eye for jazzing up a dry subject, his presenting style is quiet and unflashy — a bit like having a koala bear chatting to you — and if what it takes to get a new arts strand on BBC One is having it presented by the former controller of BBC Two, then so be it. Yentob has delivered the goods. And I should imagine his expenses claims go through without too many hitches as well.

Imagine, Wednesday, BBC One, 10.35pm; Wales, 11.05pm

CV: Alan Yentob

Born March 11, 1947

Background His parents were Jewish immigrants from Iraq. His father ran a successful textile firm in Manchester

Big break After joining the BBC as a trainee in 1968, he was given the chance to edit the award-winning Omnibus in 1973

Having a laugh As head of BBC Two, he commissioned Absolutely Fabulous and Have I Got News For You

Day job Appointed the BBC’s Director of Drama, Entertainment and Children’s Programmes in 2000

Still finds time to . . . Chair the ICA

2003年5月25日 星期日

Stephen Bayley: House the poor! Build a gallery! Save a hedgehog! Now that's rich

The rich are different. And they can make a difference. Stephen Bayley traces the history of giving generously, and unearths some unlikely links between Dante's Divine Comedy and Pink Floyd

Sunday, 25 May 2003

Provided they lend me their houses and take me for rides in their planes, I have no objection to the very rich. On the contrary, I am rather in favour. This will surely be a comfort to wealthy souls tormented by the irreconcilable conflict between limitless worldly pistonnage and the inevitable, cruel vectors of mortality. A Gulfstream can only suspend you for so long between the dust and ashes at the beginning and the end of life's excursion. Accordingly, great good has come out of the guilt and fear that good fortune and great wealth produce.

Provided they lend me their houses and take me for rides in their planes, I have no objection to the very rich. On the contrary, I am rather in favour. This will surely be a comfort to wealthy souls tormented by the irreconcilable conflict between limitless worldly pistonnage and the inevitable, cruel vectors of mortality. A Gulfstream can only suspend you for so long between the dust and ashes at the beginning and the end of life's excursion. Accordingly, great good has come out of the guilt and fear that good fortune and great wealth produce.

Whichever way you look at it, the journey from Dante's Divine Comedy to Pink Floyd is a long one, but last week brought them closer together. When Dante vilified his family, the financier Enrico Scrovegni - by way of expiation - promptly commissioned Giotto to decorate Padua's Arena Chapel and, hey presto, (this was about 1305), there was the Renaissance in painting. Now, while I can enjoyably hum "The Wall" along with the next man, it would be reckless to compare Dave Gilmour's artistic achievements with Giotto's. Still, his easy-going benevolence in giving away a handsome Maida Vale property to a housing charity shows what fun can be had, like Scrovegni, with the distribution of wealth. Gilmour's civic gesture is in specially nice contrast to the wince-making avarice of FTSE chief executive officers with their screw-you feather-bedding and spectacularly hypocritical short-termism.

I have - we all have - always thought how very amusing it would be to have vast wealth ... and give (almost all of it) away. Build a university! Parks! Galleries! Plant trees! A hedgehog recovery project! This is one of the most beguiling daydreams of them all, and the reason I do not - at least not yet - have vast wealth is that I have a tendency to daydream. And here is one of the many differences between the very rich and the rest of us. My experience is that people who have made a lot of money are very focused indeed. In fact, the rich are different from you and me because they tend to think not so much about what they might do with the money; rather they think of the money itself. This is as fundamental a divide in human personality as the left-brain, right-brain schism.

"I don't," I remember Terence Conran saying to me, "want to leave it to the kids or to the Inland Revenue." Thus, starting in 1979, began a remarkable adventure that resulted, through some canny philanthropy and a bit of nipping and tucking, in London's Design Museum. Conran's huge generosity in wanting to popularise design (and his brilliant insight of having me do it for him) was a classic of educated altruism, but it was also not without an element of opportunism, even commercial self-interest. While Conran's authentic enthusiasm for design proselytising (incurable, I caught it) cannot be questioned, the idea of funding a design museum had a subsidiary purpose. This was to create a virtuous circle. The more, the theory went, we educate the public in design, or - at least - our version of it, the more they will want to go and spend in our shops. The more they do this, the more we will make, and the more we will be able to educate them, and so on.

Bill Gates, boss of Microsoft, did something similar. His first major charitable contribution was giving away $60m of software in 1995. Then in 1997 the Gates Foundation wired 6,000 US libraries at a cost of $90m. Only a curmudgeon or a churl would be snitty about this because the democratic benefits are obvious but, on the other hand, there are plenty of curmudgeons and churls to be found. They said that was all very well, but what Gates was really doing was not so different morally from the drug dealer distributing small parcels of crack outside school. Through his charitable foundation, they said, Gates was forming a lifetime's addiction to Microsoft products, which he would then feed. It was, one critic said, as if the Ford Foundation restricted its charitable giving to automobile components, requiring its beneficiaries to buy Ford cars. Perhaps stung by these accusations, the Gates Foundation has turned its interest to vaccination.

As stimuli to philanthropy, guilt and fear are often joined by vanity. Here the Sainsburys come to mind. The family's benefactions have undoubtedly enhanced public life in Britain. We are all better off because Norman Foster's Sainsbury Centre at the University of East Anglia and Robert Venturi's National Gallery extension have been built on the profits from oven chips and industrial verdicchio. But, to present a contrarian view, we would all have been even better off if J Sainsbury plc had spent more money and effort on landscaping its wretched supermarkets and commissioning more dignified buildings from architects of talent and repute. This stratagem, however, would have been a less efficient way of feeding the voracious status-anxiety of uppity grocers.

But maybe I am being a bit cheap, as the poor are inclined to be. Quibble as we might, the sensibilities of Conran, Sainsbury and Saatchi are pointing in the right direction. The truth is that prosperous entrepreneurs in possession of a good fortune and feeling shifty about destiny are not a menace; they are an unexploited national asset. For every Conran, Sainsbury, Saatchi, Clore and Tate there are also brutally philistine magnates sitting on fizzing piles of moolah. What can stimulate these very chubby pussies to be generous? In our daydreams it is tempting to imagine terrifying legislation that might separate them from their dosh. But it is not ugly, punitive law-making we need to excite the moral responsibilities of the rich. What we need instead is more poets of Dante's stature to expose their boorish vice and folly, and shame them into interesting acts of popular munificence.

JP Morgan said of his ocean-going yacht Corsair, "Nobody who has to ask what a yacht costs has any business owning one". I am inclined to think that no one who demands extraordinary rewards from a public company - as Jean-Pierre Garnier, chief executive of GlaxoSmithKline, did last week - has any business running one. He could have redeemed himself with a promise of future acts of enlightened civic purpose, but that wouldn't be in character for a money-grubbing salaryman. The pharmaceutical company's annual general meeting had its revenge on its grabby chief executive. History irrefutably rewards the generous. There is not going to be a Garnier chapel. Conran, Gates, Sainsbury, Saatchi and Clore have all had the nerve and style to create decent projects of both particular and general benefit. And I happen to know that in each case they have a great deal left. Our new Dante might encourage them to be even more generous still.

Blake said: "Good and Evil are Riches and Poverty". There are good rich men and evil rich men. The good ones always feel inclined to give it away. As history shows...

2003年5月4日 星期日

Saatchi's new art row - this time it's personal

By James Morrison and Malaika Costello-Dougherty
Sunday, 4 May 2003

Charles Saatchi has done it again. Barely a fortnight after allowing the launch party for his new London gallery to be over-run by naked gatecrashers, the high priest of Britart has once more set tongues wagging – this time over rumours of a rift with his long-time collaborator, the art dealer Jay Jopling.

Charles Saatchi has done it again. Barely a fortnight after allowing the launch party for his new London gallery to be over-run by naked gatecrashers, the high priest of Britart has once more set tongues wagging – this time over rumours of a rift with his long-time collaborator, the art dealer Jay Jopling.

Though the art world is notorious for its squabbles and rivalries, the cause of the present contretemps is said to be more than usually personal. Jopling, sources say, is fuming at Saatchi's apparent decision to sell off all but one of the works by the dealer's wife, video and photographic artist Sam Taylor-Wood.

As if this weren't enough of a slight, Taylor-Wood has been omitted from Saatchi's new Thames-side gallery. And not one of her pieces – even the controversial update of Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper from Saatchi's era-defining 1997 Sensation exhibition at the Royal Academy – is name-checked in the glossy book published to accompany it. 100: The Work That Changed British Art features reproductions of 100 works, ranging from the notorious (Tracey Emin's My Bed) to the more obscure (White Canoe by Peter Doig), yet nowhere in its 220 pages is Ms Taylor-Wood's name mentioned.

As if to rub salt into her wounds, in his introduction to the volume, Saatchi writes about his love of "recent British art" and, implicitly, the items in his own collection. He describes the scene it represents as "pretty much the only art that will be worth more than a footnote in future chronicles of the 20th century".

Though evidence for the scale of Saatchi's disposal of Taylor-Wood's work is circumstantial, at least some of the 18 or more pieces by the artist that have appeared at auction in London and New York over the past two years are known to have hailed from his collection. These include Killing Time, a four-screened video installation, which was bought back by Jopling at Christie's for £17,625 in February last year, before being sold on to Tate Modern.

Sources close to Saatchi have confirmed that the former advertising tycoon now owns only one of her works, Spankers Hill, a photo of Ms Taylor-Wood dressed as a rabbit caught in a car's headlights. At the height of his promotion of the Young British Artists in the mid-1990s, he had a far larger number. Five were included in the Sensation show alone.

For Ms Taylor-Wood and her husband, whose gallery, White Cube, represents her, the perils of falling out of fashion with Charles Saatchi will be all too clear. The composition of Saatchi's collection at any one time is seen as such a barometer of prevailing tastes that his decision to sell off work by an individual artist can have a damaging effect on their market value.

One art market insider said of Ms Taylor-Wood's absence from Saatchi's new County Hall gallery: "You should put two and two together. I'm sure he's been selling her stuff. It's a real slight, although in the end it's probably a blessing for her. I think a lot of the work in the gallery comes off really badly. It's meant to be in a white space, and against the backdrop of County Hall a lot of it doesn't really work. He's proved he's an advertising expert – but not an art expert."

Neither Saatchi nor Jopling are showing any signs of going public with their differences. The Saatchi Gallery declined to comment, and a spokeswoman for White Cube said: "Jay's position is that he has no comment because there isn't an issue."

2003年4月20日 星期日

Never mind the Saatchi, here's the Enron collection

Creative accounting takes on a whole new meaning as the collapsed energy giant tries to claw back some of the $4m it spent on contemporary art.

By Jason Nissé
Sunday, 20 April 2003

The last remnants of Enron's attempt to become a major player in the world of contemporary art are to be sold off in New York next month. Works as diverse as Claes Oldenburg's pop-art classic Soft Light Switches, a set of photographs of water towers by German artists Bernd and Hilla Becher and a recent painting by Britain's Bridget Riley will go under the hammer as Enron's managers try to recoup what they can from the collapsed energy giant.

The last remnants of Enron's attempt to become a major player in the world of contemporary art are to be sold off in New York next month. Works as diverse as Claes Oldenburg's pop-art classic Soft Light Switches, a set of photographs of water towers by German artists Bernd and Hilla Becher and a recent painting by Britain's Bridget Riley will go under the hammer as Enron's managers try to recoup what they can from the collapsed energy giant.

The art collection was the brainchild of Lea Fastow, wife of Enron's chief financial officer, Andrew Fastow, who is now facing charges for his role in creating the off-balance sheet vehicles that hastened Enron's demise. Mrs Fastow was given a $20m (£12.7m) budget and jetted from New York to Venice and London in search of art. By the time Enron toppled she had spent just $4m, though as much of this was on new commissions, less than $2m is expected to be recouped.

Auctioneers Phillips, de Pury & Luxembourg expect the Oldenburg to be the star of the show. "This is an icon of the pop-art era," said Aileen Agopian, a contemporary art expert at the auction house. "It is such a quintessential Oldenburg piece it could shake up the records."

Phillips actually sold the work to Enron for $574,500 in 2001. Ms Agopian hopes it will beat the record price for the artist, which stands at $691,500.

Charles Saatchi: Why has everyone got it in for him?

He's put his money where his taste is. He's done more for current British art than anyone. He's given London a landmark museum

Sunday, 20 April 2003

There were two key private views last Tuesday – or "pee-vees", as the liggerati have it – and the linkage was tantalising. One was the "Thatcher" exhibition at the Blue Gallery in Clerkenwell, central London. The other, two miles away on the South Bank, was the ticket-only fête for Thatcher's adman Charles Saatchi in County Hall, a building available only because of Maggie's abrupt axeing of the Greater London Council in 1986, and now host to "SaatchiWorld".

There were two key private views last Tuesday – or "pee-vees", as the liggerati have it – and the linkage was tantalising. One was the "Thatcher" exhibition at the Blue Gallery in Clerkenwell, central London. The other, two miles away on the South Bank, was the ticket-only fête for Thatcher's adman Charles Saatchi in County Hall, a building available only because of Maggie's abrupt axeing of the Greater London Council in 1986, and now host to "SaatchiWorld".

Actually, that is not the real name of the Saatchi Museum but a pejorative sobriquet coined by the art historian John A Walker, co-author with Rita Hatton of a book about Saatchi called Supercollector, so as to liken it to the "parallel reality found at DisneyWorld".

Ouch. But Walker's construction is tame compared to some of the other counterblasts. The Saatchi Museum has been ridiculed as a vulgar vanity project, and labelled "risible", "a curator's nightmare", an "extraordinary, historic flop", and most notably, a "mausoleum". The poverty of Ralph Knott's Edwardian municipal backdrop, and the questionable canonising of a moment in British art have also arisen. Perhaps the worst indictment comes from Damien Hirst, whose work heralds the museum, but who has dissociated himself from the project as "pointless" and "a waste of time".

The museum has crystallised the Saatchi backlash. It has been swelling for years, and there has long been art-world criticism about the way he buys and sells, but as the only major buyer in the UK, he has been begrudgingly accepted. Indeed, Saatchi's presence has disquieted, even confused the art world – the critic Matthew Collings has said that "nobody can ever quite sum up what the problem is".

Some have not forgiven him for the "Labour isn't working" campaign, notably the left-leaning arts bureaucrats whose budgets were cut by the Iron Lady. "Never forget that he scuppered the Labour Party," says an anonymous curator (many arts-world people will not go "on record" against "Charles"). Lots of culture-producers are ambivalent. "It's difficult to say anything that doesn't sound like sour grapes," says one high-profile artist. "He's a curate's egg: good in parts."

Although she has seen the backlash develop, the art critic and curator Sacha Craddock says that the art world has been utterly complicit. "I think back in the Eighties and Nineties people weren't critical enough," she says. "All you heard was, 'I'm going to be bought by Saatchi'. In the Eighties and Nineties, he suited the more brash times, and the establishment found him useful." Rich, intelligent and one of our few patrons, Saatchi was a big fish in the UK's provincial pool, and one could argue that he did a great marketing job for the UK art world.

"Now people are turning round and getting snobby about him," adds Craddock. "There's a desire to cut him adrift, and a notion that Saatchi is not working in the public interest. And why should he? It's his money, his show." It's the sheer brass neck of the man, she proposes. "I'm sure it's something to do with his infuriating populism. It was one thing when he was stuck at Boundary Road [his north London gallery]. It's another when he's in a prime tourist hotspot on the South Bank."

And another still when loads of art-world folk were not invited to the launch party, but opened their newspapers on Wednesday morning to find the likes of Sara Cox and the model Jemma Kidd in ahead of them. "It shows no sense of generosity to artists, and it is artists who have given him his opportunities," says a gallerist. "I hope people stay away in droves, and I personally have no intention of paying £8.50 for it."

Others now choose to downplay his influence, among them the gallery-owner Anthony Reynolds. "I do think his role is exaggerated," says Reynolds. "He was incredibly important in the early days, but the idea that young artists sit around thinking about him when they make work is tosh – as is this phoney war between the 'new Medici' and Tate Modern." Reynolds credits the museum for being "outrageous and bold" but admits that it "doesn't fill me with joy". One critic, The Independent's Tom Lubbock, described Saatchi's taste as adman's art – "bright and shiny, shitty and bloody, rude and jokey". Adrian Searle of The Guardian described the gallery as "a provincial gulag", confining the artists featured to their past.

The left has long been uncomfortable with Saatchi, ever since the conceptual artist Hans Haake made work that linked Saatchi's art collecting with an influence on state art institutions. This baton is now carried by John A Walker. "From the classic Marxist perspective, Saatchi exploits the labour power of his workers to make a fortune, and then exploits that fortune to manipulate culture," he says. "Then he can bequeath the work that doesn't increase in value so as to gain a veneer of altruism."

The myth of Saatchi, says Walker, is that of a "self-made man". "But remember that the artists have made the work he owns, and then he folds them into his whole apparatus and makes it all about him. Now SaatchiWorld is even going to have its own prize, so he can reward his own collection. Saatchi is constructing an all-encompassing, art world apparatus. I find it hilarious."

Some of the discomfort arises from the idea that his is a private-sector museum, doing the public sector's job. The critic Brian Sewell expected Saatchi to bequeath his collection of late-20th century British art to the Tate and believes he "has done the duty of the state" by holding the keys to Britart. Indeed, Saatchi's swashbuckling presence – and deep pockets – have arguably shown up bureaucratic sluggishness in the public sector.

But suspicions have also been raised at Saatchi's relationship with the public museums. Whenever he has got into bed with them, notably the Tate and Whitechapel galleries, critics reckoned he was using museum prestige to drive up prices. The late Bryan Robertson, who worked for the Whitechapel Art Gallery, called him a "cold speculator". There has also been sniping at the way he co-opted critics such as Time Out's Sarah Kent into writing partisan catalogue introductions: a process brought up-to-date by the forthcoming TV profile of Saatchi by his Scrabble pal, Alan Yentob. More recently, there has been internal dissent at The Guardian and The Observer about special Saatchi supplements.

Fuelling it all are the Citizen Kane-type rumours about Saatchi: for instance, does he really keep a permanent room at the Berkeley Hotel just to use the rooftop pool? "It's very hard to get hard facts about him," says John A Walker. "He's very worried about betrayal."

One could try to write off the critics as out-of-time lefties. But conservatives are also exercised by the Saatchi effect. George Walden, the ex-minister, arts commentator and author of The New Elites, is highly critical of the museum. "It's so backward, with its sad little Mini [Hirst's spotty car] and its sad nude demonstration [the Spencer Tunick nude photocall on the forecourt]. It's a sad, backward show, sold to the public as something new by a typical member of the new élite." So does he believe, like the ICA's director Philip Dodd, that it is "a Nineties museum, dedicated to the recent past"? "No, it's not old in the sense of being 'so last year, darling'," says Walden. "It's more like 100 years old, aping the Modernist avant-garde. It is backward, provincial and sad. In our puritanical country, nudes will go into the newspapers and that's Saatchi's role: an adman, whose interest is in marketing. There's more merit in one episode of The Simpsons than in his gallery."

Such a wide target is the Saatchi Museum that even well-known antagonists like David Lee of Jackdaw magazine have resisted the media lure: "I didn't want to get involved," says Lee, who is nonetheless devoting the next Jackdaw to the "malign influence" of Saatchi. "There is this idea that he is pitted against the Tate, but he's been involved with the Turner Prize before. His interests and the contemporary arts establishment's interests have completely coincided. As for the idea that he's a recluse, that's wrong. He is addicted to publicity. I think his interests are purely selfish. He's completely used all the artists."

Part of the blame lies with the media, thinks the contemporary arts curator Paul Bonaventura of the Ruskin School of Art in Oxford. "The media have done themselves no favours by generating such a deluge on Saatchi," he says. "The opening of the new Saatchi gallery is newsworthy but the coverage is out of all proportion to its significance and presents a twisted picture of contemporary art. Their relentless promotion of Saatchi does little for the serious artists in Saatchi's collection – and indeed, little for Saatchi as a responsible patron." Now that the press can get a power-couple story about Saatchi and Nigella Lawson, he has crossed from the world of art into that of celebrity tittle-tattle.

"I"m sure the museum will be a success; not as an art phenomenon but as a tourist attraction," says Patricia Bickers, editor of Art Monthly, adding that she found it "tediously predictable" and the Spencer Tunick nude stunt "rather wearying". As to the rumour that Tunick allegedly sold his image to Saatchi before it had been taken – well, so the world turns. "In the Nineties people still saw him as a collector, but the point is he was always a dealer." It's obvious now, she reckons.

More importantly, Bickers believes that Saatchi has broken several of the caveats of exhibiting art. "He's entitled to buy and sell work. But he's remade, re-presented and recontextualised work," she says. "Some artists have been appalled by what he's done. It's an unequal power struggle. In the end, it's all about Saatchi – hence 'The Saatchi Decade', as the title of the aggrandising book goes. It's not good for the artists' careers." It's a theme echoed by Anthony Reynolds: "What [the museum] doesn't do is develop the artists' careers. It's not a long-term plan for posterity. Some of the more celebrity artists will not persist." Indeed, some artists don't sell to Saatchi because of his fickleness and the negative association. "He's genuinely passionate," says Reynolds. "He picks things up quickly, but drops them quickly too."

Julian Spalding, author of The Eclipse of Art (Prestel) and in the past a controversial director of Glasgow's museums, defends Saatchi's right to open a gallery. "Nobody asked him to do it," he says. "It's a public statement by someone who's got the money." But he finds it low in cultural significance. "It's not serious. It's not a competitor to the Tate. It's nothing to do with being a 'modern Medici'. For someone who's supposed to be showing the avant-garde, one is impressed by how it looks backwards. It's more like a funfair or freak-show, with an odd impermanence to it."

The problem is that it is dead on arrival, thinks Ingrid Swenson of the curatorial agency and art think-tank Peer. "He's serving up the stuff he's collected, and the art world is already familiar with most of it," she says. "It's not bad, but there's a sense of serving the stuff in aspic, with no risk-taking. Why isn't he supporting more new people? It's seems like a bit of a party for Nigella and Jamie, or whoever; a bit pathetic really."

Put it this way: if the museum does not receive its hoped-for 750,000 visitors a year, there are a lot of people waiting to remake the Saatchi brothers' infamous 1979 slogan – Saatchi isn't working.

There's more merit in one episode of 'The Simpsons' than there is in the Saatchi Museum

George Walden, author and ex-minister

As for the idea that he's a recluse, I think that's wrong. He's addicted to publicity.

David Lee, editor of 'Jackdaw'

Saatchi art – bright and shiny, shitty and bloody, rude and jokey – is an adman's art

Tom Lubbock, art critic of 'The Independent'

2003年4月18日 星期五

Saatchi pulls in the crowds, but shock factor has disappeared

By Arifa Akbar
Friday, 18 April 2003

The buzz of excitement at the public opening of Charles Saatchi's gallery on the South Bank of the Thames yesterday was not limited to the crowds who were queuing outside.

The buzz of excitement at the public opening of Charles Saatchi's gallery on the South Bank of the Thames yesterday was not limited to the crowds who were queuing outside.

Rumour had it that a swarm of flies had escaped from Damien Hirst's A Thousand Years, a glass case installation featuring hundreds of the insects, as well as a considerable number of maggots, gorging on a decomposing cow's head. Security guards were called to investigate.

Visitors occupied themselves by trying to catch the flies in cigarette boxes to sell to prospective buyers as genuine pieces of Young British Art.

Attendance was brisk rather than spectacular for a city growing accustomed to artistic blockbusters. The most popular exhibits had a 30-minute waiting time. Others were more readily approachable.

A modest crowd of tourists, art students and day-trippers stumbled past what seemed to be a body in a dirty sleeping bag. "Is that part of the show or not?" said one woman, pointing to a cast bronze sculpture by Gavin Turk. The homeless figure, with mannequins of exhausted backpackers and women pushing prams, stood in the entrance hall in an attempt to unsettle the visitors' notion of reality. It was clearly having some effect.

The central exhibition hall, once a Greater London Council debating chamber, and the 22 rooms of the gallery, which house the many "once-shocking" pieces by Hirst, Tracey Emin and Marcus Harvey, held few other surprises for visitors.

"I have seen pictures of most of this stuff so I am not shocked by it. I really just wanted to come and see it all in the flesh," said Rachel Couley, a scientist from London, as she stood aside Harvey's controversial portrait of Myra Hindley.

Animated tourists chattered around visions of surgical equipment in a fish tank, cow dung, Hirst's enormous shark in formaldehyde, bloodied mannequins dangling from trees and Sarah Lucas's Bunny, showing a woman's splayed legs on a chair.

Some visitors saw the wit in the works and chuckled at the exhibits.

A circle of art students fiercely defended the need for such a gallery to exist in a central location. Nicole Regan, 19, studying at Central St Martins college, said: "All of this stuff is brilliant. I have come to study it and it's incredibly powerful. You can get up close to it as there are no barriers. This is a specific British arts movement and it needs to be recognised."

The biggest queues formed around Richard Wilson's exhibit 20:50, in which he fills a room with engine oil. Anthony Murombe, 25, said: "I'm not sure it was worth the 35-minute wait. I am not sure if it was art but it was visually spectacular nevertheless."

Others remained unimpressed by the assortment of severed animal flesh and faeces served up to them. Vicky Ledger from Coventry said she had far preferred the majestic Titian exhibition, just down the river at the Tate. Moving forward five centuries, Betty Harding, 59, felt the irony was too close for comfort. Standing near Hirst's Beautiful, Cheap, Shitty, Too Easy ... she sighed: "That just about sums it up."