The Art of Acquiring: A Portrait of Etta and Claribel Cone (20 page)

BMA Collection.

Now that I stop to reason about it, it is silly foolishness this collecting of things!. . . But it must have some solid foundation. . . deep in the hearts of people—for look at the thousands who are moved by the same impulse. It is the craving for beauty that is such a vital function of the human soul. Or perfection—some say that is one way of finding the path to god. Is it?

—Claribel Cone, in a letter to Etta Cone, Sept. 2, 1924

W
hat had started so long ago as an interesting pastime had become, for Etta, a high-stakes career. The same was true of Claribel. The two took advantage of their long winter months in Baltimore to study the paintings in their own collection, attend lectures on aesthetics, and teach themselves art history by reading the hundreds of volumes that became part of their vast library. Michael and Sally Stein continued to whisper suggestions, trying to steer them toward one artist or another—or toward something their own family had to sell.

And artists in search of patrons increasingly sought to woo the sisters. But though they were sometimes taken in by the efforts, the character of the collection belonged to no one but the Cones. They became almost one person—singleminded in the pursuit of art.

Each of their prime qualities was reflected in the collection. The strength of the larger-than-life Claribel showed itself in the bold works she bought, whereas Etta's gentleness and timidity were evident in her choices. Together, their collection worked like the rarest of marriages, which combines the strengths and weaknesses of each partner to produce a better whole. Either one of the sisters’ collections alone would have been too much of one note. Their collections, when put together, created a special harmony.

Between 1925 and the fall of 1929, Etta and Claribel bought ninety works of art, firmly establishing their reputations as the world's most important contemporary collectors.

During the summer of 1925, the sisters made two of their most important purchases.

Ironically, none of the works purchased from the rue de Fleurus that summer turned out to be very important. A Marie Laurençin oil from 1908 called
Group of Artists
was costly at 10,000 francs, and important for its sentimental and historical value, rather than as a work of art. It was a portrait of Picasso, Fernande, Apollinaire, and Laurençin as they appeared during their Bâteau Lavoir days.

Claribel also picked up a bronze mask by Picasso. But otherwise she bought from Gertrude mostly insignificant works by the artist Louis Favre, a less talented version of Matisse whom Gertrude and the sisters had befriended.

Meanwhile, Claribel did not share her younger sister's antagonism toward Gertrude over the manuscript for
Three Lives,
and wanted to help pull Gertrude out of her financial quagmire. Records indicate she spent 19,000 francs that season, or about $1,000, on art she bought directly from Gertrude.

Claribel also made purchases outside the Stein fold, one of which has been referred to as the most important painting in the Cone collection. It was Cézanne's
La montagne Sainte-Victoire vue du Bibémus Quarry
(Mont Sainte-Victoire Seen from the Bibemus Quarry). At auction in Paris in late June 1925, it was purchased by Bernheim-Jeune during the Gangnat sale, possibly at Claribel's request. The elder Cone sister bought it from the gallery the day after the auction for 410,000 francs or, according to Claribel's calculations, $18,860.

The price of that single painting was more than ten times the average annual salary in America, and the most the Cones had ever paid for a work of art. It must have alarmed the Cone brothers, who watched Claribel and Etta seemingly fritter away their fortunes on art.

At one point, Claribel cabled the Cone Export and Commission Company in New York, “Bought pictures. Cable me through American Express, Paris, twenty-thousand dollars in Dollars. Claribel Cone, Hotel Lutetia.” She diligently jotted down that the cable cost her 86 francs.

After 1922, Etta, in her art purchases, ventured away from Matisse only once, and that was in November of 1922, when she bought a Degas pastel. In 1925, she continued to remain faithful to her favorite artist by buying only two works—one a painting by Matisse's daughter Margot, and the other a work by Matisse himself, which she purchased from the artist's son Pierre. The painting was not as expensive as Claribel's Cézanne—a mere 70,000 francs—but Etta's latest Matisse,
Intérior, fleurs et perruches
(Interior, Flowers and Parakeets), was considered the largest and most magnificent of his 1924 interiors.

The painting was a burst of pattern and color—part still-life, part interior—that must have looked to Etta like an invitation into Matisse's world. A rope draws a curtain aside and
beckons the viewer into the warm red glow of the artist's room. At almost 4 feet by 2
¹
/
₂
feet, the painting was thus far the largest the Cones had purchased, and would remain Etta's favorite Matisse painting throughout her collecting career.

The two major purchases of 1925 showed the sisters to be collectors with a discerning eye and a keen knowledge of their artists. Still, the Cones bought not what others considered important, but rather what they liked. If the two coincided, all the better. Their collecting was chiefly the combined act of love and liberation. It gave the sisters, and especially Etta, the freedom to act extravagantly and without censor on the large and brightly lit stage of the international art world.

Most of the players on that stage were men. Most women buying art were doing so with the help of advisers. But that would never do for the Cone sisters. They not only wanted to call the shots on what to buy, but they even wanted to dirty their hands in actual negotiations, and when possible, buy the work directly from the artist.

Pierre Matisse, the artist's son who became a picture dealer, said the Cones “very freely followed their own curiosity.” He added, “Many collectors just buy a few things and let it go at that. But the Cone Collection was always developing. They were very enthusiastic, very consistent.”

In 1926, Claribel turned sixty-two. Though she would not admit it, she was finding it increasingly difficult to cope in Paris with the rigors of her “second career”—as a shopper. She had begun to lose things. Her constant roaming around the enormous city, which seemed to grow increasingly congested each year, had become more difficult.

Claribel weighed about 270 pounds—Etta slightly less. They were so large they had to be pushed into taxicabs
backwards. And so as not to be “posteriorly touched,” they were helped into cabs with wooden sticks called “pusher hands,” which were carved in the shape of a palm and fingers, and were kept in a special lace bag. Paris, they decided, was for the more portable, so that year they settled on an easier base for their summers abroad, in Lausanne, Switzerland.

It turned out that the brother of the artist Felix Vallotton (Paul) had a gallery in Lausanne and was eager to dote on the two sisters. They returned the favor by buying art through his shop. Claribel was entertained with gossip about the extra-marital romances of the artists—Bonnard's mistress, Felix Vallotton's flirtation with an American girl (which Claribel said made him more interesting than his paintings), and Swiss artist Ferdinand Hodler's decision to leave his consumptive wife and run off with her nurse.

The dinners and talks helped Claribel pass many a pleasant summer in Switzerland. She was convinced Vallotton cared for her and Etta like a brother. “He is really devoted to us, not only commercially,” she wrote. While her trust may have been well-placed, he was certainly eager to do what he could for his two summer clients. After all, they spent thousands of dollars each year at his gallery.

Michael Stein learned of the relationship and saw a business opportunity missed. “My Dear Folks”—presumably he was writing to Gertrude and Alice—“While in Lausanne Claribel became quite intimate with Vallotton the picture dealer who is a brother of Felix and on that account it was possible to interest her in the portrait and I think she will take it for 10,000. Where is it? Is there any way I can get it?” The portrait in question was a not very remarkable 1907 painting by Felix Vallotton of Gertrude.

Michael Stein knew his mark all too well. Claribel purchased the painting from Gertrude in October 1926 for
10,000 francs. Like the Laurençin, the Vallotton portrait was of more interest for its personal and historical value—because it was
by
a friend,
of
a friend—than as a work of art. But if Michael hoped to unload more Vallottons on the Cone sisters, he would have to wait. Claribel ended that year's shopping season with a single purchase that established the Cone sisters as collectors to be reckoned with in the eyes of New York and Paris dealers.

The winter before, the sisters had hosted a rare visit to Baltimore by Matisse's son, Pierre. Though the art collection of the late John Quinn was heading to auction, Pierre said the estate's executors had asked him if any American collectors might be interested in the Matisse works before they went on the block. In fact, Pierre Matisse had made a special trip to Baltimore to act as an agent, in case the sisters wanted to buy any of the work. While flattered by the attention, the sisters rebuffed his efforts, much to his surprise, and he left without making a sale.

But in October, at the auction of Quinn's estate, Pierre found himself bidding against Claribel for one of the pieces Pierre had tried unsuccessfully to sell her that winter—Matisse's bold
Blue Nude
. The painting, first owned by Leo, and later purchased by Quinn, finally fell into Claribel's possession when Pierre kindly dropped out of the bidding. Michael Stein facilitated the purchase for Claribel, at a price of 120,760 francs.

The painting, though nearly twenty years old, was still considered grotesque and outrageous. If a male collector had purchased it, he would have been considered bold. But for a woman—especially a sixty-two-year-old woman dressed in Victorian garb—to claim the writhing nude as her own was more remarkable still. And, Claribel's
Blue Nude
also had something that neither Leo's nor Quinn's had had. Claribel alertly
noticed that Matisse had never signed the painting. He cordially did so, in the lower right hand corner, at her request.

Claribel considered two points when purchasing a work of art: did it represent an artist's best style, and/or would it decorate her living room? Surely the
Blue Nude
would fall into the former category. It had been burned in effigy in 1913, and would never be mistaken for decoration. And yet when it was hung in the Marlborough amid the Cones’ other paintings, it fit easily.

By the time the
Blue Nude
became part of the Cone collection, the two sisters’ apartments had become more than a little crowded—with things. There were Renaissance and Queen Anne furnishings (mostly reproductions, which they bought thinking they were real), Oriental rugs, bronze sculptures, Persian cloths, Turkish scarves, African and Asian objects, boxes, and chests.

Some paintings were stacked. Etchings were piled in trunks and in a bathtub. Drawers held more treasures—fabrics and jewelry. And everywhere on the walls were paintings and drawings in their elaborate frames. The overall impression was not of a museum but of a home whose every article had a rich history.
Blue Nude
was only the latest story.

The sisters kept their purchases separate, Etta's in her apartment and Claribel's in her “museum,” which Etta needed permission to show—Claribel's living quarters were completely off limits. In fact, no one but her nephew Sydney saw the place for years. He was hired to do secretarial work for Claribel—making four sets of all her records.

When he first entered her apartment, he was horrified by what he found. The furniture, trunks, books, magazines, and newspapers filled all available floor space—except for a trail to the bedroom so narrow that Claribel could navigate it only with difficulty. “She would complain that the dressmakers were
not what they used to be,” Sydney said. “But we suspected that her floor-length skirts over the several underskirts might have caught and torn on the sixth-floor apartment's trail.”

In January 1927, Etta, sans Claribel, paid New York an extended art-hunting visit. While there, Etta received a letter from her sister, in Baltimore, that caused her concern. Claribel wrote about falling asleep “Oriental fashion” in a velvet night dress after pausing for a smoke on a Persian rug—with all the lights in her apartment burning. Without her there in Baltimore to keep an eye on Claribel, Etta worried, her older sister was apt to self-immolate. Claribel, for her part, knew she was a terrible burden to Etta, but didn't care. It was, she felt, her prerogative as an older sister and as a “personality”—and an aggressive personality at that.