Chalk One Up for Getty

There is a story about billionaire J. Paul Getty and some bear pits. It seems that the old man was building his replica of a Roman villa out in Malibu, the villa that would become the J. Paul Getty Museum, and he ordered the construction of some big, stone pits for bears.

Now, no one knew why Getty wanted bear pits. The bears themselves were never mentioned, just these large holes in the ground lined with stone. Perhaps Getty believed the Romans kept bears and wanted his villa authentic in every detail; maybe he just liked the idea. It didn’t matter. The construction crews dutifully picked a spot out back and built the bear pits. They are still there today.

I tell this story to illustrate a point. The Getty is not like other museums. Stuck out in Malibu, housed in the eerie splendor of its fake villa, the Getty has shouldered a certain burden from its earliest days, a too-close association with all that is curious about L.A. You would not, for example, expect to find bear pits at the Frick Museum in New York.

And there are other stories. When the founder moved his art collection into the museum, he brought along a supposed Raphael oil painting he had bought for a grand total of $200. The curators knew it was a fake, but the painting was hung in a prominent spot and taken down only after Getty died in 1976.

This past has always left the museum with a certain problem. Namely, how do you transform a place with a history as a cultural curiosity into a major player in the museum world? How do you get some respect, particularly from the art crowd back East? Even with its famous $3 billion in trust funds, that transformation has not been easy for the Getty.

And that brings us around to recent events. After years of what seemed to be stumbling in the dark, the Getty made a move this month that showed what can be done if you happen to be the richest museum in the world. It was fun to watch, and it may have signaled that the Getty is finally ready to play in the big leagues.

I am talking about the museum’s purchase of a painting by the Italian old master known as Pontormo. This was not just any purchase. It was more in the way of a rescue. The Pontormo had been loaned to the Frick in New York for almost 20 years when its owners told the museum early this year that the loan was ending. They wanted it back, and they intended to sell it for every dollar they could get.

The best pre-auction estimates put those dollars at 20 to 30 million because the Pontormo, by all accounts, is an exceptional piece of work. At that price, the buyer was predicted to be a Japanese electronics wizard or Australian beer baron simply because no one else, and certainly no museum, could handle those numbers. That is, no museum except the Getty.

The fear was expressed that when the electronics wizard scored the Pontormo, the painting would disappear from public view. So it came down to the fact that a major eastern museum was about to lose a treasure, and only the Getty could save it. You can see the possibilities here for the dramatic gesture, for winning a little respect.

In the end, the Getty plunked down $35.2 million for the Pontormo and kept a great artwork in the public eye. Will this get the Getty the respect it craves? No, not by itself. But it has put a lot of other museums on notice.

For one thing, it proved the Getty was willing to play way up there in the ozone and was good enough to win. Keep in mind that no other museum can even think about competing at auctions like this. The only players in this game are the tycoons with their megabucks and the Getty.

And winning is not just a matter of having the money. Big-time auctions usually are won or lost long before the bidding actually begins. For months preceding the action, bargains are made between competitors; there are bluffs and fakes. It is tricky business, and the stakes are huge. You can play and get snookered, or you can simply lose. Either way, your standing erodes. The Getty did not lose.

In winning, the Getty also revealed a little arrogance, and that must be good for its soul. The Pontormo is so expensive that it threatens to bust even the Getty’s own, huge budget for acquisitions. The museum bought it anyway.

So good for the Getty, so bad for the Frick. You have to believe that the eccentric old man who created the Getty would have enjoyed the Pontormo caper, since it really amounted to a bit of art piracy done in the name of philanthropy. Last month, the Pontormo sat in New York, now it sits here. A neat trick, maybe just enough to make the old man laugh.