Michael Savage
posted 26 May 2006

What is the Wallace Collection for? For many of us it has the reassuring snugness of a comfortable armchair. It changes little; by the terms of the bequest, nothing is added to the collection (nor taken away), and there is no tradition of temporary exhibitions. Renowned paintings are hung with minor, damaged or unfashionable works. The collection of French furniture is one of the very best in the world, if you like that sort of thing. But for me, all the fanfare of the flamboyant French rococo is dimmed by long familiarity, leaving behind only the essential wonder of the art.

Its strengths complement London's other collections, reflecting the nineteenth century taste of the Marquises of Hartford. At the National Gallery there is just one small room of eighteenth century French art; here there are dozens of masterpieces. The Watteau collection is second only to the Louvre, which has never hidden its envy. Watteau takes some getting used to, his little paintings of young lovers' frivolous pursuits amid gardens and trees. At first they often seem unremarkable, but their charm is gently seductive and carefully contrived through skilful composition and subtle colouration. Here we can see him alongside his lesser epigones, Lancret and Pater, which makes it easier to appreciate Watteau's unique appeal. Unfortunately the Wallace has been poorly cared for, and the Watteaus in particular have suffered greatly from drastic cleaning, which has scrubbed away the fine highlights - to the rightful fury of the Louvre, which maintains a paternalistic interest in the fate of French art wherever it has ended up.

A little earlier is Poussin's 'Dance to the Music of Time', its greatness undimmed by widespread exposure. It is small, but monumental. The figures are dynamic, but there is a pervasive harmony like a sculptured frieze. The large Rubens landscape is pair to one in the National Gallery. I've always preferred the one at the Wallace, and I think it's partly because the National Gallery's landscape is in a small, crowded thoroughfare, whereas the Wallace landscape has pride of place in a magnificent large gallery. It is one of his great late works, painted for his own pleasure, full of anecdote and with masterly command of spatial recession. Capturing the transition between foreground and background is the great challenge of landscape, often dodged by lesser masters. But Rubens is in command of his vista, carefully manipulating proportions to powerful effect.

The Wallace is really inspiring. It inspired the Frick Collection in New York and the Barber Institute in Birmingham, and Kenneth 'Civilisation' Clarke thought the picture gallery - with Frans Hals' famous 'Laughing Cavalier' and the Rubens landscape and great full length portraits and French religious paintings and Dutch still life - one of the greatest rooms in the world. Sadly, inspiring is no longer enough. It's now trying to serve lots of new purposes, most of which are tragically subversive of its unique contributions.

The rooms are being re-furbished, better to approximate the way they were in the Marquis of Hartford's day. Period rooms are out of fashion in museums today, and this is one fashion I wholly endorse. There is something fake about trying to re-create a period setting, which is more the purview of the interior designer than the expert curator. It can diminish the impact of original independent works, which are subordinated to a contemporary vision of what a period interior would look like. And it lacks integrity, because accidents of survival mean that fabrics and wall coverings must be re-created if the rooms are to look like the originals. Artifice and effect are elevated above art and history.

The white box is no answer either, especially when the art is conceived as decorative, as with the French rococo. The faded nineteenth century glory of the Wallace was a fitting context for the collection, allowing the art to shine amid appropriate but understated ornamentation. No doubt some of the more tired galleries would benefit from sprucing up, but I fear for these new showcases. At its worst this approach becomes like a waxwork museum, presenting populist tableaux irrespective of the great works of art that may be on show. The substance is indistinguishable from the spectacle.

This temple of art is being desecrated by Mammon. Alarmingly, it is freely available as a posh venue for hire to uncultured plutocrats who go not to see, but to be seen, the art reduced to a backdrop, the artistry of the furniture reduced to functional tools for the event planners to put on a good bash. Precious things that should be carefully protected are brought back into service for any who can afford the price. Indeed, the Milwaukee Art Museum in the US was rented out earlier this year for a party that turned into a drunken rampage (literally).

The venerable Mayfair monument is reaching out into other sections the community too. The gallery most comparable to the Wallace is the Frick in New York, where children under ten are prohibited, quite rightly in view of the fragile displays. The Wallace, callously indifferent to the fate of its masterpieces, drags great columns of school children around on daytrips, precariously threading between fragile furniture, unglazed paintings and fine porcelain, with no barriers at all. Anyone visiting during the school day is subjected to children's television; the guide's voice carries throughout the short parade of galleries arranged around a central courtyard. I know it sounds curmudgeonly, but I'm not sure what getting six year olds to wear a hat like the one in the painting actually achieves. The insistent ideology of access silences all critics, but many of us want to be able to engage with art at our own pace, rather than having our senses assaulted by loud and condescending guides and raucous groups of children.

Gallery managers assume that a great collection is just too dull today. Why would anyone go back (or go at all) if there is nothing new to see? So, like every other gallery in the world, the Wallace has jumped on the exhibition bandwagon, although they do it especially badly. Recently there was a pointless exhibition on Marie Antoinette, which was just a half-baked excuse to put a few loans together in an awkward little room at the top of the back stairs, just before the main gallery. It added nothing to the Wallace and was too slight to carry conviction as an independent exhibition.

Any showman can create a bit of buzz and pull in some punters - all the more so if admission is free and you can compel school kids to turn up. But is this the highest goal of a great gallery? Discuss.

Wallace Collection website.