Flattering the Art, or Just the Collector?

"Bronze and Boxwood: Masterpieces From the Robert H. Smith Collection" has some lovely objects in it. Of course regular visitors to the National Gallery of Art already knew that, since they have seen more than half of them already: The same collector's bronzes were presented just five years ago, when the museum launched its new sculpture galleries. And could we ever expect to see ugly, dull objects at the National Gallery? At one of the greatest, smartest museums in the world, showcasing good-looking art ought to be every exhibition's starting point, never its prime distinction; for such an institution, good looks represent the bar set at its very lowest point.

Imagine making a list of possible museum exhibitions, from the smartest, most ambitious ones that anyone could think of, down to the lamest, dopiest ones that barely make the grade. Single-collector shows would clearly come closer to the bottom than the top. A show that relies only on the objects that happen to have ended up in one collector's hands can't be counted on to give its visitors anything close to a definitive view of its subject -- if it even has one. Yet such events seem to have become a habit at the National Gallery: Just within the last six months we've seen snapshots from the Robert E. Jackson collection as well as Old Master drawings owned by an anonymous patron.

But these shows aren't only about informing a museum's visitors (who, in the case of the National Gallery, happen to be the taxpayers who cover most of its bills). They're also about cozying up to a collection's owner -- to Smith, for instance, a powerful, wealthy collector who for decades has been one of the National Gallery's major supporters, as well as its board president for most of the '90s. The National Gallery has a long-standing policy of doing one-collector exhibitions only when much of that collection's already been promised to it, since such a show can substantially increase the prestige and market value of its works. No announcement has been made of such a gift from Smith, but, given that policy, we can assume that the prospect of it went into the planning for this show.

Nicholas Penny, the eminent scholar who curated "Bronze and Boxwood," said that the show "can't really be considered separately from the fact that Robert Smith has been a major benefactor of the gallery." The collection is "comprehensive enough" to offer an introduction to the subject it's focused on, says Penny, who gave Smith advice on building it, but you'd have to add to it to cover it more fully. Yet such exhibitions, which happen at museums everywhere, may not want to add in borrowed works, since that would pull the spotlight off the single donor that they're mostly about. "The really difficult position," joked Penny, "would have been if he'd had a dreadful collection."

But I'd like to imagine that as great an art lover and philanthropist as Smith would donate just as many objects, hours and dollars if he weren't petted and feted. And that he'd be more impressed by the gallery's smartest shows, addressed to the entire American public, than he could ever be with a single one -- though mounted twice -- whose focus was on him.

A one-collector, patron-centered show, says Penny, "is not just attractive because it's cheaper or it's easier -- though both those things are true." Its tight focus also lets curators go all-out on beloved objects they've known since the moment they were bought, but which might not normally get such star treatment. For all their glories, Renaissance bronzes are still seen as an area of "fairly minority interest," Penny says. But Smith's favorite art form would surely get a bigger, better boost in a show that draws from many collections, and that's as smart and significant as all the others the museum mounts. His bronzes may not get their due in a display, however fine, that risks looking like a vanity project.

Maybe the trick to understanding, and fully enjoying, this exhibition comes in thinking back on the National Gallery's policies for one-collector shows, and forward -- not too far -- to a time when the gallery announces a gift of some rather lovely bronze and boxwood works.

When you come across shows such as "Masterpieces From the Robert H. Smith Collection," suggests Penny, you might want to think of them "more as displays than exhibitions" -- more in terms of permanent collections you've wandered through than of important special events you've rushed to see. You might want to imagine, that is, that "Bronze and Boxwood" puts you in a time machine, visiting one of the National Gallery's own sculpture galleries, circa 2010.