A general rule of any code of ethics (governmental, commercial or personal) is that if something feels funny or unethical, then it probably is. Add a corollary, that if an action, whether ethical or not, gives the appearance of being unethical, then it is, and you have a problem with the NMAA and the recent Gene Davis legacy.
In the generous arrangement described in the article, Washington D.C. artist and past NMAA Commissioner Gene Davis left his entire estate to the NMAA. This means hundreds of pieces of art as well as money and property. As Lewis points out, the unusual twist and the clear conflict of interest for the museum, is that Davis gave the NMAA freedom on what to keep and what to sell.
Although NMAA Director Elizabeth Broun stated that "we don't plan to make ourselves a branch of a commercial gallery," the museum has announced that they will keep 50 or so paintings and sell the rest via Charles Cowles, a New York art dealer who represented Davis before the artist died of a heart attack at age 65.
I agree with Lewis and it is clear that the NMAA has tremendous power in enhancing the commercial value of art by simply displaying it and forcing it on the public's eyes via books, lectures and catalogues. It is also clear that Gene Davis is generally viewed within a regional context rather than a national context and (according to Lewis) his dealer hopes to begin moving Davis away from this regional context and towards the mainstream of 60's hard edge abstraction.
Art dealer Cowles smartly realizes that the 90's have not been kind to the Washington Color School, and the stripe painters have been sarcastically debunked in Tom Wolfe's The Painted Word and financially deflated in the "sixties art" implosion of the 1990's. He admits that he will "try to re-create a market" and that "it won't be easy in the present environment."
Nonetheless, a concentrated and inherently unnatural effort to raise Gene Davis stature in the world of modern art is well underway, not only inspired by his work and relative importance in the arena in which he painted, but also by the millions which the NMAA stands to gain if they do a good enough job of beefing up his resume.
They better start reserving some huge wall space at NMAA and taking down some other work to accommodate some of Davis' more gargantuan pieces. As I recall, Dr. Peppercorn (1967) was nine feet high and 18 feet wide worth of stripes.
