This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2016/apr/27/national-gallery-gabriele-finaldi-interview
The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
Previous version
1
Next version
| Version 0 | Version 1 |
|---|---|
| The National Gallery's new boss: 'I can't deny I am strongly European' | The National Gallery's new boss: 'I can't deny I am strongly European' |
| (about 1 hour later) | |
| Until 23 June, Britain will be enjoying, or enduring, a debate about its relationship with Europe. If the early days of the campaign are anything to go by, the debate will be bounded by rival predictions about the future of Britain’s economy. But as I walk through the National Gallery with its new director, Gabriele Finaldi, it strikes me that this institution is, if not an argument for, then certainly an eloquent narrative about European connectedness. | Until 23 June, Britain will be enjoying, or enduring, a debate about its relationship with Europe. If the early days of the campaign are anything to go by, the debate will be bounded by rival predictions about the future of Britain’s economy. But as I walk through the National Gallery with its new director, Gabriele Finaldi, it strikes me that this institution is, if not an argument for, then certainly an eloquent narrative about European connectedness. |
| Indeed, the sole purpose of the National Gallery is to spin a European cultural tale: one that starts in 13th-century Italy with Cimabue and ends in France around 1900 with modernist masterpieces such as Cézanne’s Bathers. Between these points, this “perfect short story” (as former director Neil MacGregor has called the gallery) weaves around the Low Countries, Spain, Britain and Germany. The silent works of art on the walls are in endless conversation with each other, across centuries and borders: Rubens with Titian; Turner with Claude; Cézanne with Poussin. | Indeed, the sole purpose of the National Gallery is to spin a European cultural tale: one that starts in 13th-century Italy with Cimabue and ends in France around 1900 with modernist masterpieces such as Cézanne’s Bathers. Between these points, this “perfect short story” (as former director Neil MacGregor has called the gallery) weaves around the Low Countries, Spain, Britain and Germany. The silent works of art on the walls are in endless conversation with each other, across centuries and borders: Rubens with Titian; Turner with Claude; Cézanne with Poussin. |
| Finaldi, who has been in his post since last August but is only now giving interviews, is himself something of a European short story. An immensely tall man with a warm grin and saturnine looks, he was born in Barnet, north London, in 1965, and raised in Catford, the son of a Neapolitan father and a half-Polish, half-English mother. “I was brought up in what was essentially an Italian home,” he says. “We spoke Italian, ate Italian, supported Italy in the World Cup. We lived in Britain and we felt part of both worlds.” | Finaldi, who has been in his post since last August but is only now giving interviews, is himself something of a European short story. An immensely tall man with a warm grin and saturnine looks, he was born in Barnet, north London, in 1965, and raised in Catford, the son of a Neapolitan father and a half-Polish, half-English mother. “I was brought up in what was essentially an Italian home,” he says. “We spoke Italian, ate Italian, supported Italy in the World Cup. We lived in Britain and we felt part of both worlds.” |
| He keeps a baby grand in his office – because it won't fit in his house | He keeps a baby grand in his office – because it won't fit in his house |
| It was a musical family: his father had a “very good operatic voice”, and his children are good singers too, he says. In his office there’s a baby grand – largely because it won’t fit into his house (he keeps an upright there). On the stand at the moment are Bach’s Goldberg Variations, “though I can only play a handful of them”. He went off to Italy for a couple of years of his schooling, to Naples and Piacenza. The rest of the time he was at a south London comprehensive, until he switched to Dulwich College, a public school, for his sixth form. | It was a musical family: his father had a “very good operatic voice”, and his children are good singers too, he says. In his office there’s a baby grand – largely because it won’t fit into his house (he keeps an upright there). On the stand at the moment are Bach’s Goldberg Variations, “though I can only play a handful of them”. He went off to Italy for a couple of years of his schooling, to Naples and Piacenza. The rest of the time he was at a south London comprehensive, until he switched to Dulwich College, a public school, for his sixth form. |
| He had a choice between ancient history and history of art A-level; he chose the latter because he’d heard some of the teaching was done in a museum. That was the Dulwich Picture Gallery, which boasts an exquisite collection of old masters. The first lesson was in front of Rembrandt’s Girl at a Window and it was, he says, a coup de foudre. “I thought, ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to do this full-time?’” The Courtauld followed, then a stint at the National Gallery, then a dozen years at the Prado in Madrid, where he was deputy director. | He had a choice between ancient history and history of art A-level; he chose the latter because he’d heard some of the teaching was done in a museum. That was the Dulwich Picture Gallery, which boasts an exquisite collection of old masters. The first lesson was in front of Rembrandt’s Girl at a Window and it was, he says, a coup de foudre. “I thought, ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to do this full-time?’” The Courtauld followed, then a stint at the National Gallery, then a dozen years at the Prado in Madrid, where he was deputy director. |
| I wonder how he will be voting on 23 June, but he politely declines to say. Does he think that Brexit would have an impact, negative or otherwise, on the gallery? “We are very bound up with Europe because of the shows we do and the way we work. We work very closely with our counterparts in France, Spain, Italy, Germany. That will continue I am sure, whatever happens.” It’s a diplomat’s answer. But, he adds, “I can’t deny that I am strongly European. It’s in my genes and I feel very passionate about Europe and what we share together. The gallery is exactly about that. We are looking for connections, not highlighting differences. There is a lot that is common to all of us.” | I wonder how he will be voting on 23 June, but he politely declines to say. Does he think that Brexit would have an impact, negative or otherwise, on the gallery? “We are very bound up with Europe because of the shows we do and the way we work. We work very closely with our counterparts in France, Spain, Italy, Germany. That will continue I am sure, whatever happens.” It’s a diplomat’s answer. But, he adds, “I can’t deny that I am strongly European. It’s in my genes and I feel very passionate about Europe and what we share together. The gallery is exactly about that. We are looking for connections, not highlighting differences. There is a lot that is common to all of us.” |
| It’s early morning, before opening time, and we head into the empty galleries: Finaldi brings me into the Spain room (his PhD was on the Italy-based, Spanish-born Jusepe de Ribera and he’s working on a catalogue of his drawings). We park in front of some early works by Velázquez. As we talk, a woman dabs at the marble skirting with a pink feather duster. How the National Gallery deals with its staff has been a subject of recent anguish: under the previous director, Nicholas Penny, the gallery moved to outsource the work of its attendants, which led to strikes last year. | It’s early morning, before opening time, and we head into the empty galleries: Finaldi brings me into the Spain room (his PhD was on the Italy-based, Spanish-born Jusepe de Ribera and he’s working on a catalogue of his drawings). We park in front of some early works by Velázquez. As we talk, a woman dabs at the marble skirting with a pink feather duster. How the National Gallery deals with its staff has been a subject of recent anguish: under the previous director, Nicholas Penny, the gallery moved to outsource the work of its attendants, which led to strikes last year. |
| The dispute has now ended, and the attendants are now employed, under the same terms and conditions, by Securitas. Even so, can he see how fundamental the move seemed – not only to the staff, who quite naturally feared being employed by a large security firm rather than the gallery, and to visitors, who regard the institution as a precious public space? “The important thing is to understand that we have brought our staff with us. They are committed to the gallery, they love the gallery, and many have been working here for decades. It was a bumpy period, but we have moved on. The outsourcing began in early November and is working rather well.” Visitors wanted more flexible opening times – evenings, for example – and the outsourced arrangement was, he insists, the only way to achieve it. | The dispute has now ended, and the attendants are now employed, under the same terms and conditions, by Securitas. Even so, can he see how fundamental the move seemed – not only to the staff, who quite naturally feared being employed by a large security firm rather than the gallery, and to visitors, who regard the institution as a precious public space? “The important thing is to understand that we have brought our staff with us. They are committed to the gallery, they love the gallery, and many have been working here for decades. It was a bumpy period, but we have moved on. The outsourcing began in early November and is working rather well.” Visitors wanted more flexible opening times – evenings, for example – and the outsourced arrangement was, he insists, the only way to achieve it. |
| Come on, wouldn't he like to get his hands on the Royal Collection? | Come on, wouldn't he like to get his hands on the Royal Collection? |
| I wonder about the differences between the Prado in Madrid and the National Gallery. “The sense of responsibility to the public is very similar,” he says, “but they are very different collections. The National Gallery is one that from the very start was intended for the people of Great Britain and was put together by art-historical professionals in the 19th century, whereas the Prado is the treasure house of the Spanish Habsburgs and Bourbons.” | I wonder about the differences between the Prado in Madrid and the National Gallery. “The sense of responsibility to the public is very similar,” he says, “but they are very different collections. The National Gallery is one that from the very start was intended for the people of Great Britain and was put together by art-historical professionals in the 19th century, whereas the Prado is the treasure house of the Spanish Habsburgs and Bourbons.” |
| The Prado is also much bigger: 8,000 pictures, plus sculpture, decorative art and works on paper; the National Gallery contains fewer than 2,500 paintings. Does he not think then that the Queen’s own stupendous collection might usefully be nationalised and placed in the care of the National Gallery in public ownership, as in Spain? Finaldi makes diplomatic noises: “It’s astonishing how over the last generation the Royal Collection has become extremely public: public shows at the Queen’s Gallery; works here on long-term loan. So, while continuing to be a private collection, it’s open for study, for viewing by the public. It’s become a much more public collection.” | The Prado is also much bigger: 8,000 pictures, plus sculpture, decorative art and works on paper; the National Gallery contains fewer than 2,500 paintings. Does he not think then that the Queen’s own stupendous collection might usefully be nationalised and placed in the care of the National Gallery in public ownership, as in Spain? Finaldi makes diplomatic noises: “It’s astonishing how over the last generation the Royal Collection has become extremely public: public shows at the Queen’s Gallery; works here on long-term loan. So, while continuing to be a private collection, it’s open for study, for viewing by the public. It’s become a much more public collection.” |
| Come on, wouldn’t it be nice to get your hands on the Royal Collection? I think it would be good if it were made a public possession, I say. “Yeah, OK. Good,” he replies, humouring me. You don’t get to be director of the most establishment cultural institution in the land by voicing disobliging republican views – particularly when Prince Charles has just agreed to become the royal patron. | |
| Not that he’s against expansion. His long-term plan is to redevelop the site of St Vincent’s House, an office building behind the gallery, into a bigger exhibition space, which will be a relief to anyone who has been prodded by a thousand umbrellas while trying to look at a Goya or Titian in the current, cramped, exhibition rooms. Expanding the collection itself is more challenging. “The kind of works in this gallery are generally beyond our [financial] reach,” he says. “Either we rely on people being incredibly public spirited or generous – and there are some of those people, though fewer than in the past – or we have to find some way to make it very attractive to owners to sell to public museums.” | Not that he’s against expansion. His long-term plan is to redevelop the site of St Vincent’s House, an office building behind the gallery, into a bigger exhibition space, which will be a relief to anyone who has been prodded by a thousand umbrellas while trying to look at a Goya or Titian in the current, cramped, exhibition rooms. Expanding the collection itself is more challenging. “The kind of works in this gallery are generally beyond our [financial] reach,” he says. “Either we rely on people being incredibly public spirited or generous – and there are some of those people, though fewer than in the past – or we have to find some way to make it very attractive to owners to sell to public museums.” |
| Why does he think people have become less generous? “I think one of the significant things is that the value of art has shot to stratospheric heights, so the way you think about your works of art, if you are an owner, is perhaps different from the way you would have done a couple of generations ago. People don’t immediately think that the best place for their work of art is in a gallery for the public benefit.” He thinks tax breaks should be extended to make donating or selling art “an attractive proposition” for collectors. | Why does he think people have become less generous? “I think one of the significant things is that the value of art has shot to stratospheric heights, so the way you think about your works of art, if you are an owner, is perhaps different from the way you would have done a couple of generations ago. People don’t immediately think that the best place for their work of art is in a gallery for the public benefit.” He thinks tax breaks should be extended to make donating or selling art “an attractive proposition” for collectors. |
| We rely on people being incredibly generous – and there are fewer of them than in the past | We rely on people being incredibly generous – and there are fewer of them than in the past |
| An easier expansion to achieve is, perhaps, the gallery’s relationship with living artists. The artist-in-association programme will continue (at the moment, painter George Shaw is completing his two-year stint with an exhibition opening in May). And artists may be invited to curate displays of work in the collection. “The rise in interest in contemporary art is a good thing,” he says, “and it’s very interesting to talk to artists who think of the National Gallery as their gallery, finding sources of stimulation and inspiration here. This is their reference collection.” | An easier expansion to achieve is, perhaps, the gallery’s relationship with living artists. The artist-in-association programme will continue (at the moment, painter George Shaw is completing his two-year stint with an exhibition opening in May). And artists may be invited to curate displays of work in the collection. “The rise in interest in contemporary art is a good thing,” he says, “and it’s very interesting to talk to artists who think of the National Gallery as their gallery, finding sources of stimulation and inspiration here. This is their reference collection.” |
| After we spoke, the Guardian reported that the Victoria and Albert museum was banning sketching in crowded shows, so I contacted the National Gallery to find out Finaldi’s view. A spokeswoman told me: “We have a strict policy [that] we do not comment on what other galleries and museums get up to. It’s just not cricket.” The National Gallery does have a policy on sketching – it is welcomed in exhibitions, but permission is granted at the gallery’s discretion if things get busy. | After we spoke, the Guardian reported that the Victoria and Albert museum was banning sketching in crowded shows, so I contacted the National Gallery to find out Finaldi’s view. A spokeswoman told me: “We have a strict policy [that] we do not comment on what other galleries and museums get up to. It’s just not cricket.” The National Gallery does have a policy on sketching – it is welcomed in exhibitions, but permission is granted at the gallery’s discretion if things get busy. |
| The key for Finaldi is the power of the real-time encounter between a visitor and a work of art: the spark of intelligence between two minds that can fly across centuries. I ask Finaldi to help me look at a work and he chooses the smallest in the room – a still life of a cup on a silver plate with a rose, by Francisco de Zurburán. He talks about how inviting it is, how one wants to reach into it and grasp the cup and the plate and the rose, all painted lifesize. And about how the objects also seem to have a kind of mystery, seeming to glow out of their dark background. Then he tells me how the water might stand for the purity of the Virgin, and the rose too: that the picture vibrates, for him, with a depth and a spirituality. | The key for Finaldi is the power of the real-time encounter between a visitor and a work of art: the spark of intelligence between two minds that can fly across centuries. I ask Finaldi to help me look at a work and he chooses the smallest in the room – a still life of a cup on a silver plate with a rose, by Francisco de Zurburán. He talks about how inviting it is, how one wants to reach into it and grasp the cup and the plate and the rose, all painted lifesize. And about how the objects also seem to have a kind of mystery, seeming to glow out of their dark background. Then he tells me how the water might stand for the purity of the Virgin, and the rose too: that the picture vibrates, for him, with a depth and a spirituality. |
| “These are the things the gallery has to try to explain,” he says. “Even if you don’t know the works, they still have a hold – that’s do to with the communicative power of great painting The first thing that’s important about here is that people can walk in through the door and stand in front of the pictures. That’s very simple to say but it’s quite extraordinary.” Which, it being opening time, they do. And, as Room 30 fills up with the day’s first visitors, Finaldi slips away. | “These are the things the gallery has to try to explain,” he says. “Even if you don’t know the works, they still have a hold – that’s do to with the communicative power of great painting The first thing that’s important about here is that people can walk in through the door and stand in front of the pictures. That’s very simple to say but it’s quite extraordinary.” Which, it being opening time, they do. And, as Room 30 fills up with the day’s first visitors, Finaldi slips away. |
Previous version
1
Next version