The Art Newspaper, 2020
The West Wing of the New Tretyakov Gallery is currently hosting the exhibition “Marat’s Gift: Contemporary Art from the Guelman Collection.”
The donation of a portion of your collection to the Tretyakov Gallery is not your first gift to a museum; you already have experience with the State Russian Museum and the Centre Pompidou. Why did you decide to dispose of your collection in this manner?
This is my way of paying a debt to the artists. The gift to the State Russian Museum in 2003 was the first step. From that moment on, it was officially recognized that the specific set of artists whose works I transferred to them is our contemporary art. After that gift, my possessive drive as an owner suddenly vanished. Although the collection continued to grow—and is still growing today—it became clear that it needed to find its rightful place.
I never considered the option of a private museum, because a private museum means you owe everyone, and besides, it’s far too ambitious. I am not really that ambitious of a person; I want a vibrant and interesting life, but not Olympus at all. Furthermore, I realized that, ultimately, artists interest me more than art—in the sense that it doesn't interest me to collect art without knowing the artists personally.
But a collection can not only be gifted; it could also be sold, for example. Or left as an inheritance for your children…
Before my very eyes, after the deaths of two collectors, their families sold off two collections of the Russian Avant-Garde, doing so completely without any understanding. Because of this, I clearly realize that you need to deal with this while you are alive, relatively young, and active. I am 60 years old, meaning I, too, must think about this. I understand perfectly well that my children will have their own lives, just as I had my own life independent of my parents. We are currently on the threshold of what is called the Singularity. Money, education—everything will change. What is important today will become unimportant tomorrow, and vice versa. I think it is a big mistake to think that you can script a biography for your children. I consider that a false choice. In reality, contemporary art should be where it serves its vital mission—reflecting the times. In short, that is the situation.
Presumably, if I were destitute, I would make different decisions. The fact is, there was a period of about three years when we ran a printmaking workshop and worked with all the artists: with Komar and Melamid, with Timur Novikov, and so on. As a result, my children will inherit several thousand sheets of graphic art. And this isn't museum-grade graphics; it's a completely commercial story.
What prompted you to donate a portion of your collection specifically to the Tretyakov Gallery, and specifically right now?
The initiative came from the museum itself. The Tretyakov Gallery's recent artistic policy strikes me as absolutely correct, and, among other things, it is a powerful enough institution that it can afford not to bend under various political winds. The opinion of the artists themselves is also highly important. I am not being coy when I say that I am paying a debt to the artists. I am a person without any special talents, but artists have made my life bright, interesting, and fulfilled. And if you ask them: “Where would you want your works to be?”—about half of the artists will name the Tretyakov Gallery first, while the other half will put it second only to Tate Modern or the Centre Pompidou. And, of course, the museum’s proactivity was a defining factor for me, as well as the fact that conditions for a collector at the Tretyakov Gallery today are exceptionally good.
What do you mean by “good conditions”?
For me, the main thing is that the works participate in artistic projects. That is, I understand perfectly well (having been a museum director myself) that a museum cannot guarantee your works will remain in the permanent display forever. But if a museum has an exhibition plan mapped out in advance—and not just on its own premises, but involving exchanges with other institutions—and it demonstrates that it needs these works specifically to fill certain gaps, that matters. Plus, of course, the fact that certain works will be in the permanent collection, as well as the fact that a gallery is being specially renovated to house the installation by Ilya and Emilia Kabakov.
I have friends who previously, under the old management, donated things to the museum, but it was never credited anywhere. Now, the staff went into the registries, found mentions of those gifts, and restored justice—indicating that a work was donated, for instance, by Igor Tsukanov.
How would you like your works to be displayed at the Tretyakov Gallery? Simply labeled as a gift from Marat Guelman, or in a dedicated room (they have, for example, a room dedicated to the gifts of George Costakis, and another for the gifts of Vladimir Nekrasov)?
I’ll put it this way: despite the fact that I talk about the possibility of an impending death and so on, I still expect to work actively for some time. Therefore, I even suggested to them that the exhibition be titled “Marat’s Gift No. 1.” I think that perhaps the gift will expand.
How did the selection of works for the Tretyakov Gallery take place?
I showed what I was ready to donate, and about 50 percent of it was selected by the Tretyakov Gallery staff. In the case of certain artists, I would say: “Here are three works, but you choose one of them.” The Tretyakov Gallery essentially received the right of first refusal, but I am keeping other museums in mind too: the Centre Pompidou, the Perm museum… There is also an idea to transfer my collection of Ukrainian art there, if a museum of contemporary art is built.
Were there moments when the museum rejected a work, say, for political reasons?
Well, they really wanted Pyotr Pavlensky, but decided it wouldn't pass. After all, it's not just the Department of Latest Trends making the choice—the work then has to pass through a grand board. I said it wasn't a problem, it can wait. The right moment will come, and Pavlensky will be included. At the Centre Pompidou, by the way, they want his works—we are currently finalizing the paperwork.
There are also artists whom I already consider museum-grade, but the Tretyakov Gallery doesn't yet—that happens too. But I think, in the end, my eye will prove more accurate. When I mounted the first exhibition of Valery Koshlyakov, for instance, Ekaterina Degot (the famous critic) came up to me and said: “Marat, listen to the specialists: this is just the left wing of the Moscow Union of Artists.” I replied: “Well, Katya, I have a different opinion because I know the artist, I have communicated with him.” Even if an artist starts out from Rostov with things that are formally close to the left wing of the Moscow Union of Artists, if you understand that he is different, he will still move in another direction a year later. My gaze is more accurate because, besides the paintings, I see the artists themselves.
How was your collection formed?
It was largely formed as a gallerist’s collection. Preparing an exhibition always incurs considerable costs, and as compensation for these expenses—for catalogs, for mounting the exhibition, the project—I received works. Furthermore, there was a gallery stipend program, roughly from 1992 to 1997, when there was absolutely no market whatsoever and when artists needed money not just for production, but generally just to survive. Every year, two artists received a salary from me, so to speak, and in return, I received certain works.
Or with the Kabakovs—I helped them produce three major exhibitions: for the opening of the Garage Museum, at my gallery, and at Winzavod. As payment for my work, the installation “The Tennis Game” became our joint property. And the gift is a joint one as well. Naturally, I discussed it with both Emilia and Ilya, agreeing that it would be a gift to the Tretyakov Gallery. It is important to note here that two of the works transferred to the Tretyakov Gallery are joint donations: the Kabakovs' piece and a large comic-panorama by Gosha Ostretsov.
Does your collection continue to grow?
It mostly grows like this: I realize certain projects for which the artists have no money, and in return, I receive works. Right now, the exact same process is continuing in Montenegro. I have an art residency there; artists come, work, hold exhibitions, and leave something from their output. So the collection grows. I am not a rich man; I continue to work, earning a decent but conventional salary, which I live on. It’s just that, although these works are worth a lot of money today, I most often didn't buy them.
Are there any new art projects in the works?
Sometimes certain parts of the collection stimulate you toward new projects. For example, right now we are discussing—and have practically agreed with Sergei Anufriev and Pavel Pepperstein—on reassembling Medical Hermeneutics (an art group of the 1990s). I will be producing this, because they left behind unrealized plans. I own some of their old works, and when I started communicating with them, it turned out that these are fragments of certain plans that provoke a continuation.
The same goes for Komar and Melamid. We are currently launching the project “The People’s Choice 25 Years Later.” That was a monumental project—a sociological survey on what kind of art people love. It started with America, then Russia. The results are brilliant. Two hundred questions: color, size, style, what should be depicted, the season of the year. Based on the results, they created paintings. And now we've decided we need to understand if tastes have changed over 25 years.
You mentioned that besides the Tretyakov Gallery, there are plans for other museums.
Of course. For example, I keep my finger on the pulse regarding what is happening with the Museum of Contemporary Art in Perm, which I created and for which I built a very fine collection. Today, of course, gifting them anything would be a big mistake, because there is fundamentally nowhere to display a permanent collection—not even the one they already have. But I believe I must stimulate them somehow, signaling: get moving, because things might slip away. You see: the Tretyakov Gallery is first, next is the Centre Pompidou, and after that we have the Ukrainian project, which we’ve been working on for the second consecutive year with Bernard Blistène and Nicolas Liucci-Goutnikov (director and collection curator at the Centre Pompidou). So yes, the best works will be departing. It’s hard to refuse the Pompidou by saying: “No, that’s impossible, I prepared that for Perm.”
What would you advise a collector of contemporary art who wants to anticipate the course of the artistic process so successfully that a museum would later gladly accept their collection?
That is a topic perhaps for a book rather than an interview. I have a lecture on it that I usually give to artists, about artistic quality. But there is also the obvious. Contemporary art cannot be studied—you have to immerse yourself in it. My advice would be this: travel to major exhibitions, look at art, and do not buy anything until two joys have emerged in you. The first is the joy of recognition. And the second, conversely, is the joy of the new (“Wow, I don't know this!”). You need to go to at least two Venice Biennales and three art fairs, and buy absolutely nothing.
And is it important for a collector to communicate with the artist?
Absolutely. I'll tell you a story. Right now in Montenegro, I run a residency for artists where they receive studio space free of charge, but with one condition—to host an open house on Sundays. On one of these Sundays, my neighbor, a German from Düsseldorf, dropped by and said: “Listen, I finally understand contemporary art.” I asked him: “What do you mean? Did you not go to museums before?” He replied: “Of course I went! My daughter drags me along, she loves this stuff. But I have never spoken to the artists!” Meaning, museums of contemporary art have, after all, built a bit of a wall between the artist and the viewer, the public, or the collector. On the one hand, they increased the flow of visitors, but on the other, they generated a disconnect.
