Yesterday, I spoke about my art work- but mostly the choices of picking out a frame and mat.  Of course, that also meant the price for those accoutrements.

But, as one of my appraisers once informed me, he knew I was a real art collector because I have more pieces in my possession that I have wall space.  (I have even resorted to putting easels with art work around my house to accommodate my collection.  My son once said that it was time to build an extension to the house- because I had no more wall space to hang my art.)

The problem is that I’m not rich.  It’s folks like Armand Hammer, Henry Folger, and the like that can fall prey to “collector’s mania”.  Those folks have the money to amass art work that can fill museums.

But, there are folks – like the married ones who lived in New York.  They were both civil servants- one was a postman.  They began their collection back in the 1960s, before the price of art skyrocketed. By the time they died, they had accumulated about 5000 pieces.  All contained within their ONE bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side.  (I’m pretty sure their name was Vogel.)

And, because of the Vogels- and folks like me- shrinks are trying to determine why we collect.  One, Dr. Werner Muensterberger (no, I did not make up his name!), has even written a book about these folks… Collecting:  An Unruly Passion.  He has declared folks like me to be moody, with depressive leanings, deprived, among other attributes.  (Yeah, another reason why I don’t listen to shrinks.)

But, there’s a vast difference between what Armand Hammer and Henry Folger did and what the Vogels did.  The former (in my humble opinion) were looking to enhance their status or planned to donate their artwork to insure the posterity of the names.  The Vogels simply loved what they bought- and once they realized what they had, they donated their art to a multitude of American museums, not one where they could fill a hall.

In my case, my Erte sculpture, my Dali paintings, my Peter Max are in full view.  They aren’t stuffed away in a storage locker.  Because I can – and do- look at them every day.   To help center my thoughts and remind me of the beauty that exists in this world.  As a counterweight to the craziness and cacophony that I deal with each business day.

So, sorry Muensterberger.  I would become depressed if my art wasn’t there to keep me centered.  Maybe you should get a life.

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