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Julien Levy's photographs at Art Museum

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174 Levy Julien
Why do collectors collect?

ANDREW MANGRAVITE

The term “embarrassment of riches” might almost have been coined to describe collections like Julien Levy’s. Prompted by a lifelong interest in both Surrealism and photography, and the owner of a successful New York gallery, Levy (1906-1981) was in a prime position to amass an impressive personal collection. A portion of the fruits of his labors are now on display in an impressively large photography exhibit entitled “Dreaming in Black and White.”

If you take the title literally, expecting to see walls of Dali-esque visual fantasias, you’ll leave disappointed. Surrealism wasn’t always about the bizarre. It had a more meditative aspect that could take pleasure in the contemplation of a lamppost, or a peeling wooden doorway. This was the surrealism dedicated to uncovering the mysteries of everyday life. Photography was an excellent medium to capture these chance encounters with the marvelous. And Julien Levy had a very good eye for the by-products of such serendipitous occurrences.

Levy seems to have collected two types of photography in two distinct styles. As a gallery owner he had access to the up-and-coming names in photography, and his collection is rich in contributions by such luminaries as Paul Strand, Walker Evans, Andre Kertesz, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Clarence John Laughlin, Joseph Cornell, Eugene Atget, Paul Outerbridge—I did say it was an embarrassment of riches—but at the same time, he wasn’t averse to acquiring anonymous examples of 19th Century photography. What he liked were visual explorations of marvelous themes, and also plain old meat-and-potatoes documentary photography— whether it be of a cart-horse, a courtesan or the aforementioned peeling doorway.

Now, to a certain extent collectors collect because they can, but they also collect because they must, so that in every great collection one will find what appear to be lapses of taste or wildly out-of-scope acquisitions which invariably lead non-collectors to ask, “Why?” Just as invariably, collectors will reply, “Why not?” In fact, there is an entire “Why Not Salon” set up for this exhibition.

Those who’ve seen the film 1962 film The Manchurian Candidate may recollect the scene in which Army Intelligence barrages the Sinatra character with a medley of photographs of odd-looking people—everything from circus acrobats to high-level Soviet intelligence officers—and Sinatra must separate the wheat from the chaff. Well, in “Dreaming in Black and White” there is a small red-walled chamber with a comfy-looking sofa whose walls are hung floor-to-ceiling with small, framed 19th-Century photographs— some are the work of once-reputable names, some are anonymous. Everything is represented, from acrobats to pickpockets. It’s a dazzling display of everyday life made mystery by its sheer abundance. You could easily enough ignore two or three of these photographs—but entire walls of them?—never. The sofa invites you to sit and stare and meditate on these lost faces and long-gone places. If you have a drop of poetry in you, this red room will wring it out.

“Dreaming in Black and White” is a wonderful show on two levels. First, it allows you see in one place at one time a concentration of works by most of the great names in 20th Century photography. Second, it endlessly delights the eyes with example after example of unforgettable imagery. It stands as a wonderful monument to the taste and dedication of one singular collector.


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