Private Collectors, Public Masterpieces

'Goya To Impressionism' at the Courtauld Gallery, 2025

Have you ever thought about how many masterpieces by famous artists might be kept in private collections?

I’ve been working in the art-dealing world for the last few months and, let me tell you – it’s probably more than you think. I’ve come across more than a few pieces that I was shocked to see weren’t in museums.

Private ownership of art is how we even got the concept of “the arts” in the first place. In the Western tradition, at least, art has always been a symbol of power and status. Developments in the arts (the Renaissance, the Baroque, the Enlightenment) were often only made possible by the wealthy, powerful patrons who funded them.

But, private ownership of artwork raises a number of challenges. For instance, if we keep these objects out of public record then they can easily get lost. Who knows how many priceless artworks are stuck in a basement, in an attic, or even simply hanging above a fireplace, in someone’s house?

But even if we know where the masterpieces are, and who owns them, if the only way to see them is to know the collectors, then doesn’t that make these objects really inaccessible? Imagine a world where there were, actually, no public museums, no exhibitions, no internet even, and the only way you could look at art was entirely about who you knew, or what was in the local auction house.

William Chambers, ‘The Sculpture Collection of Charles Townley in the dining room of his house in Park Street’ (1794)

Well, until about the eighteenth century, that was how it was. The concept of the national, public museum – an institution where art, which anyone could go see, was kept on an official record, and not affiliated with royal patronage or attached to universities – did not exist until the opening of the British Museum in London in 1759 (which, by the way, was itself based on a private collection – that of Sir John Soane).

Anyway, my point is this: the idea that art can be owned and kept in a private collection is very much at odds with modern gallery culture. It makes life difficult for researchers, for educators, curators, and for art-history hobbyists everywhere; however, none of these people even existed until the modern era.

But what about when private collectors want to share their collection to the public?

Even if such works may legally be owned by an individual, in a higher sense they belong to everyone, their owner is only their custodian

— Oskar Reinhart (1939)

This is the subject of the Courtauld’s, Goya To Impressionism, at Somerset House, London until May, 2025. The show centres around a singularly fabulous collection of nineteenth-century paintings belonging to the Swiss businessman Oskar Reinhart (1885-1965). We’re talking big names: Picasso, Cezanne, Monet, Van Gogh. Reinhart’s have not been shown outside of Switzerland ever, until this exhibition.

Oskar Reinhart rehanging his collection, assisted by his chauffeur Albert Fritschi, 1955 (source)

Reinhart believed deeply in the importance of art for society. He built a gallery on his property (the Am Römerholtz) which he left to the Swiss Confederation, and which opened as a public museum in 1970. Yes, he was a private collector, but his collection exemplifies some of the ways in which private collecting beneficially shaped the history of art.

What this exhibition tells us is that Reinhart assembled together a group of pictures which firmly set Impressionism within a wider, rich tradition of European painting. He was not just interested in the Impressionists, but also in the artists who precipitated them: artists like Francisco Goya and Gustave Courbet.

The title of this exhibition is a bit of a misnomer. Yes, chronologically, this show tells a story which spans from Goya to Impressionism, but there is only one Goya, and about 16 works of Impressionism, give or take.

Francisco Goya, ‘Still Life with Three Salmon Steaks’ (1808) / Paul Cezanne, ‘Still Life with Faience Jug and Fruit’ (1900)

But because of the venue, this focus on Impressionism is not remotely unexpected, nor is it unwelcome. The Courtauld has a world-famous collection of Impressionist works – probably the best in London. To hammer home the point, the curators have placed Samuel Courtauld’s own collection of Manets, Van Goghs, and Renoirs outside the exhibition, on the adjoining wall. Those same artists are mirrored inside the exhibition.

The first room is the ‘Goya’ section (so, loosely, the early nineteenth century). All of the paintings in this room diverge from ‘Academic’ conventions. The subjects range from madmen to meat, from crashing waves to greenhouses, from portraiture to literary narratives and genre painting. They show Reinhart’s taste as a collector: he was clearly interested in paintings which broke outside the boundaries of Classical tradition, both in terms of style and substance.

The first room is full of pre-Impressionist variety. Gustave Courbet, ‘The Hammock’ (1844) / Pierre-Auguste Renoir, ‘Lily and Greenhouse Plants’ (1864) / Édouard Manet, ‘Marguerite de Conflates Wearing a Mantilla’ (1873)

These initial paintings are also not quite Impressionist. It’s hard to define precisely what ‘Impressionism’ is, but, generally, Impressionism pertains to works of the late-nineteenth century. They are predominantly French, with loose, visible brushstrokes, an emphasis on light and colour, which depict everyday life. They are usually atmospheric, dynamic, and textured. Reinhart’s Goya, his Courbets, his Géricault, even his early Renoir and Cezanne are not that. They are darker, more measured, and some bear the dark, unsettling emotivity of the Romantic period. These paintings show the embryonic buds of Impressionism – loosely applied brushstrokes, domestic, natural subjects – before it comes into full bloom.

Claude Monet, ‘The Break-Up of Ice on the Seine’ (1880-81) / Paul Gauguin, ‘Blue Roofs (Rouen)’ (1884)

The second room is the big hitter. Here there are landscapes by Sisley, Monet, and Gauguin, in quick succession, before we’re faced with a marvellous glut of Cezanne. The entire back wall – I think, the set-piece for this show – is a series of landscapes and still lifes by Cezanne and Van Gogh. These are by far the most popular of the works on display. Full of colour and feeling, they illustrate the affinity which the Impressionists had for the Provence lifestyle. My favourite of these was Cezanne’s Still life with Faience Jug and Fruit, which is an unusually large still life. Curated alongside several monumental landscapes, and rather large in scale, this domestic scene is elevated to epic status.

The Cezanne and Van Gogh wall

The Van Goghs are expansive, architectural scenes from the ward in the hospital in Arles in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence where Vincent lived in 1888-89. They are powerful and ambivalent, featuring deep, linear perspectives that contribute to a sense of isolation and unease.

Vincent Van Gogh, ‘The Courtyard of the Hospital at Arles’ (1889) / ‘The Ward in the Hospital at Arles’ (1889)

Not to be missed, though, is the joyful Clown Cha-U-Kao by Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, which captures the fundamental playfulness of the Impressionist movement in both style and subject. The clown is a real woman (Gabrielle) who performed at Paris’s Moulin Rouge: the infamous venue that became an emblem of the Belle Époque (a period of artistic, cultural, and social transformation in late 19th-century France).

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, ‘The Clown Cha-U-Kao’ (1895) / Pablo Picasso, ‘Portrait of Mateu Fernández de Soto’ (1901)

We finish with a Picasso portrait from his so-called ‘Blue Period’ (1901-04). This painting is especially important because the conservators at Courtauld recently revealed, via infrared imaging, that a second painting was hidden behind the top layer of paint. This discovery sheds light on Picasso’s development as an artist at the turn of the twentieth century, when he began to move away from Impressionism, towards more abstract forms of representation.

I wonder whether any contemporary collectors will have a legacy like Oskar Reinhart does today? I do think they are out there. Almost every major exhibition will have several works, privately owned, kindly loaned out by the owners – and this represents a good middle ground where people can still own art, but where it can also stay in the public consciousness.

But, seeing all of these Impressionist masterpieces for the first time, I couldn’t help but wonder just how many more masterpieces might be hidden in similar kinds of collections, perhaps owned by benefactors far less interested in public display than patrons like Reinhart, Samuel Courtauld, and Sir Hans Sloane.

For instance, Caravaggio’s Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence; Rembrandt’s Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee; Vermeer’s The Concert; Cézanne’s View of Auvers-sur-Oise. All of these were famously stolen, and are now in unknown private collections.

Might they be sitting on someone’s mantlepiece?

---

Thanks for reading! Check out my Instagram at @culture_dumper, where I post daily updates on my academic work, life, and current exhibitions in London. I am also active on TikTok.