Albert C. Barnes
Giorgio de Chirico, Portrait of Albert C. Barnes, 1926
Born	January 2, 1872 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Died	July 24, 1951
Known for	inventor and art collector

Albert Coombs Barnes (January 2, 1872 – July 24, 1951) was an American inventor and art collector. With the fortune made from the development of the antiseptic drug Argyrol, he founded the Barnes Foundation, a museum created from his private collection of art. It is strongly represented by paintings by Impressionist, Post-Impressionist and Modernist masters, as well as furniture and crafted objects. It is located near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Barnes was known as an eccentric, larger-than-life figure who had a passion for educating the underprivileged. He created a special relationship with Lincoln University, a historically black college in the area, and gave the university a strong role in administration of his foundation.

Early life

Barnes was born in Philadelphia to working-class parents and was the son of a butcher. He felt snubbed by Philadelphia society as a result of his circumstances and, in later life, took steps to avenge the perceived slight.

He attended the public academic Central High School in Philadelphia. Then he financed his own education in chemistry at the University of Pennsylvania and in Germany.

Career

In 1899 with a German student named Hermann Hille, Barnes developed a mild silver nitrate antiseptic solution, marketed as Argyrol. Used in the treatment of gonorrhea and as a preventative of gonorrheal blindness in newborn infants, Argyrol was an immediate financial success.^[1] Barnes bought out his partner and became a millionaire by the age of 35, soon after the turn of the century. With good timing, he sold his company before the stock market crash of 1929 and the advent of other antibiotics.^[2]

Art collecting

From about 1910, when he was in his late 30s, Barnes began to dedicate himself to the study and pursuit of art. He commissioned one of his former high school classmates, the painter William Glackens, to buy several 'modern' French paintings. Glackens returned from Paris with the 20 paintings that formed the core of Barnes' collection.^[4]

In 1912, during a stay in Paris, Barnes was invited to the home of Gertrude and Leo Stein, where he met artists such as Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso. In the 1920s, art dealer Paul Guillaume introduced him to the work of Amedeo Modigliani and Giorgio de Chirico. With money, an excellent eye, and poor economic conditions in the Depression, Barnes was able to acquire much important art at bargain prices. His first Picasso, for instance, was bought for under $100.^{[citation needed]}

Barnes was known for his antagonism to the discipline of art history, which he said "stifles both self-expression and appreciation of art." He also was an outspoken and controversial critic of public education and the museum. He set up his foundation to allow visitors to have a direct, even "hands-on", approach to the collection. He created it, he said, not for the benefit of art historians, but for that of the students.^[5]

A public showing in 1923 of Barnes' collection proved too avant-garde for most people's taste. The critical ridicule aimed at this show was the beginning of Barnes' long-lasting and well-publicized antagonism toward those he considered part of the art establishment. Barnes had his collection hung according to his own ideas about showing relationships between paintings and objects; for instance, paintings were placed near furniture and finely crafted hinges and metalwork. The pieces were identified in a minimal manner, without traditional curatorial comment, so that viewers could approach them without mediation.^{[citation needed]}

Barnes' interests included what came to be called the Harlem Renaissance, and he followed its artists and writers. In March 1925 Barnes wrote an essay "Negro Art and America", published in the Survey Graphic of Harlem, which was edited by Alain Locke.^[6] He explained his admiration of what could be called 'black soul'. In the late 1940s Barnes met Horace Mann Bond, the first black president of Lincoln University, a historically black college in central Chester County, Pennsylvania. They established a friendship that led to Barnes' inviting Lincoln students to the collection. He also ensured by his will that officials of the university had a prominent role after his death in running his collection.^{[citation needed]}

Barnes limited access to the collection, and required people to make appointments by letter. Applicants sometimes received rejection letters "signed" by Barnes's dog. In a famous case, Barnes refused admission to writer James A. Michener, who gained access to the collection only by posing as an illiterate steelworker.^[7]

It was not until 1961 that the collection was open to the public regularly two days a week. That schedule expanded slightly in 1967.^[8] Up through the early 1990s, long after Barnes's death, access to the collection was extremely limited. The collection had difficulties raising enough money from attendees to provide for needed renovations to its building, as well as regular operating expenses. The Foundation decided to send 80 works to be exhibited on a three-year tour to raise money for needed renovations.^[9] The paintings and other works attracted huge crowds in numerous cities.

Appointments may now be made by phone, but the number of visitors is controlled by the hour so the galleries are not too crowded. Barnes expressed in his will the desire to keep the collection "exactly where it is."^{[citation needed]}

Later life, death, and legacy

Barnes & his wife Laura purchased an 18th century estate in West Pikeland Township, Pennsylvania, and named it “Ker-Feal” (Breton for “House of Fidèle”) after their favorite dog. Barnes had brought the dog home from Brittany during an art-buying trip to France.^[10] Barnes died on July 24, 1951, in an automobile crash,^[11] apparently caused by his disdain for stop signs, while driving from Ker-Feal to Merion.^[12][13]

Having watched the Philadelphia Museum of Art “legally steal” the collection of his late lawyer, John Johnson, Barnes set out to prevent the same from happening to his collection. His will and other documents provide that the Barnes Foundation was to remain an educational institution, open to the public only two to three days a week. His art collection, furthermore, could never be loaned or sold; it was to stay on the walls of the foundation—in the exact places he specified—forever.^[11]

Future move to Philadelphia

See Barnes Foundation for details on the future move of the art collection from Merion to Benjamin Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia. The Youth Study Center previously located at the new site has been demolished and students and staff moved to another location in West Philadelphia. Controversies surrounding the move and the motives behind it are the subject of the 2010 independent film The Art of the Steal.^[14]

Relationship with Bertrand Russell

Barnes was responsible for financially rescuing the distinguished philosopher Bertrand Russell in the 1940s. Russell was living in the Sierra Mountains in the summer of 1940, short of money and unable to earn an income from journalism or teaching. Barnes, who had himself been rebuffed by the University of Pennsylvania and the Philadelphia Museum of Art, had been impressed by Russell's battles with the Establishment, and invited Russell to teach philosophy at his Foundation. Russell invited Barnes to his cabin in Lake Tahoe, and managed to secure a contract to teach for five years on a salary of $6,000, subsequently raised to $8,000 in order that Russell could give up his other teaching duties^[15]. Russell was contracted to give one lecture a week on the history of Western philosophy, which later became the basis of his best-selling book History of Western Philosophy.

The two men later fell out after Barnes was offended by the apparently snobbish behaviour of Russell's wife Patricia, who insisted on calling herself 'Lady Russell'^[16]. Barnes wrote to Russell, saying 'when we engaged you to teach we did not obligate ourselves to endure forever the trouble-making propensities of your wife'^[17], and looked for excuses to dismiss Russell. In 1942, when Russell agreed to give weekly lectures at the Rand School of Social Science, Barnes dismissed him for breach of contract, claiming that the offer of the extra $2,000 was conditional upon his exclusively teaching at the Foundation^[18]. Russell sued for loss of $24,000 (the amount owed for the remaining three years of the contract), and in August 1943 was awarded $20,000 - the amount owed less $4,000, which the court expected Russell to be able to earn from public lectures for the remaining three years.