"The 'Small' Collectors" by Eric Mircher

[This is a continuation of my translations of Eric Mircher's original articles.  Please read this introduction for the background behind this project.]

     Contrary to what they call themselves, there are no “small” collectors.  They, however, often present themselves as such, almost apologetically affirming, “I'm only a small collector.”  They make the rounds of the galleries regularly, rain or shine, sale or not, striding in the solitude of their passion through the gallery streets.  When an XXL piece is hung on the gallery wall, they salute its bravado, admire it, make a comment, or keep quiet, which is in fact its own comment.  They will end up saying, “it's a remarkable piece, for the museum . . .” and conclude with the inevitable, “me, I'm only a small collector.”

     One can count on them, in every sense of the word.  They gauge, look, exercise their expert eye untiringly and have done so for many years.  They are inexhaustible.  And don't try to bamboozle them, they have seen it all, and often for much longer, and they have a critical and fine memory.  Art dealers? They know them all as well, seen them grow or perish, accordingly.

     They never buy with “their ears.”  The time they have devoted to collecting has given them experience, which are the dues they paid to acquire the sure foundation of their judgement.  They are no longer looking for good deals.  They have heard it all, of the dissimulated promises, of the young up and coming with such bright futures and roaring catalogs that have ever since been sitting, and sighing, in the corner of their library.

     Of course, each one of them can tell you a story of a piece that they had acquired at a bargain price or at one that required some real sacrifices, without any body showing any interest in the work at the time, and despite it , the piece has now, many years later, become valuable.  But these stories are rare, and how many other pieces acquired have since been forgotten by the market?  Their passion for collecting is priceless, or rather, its true cost is the time dedicated to it.  Infinite.  Like the desire to complete a collection, a self-portrait that is always in flux, in an improbable and forever postponed completion.

     Late winter afternoon in a bar with off-site betting.  A slightly drunk woman is trying to make conversation with everyone.  At the bar counter, there is a man who looks like a building employee and appears also to be just as tipsy as her.  The ambiance becomes intoxicating.  He sees in the woman a certain gracefulness that has only been slightly altered by her age and the alcohol she has consumed.  He pays a tribute, that is not entirely without ulterior motives, to this body of yesteryear.  A conversation begins between them.  She speaks secretively but her drunken state causes her to be unable to control the tone of her voice.  She is speaking loudly, and everyone can hear her.  She speaks of her collection and the problem that she is having with it.  They are always the same issues: finding a place to store the collection most notably.  She speaks also of a rare and unique piece that she has finally been able to acquire after long, patient, and obstinate labor.    The man listens to her without understanding, he is checking her out, nearly unclothing her with his eyes.  She continues untiringly, even though she is aware of her listener's ambiguous and waning attention but doesn't mind it because finally some one is listening to her passion, here spoken.  The whole situation gets quite confusing.  He laughs, a frank and loud laugh; she in turn speaks even more loudly, and evokes money and then the storage issues again.  She tells him that a leading expert had contacted her about a space.  She embellishes and describes a space that is doubly protected from intrusion which now keeps her collection hidden and unseen except by her.  She has real pleasure in saying these last words, the jubilation of having an invisible collection.  Will the man see the collection this evening?  Alcohol has allowed the hidden discourse of the collector to appear in broad daylight even though in this situation one is far from the usual confidential tones that is the general rule for this type of discussion.

     These are all the same the same words, the same reflexes, the same time devoted to collecting.  We hear now that this woman's cherished collection is doubly protected in cardboard boxes: she collects perfume bottles.  There are no small collectors.  

• Article written by Eric Mircher
• (Translated from French by Roy Forget)