Record Sale of Walking Man by Alberto Giacometti
A collective gasp went through the art world this month as Giacometti’s Walking Man was sold to an unnamed bidder for the record price of £58 million. Even in an age where we are used to art commanding astronomical prices, this seemed truly unprecedented.
Coming the same month as the Haiti earthquake, this gasp inevitably became a sigh of disbelief amongst some quarters of the general public. Accusations of immorality became inevitable. Yet as the thud of the auctioneer’s hammer died down, so too have the cries of “Why?” After all, in an age steeped in conspicuous consumption is this really any surprise at all?
Perhaps the initial shock had much to do with the profile of the artist himself. Born in 1901 Alberto Giacometti became Switzerland’s most revered sculptor, famous for creating the kind of lanky, elongated figures that we see in Walking Man. He kept illustrious company – Max Ernst, Joan Miro and Picasso were all associates – and became an important figure in the surrealist movement. He also had some influential fans – Jean Paul Sartre was quick to heap praise on him, believing his work summed up his bleak, existentialist world view.
The highlight of his career came in 1962 when he won the Grand Prize for Sculpture at the Venice Biennale. Naturally, world fame followed. Yet somehow despite all of this he never became as celebrated as the likes of Cezanne, Van Gogh and Picasso. Fewer eyebrows would have been raised if one of their pieces had been sold for this price, but no one really saw this coming from Giacometti.
The real question, though, is just how much has this price got to do with the actual work of art? In reality, very little. Sotheby’s were quick to defend the price, claiming that it “is a reflection of the extraordinary importance of this exceptionally rare work.” But to paraphrase Mandy Rice-Davies “they would say that wouldn’t they?” The auction giant’s justification was that it is the only life-time cast and an iconic subject. The first statement is indisputable, but the claim that it is “iconic” brings us into the realms of how we value a piece of art.
What then makes a work of art worth £58 million? Art is one of those rare commodities that falls outside of an accountant’s trusty remit. It is notoriously difficult to ascribe value. Traditionally a piece’s worth is determined by five key factors: its condition, subject matter, rarity, the state of the art market and lastly (the most difficult to define) the connection that is forged between the viewer and the object.
Walking Man passes effortlessly in the condition stakes – it is in perfect shape, has not been restored and as Sotheby’s said was the only life-time cast, which also scores it top marks in the rarity category. It is when we start to think about how Giacometti’s work has fared on the market in the past, however, that we start to reach shaky ground. Analysis of past performance by Giacometti works shows that previous buyers have paid nowhere near this staggering figure. In short, the sales and acquisition history which can be viewed on artnet, the world’s most comprehensive database of fine art sales worldwide, show that the result at Sotheby’s that evening was utterly extraordinary.
Or was it? Perhaps it is only when we begin to think about wider issues outside of the rarefied world of fine art that we can begin to make some sense of this king’s ransom. In a world dominated by status symbols, prodigious spending and rapacious materialism, why should the possession of a piece of art be any different from the latest yacht or dream palace? The super rich have always invested their cash in art and in our current economic downturn this looks to be a far more reliable investment than the stock exchange.
What was really going on in that auction room was a feverish game of one upmanship. Sotheby’s had personally invited all of those who had a wallet big enough to play this game of Russian roulette. Arriving in their chauffeur driven cars and dripping with jewels, they were there not because of an all consuming passion for a Swiss artist, but to flaunt their wealth and lay claim to an object that they would probably then shut away in some mysterious, guarded vault. As ludicrous as the price may seem to us mere mortals struggling to pay our credit cards, it was far from insanity that filled that auspicious auction room – it was shrewd, if egocentric financial judgement.
The supreme irony though is that according to the money men, the new owner of Walking Man may never actually recoup their massive outlay. Yet ultimately, it seems to be the viewer who is the real loser here. Giacometti’s sculpture has vanished and, while the sale suggests the art world is recovering from the economic slowdown, it also serves as a rather sad reminder that everything is subservient to money.
Art, which should arguably serve a social, spiritual function has been consumed by the unwavering power of capitalism. The media furore surrounding the Sotheby’s action has centred entirely on the price paid for the Giacometti work – its value has become determined solely in monetary terms, its intrinsic qualities consumed by the very bank notes on which the artist’s beautiful, streamlined figure were once printed.
