Profile of a collector: Jay Swanson (contemporary local art)

If you’re in the mood for a good chuckle sometime, do a Google image search for the phrase “art collector” and see what turns up. What you’ll see is a few dozen pages of photos of laughing matrons in suspiciously expensive-looking cowboy hats, smug bank presidents in very well-tailored suits standing in front of enormous abstract expressionist canvases, shots of nouveau-riche celebrities you might recognize from the august pages of US Weekly, Turkish rug-strewn oaken interiors, programs from that annual “culture and social highlight of the Americas” that is Art Basel Miami, and a number of black-and-white photos of unsmiling 19th Century robber barons with impressively waxed mustaches and countenances that seems to say “release the hounds.” Terribly funny, but not the sort of thing you particularly associate with your everyday life—most people tend to think of “art collectors” as occupying the same mythical, rarified space as Greek shipping magnates, suave tuxedoed international assassins, and other people you tend not to run into in the express lane at Cub Foods.

First in a series of five profiles of local collectors

Which is complete nonsense, of course. I realize it’s un-Minnesotan to say nice things about where we live, but the fact is we are relatively blessed to live in a city with huge numbers of talented artists, dozens of exceptional galleries and generous funding sources that make the first two possible. You probably know a few art collectors yourself that would be hesitant to self-identify as such. But it’s not uncommon to walk into an acquaintance’s living room and find the walls are graced with original artwork picked up from MCAD’s winter sale, or from a McKnight show, or an opening at First Amendment, or a Midway fundraising event, or from the Soap Factory’s $99 sale. The fact is, to be an art collector, all you really need is a sense for what you like, a working knowledge of the Twin Cities art calendar, and a little bit of extra cash. Good collections start modestly and with little fanfare—usually with something as modest as being out on a Friday night art crawl in Northeast, seeing a small painting in a window and thinking, “Well, gee, I really like this small painting in the window.”

This is exactly how Jay Swanson’s art collection began about twenty years ago. Now a lawyer for Dorsey & Whitney, Jay was just out of law school when a friend took him to see a show at the Thompson Gallery, one of the private galleries that flourished in Minneapolis’s Warehouse District in the 1980s. He happened to see a print by Steve Soreman that caught his eye, so he picked it up, and there it begins.

Sitting in his living room in Kenwood on a pleasant May afternoon, he thought back on his early collecting and chuckled, “I liked everything I saw.” Jay is a genial, easygoing guy who stresses that he has “no formal training in art,” but has amassed an impressive, tasteful collection of original art, with an emphasis on local work by people like Chris Larson, Molly Roth, and David Lefkowitz. With local artists, he explains, you tend to be able to cultivate relationships. As if to prove this point, the day I came to visit Jay and see his collection, there was Molly Roth in the living room with a transparent projector and a pile of girl’s hair bows, putting in an installation on a bare wall while Jay and I talked, chiming in once in a while. Roth, a recent MFA graduate from MCAD, isn’t crazy about labels like “local artist,” particularly since like she, many young artists, moves around from city to city. Molly herself now lives and works in Chicago, and did her undergrad in Portland before coming to Minneapolis. However, artists with strong Minneapolis roots and connections account for the most interesting work in Jay’s collection. This is perhaps because this work came to be in his possession through his relationships with Minnesota artists.

Roth isn’t the first artist who Jay has invited into his home to install a piece. His dining room is lined with photos from Chris Larson’s Shotgun Shack series, created to fit the specifications and dimensions of the room. He’d seen Larson’s work in a few shoes around the city, specifically his Crush Collision show at the Minneapolis Institute of Art—that was the one with the full-size sculpture of the wooden rocket ship that had smashed into the side of the Unabomber’s rural Montana cabin. Jay later met Larson in person on a studio visit, the sort he makes from time to time when he sees the work of an artist that he likes, and invited him over to his house to see if he might like to install some work. Larson came over, looked at the space, and soon enough, his dining room was filled with white-framed color photos of Larson’s shotgun shack, floating away on a Wisconsin lake.

Jay began with collecting work by Minnesota impressionists, and still has a fair amount of paintings by respected artists like Alexis Fournier (1865-1948). They were pleasant to look at, readily available and had a solid, interesting Minnesota connection, but he found himself a bit bored and wanting to engage work that was a little more thought-provoking. As one does in the professional world, he made contacts with local arts figures like John Rasmussen of Midway Contemporary Art, and went on to serve on Midway’s board. From experiences such as this, he realized that there was a lot of local talent, and that it was easily accessible. Most artists are around, available and working in their studios and out at openings. Though he owns pieces by Robert Rauschenberg, Barnett Newman, and Ann Hamilton, it’s the work with Minnesota connections “we spent most of our time looking at and discussing.”

“You don’t take yourself too seriously,” he says when I ask him if there’s any underlying philosophy to his collection. “I like work that is smart, witty.” I got the sense, actually, that he was hesitant to self-identify as a “collector,” in the sense of the aforementioned robber baron clichés one dredges up doing a Google image search. He described the process as a having a point of critical mass, a point at which you’ve acquired a good amount of work and realize that, in fact, it constitutes a collection. Jay’s collection is a natural outgrowth of his interests—he genuinely enjoys the work he owns. Showing me a series of Chris Larson’s drawings and prints, architectural-like drawings of fantastical machines, it was clear how much he really enjoyed the work. It isn’t about ego or status or investments but about going out, meeting artists and other art lovers, forming good relationships, and being able to hang a piece in your home and knowing exactly who, what, where, when and why.

As I left his house, Molly was wrapping up her work for the day, and she and Jay were discussing good places near Lake Calhoun for her to get a sandwich. I seriously doubt the laughing matron in the suspiciously expensive-looking cowboy hat would deign to proffer similar dining tips, but despite that, it’s really all part of the work of being an art collector.