Nowadays virtually everything is collected and stored, whether intentionally or not. Data and pictures, records and documents of all kinds, digital copies of books and artwork, 3D renderings of antique statues… indeed nearly anything that is capable of being stored in some capacity. But with our rapidly evolving technology, it’s easy to take for granted the fragility of the things around us, including even that which is most valuable, precious, and rare.
It wasn’t always this way. Before the days when one could conveniently step into a museum, browse the halls of an overflowing library, or gain access to something which came from centuries (or even millennia) before us, it took the genuinely pioneering work of men and women to allow us to view things which could have been lost to the impersonal dustbin of time.
William Burrell, the Scottish collector of the 19th and 20th centuries, is one such figure. In this relatively no-nonsense documentary — generally devoid of unnecessary scenes, saccharine reenactments, or inane commentary (all rare things for modern films of this kind) — Burrell’s story is given the due attention he deserves.
Presented by Kirsty Wark and produced by the BBC, The Man Who Collected the World will surely introduce many viewers to a man whom they’ve perhaps never heard of, let alone realized was a pivotal forerunner to the abundance of museums and galleries we are blessed to have today.
Born in 1861, and living out a robust life of nearly 100 years, Burrell’s success and prodigiousness as a collector does in fact have a predecessor. That figure is Hans Sloane (b. 1660) — the Irishman who collected tens of thousands of items and who helped give us the British Museum. It’s somewhat of a strange thing, then, that Wark never gets around to mentioning this, even as the slightest of asides.
Nonetheless, what Wark does tell us about the context, details, and ambitions of Burrell’s life — even though much of his life remains a mystery — is helpful.
Dropping out of school at the age of 14, Burrell may not have had much of a formal education, but he possessed traits which were just as valuable: business savvy, curiosity, and an innate interest in collecting the countless myriad and beautiful artifacts that were a part of his world — past and present.
This ambition to achieve such great things seems to have been part of his makeup from a young age. He had seen his family’s finances flounder as a young man, and, as one commentator puts it, “he wanted to regain the money which had been lost.” And that he did.
Indeed it was his eventual — and immense — commercial success as a ship owner that allowed him the privilege of turning his eye towards a much different domain of life — the past. Though he was never as wealthy as some of his contemporary magnates — such as Henry Clay Frick, across the Atlantic — he had the capital to go after his interests. And in time, he dedicated his life to his unending passion.
With little hyperbole, he seems to have collected everything under the sun: Impressionist paintings, Medieval and Renaissance art and artifacts, tapestries, ceramics, stained glass, weapons and suits of armor, Islamic art, Chinese art from virtually every dynasty, items from Classical antiquity, and even the bedhead of Henry VIII and Anne of Cleves.
From the relatively everyday to the singularly unique, Burrell collected it all. But it wasn’t mere frivolous collecting. Insofar as Wark is correct in her psychological portrait — one which contradicts an apparently common notion that he was a “millionaire magpie, grabbing anything that glittered” — Burrell’s interests were far more deep and nuanced. He was someone who collected and purchased things out of a genuine interest. He “amasse[ed] this extraordinary collection piece by handpicked piece,” Wark says, as she walks by some of his items.
When watching the documentary, one might have the growing suspicion that sooner or later it will be revealed that Burrell was some kind of egomaniac, or an obsessive-compulsive personality, or just an outlandish and out-of-touch person altogether. But none of that seems to be true. There also seems to have been no tragedy or particularly dark underlying events in his life — though he did act rather poorly when it came to the (ultimately failed) marriage negotiations involving his only daughter, which lead to a fractured relationship. And the fact that he had no sons, and thus — in his mind – no clear heir to bequeath his life’s work and collections to, was the source of at least some inner turmoil.
But whatever might be said of these certain moral lapses, it was the lack of a clear heir which eventually propelled him to leave his enormous collection to the public — giving Glasgow a truly dazzling array of items from around the globe.
Burrell’s died in 1958, and it wasn’t until a quarter of a century after his death that the building housing his impressive collection was opened. Like the aforementioned Hans Sloane and his collection, it took time for the details and conditions to be ironed out. But eventually they were. And Burrell’s one of a kind collection is now there for all of Glasgow — and for all of the world — to experience.
Spectatio 