On 26 March this year, the Courtauld Institute of Art announced acceptance of a bequest of 51 works from Dorothy Scharf's estate. Scharf's collection of golden age (1750-1850) British watercolours featured eight Turners, including one of Margate Pier, once owned by the 19th-century writer and critic John Ruskin.
Serendipitously, just over three weeks beforehand, a Turner watercolour, The Blue Rigi, had realised the highest-ever price for a work on paper at Christie's, and had been the subject of a dramatic temporary export ban and fundraising campaign. It was saved for the nation when Tate acquired it for £4.95m. The market had shown that the value of Scharf's gift was astronomical, and the bequest was declared an outstanding triumph. That, the museum world thought, is the way to do it.
In these days of cash-strapped museums, one way public collections can continue to procure major exhibits is from private collectors in the form of bequests. But legacies are more of a trickle than a flood at the moment. An Art Fund study in 2006 found that over the preceding five years, just 4 per cent of national museums and 2.5 per cent of local authority museums said they most commonly acquired through legacies.
UK institutions are still a significant way behind the US, where high earners and wealthy families routinely become involved in the patronage of their local cultural establishments. Later this year $15m worth of artworks left to the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) by Josephine Clay Ford, granddaughter of US car manufacturer Henry Ford, will go on display. This gift is the culmination of Josephine's numerous lifetime donations to the DIA, showing neatly why UK museums are lagging behind America in attracting legacies.
Theresa Lloyd, a fundraising consultant and author of Cultural Giving, explains that the relationship built between donor and institution during their life is the key factor that leads to a legacy. But because our tax regime does not encourage lifetime giving, the opportunity to capitalise on this bond is often lost, and promises of posthumous gifts may not materialise. In the US a living donor who gives a painting to a museum can claim tax relief on the entire value of his gift from his tax bill; in the UK a benefactor would get nothing.
Another by-product of long communication between benefactor and beneficiary is that American museums are less likely to be saddled with eccentric or unworkable conditions attached to bequests. In the past, museum directors eager for wealthy donors to fill their halls routinely accepted bequests with strings attached.
The knottiest threads have been woven into familiar cautionary tales. For instance, there are the parables of the collections that could not travel. Count Antoine Seilern bequeathed the Courtauld Institute 350 drawings and 32 old master paintings in 1978, but dictated that no panels painted before 1600 should be shown outside the Courtauld, and those dating from 1600 onwards should only be loaned within London.
In this case the Courtauld was able to argue that the limitations placed on the artworks were no longer in the interests of the charity and from 2006 paintings from the Seilern bequest were allowed, with some restrictions, to travel for overseas exhibitions.
The Burrell collection was also famously circumscribed by a 'no travel' clause. Shipping magnate William Burrell gifted his collection of 9,000 works to the City of Glasgow in 1944. After long negotiations his collection was transferred into a public trust, subject to several conditions, including the restriction of temporary loans to museums within Great Britain. Glasgow City applied for a provisional order varying the conditions, which led to a hearing before parliamentary commissioners in 1997 when they decided that all but the most vulnerable exhibits could travel abroad.
Burrell wanted his collection to be a monument to his life's work and to be housed in a separate, purpose-built museum. This requirement for exhibits given by a donor to be hung together in a designated space was once common. But it is especially difficult to accommodate and is the proviso that museums have most often flouted.
The Turner Bequest is the most famous collection where togetherness was stipulated and ignored. In 1848 Turner drew up conditions stating that the National Gallery should not get his paintings until they could be kept together in a building that was constructed for their display. In 1856 Turner's estate was settled and the works in his studio were accepted by the nation as the Turner Bequest.
What happened thereafter has always been more of an impressionistic fudge than a legally-crafted alteration, because, although Turner wanted his work to be shown together as a self-contained collection, it was clear that there was neither funding nor political will to put it into practice verbatim. A House of Lords select committee of 1861 agreed that Turner's conditions should be upheld. In 1883, retrospective legislation overturned that decision. In 1910, most of the bequest was housed in the Duveen Turner Wing at the Tate and, in 1987, the Clore Gallery opened as the artist's long awaited showcase, though a handful of Turner's finest remain at Trafalgar Square.
So how would the National Gallery react if a comparable bequest were offered on similar terms, today? Charles Saumarez Smith, the former director of the National Gallery, which is the present custodian of part of the Turner Bequest, is enthusiastic at the prospect: 'We would love it if there were comparable bequests in the future. We would look carefully at what the long-term implications of a particular bequest might be, though. It's in our interest to encourage major bequests, but we'd prefer to be able to discuss conditions and what the implications might be.'
And this is the refrain throughout the museum world. We have learned our lesson from Turner and Burrell and Seilern. Honest communication is key, and great bequests have been netted on that basis. The Bill Ismay bequest was a textbook example. Ismay, a Wakefield librarian with a passion for 20th-century ceramics, wanted his collection to stay in Yorkshire. He was introduced to Craig Barclay, who was then in charge of decorative art at York Museums Trust, to discuss the future of his pots, in 1991. Over the next decade Ismay and Barclay, who is now curator for Durham University's museums, were able to discuss the terms of the bequest to the satisfaction of both parties so when Ismay died in 2001, he left his 3,500 studio ceramics to York, an independent charitable trust.
'It was just terrific fun,' Barclay says. 'Bill celebrated his 90th birthday at the museum. It wasn't a matter of cultivating him as a collector. He was a marvellous, entertaining, observant man.'
And not all strings are irksome. Brian Hayton, the head of cultural, leisure and sports services at Hull, says that some conditions are even welcome. 'You turn things down if the conditions are likely to be problematical, but I say to people there are certain conditions we find both helpful and acceptable: I want it to be held in perpetuity, conserved for the public benefit, and not sold to buy floor polish and toilet rolls. I want it properly documented, published and exhibited.'
Many institutions have a policy of selectivity, turning away pieces with onerous conditions attached. Worcester Porcelain Museum, with limited display space and storage, only accepts pieces that fill gaps in the collection and that come entirely without conditions.
Kim Streets, the curator of social history at Sheffield Galleries and Museums Trust, says she has often refused or rechannelled items: 'We use the same criteria as when we are making an acquisition. Think about its relevance to the city and the way it fits with the rest of the collection.' She adds: 'If people set conditions, we have to be quite sure we don't set in stone something that isn't actually achievable. I wouldn't feel we could meet certain conditions - like the object being on display permanently.'
The National Trust sets conditions of its own, generally insisting that properties come with endowments and fragile furnishings have their own restoration funds. 'People can fail to understand how much it costs to conserve items,' says Marcia Dover, the trust's legacies administration manager. 'Every time we take on a property we have to be sure we can take care of it. A gift is an ongoing liability.'
But the truth is that once a gift is accepted, changes can be made to the conditions in most cases. More power resides with the museum than with the late donor's wishes. The trust deed of settlement that established the Barber Institute of Fine Arts in Birmingham has been altered seven times over the years since Lady Barber died in 1933. Stipulations included a ban on ceramics and the display of objects from other collections and a veto on acceptance of gifts from other donors. The trustees, with the help of the Charity Commission, devised schemes to alter the deed of settlement that adapted some of these restrictions, while keeping to the spirit of the original document.
Acquisitions and donations are now screened for quality rather than source, and must be at least 30 years old. Ceramics are still outlawed.
Such changes may not play well with other potential benefactors. One way to protect gifts from alterations is to leave them to the Art Fund. It is a charity, so the value of any bequest is deducted from inheritance tax owing on the donor's estate (not every museum has charitable status and can offer this added benefit).
David Barrie, the director of the Art Fund, says: 'Since 1903 we've presented almost 60,000 works of art as gifts and bequests to public collections. Donors choose to give via the Art Fund because they are protected by our terms and conditions which ensure that proper use is made of gifts and bequests and that they cannot be thoughtlessly disposed of.'
These robust rules stipulate that objects are looked after in perpetuity, kept on public display or in a reasonably accessible reserve collection and labelled with acknowledgements to the donor and the Art Fund. Any museum that breaches the conditions for 60 days can forfeit its bequest. Does it ever come to this? Barrie says the charity prefers to work via close observation and 'negotiation'.
A collection of paintings by Mary Beale was bequeathed to the Art Fund and placed at Manor House in Bury St Edmunds in 1993. In December 2005, St Edmundsbury Borough Council voted to close Manor House Museum, following a review of heritage services, and to split its collection between another museum, Moyse's Hall, and a local storage facility at West Stow. Barrie says reaction was prompt: 'The Art Fund contacted the council immediately to discuss implications of the review. Our prime concern was over the care and display of Art Fund objects and the Mary Beale collection. Following negotiations with the council we received assurance that the council would uphold our terms and conditions and that the Mary Beale Collection would be on public display at Moyse's Hall.'
Of course, bequests can be worked out in advance; if the donation is an important one, this can allow the donor to have a lot of influence before he or she dies.
One of the best-known Art Fund bequests is Denis Mahon's collection of 61 Italian Baroque paintings from the 17th century, which are worth an estimated £40m. The art historian and heir to the Guinness Mahon fortune has been using his collection to shape museum policy, especially on entry fees, ever since he announced it would pass into public hands in 1999. Beneficiaries will include the National Gallery, the Ashmolean, the Fitzwilliam Museum and the National Gallery of Scotland.
When Mahon dies, the Art Fund will retain legal ownership of the works and will be charged with enforcement of his two key conditions: if a museum decides to sell any item from its permanent collection of paintings and drawings or charges entry fees, every Mahon treasure will be withdrawn.
Katrina Burroughs is a freelance arts journalist
Serendipitously, just over three weeks beforehand, a Turner watercolour, The Blue Rigi, had realised the highest-ever price for a work on paper at Christie's, and had been the subject of a dramatic temporary export ban and fundraising campaign. It was saved for the nation when Tate acquired it for £4.95m. The market had shown that the value of Scharf's gift was astronomical, and the bequest was declared an outstanding triumph. That, the museum world thought, is the way to do it.
In these days of cash-strapped museums, one way public collections can continue to procure major exhibits is from private collectors in the form of bequests. But legacies are more of a trickle than a flood at the moment. An Art Fund study in 2006 found that over the preceding five years, just 4 per cent of national museums and 2.5 per cent of local authority museums said they most commonly acquired through legacies.
UK institutions are still a significant way behind the US, where high earners and wealthy families routinely become involved in the patronage of their local cultural establishments. Later this year $15m worth of artworks left to the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) by Josephine Clay Ford, granddaughter of US car manufacturer Henry Ford, will go on display. This gift is the culmination of Josephine's numerous lifetime donations to the DIA, showing neatly why UK museums are lagging behind America in attracting legacies.
Theresa Lloyd, a fundraising consultant and author of Cultural Giving, explains that the relationship built between donor and institution during their life is the key factor that leads to a legacy. But because our tax regime does not encourage lifetime giving, the opportunity to capitalise on this bond is often lost, and promises of posthumous gifts may not materialise. In the US a living donor who gives a painting to a museum can claim tax relief on the entire value of his gift from his tax bill; in the UK a benefactor would get nothing.
Another by-product of long communication between benefactor and beneficiary is that American museums are less likely to be saddled with eccentric or unworkable conditions attached to bequests. In the past, museum directors eager for wealthy donors to fill their halls routinely accepted bequests with strings attached.
The knottiest threads have been woven into familiar cautionary tales. For instance, there are the parables of the collections that could not travel. Count Antoine Seilern bequeathed the Courtauld Institute 350 drawings and 32 old master paintings in 1978, but dictated that no panels painted before 1600 should be shown outside the Courtauld, and those dating from 1600 onwards should only be loaned within London.
In this case the Courtauld was able to argue that the limitations placed on the artworks were no longer in the interests of the charity and from 2006 paintings from the Seilern bequest were allowed, with some restrictions, to travel for overseas exhibitions.
The Burrell collection was also famously circumscribed by a 'no travel' clause. Shipping magnate William Burrell gifted his collection of 9,000 works to the City of Glasgow in 1944. After long negotiations his collection was transferred into a public trust, subject to several conditions, including the restriction of temporary loans to museums within Great Britain. Glasgow City applied for a provisional order varying the conditions, which led to a hearing before parliamentary commissioners in 1997 when they decided that all but the most vulnerable exhibits could travel abroad.
Burrell wanted his collection to be a monument to his life's work and to be housed in a separate, purpose-built museum. This requirement for exhibits given by a donor to be hung together in a designated space was once common. But it is especially difficult to accommodate and is the proviso that museums have most often flouted.
The Turner Bequest is the most famous collection where togetherness was stipulated and ignored. In 1848 Turner drew up conditions stating that the National Gallery should not get his paintings until they could be kept together in a building that was constructed for their display. In 1856 Turner's estate was settled and the works in his studio were accepted by the nation as the Turner Bequest.
What happened thereafter has always been more of an impressionistic fudge than a legally-crafted alteration, because, although Turner wanted his work to be shown together as a self-contained collection, it was clear that there was neither funding nor political will to put it into practice verbatim. A House of Lords select committee of 1861 agreed that Turner's conditions should be upheld. In 1883, retrospective legislation overturned that decision. In 1910, most of the bequest was housed in the Duveen Turner Wing at the Tate and, in 1987, the Clore Gallery opened as the artist's long awaited showcase, though a handful of Turner's finest remain at Trafalgar Square.
So how would the National Gallery react if a comparable bequest were offered on similar terms, today? Charles Saumarez Smith, the former director of the National Gallery, which is the present custodian of part of the Turner Bequest, is enthusiastic at the prospect: 'We would love it if there were comparable bequests in the future. We would look carefully at what the long-term implications of a particular bequest might be, though. It's in our interest to encourage major bequests, but we'd prefer to be able to discuss conditions and what the implications might be.'
And this is the refrain throughout the museum world. We have learned our lesson from Turner and Burrell and Seilern. Honest communication is key, and great bequests have been netted on that basis. The Bill Ismay bequest was a textbook example. Ismay, a Wakefield librarian with a passion for 20th-century ceramics, wanted his collection to stay in Yorkshire. He was introduced to Craig Barclay, who was then in charge of decorative art at York Museums Trust, to discuss the future of his pots, in 1991. Over the next decade Ismay and Barclay, who is now curator for Durham University's museums, were able to discuss the terms of the bequest to the satisfaction of both parties so when Ismay died in 2001, he left his 3,500 studio ceramics to York, an independent charitable trust.
'It was just terrific fun,' Barclay says. 'Bill celebrated his 90th birthday at the museum. It wasn't a matter of cultivating him as a collector. He was a marvellous, entertaining, observant man.'
And not all strings are irksome. Brian Hayton, the head of cultural, leisure and sports services at Hull, says that some conditions are even welcome. 'You turn things down if the conditions are likely to be problematical, but I say to people there are certain conditions we find both helpful and acceptable: I want it to be held in perpetuity, conserved for the public benefit, and not sold to buy floor polish and toilet rolls. I want it properly documented, published and exhibited.'
Many institutions have a policy of selectivity, turning away pieces with onerous conditions attached. Worcester Porcelain Museum, with limited display space and storage, only accepts pieces that fill gaps in the collection and that come entirely without conditions.
Kim Streets, the curator of social history at Sheffield Galleries and Museums Trust, says she has often refused or rechannelled items: 'We use the same criteria as when we are making an acquisition. Think about its relevance to the city and the way it fits with the rest of the collection.' She adds: 'If people set conditions, we have to be quite sure we don't set in stone something that isn't actually achievable. I wouldn't feel we could meet certain conditions - like the object being on display permanently.'
The National Trust sets conditions of its own, generally insisting that properties come with endowments and fragile furnishings have their own restoration funds. 'People can fail to understand how much it costs to conserve items,' says Marcia Dover, the trust's legacies administration manager. 'Every time we take on a property we have to be sure we can take care of it. A gift is an ongoing liability.'
But the truth is that once a gift is accepted, changes can be made to the conditions in most cases. More power resides with the museum than with the late donor's wishes. The trust deed of settlement that established the Barber Institute of Fine Arts in Birmingham has been altered seven times over the years since Lady Barber died in 1933. Stipulations included a ban on ceramics and the display of objects from other collections and a veto on acceptance of gifts from other donors. The trustees, with the help of the Charity Commission, devised schemes to alter the deed of settlement that adapted some of these restrictions, while keeping to the spirit of the original document.
Acquisitions and donations are now screened for quality rather than source, and must be at least 30 years old. Ceramics are still outlawed.
Such changes may not play well with other potential benefactors. One way to protect gifts from alterations is to leave them to the Art Fund. It is a charity, so the value of any bequest is deducted from inheritance tax owing on the donor's estate (not every museum has charitable status and can offer this added benefit).
David Barrie, the director of the Art Fund, says: 'Since 1903 we've presented almost 60,000 works of art as gifts and bequests to public collections. Donors choose to give via the Art Fund because they are protected by our terms and conditions which ensure that proper use is made of gifts and bequests and that they cannot be thoughtlessly disposed of.'
These robust rules stipulate that objects are looked after in perpetuity, kept on public display or in a reasonably accessible reserve collection and labelled with acknowledgements to the donor and the Art Fund. Any museum that breaches the conditions for 60 days can forfeit its bequest. Does it ever come to this? Barrie says the charity prefers to work via close observation and 'negotiation'.
A collection of paintings by Mary Beale was bequeathed to the Art Fund and placed at Manor House in Bury St Edmunds in 1993. In December 2005, St Edmundsbury Borough Council voted to close Manor House Museum, following a review of heritage services, and to split its collection between another museum, Moyse's Hall, and a local storage facility at West Stow. Barrie says reaction was prompt: 'The Art Fund contacted the council immediately to discuss implications of the review. Our prime concern was over the care and display of Art Fund objects and the Mary Beale collection. Following negotiations with the council we received assurance that the council would uphold our terms and conditions and that the Mary Beale Collection would be on public display at Moyse's Hall.'
Of course, bequests can be worked out in advance; if the donation is an important one, this can allow the donor to have a lot of influence before he or she dies.
One of the best-known Art Fund bequests is Denis Mahon's collection of 61 Italian Baroque paintings from the 17th century, which are worth an estimated £40m. The art historian and heir to the Guinness Mahon fortune has been using his collection to shape museum policy, especially on entry fees, ever since he announced it would pass into public hands in 1999. Beneficiaries will include the National Gallery, the Ashmolean, the Fitzwilliam Museum and the National Gallery of Scotland.
When Mahon dies, the Art Fund will retain legal ownership of the works and will be charged with enforcement of his two key conditions: if a museum decides to sell any item from its permanent collection of paintings and drawings or charges entry fees, every Mahon treasure will be withdrawn.
Katrina Burroughs is a freelance arts journalist
