Books: Art, Power, Diplomacy: The Untold Story of the Government Art Collection

For some time now, those who serve their country abroad as a diplomat or soldier have found their independence increasingly restricted by a communications revolution that has made it possible for distant armchair generals, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles from the heart of the action to intervene, interfere and even undermine.

It’s a far cry from how it used to be. Imagine the length of the communication chain between a Roman legion in what is now Azerbaijan, further east than any legion had been before, and their native Rome. A response to any problem –“under attack, please advise” – would be measured in weeks rather than minutes.

Today, stout Cortez would find his silence on that peak in Darién interrupted by the sound of a mobile phone or the tones of Skype, while a GPS unit checked his exact location. Independence of action has been severely curtailed.

These thoughts were prompted as I read Art, Power, Diplomacy: the Untold Story of the Government Art Collection (GAC).

It is this idiosyncratic grouping of some 13,500 works of art scattered across government offices at home and abroad that provides talking points at moments of diplomatic tension, promotes the work of British artists and offers ministers an opportunity to make a statement about their own beliefs and image.

The GAC owes its official origins to an era of significant cultural, social and political change between the two great wars of the 20th century. In a modest British way, it set out to counter the cultural diplomacy being developed by other European countries, including France, Germany and Italy.

In 1935 the Treasury established an annual £250 Picture Fund that was to be spent “making our embassies in the principal European capitals more worthy than they are at present”.

Unofficially, the collection had much more erratic origins, first in the expectation that the occupants of government offices would provide from their own collections (Robert Walpole, for example, displayed his own collection on the walls of 10 Downing Street in the 1730s); and secondly by sending copies of royal portraits to British embassies and consular offices around the world.

The 1935 Picture Fund was an attempt to regulate a mixed market in which, even as late as the 1920s, wealthier ambassadors were themselves continuing to purchase works to decorate their embassies; some even sold them back to the government. To many of the old school, it must have seemed yet another blow to ambassadorial independence.

At the same time, any hopes that this was the beginning of a new era were quickly dashed – the work purchased was for London government buildings only and the acquisitions fell mostly into the worthy category.

In any case, the war years were scarcely a time to build a collection but after 1945 the government’s picture committee got quickly into its stride. By the time of the Coronation it was confidently acquiring works by contemporary artists – Nash, Hitchens, Lowry and Piper.

The range and scope of the collection that grew from these modest beginnings is clearly illustrated by the book’s Index of Artists. It features an impressive list of artists from the 16th century (an elegant portrait of Elizabeth I) to Anish Kapoor and Tracey Emin.

Admittedly, this list includes references to three notable absentees from this pantheon of British art – Turner, Bacon and Hockney – but this does not in any way diminish the skill and opportunism with which the GAC and its advisers have built a cultural asset deserving of admiration and national pride.

With an introduction by Tate director Nicholas Serota, four essays and a rather awkward “conversation” between Penny Johnson, the collection’s current director, Andrew Renton, a member of the GAC’s advisory committee, and artist Cornelia Parker – this celebration of the GAC provides a series of perspectives on its history, operation and impact. And no less than 161 illustrations, nearly all in colour.

I suspect some subsidy here, but other publishers, please note. The GAC has been  something of a secret – quietly achieving on the dark side of the moon.

Art, Power, Diplomacy is part of a deliberate attempt to bring this cultural success story into the sunlight. It is accompanied by a series of exhibitions of work from the collection, the first at the Whitechapel earlier last year. It is an initiative to be warmly welcomed.

Timothy Mason is a museum consultant