GUARDIAN of Objects

The lovely, unassuming young lady making her way down the Quai Anatole France in sneakers could be a graduate student. She wears no makeup and exudes a vibe of general intelligence, that of someone living a life of the mind. However, instead of proceeding to the Sorbonne, she turns to enter an imposing hôtel particulier with no signage. After ascending a flight of stone stairs and walking through one of the most imposing suites of rooms in Paris, she arrives at her office. This is Laura Kugel, and if we follow her inside we will find ourselves in a world of opulence, history, and wonder. We are all welcome: Galerie Kugel is open to the public by appointment, although it takes a certain amount of nerve to ring the bell.

Some background remarks about where we are and what we can expect to experience inside. All great art dealers have a certain mythology about them; they do more than transact sales. Often, through force of charisma and will, they change the culture within which they operate. Lord Joseph Duveen was said to rehearse his pitches to the inscrutable Andrew Mellon by having his valet sit on the end of the bed and say nothing in response to his employer’s enthusiasm (“You be Mellon”). It worked: We have the National Gallery today. After the dealer’s death Mellon revealed that he had enjoyed Duveen’s bumptiousness. “The pictures were beautiful,” he said, “but never so beautiful as when he was standing in front of them.” In New York, Wildenstein & Co. had its famous private showroom upholstered entirely in crimson velvet, designed to intimidate and seduce; when you were admitted and confronted with a single painting on an easel, they wouldn’t let you out until the sale was closed.

Kugel is the last antiquarian gallery that has this sort of mystique. The first time I entered I was greeted with smiles, and I smiled back, but I was much too afraid to ask the price of anything. If Henry Clay Frick were alive, he would come shopping here.