The Evolution of Seeking:
A Conversation with John and Berthe Ford

By Valerie C. Doran

At a hotel on the Bay of Bengal, India, November 1999

John and Berthe Ford are among the most respected, active and eclectic Western collectors in the field of Asian art. Their purview extends far beyond the gallery and the auction house, and they can as easily be found attending a scholarly symposium on Tibetan art in London, organizing a convention for the International Chinese Snuff Bottle Society (ICSBS) in Washington, DC, inspecting restoration projects in Nepal, or hosting a group of Buddhist monks at their home in Baltimore. This is in part because the Fords are connoisseurs in two entirely different collecting fields: the religious art of South Asia and Chinese snuff bottles. As a true snuff bottle enthusiast, John Ford serves as President of the Baltimore-based ICSBS, founded in 1968 by his godfather, the collector Edward Choate O'Dell (1902-83). The Fords also publish the Society's quarterly journal. But it is in the area of South Asian art that they have had the most far-reaching impact.

Sculpture gallery on the third floor of the Fords' home (Photography by Erik Kvalsvik)

The Fords have one of the most important private collections of Indian and Himalayan art in the world. Built up over a period of forty years, it includes Indian, Nepalese and Tibetan sculptures and ritual objects in bronze, wood, stone, ivory and terracotta, as well as thangkas and Indian miniature paintings. The Fords can be described as true pioneers in collecting Esoteric or Tantric art. Fascination for the iconography and a keen appreciation of the art's aesthetic beauty sparked their interest in this area at a time when most Western museums viewed such art as more of an anthropological curiosity than high aesthetic achievement. As scholarly and curatorial interest has grown, objects from the Ford collection have been a staple of major museum and gallery exhibitions, and a number have proved of seminal importance to art historians in helping to establish a stylistic and chronological sequencing for the development of Himalyan art. The Fords' interests also extend to historical preservation, and John is Chairman of the Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust, a non-profit group dedicated to the survival of traditional architecture in Nepal (see Erich Theophile's article in this issue).

John and Berthe Ford meeting the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, India, in 1974

In October, the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore will premiere `Desire and Devotion: Art of India, Nepal, and Tibet in the John and Berthe Ford Collection', the first comprehensive public exhibition of this important collection. Curated by the Walters' Chief Curator for Asian art, Hiram W. Woodward, and with a catalogue written by the noted scholar Pratapaditya Pal, `Desire and Devotion' will feature over 150 objects in a variety of media - some never publicly exhibited before - with an additional fifty objects featured in the catalogue. The Fords have recently announced their intention to donate this entire collection to the Walters: a gift that, according to Woodward, will `catapult the Walters into the top ranks of museum collections in these areas'.

Valerie C. Doran: Your collection of Himalayan and Indian art is well known for its comprehensiveness, but is there an overarching theme that reflects your sensibilities as collectors?

John G. Ford: This is something we have been thinking about a great deal lately in preparation for the upcoming exhibition. The title `Desire and Devotion' speaks of our common interest in the art, and as a leitmotif of our collecting. The theme of desire as an aspect of striving and seeking, on both the physical and spiritual plane, is fundamental to the philosophy and aesthetic imaging of South Asian art. The evolution of that seeking - whether physical or spiritual - culminates in devotion.

In the West, of course, these are terms not considered proper to denote wisdom and virtue, but in the East the dichotomy is always present. One thinks of desire as being negative, but it has its positive side too. And conversely, devotion can have a negative aspect if one is too extreme in one's reaction or conduct in the expression of devotion. For the devotee, the proper balance is a thing of beauty personally. For others, such as ourselves, it is a cultural experience that you observe and try to reflect in your own life or in the things you collect.

VCD: Is it this kind of cultural experience that draws you equally to Himalayan and Indian art?

JGF: Yes, and of course these areas are adjacent, with a shared cultural milieu. The indigenous religions of India, Hinduism, the evolution of Buddhism out of that and the Tantric forms of each - all evolve from that quest: the personal expression of the need for god and worship and the desire for godly symbols, and, at the same time, gratification of the physical needs, and the devotion that we have for each of these attributes.

VCD: Your stewardship of two international organizations in two very different areas of Asian art would seem to reflect an unusual degree of commitment. Could you comment?

JGF: First let me say that in all these activities, Berthe is an equal partner: both of our lives are circumscribed by the collection, the Society and the Trust. My involvement in these fields is deeply rooted in my family background and professional life. My parents were interested in the arts, but it was my godfather, Edward Choate O'Dell, an avid antique collector, who was my primary influence. Specifically, Edward was a collector of Chinese furniture, lacquer, decorative arts and jewellery, but he particularly loved snuff bottles. In 1955, Edward and my parents sold their respective homes and moved as one household to a large Federal-style house in north Baltimore. This is still my family home, and our collection is housed here.

By that point, my godfather had a mature collection. I was quite smitten, especially by his wonderful range of snuff bottles, and within a few years I had begun collecting Chinese decorative arts on my own. Mind you, I was still going to school at Johns Hopkins University and didn't have much money to spend, but in those days it was not difficult to find art objects, and for very reasonable prices, if you had a good sense of design, form, and other characteristics of good quality - it still happens for that matter, but not as often as it used to.

VCD: How did you make the leap from snuff bottles to esoteric Himalayan and Indian art?

JGF: In the early 1960s, just out of university, I established a successful interior design business; at the same time I began to expand my search in the world of Asian art. Partly, this had to do with my godfather as well. When I started collecting I gradually discovered things that we both liked. There was a growing sense of competition between us that I found to be awkward and even potentially hurtful to our relationship. A turning point came in 1961 when I saw some Sino-Tibetan bronzes in the home of friends here in Baltimore, Cecil and Betty Rush, who collected esoteric gilt bronzes very early on; I was impressed by these powerful images, and from that encounter came a whole new sphere of interest for me. Not too long afterwards, I was in an antique shop on Pine Street in Philadelphia and saw a piece similar to one in the Rush collection: a large, mid-19th century image of Yamantaka, the conquerer of death in the pantheon of Tibetan Buddhism. It was priced at US$1000, which was a huge sum for me at the time. Well, I had a few dollars saved, so I bought it; but I didn't dare tell my parents how much I paid for it because I knew they would say: `You're out of your mind!' After all, what kind of a reaction could one expect from one's parents to such extravagance for something as esoteric as a Tibetan bronze, especially one depicting copulating deities?

VCD: Did you have any sense of the spiritual element in the icon or was it curious fascination that inspired you?

JGF: Initially it was curiosity - that's being candid. The spiritual aspect has grown, but that has come with maturity: at that time it was the exotic quality that appealed most to me. Here I had found a powerful expression of virility and desire that echoed my own youthful urgency, about everything. Now that says something about me, about the sexual revolution of the 60s, and to some extent it was also about the search for fulfilment on every level.

VCD: What was Edward O'Dell's reaction to your growing fascination with Himalayan and Indian art? Did he see it as a valid collecting path?

JGF: As a lover of art my godfather was both open-minded and discerning, and he became increasingly interested in South Asian art and culture, although he never collected much in that area. In the 1960s we made three trips to South and Southeast Asia together. On our first, in 1963, most of our time was spent in India and Nepal, and this is when my direction as a collector was firmly established. This wonderful, powerful art was everywhere, and I bought heavily. Don't forget, the Dalai Lama had fled Tibet a few years earlier, in 1959, and refugees were flowing into New Delhi, bringing bronzes, thangkas and other objects, and selling them to subsist. I remember tiptoeing between thangkas literally covering gallery floors so as not to step on anything. My first purchase was a dozen fine paintings for which I negotiated a price of US$1000. Each of them today is worth - well, you know what's happened in the market-place. I also bought Indian miniature paintings, Indian bronzes, and a number of other things - mostly things that I could carry.

VCD: Did this first direct experience of the culture that engendered the art make any significant impact on you?

JGF: Most definitely. The strongest impact came with the experience of seeing the art in situ, in the places where it was most alive. The experience of visiting some of the remote, darkened shrines and seeing devotees worshipping was very moving. In one temple I watched a sacrifice where the devotee cut the head of a goat and caught the blood in cups, and then poured it onto the image of the goddess Durga: this was pretty powerful stuff. Seeing images identical to some of the sculptures I had been collecting as objects of deep devotion was intense, an almost primal experience.

VCD: It is striking that with virtually no previous background in the art or culture of South Asia, you seem to have begun with an intuitive discernment and appreciation of its aesthetic qualities. How do you explain your eye?

JGF: You're right - except for art history courses, I knew very little. I was just buying intuitively, things I felt were good or important, and icons whose esoteric imagery was simply shattering to my mind. Yet it can also be said that I had had a useful, if unintentional, preparation for appreciating the art, because after all, I had been looking at art in general for a long time. From the age of twelve, I had been going to museums and auctions with my parents and my godfather, and inculcated into this process of growing up was a love of images and form, of colour and pattern and texture. And then of course at the Maryland Institute College of Art, I majored in art history, and ultimately this love was all part of my professional life as an interior designer. Even in my early 20s, I was intuitively inspired and motivated to seek out and acquire wonderful things.

VCD: In addition to buying intuitively, you also started out buying aggressively, both in quantity and in terms of spending quite large sums of money. Has this been a characteristic of your collecting approach?

JGF: Yes, I was aggressive because I had an intense desire to see and learn more. Between 1963 and 1987, I travelled extensively as a national officer of the American Society of Interior Designers, and wherever I went I always sought out Asian art, and almost always found something. However, my aggressiveness did get me into hot water on a trip to Asia in 1969. We were members of the first Asia Society-sponsored tour led by Dr Pal, at that time Curator of Indian Art at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and his colleague, Dr Sadashiv Gorakshkar, then Curator at the Prince of Wales Museum in Bombay. I was seeking and buying a lot on that trip too, to the discomfort of the two scholars. In India in particular, my eagerness for the search meant that I somewhat threw caution to the wind, and my behaviour was at odds with some of the notable collectors on the tour, who were much older than me and acting with great propriety. In any case, I selected a group of Indian miniature paintings and one bronze that I thought were good, but I wasn't sure they were genuine, so I sought the advice of Pal and Gorakshkar. Well, they weren't very receptive - in fact they were very cool and derogatory. My intuitive sense was that the pieces were good, but since they went to such lengths to dissuade me, I didn't buy. Finally it got through to me that in their eyes my behaviour was rather offensive: as a member of this group of prominent Americans, I should be looking at the culture, not buying up its patrimony. Being somewhat incorrigible in those days, I did subsequently go back and quietly get some of those pieces. Of course, this was before the 1973 UNESCO agreement, and before anyone thought about cultural patrimony and political correctness. I will say, though, that after that trip I didn't purchase antiquities in India any longer!

VCD: Your first decade of collecting resulted in an exhibition curated by Dr Pal at the Walters Museum in 1971, and featured a catalogue written by him. How did this exhibition come about?

JGF: By 1970 I had amassed about 200 bronzes, stone sculptures and paintings, which I kept housed in a special display area I had designed for them. One evening in 1970, the retired director of the Walters, Edward S. King, was at our house, and as he was departing I asked him if he would like to take a look at my collection. He glanced at his watch, said: `Well, I have another engagement, but maybe a quick look', and of course he stayed an hour. Two weeks later, Richard Randall, his successor, asked if I would like to show my collection at the Walters the following year. Of course I was shocked: here I was, a neophyte collecting this highly esoteric religious art; it seemed amazing to me that they would want a show! Although in retrospect it may have been a little too early in my collecting career for me to have such a major exhibition, I agreed, and it developed into a very auspicious event.

At the time, the Walters did not have an in-house designer, so I volunteered to design the installation for them. I also wanted to have a catalogue, and to have Pratap [Dr. Pal] write it. And Randall said: `If you'd like to do it, Mr Ford, you're very welcome, but we can't afford to do it for you.' I agreed to finance it, called Pratap and he agreed to write the catalogue. Of course Pratap already knew my collection quite well: when he was curating the Asia Society's `Art of Tibet' show in 1969, he came to visit me in Baltimore and selected five of my objects for the exhibition. We've been friends ever since.

VCD: You described this first exhibition as being `very auspicious'. Could you elaborate?

JGF: Certainly. At the opening of the show I met my future wife, Berthe Hanover. She had come as the guest of a friend of mine, Michael Hudson, a young economics professor who lived in New York and had a small but very good collection of South Asian art. I did ask him later if he might give me Berthe's phone number, but he wasn't too happy, so I had to follow up on my own. But it was the art that brought us together!

VCD: Mrs Ford, I believe you had already begun collecting Himalayan and Indian art by the early 1970s?

Berthe H. Ford: Yes, I was fortunate to have been exposed to the art quite early and was captivated by the imagery and the incredible vitality of the work. There is nothing dormant about it: these are symbols that have depth and beauty beyond my experience. To me their appeal is dynamic and ever-changing.

VCD: Were you still a student at the time you began collecting?

BHF: Yes and no: actually, I was already working as a translator of Russian, French and Spanish at the United Nations, so I had some money to spend. I was also attending night classes at the New School for Social Research, majoring in Political Philosophy. I empathize with John's experience when he bought his first piece, though, because when I first started collecting and was keeping all the pieces in my room, my mother said: `Why are you spending your money on these strange things, you should be buying stocks!' By the time John and I were married in 1972, I had acquired a small but quite fine collection of Tibetan thangkas and Indian miniature paintings, as in those days they were less expensive than bronzes. John has always said that my own collection was my dowry!

VCD: It is obvious that as collectors you share similar motivations and sensibilities, but are there any marked differences in your individual tastes, and if so, has this ever presented a problem?

BHF: Generally, we have similar tastes, and our individual inclinations complement each other. I have perhaps been more attracted to the esoteric phase of the art and the religion - although before we married, John did have a collection of wrathful deities that was very special. I am especially drawn to the uniqueness of each particular icon as a challenge intellectually as well as visually. I'm not sure how much I want to analyse my own direct response to the underlying philosophical elements, but there are things I find compelling, and issues of passionate involvement to my generation in the 1960s. The sense of realization that there is a duality in all things, even religion, intrigues me more and more. The wrathful aspects are revelations of how the evil within us is transferred to the god and willingly taken on by him or her, and again, the omnipresence of the Buddha as always peaceful, always compassionate, always there for you.

VCD: I have heard the Ford collection characterized as demonstrating an overall elegance of taste; that is, there is a notable refinement and elegance of form and execution in most of the pieces that you have selected.

JGF: I hope that is true. I like beautiful icons that are the ultimate expression of the culture, but there are limitations, such as monetary concerns: if you can afford to buy beautiful, pristine pieces, you do it. It isn't all money, though, by any means. There are plenty of very wealthy collectors who are not motivated or do not have the sensibilities to pick the best for the money that they're spending.

VCD: Or perhaps they may have another focus, another rationale for collecting? Whereas you seem very much to have an aesthetic focus.

JGF: Definitely. After all, that is my training and my professional life. My primary interest is to find an exquisite image, and then to place it in a manner that will allow it to speak in its clearest voice to whoever sees it. A beautiful image, perfectly placed, beautifully lit, and in the proper context or framework, whether silver leaf, damask or whatever - that is my personal passion.

VCD: You have created two special rooms in your home as temple spaces, one for Nepalese icons and one for Tibetan. What was your motivation in doing so?

JGF: The Nepalese shrine, which I planned in 1976, was my first effort in this direction. My reasons for doing so were two-fold, both pragmatic and aesthetic. First of all, thangkas that we couldn't display were stored in basement closets, and I didn't feel too good about that. I had recently acquired a Hindu shrine portal, and I thought I would create a special room for it, and at the same time, a place to view thangkas. For this sacred art, I created an altar in the room based on an exquisite 17th century Chinese textile with dragon motifs - probably Daoist, but that makes no difference to Tibetans or Nepalese. They love the textiles of China, and the more beautiful the textile, the more appropriate it will be to serve as an altar frontal. The evolution of how objects are placed in the shrine has developed over the years.

BHF: It has always been important for both of us to be with the pieces, to live among them. And also to share them. Through the years we've welcomed many interested visitors to our home - individual scholars, other collectors, even museum groups. We know that we are privileged for having collected this art and in having the ability to display it in a unique fashion. It gives us particular pleasure to share things that bring us and many others so much fulfillment intellectually and aesthetically.

VCD: Would you mind selecting a favourite piece and describing its particular appeal?

BHF: I have many favourites, but one of them is this thangka of Vasudhara. It is an early 14th century painting in very good condition and with that look of antiquity that is unmistakable. Fortunately, no restoration was needed except for simple cleaning. Take special note of the raised gesso work forming his jewellery and the crown; in addition, note the two acolytes: in more typical representations these would be bodhisattva types, but in this instance the creative artist has rendered two demonic masks, which completely befuddle the scholars.

JGF: To my mind, the most striking piece in the Nepalese shrine is this 15th century terracotta sculpture of Vajravarahi, which Mary Slusser discusses in her article. As you can see, the image has place of honour above the altar. Sitting here and looking up into her face you will find that she's especially beautiful. The expression is so sweet, the countenance so youthful. Then there is the auspicious third eye. Despite the missing skull cap and vajra, its condition and state of preservation are exceptional.

VCD: How do you approach restoration in works that have sustained damage?

JGF: Most of the restoration work on our thangkas has been limited to cleaning and subtle painting in of recognizable features. Any serious collector or museum conservator would undertake this enhancement if there is crackling and crazing from handling or superficial defacement from butter-lamp smoke in the temples. But there are levels of acceptance. One could argue that the replacement of a foot helps complete an image, but to make a work better by repainting a face because the outline is there is logically unacceptable.

VCD: Has it been difficult to avoid buying fakes?

JGF: I'm happy to say that we have rarely bought fakes, but it's impossible to avoid completely if you are an avid collector. I'm shown fake thangkas all the time, but I'm now very good at spotting them. You must be cautious about what you are buying and try to know its provenance in advance. But ultimately one is responsible for purchasing something that has validity as an icon - meaning that it has a heritage that is clear and speaks honestly of what it is rather than being a replication, or somebody's dressed-up version of what it should be.

I do sometimes take risks, conscious of the doubts but hoping that the piece is better than I think it is! If I feel especially strongly about a work I will buy on faith and not fret about the money. For example, I have two expensive sculptures in the collection that I would like in the exhibition, but as they are still under scholarly debate, I have excluded them. I can honestly say that these are the only objects in my collection that I bought with high hopes but about which there are still unresolved questions.

VCD: In the April issue of Orientations, concerning the destruction of the Buddhist sculptures in Bamiyan, Deborah Klimburg-Salter pointed out that the various issues of preservation, private collecting and government control over the national patrimony are complex and often conflicting. What are your views?

BHF: To a certain degree people are much more sensitive to the issue of unprovenanced material. When we acquire a beautiful work, we are helping to ensure its preservation. Over the years we have been made aware of the precarious conditions in which many of these works exist. It is not always as dramatic and visible a threat as with the Bamiyan Buddhas. For instance, a Pakistani artist friend recently admired one of our Gandharan sculptures, saying that when she was a little girl in Lahore her mother's gardeners would sometimes show her mother similar Buddhist icons they had dug up, and each time her mother would say: `Just take it out and destroy it!' because it had no relevance to her. My friend expressed relief that we cared for these works and appreciated them as art.

JGF: There are other issues as well. For example, about ten years ago, a shopkeeper in Nepal gave me a painting from his throwaway pile which was badly cracked and full of yak butter. The piece had caught my eye while I was purchasing another work, and when I asked him to include it, the shopkeeper said something like: `What, that old thing!' and wouldn't even let me pay for it. I later had it cleaned, and underneath the grime was a 12th century painting of Tara of merit and artistic worth. To the devotee - as the shopkeeper was - it is primarily the painting's efficacy as an icon that is important: if a piece is mangy and damaged, better to replace it with a new painting dedicated by a monk to serve as a fresh icon to the god.

VCD: There have been incidents where works have been bought in good faith, but have proved to be stolen and returned without recompense. How would you react?

BHF: If there is documentary evidence that a work has been stolen, then we would be willing to return it, but I would say with some conditions. There should be a commitment that a country takes care of its artistic and archaeological patrimony.

VCD: Art that is primarily religious in nature is meant to have an effect psychically and spiritually. When one lives with the images and studies the icons, presumably even without the intention or the desire, one is affected by them.

JGF: That is true, but the impact the images have and the metamorphosis they engender is preconditioned by one's own mental attitude. If you are seeking spiritual guidance and wish to fill a loss or vacancy in your life I think you can find that in the Eastern religions more easily perhaps than you can in the West - but I've never been in that position. I love and collect these pieces for the joy they bring me in fulfilling my ideas of beauty and spirituality. It is the mystical experience as exemplified in the faces of these images, the manner in which they are ornamented, and the beauty and technique of the craftsmanship in fulfilling this rendering that interests me most. I think the average Western collector responds similarly. If one gets caught up in the religion or a spiritual quest alone, then the art becomes a minor issue: they generally do not go together. I do not know of any serious collector who is a devotee of the religion.

BHF: That is not to say one is not touched by the religious dimension of the art. There are many religious aspects that I have found very moving in both the icons and the sites we have visited in Asia. Seeing the Great Stupa at Sanchi, I was amazed by the depth of devotion to the Buddha expressed at that early age in this stupendous monument: it is an exquisite summation of spiritual beauty, just as its antithesis in lyrical beauty is the Taj Mahal. One is spiritual devotion to a religion, and the other is a song of beauty and love for a woman - all this within one country and imaginatively rendered architecturally. Equally, at Dunhuang, one is exposed to such ardent devotion of the pilgrims, artisans and patrons: you cannot help but be touched by the amount of devotion to the religion expressed there. I'm not religious myself, but perhaps it touches me more deeply just because of that. From the art has come the inspiration to read the sacred texts, to study the philosophy, and this has also enriched me both psychically and spiritually. We had the good fortune to have a private audience with the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, and that was another inspiring experience for us.

VCD: What has been your most dramatic acquisition?

JGF: That would be the wonderful appliqu‚ we acquired over twenty years ago in Tibet. In July 1980 we were part of the first American tour to be allowed in. The main reason for wanting to be first was that, like any typical ardent collector, I wanted to be the first in line for the most extraordinary piece, and I was successful. We toured China first and then flew directly to Lhasa. On my last day, and despite having spent all my money, I was still looking for a special bronze or thangka, poking my head into doorways until I was directed up some dark stairs into the small living room of a family of well-to-do Tibeto-Nepalese dealers. I selected a few items from a hoard of objects, and was then shown a huge woven appliqu‚. It was much too big to open in the room, but I could detect its beauty and that it had a woven inscription in precise Tibetan characters across the bottom. I asked the dealer, through hand gestures, to come to the gate of the guesthouse in an hour, saying: `We'll negotiate then.' VCD: What happened then, as you didn't have any money?

JGF: I made myself quite unpopular by attempting to borrow funds from our group, but of course everyone was in the same boat. At the appointed time, the dealer arrived, and we had to sneak him into the hotel, as locals were not allowed in. We were able to see the appliqu‚ in its full glory in my room, and we negotiated a price which I found acceptable. In an attempt to impress them, I put all my credit cards on the table, my cheque book and Pratap's 1969 Tibetan catalogue. Seeing my name in print seemed to convince them, and I proceeded to write out a cheque. However, they indicated they wanted it in US dollars, and the price came out a third higher than I had calculated. On my return, it was determined that the inscription on my glorious and historically important new acquisition was a dedication to the long life of the 7th Dalai Lama; and not too long after that, my bank statement showed that the cheque had been cashed in a foreign bank in Kathmandu.

VCD: Do you still have the piece?

JGF: No, it was among the part gift/part sale of 54 pieces to the Virginia Museum of Arts in 1991: they have it on display now.

VCD: Can you comment on your involvement in the Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust?

JGF: I was asked to step in as chairman when the Trust's founder, Eduard F. Sekler, retired in 1996, and it has been a very illuminating experience. We raise funds to ensure that our on-site director Erich Theophile and his staff can continue their important work, but the architectural aspects of the projects also interest me immensely. Having studied architecture and designed interior spaces allows me to relate closely to the work that is being undertaken. I can go into a structure in Nepal and recognize that this one is worthy of our attention but another is not. There are frustrations, as sometimes a building identified as worthy of renovation is not available due to limitations imposed by the government, by private property rights, or the state archaeological department. Of course we couldn't accomplish our main endeavour to preserve and stabilize these buildings without the Kathmandu craftsmen. It's a combined effort of connoisseurship, technical and historical knowledge of the structures, and of how they should best be preserved. Since the Trust was founded in 1990, we've restored fifteen structures - that's not a bad record!

VCD: The upcoming show at the Walters is not only a summation of forty years of collecting, it also marks a watershed for you as you have announced that the collection is a promised gift to the Walters. What are your reasons for choosing the Walters?

JGF: Firstly, because I'm a Baltimore native, and a long-time enthusiast and supporter of the museum. I started the Friends of Asian Art there in 1983 and have been a trustee since 1985. Also, the timing is right. Our collection is comprehensive, with Himalayan and Indian art equally represented. Additionally, I've been retired from my business for several years now, and both of us feel that this is the time to resolve how to dispose of our collection. There is the possibility that we will eventually sell the house, and spend our retirement in a more relaxed and simple atmosphere. All of this has motivated us to announce our choice of the Walters as a main benefactor of our estates.

VCD: Are there any conditions to the gift?

JGF: After the two-year tour, the Walters will rotate pieces in a permanent display until eventually all the pieces pass to them. There is an agreement that in the next two years, architects will be commissioned to redesign the gallery spaces in Hackerman House, the Asian wing of the museum, which are at this time quite small, and I have certain written arrangements with the museum about how the collection will be exhibited after our demise. There are also plans for a possible expansion of the Asian art department, perhaps even a new building in the next five to eight years.

BHF: We have enjoyed a very good rapport with their curator, Woody [Hiram] Woodward. Although a specialist in Southeast Asian art, he loves the arts of South Asia as well and has written some very interesting papers on esoteric themes in Tibetan and Nepalese art that others have not addressed.

VCD: Woodward has made the observation that the Walters has very little endowment for acquisitions, so that collectors like yourselves are extremely important to the institution. How do you think the museum will be affected once the exhibition opens and the extent of the gift is known?

JGF: Certainly it will be recognized for its strong holdings of Himalayan and Indian art. Some of the works are of the greatest importance: the Green Tara has received much acclaim and has been shown in too many exhibitions for its own good, and published many times, including in Orientations. Then there are other major thangkas, Indian paintings and sculptures from Gandhara. This is undoubtedly going to motivate outsiders as well as residents to visit the museum.

VCD: In the wake of your gift, will you continue to be active as collectors?

BHF: Yes, although not on the same scale. We have found a new focus in modern Asian art: Indian, Tibetan and Chinese painting, as well as sculpture. In a sense we are moving on to reinterpretations of the tradition within a new medium: not abstract per se, but an abstraction. We have recently discovered a young Tibetan artist who is creating his own interpretations of the mandala. John hung one of these modern mandalas above an ancient statue of a Buddha, and it made for an interesting contrast between old and new. But since we have an affinity for the traditional, even in abstraction there has to be something there which relates to what we value. For us it is a kind of `earth-witnessing', a re-affirmation of our roots: even if just a flicker, the quality of devotion has to be present.