In the aftermath of his frenzied day, Cartin elects to skip the auction. The 55-year-old chairman of CLS, a Hartford, Conn.-based electrical equipment distributor founded by his grandfather, comes to New York every spring to take in the contemporary art scene and to buy if the mood strikes.

His contemporary art collection, with works by luminaries such as Mark Lombardi, Tom Sachs and Agnes Martin, now numbers more than 2,000 pieces. The bulk of his still-growing assemblage is on display in his home in Del Ray Beach, Fla. At the thought of his art someday going to assorted bidders, like the Whitney collection, he shrugs. He does not buy art, he admits, with the goal of gathering a collection to hold for posterity.

“The idea of having a wing named after you?” he muses. “I have never thought of such a thing. I don’t have any need to keep the collection together, or have my name attached to it. I don’t see it being in itself a readable or coherent entity. It’s just a whole bunch of crazy stuff. It would be like bringing my collection of socks in and asking someone to exhibit them.”

It turns out, according to wealth advisors, that most of us have not devised a complete plan to manage our art. Even if we have imagined a wing of our own, many among us might feel it is presumptuous to say so. Eventually, however, every art collection changes hands, usually due to one of the “three Ds”: divorce, debt or death. If we want these possessions, which represent our intellectual and aesthetic pursuits at their finest, to delight future generations, we must define a strategy. Do we want to leave our collection to our children, or to the art-appreciating public? Is it an asset that our heirs might need to liquidate someday, or would we prefer to bequeath it to people in need of an uplifting view?

Admittedly, many collectors are stirred by the ego gratification of a brass plaque that reads “From the collection of…” But the fact is that without such egos, most of the art museums in this country would stand nearly empty. Charitable donations comprise nearly 90 percent of the art we see on exhibit in American museums. Still, the Metropolitan Museum of Art does not knock on many doors. If we do want our art collection to be in the public eye, we have to guide it there.

Museum Pieces
Some in the pantheon of famous collectors—Albert Barnes, Peggy Guggenheim and Dominique de Menil come immediately to mind—enjoyed the distinct luxury of keeping their collections intact by virtue of having owned ideal venues to transform into museums. Guggenheim’s home on the Grand Canal in Venice became the permanent exhibition space for her collection of modern art. Barnes’ museum, however, is now under threat of having to move from his mansion outside Philadelphia to a downtown space, one closer to the path of ticket buyers. In his will, Barnes was adamant that not a single painting, drawing, African mask or hinge (he owned more than 1,000 pieces of Pennsylvania German ironwork, including shoe buckles and door-pulls) be moved from the spot where he had lovingly placed it. (The courts have yet to render a final decision, but most observers believe the museum will have to move.)

The costs and administrative issues associated with establishing a private museum can be monumental. “In order to maintain a museum and the works in a museum, you need a rather large endowment—at least $50 million to $100 million. And you need a staff. Private museums are very difficult to operate,” explains Janine Racanelli, a wealth advisor at JP Morgan’s estate planning division in New York. She is currently crafting such a plan for one of her clients. “This client is lucky because he has very substantial liquid wealth,” she explains. “So the questions for him are: What will be the legacy? Is it practical? Who would keep the museum going? Is there enough public interest in the works? How does one maintain the spirit of the original collector? How does one keep the collection fresh and interesting? How will the building be kept? Is there enough endowment for taxes? Salaries? Insurance?”

Egos aside, there are also cold-eyed pragmatic reasons to give a collection to a museum. Even if Congress does permanently repeal the federal estate tax after the one-year revocation planned for 2010, our heirs might have to sell valuable artwork to pay off state death taxes, or simply because they need the cash. If we do want to give our collection to our children, the smartest strategy might be to provide them with liquidity through a life insurance trust. This will enable their benefits to come from a trust, rather than our estate, so they receive a payout that is immune to estate taxes. Such trusts can cover the taxes on a gift of art to a family member, thereby keeping the work in the family and avoiding undo financial burdens.

If we want to sell our collection and leave the proceeds to our heirs or to a charity, we can donate the collection, or parts of it, to a charitable remainder trust. The trust can then sell the work and keep all the proceeds without paying any capital gains or estate taxes.

Collectors often overlook the idea of donating art to charities other than museums or private foundations. Colleges, hospitals and other nonprofit organizations, such as nursing homes, accept—and even solicit—donations of art. The Hebrew Home for the Aged in Riverdale, N.Y., for example, has amassed a 4,500-piece collection that has earned it membership in the American Association of Museums. The IRS requires that the organization actually use the art as a part of its charitable work for at least two years, however, to allow the donor to deduct the full-market value of the piece. If the recipient sells the art before those two years are up, or the IRS rules that the art does not serve a charitable purpose, the donor can deduct only the price he paid for the work.

Preserving a Passion
If a collection does contain a significant number of important works, we stand a reasonable chance of getting it into an existing museum, especially if we get to know the curators. Norah and Norman Stone are an accomplished Bay Area couple who collect art and produce wine, among their other activities. Since they began collecting art, the Stones have served on committees and cultivated close ties with San Francisco’s Museum of Modern Art. While they have not yet drafted a formal agreement with the museum, it appears that they will bequeath their collection to that institution.

Unlike Cartin, the Stones adamantly desire to keep intact their entire edgy collection of 1980s and 1990s American art—which includes some shocking pieces, to observers prone to shock. With works such as Duchamp’s Feuille de Vigne, a plaster cast of female genitalia, and Matthew Barney’s Repressia, a large installation that includes a video of Barney climbing the walls of an art gallery naked and shoving a piton up his rectum, select pieces of the Stone collection come with warning labels.

“It’s not just that there are these wonderful things hanging on the wall; it has a deeper resonance, a real cohesiveness. This kind of collection would lose something to give a little here and a little there,” explains Norman, 64, who is also a psychologist and runs the W. Clement and Jessie V. Stone Foundation, which his parents started in 1980. (Norah is a registered nurse and has a law degree.) The Stones realize that a museum would not necessarily exhibit every work of theirs at all times, but they hope there would be shows of their entire collection from time to time. “People will say, ‘Here’s what Norah and Norman collect,’” Norman says.

The Stones feel they owe a debt of gratitude to the San Francisco MoMA because they began collecting under the tutelage of the museum’s late curator, John Caldwell, and have served on the museum’s accessions committee. “We realized while serving on the committee what a small budget the museum had, and that it needed help,” recalls Norman. “We realized we had the horsepower to collect the kinds of pieces museums would like to collect, and so very early on we focused on having a museum-quality collection that would one day go to a museum.” 

The Stones have already begun the process by granting the museum fractional interests in six or seven paintings, so that they transfer ownership over time. Using this tactic, they receive the added benefit of taking a charitable deduction on the portion of the work already donated.

Norah laments the loss of integral collections, but sees museum donation—assuming the museum wants the collection—as the happy, egalitarian solution. “The taxes are really a question, and this is why so many of the major collections end up at the auction houses. Children cannot afford to keep all the pieces; they can usually afford to keep only a few,” she says. “It’s sad. But if the collection can stay together only by giving it to an institution, then that’s what you have to do.” Norman’s three sons from a previous marriage have no interest in the collection. He suspects his daughter, Amy, 33, who has a degree in art history and arts administration, and who is a collector in her own right, might feel differently. However, Norah notes, “She knows where the collection is going. We’ve explained it to her.”

Not every collector is fortunate enough to have an eager taker. Collectors Dave Williams, 72, and his wife, Reba, 68, were horrified by what happened when they approached a New York museum they do not wish to name. “They came back to us and said they didn’t want the collection, but they wondered if we would be interested in funding a new cafeteria,” recalls Dave. “We were furious.”

Reba and Dave, the former chairman of Alliance Capital Management, who now runs White-Williams Holdings, a private equity fund, have been amassing the world’s largest and most important collection of American prints for more than 30 years. Their distinguished collection encompasses classic works from the early 20th century by John Sloan, Childe Hassam and George Bellows, as well as contemporary artists including Lucian Freud and Matt Mullican. In the spirit of downsizing and weeding, they have recently been selling off some holdings at auction, mostly valuable prints from Mexico by such artists as Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. But the core of their collection—approximately 6,000 prints—will one day need a permanent home.

KRAMARSKY COLLECTION Clockwise from top, Sol Lewitt, Eight Geometric Figures, Wall Drawing #738, 1993; Richard Serra, Untitled (14 part roller drawing), 1973; Carl Andre, five steel plates, four copper plates, 1989; Scott Reynold, Untitled, 1993, 16 units.

Major city museums are not their only option. “Many small museums all over the world might be delighted to have certain collections,” notes Natasha Pearl, CEO and founder of the wealth advisory service Aston Pearl in New York. An art advisor who knows the market for our particular genre is generally the best source for investigating venues that are off the beaten path.

The Williams, however, have masterminded their own showcase in the form of a research institution that will house the majority of the collection and provide scholars access to their art and a well-stocked library. Their Print Research Foundation in Stamford, Conn., near their home in Greenwich, provides assurance, at least through their lifetime, that they will be able to offer a collection that sheds light on the history of printmaking in America. They hope that, eventually, a larger institution will take over their foundation to oversee it for the long term.

Spread the Wealth
Others of us dream of casting our art about the country like seeds, bit by bit. Werner Kramarsky of New York is the anticollector: he is certain that during his lifetime he will give away all of his world-renowned collection of abstract Modern and contemporary drawings. The word “perpetuity” makes Kramarsky, who calls himself an “old lefty,” almost mirthful with displeasure. “I find the concept of controlling one’s collection after death—and the concept of institutional maintenance of a collector’s identity—repugnant,” he declares.

Works by Eve Hesse, Cy Twombly, Barnett Newman and other abstract mininimalists hang in Kramarsky's Soho office. His father collected Rembrandt, Cézanne and van Gogh. Kramarsky and his wife, Sarah-Anne, have been collecting drawings and works on paper for more than 50 years, ever since he bought a Jasper Johns drawing for $175 in the mid-1950s, a sum he recalls he could barely afford at the time. Today, he estimates that he owns 1,500 to 2,000 works and has donated more than 800, which he generally accomplishes through fractional gifts to museums. When we view a drawing from Kramarsky’s collection, however, we will not know it. The placard will often state simply: “From a New York collection.”

Knowing that fine art will outlive a long line of our descendents, each of us must assess our wishes for the peregrinations of our favorite pieces. The nature of art ownership is fluid—whenever one collector sells, another one buys. The art of acquiring and disposing of art collections is part of a great American tradition. In the end the most worthy pieces do end up in public spaces, belonging to the people and the ages. 

Photography by Susan Anderson