When the Art Gallery of New South Wales opened its new building for contemporary and Indigenous works in November, some of the most significant pieces on display came from a single source: the textile magnate, philanthropist and collector John Kaldor, who donated 190 works, or 90 per cent of his collection, in 2008 by people including Frank Stella, Ugo Rondinone, Sol LeWitt, Robert Rauschenberg and Bill Viola. “I only kept for myself the works that artists gave me,” he says.
Now in his mid-eighties, Kaldor is a generous patron of the arts and one of the most forward-looking collectors in Australia. Back in 1969 he established a series of art projects that has brought names such as Christo and Jeanne-Claude, Jeff Koons, Marina Abramović and Tino Sehgal to the country: “My motto is to bring to Australia the latest contemporary trends in art.”
We meet in his home outside Sydney; from the exterior it looks dark and Victorian, but inside features a whole room clad in a colourful LeWitt wall painting, while the entrance has a mirrored installation by Rondinone. Tucked in a corner is a ceramic Koons puppy while the work that started it all, Roy Lichtenstein’s “Peanut Butter Cup” (1962), hangs in a corner. He bought it for just $50 in 1963 from the Sonnabend gallery in Paris.
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“I always collected something: as a child in Hungary it was stamps and as an adult I initially bought Australian art,” he says. “But the real revelation was in the early 1960s when I went to New York and discovered pop art. It was such an eye-opener after growing up in Sydney.
“Today pop art is part of art history but in those days, it was an absolute departure from what had gone before . . . And at that time such works were financially accessible to someone just on a salary like me — they were even cheaper than Australian art!”
Kaldor looks a bit like a favourite uncle, heavily bearded and with a gentle smile. He is reflective, softly spoken and rather inscrutable, and bears traces of a Hungarian inflection; an Australian accent breaks through from time to time. His family eventually came to Sydney after escaping from his native Hungary to western Europe in 1948, with the aim of getting “as far away from Europe, and from communism, as possible. We walked across the border with just what we could carry,” he says.
Once grown up, he started working for a textile company and in 1966 encouraged it to establish an annual sculpture scholarship. “Initially the scholarship was for Australian artists to study abroad, but after the first ones, I realised I wanted to do something that made Australians aware of what was going on elsewhere. So I asked if I could do an international artist and the firm said yes.”
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Having seen an illustration of a work by Christo — who, with his wife Jeanne-Claude, wrapped large objects and buildings — Kaldor met the artist in New York and they hit it off. Christo wanted to wrap a section of coastline, having failed in California — so Kaldor decided to try to find one for him in Australia.
He approached the government, the army and the navy — “They just laughed and threw me out” — but finally the Prince Henry Hospital at Little Bay accepted, as long as a small fee was paid for entry. “You couldn’t possibly do something like this today, we had no building permit, no safety gear, but the gods of art smiled on us and nobody got hurt.” A huge storm almost put paid to the project just before it opened, but they persisted, and it was finally a great success. Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s “Wrapped Coast, One Million Square Feet” (1968-69) was at the time the largest work ever made: two and a half kilometres of coast, shrouded in fabric and rope.
His “very old-fashioned” employer was less convinced and stopped the sponsorship, so he decided to set out on his own: “I reckoned that if I could wrap a coast, I could run my own business. And I had so much fun with Christo, I wanted to continue [the projects].” He founded his own textile company in 1970, which prospered and eventually became a multimillion-dollar concern. He has also continued with the grand projects, eventually through his own foundation, and has created 37 so far. “The foundation was a small organisation and gave me more flexibility.”
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The second project was with curator Harald Szeemann, who staged a show of 22 young artists; then followed Gilbert & George, who performed for five hours every day in the Art Gallery of New South Wales (AGNSW) and the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne. “In the evening they partied and drank but the next morning they were as sober and professional as you could wish,” says Kaldor, who visits them when he is in London.
Over the years, Kaldor brought many more artists to Australia, some of them quite challenging: for example, in 1976 Charlotte Moorman performed virtually naked, playing an ice cello until it melted. The most recent project dates from 2022: “Wall drawing #955, Loopy Doopy (red and purple)” by LeWitt, on show in the Kaldor Hall at the entrance to AGNSW.
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I ask if, instead of donating the bulk of his collection to AGNSW, he had ever considered having his own museum. “No — you have to be extremely wealthy, and I wasn’t in a position to do that. I was more interested in the temporary projects, where I had more flexibility, for example in a church such as the Bill Viola project [two huge video installations]: there are so many more restrictions with a permanent site.”
Only a small number of works from his donation can be on view at one time — 14 on my visit. I ask him if that worries him. He sighs. “That is why some people who can afford it have their own museums. But that is the nature of donating, you have to accept that only part will be on show.
“What pleases me the most is that my projects are in the history of art in Australia. For example the wrapped coast is now taught in the school certificate. I am so proud that the projects are part of the cultural memory of this country.”
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