First time I heard of Peter B. Lewis was just recently, months ago in a visit to Cleveland, Ohio, where my wife discovered an amazing shiny-titanium-Bilbao-like building near the Cleveland Museum Art. It was, of course, a Frank Gehry, the Peter B. Lewis Building for the Wheatherhead School of Management of the Case Western Reserve University. That is, no less. You know how Americans are for names and donors.
That building was constructed between 1999 and 2002 at a price of 62 million dollars, of which Mr. Lewis gave $37 million. That's reason enough to have your name in the building and wherever necessary- you should see the clumsy "ooops I'm falling" state-fair-attraction-type sign that carries Mr. Lewis's name on the very front of the facade of the building. It's OK, when you pay.
The facility, with all its Gehry-trademark curves, loops, twists and unexpected turns is said to encourage students to interact with professors and have ever-new perspectives of study. That is a good reason for a Gehry; I've largely considered his designs utterly brilliant but silly and unnecessary. Does a university really need to spend $62 million in a Gehry when you can have a normal hall with classrooms at a low price and good use? At that point is where Mr. Gehry's vision enters in all its reason: build me and you'll have not only a university place but a landmark, an attraction, a milestone that will attract new students, tourists, investors. Like a peacock showing off, the magic and point of having a Gehry is the side-effects that it provokes. No need to mention Bilbao, the perfect achievement of his collateral policy of "architecture and beyond" (but maybe the failure of Iowa City?).
This Peter B. Lewis is not only a donor to Cleveland, but also the chairman of the Guggenheim Museum and its biggest benefactor, having given around $77 million. I mean, was. Yesterday he said "here no more" and, after a meeting of the board, left. He does not like Guggenheim's global empire. In fact, Mr. Lewis probably loathes the branches Thomas Krens is creating everywhere, not always succesfully, and he wished yesterday that the museum "would concentrate on New York and less on being scattered all over the world", according to the New York Times piece published yesterday night on the web. But Mr. Krens has a superior mission that he will fulfill by all means and at any cost, so Peter is out, Tom is in, the Gugen empire goes on (having the support of most of the board helps, too).
Peter and Tom, Tom and Peter have clashed, one is left and a museum is harmed (some wish a museum director would, too). You cannot blame a director for having a mission for his museum, it's their job, but the case of Tom Krens seems to me as being more of a rather strange personal enlightenment and awkward vision guided by some ethereal forces, "I have a dream" (and I shall enforce it). Obsession, some would say. And the fact is he's so tremendously powerful nobody will ever confront him. Or will they? I've been hearing for years rumors of Mr. Krens being about to be fired, even Peter B. Lewis himself threatened him: you better stop spending and balance the budget or star looking for another job. Well, you see, that was in 2002, and roughly two years later, Mr. Lewis is out and Krens stays on board. With his bikes, his Aztecs, his blockbusters, his sketches for a building in Senegal, a show in Alaska and a meeting with some local authorities in Polynesia. Hey, they want a Gugen, too.
Check his godly power, anybody around knows of a museum director that is able to permit himself and his museum to have the biggest benefactor stepping out and not doing anything about it except for thinking "Taiwan, Mexico, Brazil, where next?".
The article on The New York Times ends with some words by Peter B. Lewis: "Tom is a man of enormous ability, and he will continue to be doing the things he likes to do". Now, that is utterly impressive. Again, can anybody imagine any of the unearthly powerful and influential members of the board of the MoMA leaving their chairs because of the director's stubbornness and hardhead, "my vision and mission or death"? In a normal world, the director would calm down and keep it low, carefully avoiding the fury of the ultra-millionaires that are feeding the museum. In Guggenheim's empire, everybody's out, Tom is in. That's the law of the land.
"He's got the world following him", says Mr. Lewis, the evicted chairman. Surely, the third world: everybody wants his money and his paintings for growing locally. There he goes, Tom in a mission. Don't you dare to stop him.
