Renault - Ann Hindry
Renault’s trailblazing modern art collection, established in 1967, constitutes a paradigm, in both its radicality and richness, and its troubled history and resurrection under the auspices of an enlightened CEO. Ann Hindry, curator of the collection, defines its limits and contours.
L’OFFICIEL ART: The Renault collection is atypical in a number of ways: for its innovative nature, as it was founded in 1967 when the relationship between business and art was almost non-existent; and for its intention, which was not to focus on the direct acquisition of works, but rather to forge fruitful links between avant-garde artists and the company.
ANN HINDRY: The general context was, at that time, fundamentally different. Indeed, in the latter years of the 1960s, contemporary art didn’t attract much attention, to put it mildly. There was very little exposure, except in some innovative galleries. Claude-Louis Renard, the founder of the collection, was one of those rare people able to grasp the importance of the potential that building bridges between large companies and contemporary art could represent. To carry out this project he received the support of Pierre Dreyfus, the CEO of Renault at that time, to whom he proposed a visionary approach, namely: inviting artists to come and experience the reality of a large industrial company. Renard was close to some artists, including Jean Dubuffet. Already highly acclaimed, with a significant market presence, Dubuffet was the engine of the project and gave it an external visibility. But one of the initial drivers of its implementation lay in the very identity of Renault itself, which, by way of its founder, was strongly committed to innovation, in whatever form it may take. Some company executives were collectors themselves, driven by the desire to know and to understand. Thus, the relationship between artistic creation and the creation of cars was made concrete, naturally enough at first.
What, over time, caused the collection’s original purpose to change?
At the time, Renault was organized with no intermediary interlocutors. There were no protocols to impede or make impossible one’s access to the management. Renard benefited from the attentive ear of Dreyfus, which allowed him to directly put in place, with the various department heads, the mechanisms for the artists’ integration into the company. But the approach remained, despite everything, a matter of management – that is to say that the vast majority of Renault employees were not consulted and were not necessarily informed of the projects. Moreover, most of the management staff who were involved had left, and did not communicate to their successors the nature of a subject that had no immediate relevance to the economy or the organization of the company. So, over the years, the idea, the presence, the story of the collection itself began to dissolve.
Renard, who joined Renault in 1954, was close to the writer and politician André Malraux and passionate about art. When he was sent on a professional trip to the United States, in the early 1960s, Renard saw the relationships that were being built between big companies and art. His discovery of the artists then in vogue (Rothko, Kline, Pollock, de Kooning), as well as the active role played by those few large companies in supporting young artists, encouraged him to try out the experiment in France.
Renard discovered in the US that it was possible to establish a link between a large industrial company and the contemporary art in the process of being made. The major shift was created by the generation of artists that immediately followed the great abstract expressionists you mention, who had almost never had anything to do with other “milieux” outside of art. James Rosenquist and Robert Rauschenberg are among the leading figures of this bridge between pop art and the corporate world. Thus, the links that some great industrial companies in the US were building with artists, and which did not exist at all in France, were adopted by Renard as a trial model. Without this American example, the Renault collection would probably never have existed, as Renard himself outlined during our exchanges.
By creating the “research, art, and industry” department, Renard set up the mechanism that was to allow the implementation of projects and the dialogue between artists, workers, and engineers. One of the first artists to benefit from this was Arman, who went on to make more than fifty pieces. How did this initial impulse set in motion the work of other artists?
Within that department, Renard was really the boss, reporting directly to the CEO. This gave him considerable freedom of action. This initiative was therefore critical to the success of the project. The group of new realists – of which Arman was a part – was, at the time, an artistic beacon. The members of this innovative movement were the only ones to get out of the Parisian microcosm of contemporary art, which was quite isolated and focused on itself. The new realists, in their choice of industrial or banal materials, were quite easy to apprehend, and were the first to conquer a new audience for contemporary art. Moreover, they were aware of the
innovative approaches of American artists and thus used everyday objects for their works – this was unheard of in France, but potentially comprehensible to anyone. Arman had the intelligence and the “greediness,” as he himself put it, to use many objects and accessories from industrial cars – headlights, batteries, brake pads – which he integrated into his accumulations. He really helped to launch and publicize the project, making over one-hundred accumulations exhibited and sold around the world, of which some two dozen remain in the Renault collection. The factory was the artist’s field of exploration. This was a very positive conjunction.
The commitment of Dreyfus allowed the artists to permeate the common areas of the new headquarters at the Quai du Point-du-Jour in Paris: the main hall, landings, corridors, meeting rooms, restaurants, cafeterias. In doing so, Renault intended to enrich the corporate culture, to bring a “supplement of soul.”
The context of this new headquarters, populated by artists who produced works in situ, was exemplary avant-gardism. During my first visit to this place – which, alas, no longer exists – I was amazed by the grand lobby, which was entirely imagined and created by Jesús Rafael Soto. It was an absolute masterpiece. It was not a question of some works distributed throughout a space, but of a space that was itself entirely one of Soto’s environmental works. This site allowed Renard to later impose the integration of other architectural achievements by different artists. But we must recognize that no internal communication or pedagogy allowed the company’s employees to know what these environments, in which they were circulating on a daily basis, really represented.
Let’s talk about Summer Salon, a sculptural work commissioned in 1973 from Dubuffet, then abandoned after a series of technical problems and growing misunderstandings. The ensuing trial between Renault and the artist tarnished the collection’s image and stymied its dynamics, which, against all odds, continued to be embodied outside the company walls, until the collection was halted in 1985.
It is true that a combination of difficult conditions made the implementation of this magnificent project impossible. Summer Salon was very innovative and its failure was characteristic of disorganization higher up the chain. The engineers’ expertise had alerted them to the excessive weight of the work, which was jeopardizing the structure above the parking lot. Dubuffet, highly involved in his project, which was already far advanced, was quite abruptly told the project was not feasible. The relationship broke down and a long trial between the artist and the company ensued. If the artist’s frustration is entirely understandable, the project, which was unfeasible in its initial state, especially for reasons of staff safety, was also probably too important and innovative for its time. This disrupted the image of the collection and marked, in a way, a stop to major projects.
The collection owes its new impetus to Louis Schweitzer, chairman and CEO of Renault from 1992 to 2005. He declared that
“the collection of contemporary art built by Renault
between 1966 and 1985 is an integral part of the company’s heritage.” He thus decided in 1996 to appeal to you as an art professional: what was your mission at that time?
The task that was entrusted to me was broad: it was to bring the collection up to standard. It was kept in perfect lighting, and perfect hydrometric and safety conditions, but was invisible to the public and staff. The memory was lost, so I had to carry out quite extensive research with the remaining staff who had known the content and elements of its history. I was also able to contact some of the artists. Little by little, with the support of Schweitzer, I reconstituted the whole. Once this initial process was complete, I proposed guided conferences to internal staff to inform them of the existence of this exceptional collection and to identify, show, and explain the works to everyone in an accessible way. These moments were also an opportunity for me to better understand the identity of the company and to involve, as much as possible, employees interested in acquiring greater knowledge of the collection’s artists, especially on the occasion of public exhibitions that I invited them to visit.
What was your impression and your initial recommendations for this collection, which, at the time, numbered 350 works by thirty-five artists?
I extracted the works from the vaults in which they were kept and we settled in the company’s large basements, where I was able to go through the works, record them, and draw up an inventory. Once this step was completed, some works required cleaning and restoration. This stage, combined with an investigative process,
took more than two years. Then, in order to obtain external support, which was essential in order to validate the quality and legitimacy of the collection, I invited personalities from the art world to visit the collection, on which doubt had been cast regarding the possible “disappearance” of works. It was therefore necessary to restore confidence. The reconstitution of Dubuffet’s Blue Wall (Le Mur bleu) that I had been able to carry out – even though it had been preserved in nineteen boxes, of which I had neither photos nor archives – made it possible to stage the collection again in a reassuring and effective way. Finally, it seemed important to me to inscribe the collection in words and images: I initiated a first book entitled Renault and Art, in which I recounted the story and invited contributions from respected art critics. It was very favorably received by art critics and professionals. From then on, museums came forward for loan applications and my position became that of a desirable mini-museum.
You have committed to an energetic policy of showing the collection internationally. On what criteria did you base your choices?
Utility, first of all, because organizing exhibitions of this order requires means and local contacts. I worked with the communication department to assess the potential of the countries where Renault is based: Japan was the first. In fact, the Japanese are particularly discerning with regard to contemporary art, and are very fond of Western art. This first exhibition was a success that encouraged the company to integrate the idea of continuing the program. Mexico followed, with the same enthusiastic welcome. Among the latest exhibitions, the one held in Bucharest went well beyond our expectations in terms of attendance, as well as that organized at the Fondation Clément in Martinique. This last example is atypical because the event was held at the invitation of Bernard Hayot, the president of the foundation and a major industrialist at the head of GBH – a global group active, notably, in car distribution.
Today, how is the notion of commissioning work to artists embodied?
From the very beginning, I wanted to modernize and extend the collection. I approach artists likely to be interested in the industrial universe; I present to them the works of the collection, as well as the materials and know-how of the company, which they can have access to; and I invite them to create a work according to their own practice, of course, but keeping in mind the collection’s profile and the final destination of the work – that is to say its integration into both a large industrial company and a renowned art collection. So it is not, strictly speaking, a case of carte blanche, but there is a lot of freedom. To date, we have completed more than fifteen new collaborations. We also started a residency system with fine arts laureates from the EnsAD school of art and design in Paris, for which the prize is a stay of several months at Renault’s Formula 1 workshops in England. It is an iconic place, set in the countryside. The collaborations aim to be as enriching for the artists as they are for the staff of the F1 workshops.
As corporate collections and foundations proliferate, how do you think the Renault collection stands out?
It is born out of a deep interest in art and an intellectual curiosity on the part of some of its senior executives. I think the collection did not start as simply an additional asset for the company, but rather as a vision of what such an encounter could bring to all those concerned. Nothing can replace the personality, determination, and commitment of the people who were there at the birth of an idea. The Renault collection is the incubator of this idea. This is part of its exceptional profile.