Excellence Was the Measuring Stick : As director, Kevin Consey saw Newport’s art museum grow financially and critically; now he takes on Chicago

After six years as director of the Newport Harbor Art Museum, Kevin E. Consey, 37, has moved on to become director of the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art, where he will lead a fund-raising and building campaign similar to one he initiated in Orange County.

Formerly director of the San Antonio Museum of Art, Consey led the Newport Beach museum through the boom-boom years-- a period of growth in financial clout as well as critical esteem.

During Consey’s tenure, the museum’s annual budget increased from $600,000 to $1.7 million while exhibitions like “The Interpretive Link: Abstract Surrealism Into Abstract Expressionism” (1984) and “Chris Burden: A 20-Year Survey” (1988) moved the museum into major-league art museum circles.

Consey presided over the selection of internationally renowned architect Renzo Piano and the birth of the $50-million capital campaign for a new museum building and endowment. Scheduled to open in 1992, the 87,000-square-foot building will sit on a 10-acre tract of land at the corner of Coast Highway and MacArthur Boulevard, donated by the Irvine Co.

On Nov. 8, the day before he left for Chicago, Consey sat down for a leisurely lunchtime interview about the Consey years at Newport Harbor. (“Oh bliss bliss bliss,” he crowed after a bite of the appetizer at a favorite restaurant. “This is serious food.”)

He did establish some ground rules: He would not speculate about the museum’s future or the identity of its yet-to-be-chosen new director. But otherwise, the feisty, opinionated cast of mind that characterized his tenure in Orange County was amply in evidence.

Q: Why did you choose to come to Newport Harbor back in 1983?

CONSEY: I think what struck me about Newport was that it was a relatively small museum and (yet) it seemed to have great opportunity and great potential. It seemed to have done amazing things for an institution that really had been run primarily with volunteers and one or two curatorial-type directors.

I think there was a combination of good luck and basic good sense. And (the founding group of volunteers) . . . didn’t hesitate to pick the brains of museum professionals who were working in Southern California for their advice and thoughts about what exhibitions to do. . . .

Another thing that attracted me about the job is that there was a tremendous growth situation, and I think the museum’s founders and trustees had become victims of their own success. They were wrestling with this issue of, “Is it a volunteer organization? Is it a professional organization?” and a lot of that bloodletting went on (for) four or five years before I arrived.

Bloodletting?

What I had heard was that there was continuous conflict between the director and members of the board about acquisition policy, exhibition policy--things that today we accept as the province of professional staff. But it wasn’t so clear then because the organization was far smaller.

It was probably not unlike some of the conflicts one hears about at the Laguna Art Museum. I think part of it simply has to do with the evolution in a museum’s history and its relative size, and how dependent one is on volunteers and how dependent one is on paid staff.

The climate was such that the trustees accepted that they had to be a little more relaxed and invest more confidence in the director and the professional staff because (the museum) couldn’t stand to lose a director very quickly again.

Paul (Schimmel, the museum’s chief curator) was here nine months before I was, and Ellen (Breitman, curator of education) was here and Richard (Tellinghuisen, director of operations) was here. Then Margie (Shackelford) was hired as development director, then Jane (Piasecki, associate director) and then about a year after that, Sue Henger (museum editor).

So five years ago we had the senior staff intact, and it has stayed that way. That’s pretty rare in my business, to have that type of stability. To have it in an entire senior management staff in a small institution is remarkable.

But you seem to have kept rather aloof from the staff, even though nearly all of you are still in your 30s.

I think probably my basic theory about that is that you have professional relationships and you have personal relationships. One tries to have mutually supportive and decent relationships with the people you work with, but there has to be--if you’re going to lead people--a certain amount of dispassionate distance. . . .

It was very hard to do in a small organization, ‘cause these people are like family. And we’re all the same age and share pretty much similar values. And I think in almost all cases our personal politics are very similar. . . .

I don’t know if it suits my personality or whether my personality changed to deal with it. But my cool, aloof Scottish heritage probably helped make it somewhat easier to deal with that type of internal conflict--of really liking and respecting the people you work with but not being able to really demonstrate or act that out on a daily basis.

Did you have a specific mission in mind for the museum when you came in?

Well, I came because they said the museum was a contemporary art museum and wanted to stay that way. And they also said that maybe if we could cure the chronic financial troubles and actually raise some money, they would entertain the idea of a building program and an expansion program.

But, God, it was going to take so many years to erase the deficit and increase the budget. I don’t think anyone believed it would happen. (The deficit) was $58,000 or $59,000 on an operating budget of $600,000, so it was almost 10%.

That was gone the first fiscal year, and in the second year our operating budget was over a million and we were doing a surplus. Suddenly I think the trustees were quite surprised that the organization had the potential that I certainly saw was there. They . . . had never quite managed to put together an effective working coalition with a director and a board to make it happen.

How did you erase the deficit? By finding grants?

Initially, yeah, we spent a lot of time with the (National Endowment for the Arts). But also with the business community, which we really weren’t paying a lot of attention to. . . . It was (the same time) the Performing Arts Center was gearing up its program, so we were going head-to-head with them.

Basically, we were using the strategy that we had a proven product. We had history. The Performing Arts Center had none. If you’re going to fund a center based on promise, you should be willing to fund an art museum based on a clear record of service and performance. And for better or worse it worked--on a much, much smaller scale than the Center, but for us it was an enormous (boost), to increase our operating budget about 70% in one year.

I think it gave a lot of the trustees and the staff confidence that one could have a stable organization, a good place to work, a good place to build a career and to do interesting things. In the second year, we began to consciously plan and think about a new building program and how we’d go about it and how we’d do long-range planning. The third year we engaged the Orem Group (a San Francisco-based consulting organization) to do a feasibility study, and the fourth year we started actually to make it happen.

So it was a slow, evolutionary process, which I guess now in retrospect seems very simple and very logical. I guess as I think back on it, it wasn’t exactly as clear-cut and likely to succeed then. I remember months and months of 14- and 16-hour days, endlessly grinding away. I wasn’t alone, of course. Margie, Jane, Richard were (also working very hard).

You were all putting in the time to persuade the community that the museum was worth supporting.

Convincing ourselves was as important as convincing others (that) a major museum was possible in Orange County. It’s a matter of getting the institution to believe in itself--the staff, the board and so forth--which is 90% of getting the community to believe in an organization.

The community looks to the trustees, who are responsible for the fiduciary health of the organization, to make (growth) happen. If (the trustees) don’t believe it, then someone in the community will say: “Oh, Harry, you’re on the board of the museum. You’ve got a building program going. What do you think of it?” And if they’re hesitant, they say: “Well, maybe it’s a little too ambitious.”

But to be able to say, “Oh, it’s great, it’s terrific. We’re really going to get this done!” That’s the difference between success and failure. It’s what the Performing Arts Center did and what South Coast Rep does.

Sometimes, it seems astonishing that this museum can exist in Orange County, because most people who say they care in some way about art don’t seem to like the kind of art Newport shows. It seems that what you invented or created was social cachet--a reason why wealthy people feel they should get involved with the museum.

Yeah, I think to a certain extent we made it socially acceptable to like contemporary art in Orange County. I think if there’s anything I’ll take credit for, it’s being able to do that without, for a single (moment), compromising the cutting edge or the abrasiveness or the controversial aspects of our exhibition program.

In fact, on some levels we never played to the community. My sense had always been that the exhibitions we were going to work on and the education programs . . . simply took the approach, ‘What does the sophisticated consumer in Southern California want?’

Rather than the Orange County consumer, per se?

Or what does the sophisticated Orange County consumer want. Basically my answer was: the same thing the sophisticated art connoisseur wants in London or Cologne or Chicago or Honolulu or Mexico City. My philosophy is, in the long run you never make a mistake by having excellence as your measuring stick.

You may take it on the chin short-term. You may be charged with being elitist and incomprehensible and not giving the community what it wants. But I don’t think a public educational institution is in the business of giving the public what it wants. I don’t think that’s my job. I think my job is to create a climate of artistic leadership. . . .

Basically, the job of a historical museum is to make a statement: This is art. That’s the job of the Met (Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York) or the Art Institute (in Chicago) or the Getty (Museum in Malibu). The job of a contemporary art museum is to ask the question, “Is this art?” And to put (the work) up for the public’s consideration. I think we did a great job of doing that, but I think many people who are critics of contemporary art museums in general and Newport in particular probably don’t understand that.

A good analogy would be, it’s the difference between an historian and a journalist. A journalist is in the thick of things, trying to sort out events as they’re happening. A historian has the luxury of dispassionate distance, both physical and temporal, to make more informed judgments. We don’t have the time to do that. . . .

I think it all comes back to this notion of a sense of history; a sense of place. There was something very special about (museum founders and early members) Betty Winckler and Judy Hurndall and Betty Steele and Snoozy Ullman. These women were on the one hand very proper and very community-conscious about doing the right thing--being basically good, upstanding citizens, good, conservative people in the apolitical sense of the word.

Yet there was an intellectual curiosity they had that transcended the specificity of the political content of any work of art. They were bright, well-educated individuals who wanted their lives and the community’s lives to be better, and thought contemporary art was an interesting way of doing it. And they attracted like-minded people. Now, the fact that their husbands happened to be leaders in the social or business or yachting community didn’t hurt.

And so the museum, even in its earliest days, was socially prestigious. But (not because it showed) . . . cruise-control art. . . . It’s very, very difficult to look at Robert Morris’ themes of death and destruction (subject of a museum exhibit in 1986) or container jars stuffed with vegetables and labeled as fetuses (in the Chris Burden retrospective last year).

That’s stuff that many people come to Orange County to avoid, because they don’t want to deal with the grit and stress of day-to-day life. Art is about social consciousness and changing the way people think about their world. . . . It’s sort of ironic that Impressionist painting seems to be ever-lovable and popular in Orange County, yet the social equivalent of the Orange County lover of Impressionism (in the 19th Century) thought Impressionism was degenerate and disgusting. . . .

I’ve chosen to run Newport as almost an anti-Establishment institution, but you know somehow I’ve managed to do it with the blessing, support and even enthusiasm of individuals who represent the Establishment in the county.

But many of the artists the museum shows are blue-chip figures in terms of the art market. Collectors are eager to own their work. There’s nothing particularly anti-Establishment in that.

Certainly we’re on the cutting edge, (but) we’re not always there. We try to bring before the public a variety of things that are interesting and meaningful, either to the history of art in California or the history of art internationally. You can’t be endlessly consistent doing that and expect the same texture from a Wayne Thiebaud show (shown at the museum in 1985) as from Robert Morris.

On the other hand, some trustees have voiced the opinion that the museum should show different kinds of work.

There have been a number of trustees who believed--and, I think, still believe--that the museum would be much better off if it were much more catholic in its approach to art. They believe we should be a general-purpose museum or a modified version of that: a 20th-Century museum that’s equally interested in the earlier part of the 20th-Century as in the latter part.

On philosophical ground, I can’t disagree with their right to hold that opinion. That’s what they’re there for--to provide opinions and ideas about what the mission of the institution should be. But . . . we had either three or four formal votes in six years on this exact question: Should we (have a) broader focus or should we be a contemporary art museum? And I think the most radical vote was something like 24 to 3 about maintaining adherence to a contemporary art program.

It’s always been very, very clear to me that the will of the board has been to be a contemporary art museum. Fortunately, I had the good sense to ensure that that question got asked often enough to give the board the opportunity to (change course)--and they never much wanted to.

I think that’s because they were individuals who, in their quiet--sometimes quiet, sometimes idiosyncratic, sometimes very vocal--way, are very passionate about contemporary art. Or, let’s say they’re very passionate about art in general, they’re reasonably passionate about the Newport Harbor Art Museum and basically, they are impressed with their own roles in building a successful enterprise. . . .

Newport’s board has, I think, tolerated and respected my outspokenness very, very well. That’s one of the reasons I’ve enjoyed working with them so much. I can’t think of a single instance when it was ever suggested that I should be more diplomatic, more balanced and more reasonable--less partisan. . . .

I’ve never been--what would be the right way of phrasing this?--very, um, disclosure-oriented in my various and sundry jobs. I’ve not tried to pull any punches. . . . I was fairly up-front that I was a liberal New York Democrat, and (the board) seemed to be more interested in my managerial skills than anything else. We’ve had a good time jousting about it ever since. . . .

I don’t know about the strange encounter (this fall) with the Laguna Art Museum (about the possibility of some form of merger). . . . Without putting value judgments on it, it’s not unlike saying the American public is one large public of car lovers, therefore we should merge all automobile companies together to gain marketing strength and (lower) prices and everybody will be happy since everybody loves cars.

There is a real value in excelling in a particular area and wanting to be Tiffany’s and not Sears. Or wanting to be Ford and not General Motors. . . . It seems to me the consumer benefits from choice, not from the McDonaldization of the art world. . . .

Some people have said both museums might benefit financially from some kind of partnership.

Yeah, well, so what? What do finances have to do with cultural institutions? I think it’s the same unfortunate attitude driving the business world about the short-term balance sheet versus the long-term profitability of a corporation. The attitude that you go with what’s going to be appealing and “profitable,” and you’re not investing in idiosyncratic behavior, in excellence.

It is hard to measure in dollars and cents the extra benefit gained from independence. We need to look at New York City or London (or any city) that has a variety of institutions dealing with contemporary art. Something is really gained when there is separation and independence of institutions.

People talk abut financial benefit, but if people in Orange County gave to the arts and social services at anywhere near the rate the rest of America gives, there would be no need to have this discussion. Orange County (residents) could well afford to support four or five institutions the size of Newport if they chose to. But they choose not to. So the financial savings argument doesn’t hold water for me.

Speaking of money, there is talk that the reason the museum isn’t flaunting long lists of major donors to the campaign is that there isn’t much to publicize. In August, board member Rogue Hemley said the campaign was “above the first 20%” of its goal, but we haven’t heard any news since then.

Well, I can’t speak to the last six to eight weeks (when Consey was vacationing in Europe), but I would say there was a conscious decision to postpone raising funds between November and May-June, while design details were being worked out.

It was pretty much based on the fact that (we wanted to wait) until we had a product we were sure worked--and that we could come within 15 to 20% of predicting the cost of. Campaign chairman David Tappan wasn’t thrilled with the idea of getting out and asking for money for a project whose cost was unknown. It’s a valid point of view. I’m not sure I agree with it, but it was nevertheless a philosophy that was (followed).

With one or two exceptions, we did not solicit individuals who were not on the board of trustees, so the museum’s campaign committee really hasn’t gone outside the museum family, (except for) foundations.

I think, with one or two exceptions, I’ve been present for every solicitation for funds. And I do know that no one turned down a request. Everyone we asked made a contribution. Many of the contributions were higher than our expectations; several of them were lower.

Whether (the campaign goal) is 20 or 25 or 30 million dollars, I think there’s a real desire to be as responsible as possible. . . . We know it’s probably inevitable that building costs escalate. . . . And you also have falling interest rates, which affect the amount of money you’ll actually end up with from the endowment principal. . . . And the thought was, the closer you get in completing the design, the more accurately you’re able to target it and avoid surprises later. . . .

I believe that is the approach that Tappan and (Irvine Co. Vice Chairman Thomas H.) Nielsen are using, and I think it’s one that will work. Again, I perceive no absence of confidence in (architect Renzo) Piano’s design or in the board’s or the community’s interest in supporting the project, so I don’t know why it wouldn’t work.

It must have been, shall we say, an interesting experience working with Irvine Co. Chairman Donald Bren, who is empowered to veto aspects of the design because his company donated the 10-acre parcel of land. One hears that he was dissatisfied with the wave-shaped roof that Piano originally conceived, obliging the architect to go back to the drawing board and produce an alternative version. Have other aspects of the design changed greatly as a result of Bren’s prerogatives?

That’s a question I’m not going to answer. I’ll only say that the design that the board approved in June (in which the wave design was replaced with barrel vaulting) is one that satisfactorily met the criteria of the museum’s board, staff, the architect and the Irvine Co.

And I’ll also state that I enthusiastically support the plan that was approved in June (even if) it wasn’t my first choice. On the other hand, it’s probably a credit to Renzo Piano that the second draft in many ways was as brilliant and interesting as the first. So let’s say that while the process was not particularly pleasant, the end product was great. I have a feeling that if Renzo were asked to change the design a third time or a fourth time, he would probably come up with an equally interesting configuration.

It’s just a question of: What do you sign away when you accept a gift? How much independence do you have over something that is at the core of your institution--its self-image? Different people have different philosophies about how important that is to an organization. It’s a lot more important to me than it apparently is to other people.

Ultimately, the end result is to get a museum that works for art and for the public. How you arrive at it is more painful for some than for others, but it’s basically the building that’s going to endure in the end, whether the museum’s board or the museum’s staff or the architect or the Irvine Co. had a large amount or a little amount of influence. A major public building is a partnership of an architect, an institution and its donor base. To think otherwise in the late ‘80s is self-delusional.

You will have a different situation in Chicago.

The land we’re dealing with in Chicago is public land. . . . Being a good, liberal Democrat, I’ve never believed in the difficulty of (working with) government. But I think in many ways the particular private company we were working with is a quasi-government anyway, in the sense that it has much of the power and prerogatives that a government entity would have.

If someone asked you what one aspect of your tenure at Newport you wanted to be remembered by, would you say the hiring of Renzo Piano and the creation of the new building?

No, I think it would be the excellence of the museum’s staff. Basically, it’s the people who make the difference. If I didn’t have really smart and talented people, I never would have been in the position of hiring Piano and building the building. . . . The heart and soul of an institution are the people who work there. That’s what I feel good about: A very, very stable and very competent staff. I can’t think of a weak link.

But you couldn’t resist the big-city lure of Chicago.

Who knows what precisely goes into a decision like this. One is that, yes, there’s something very attractive about Chicago. . . . Probably, it’s the biggest livable city in the country. . . .

The quality of the collections that are owned by board members and close supporters (of the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art) is the best in the country, maybe with the exception of the (Museum of) Modern (Art, in New York), maybe not. . . .

And then, of course, the same thing that attracted me to Newport attracted me there--which is: “Why is it that a city with a metropolitan area of 7 or 8 million has a contemporary art museum that is relatively small compared to the marketplace?” I think (Chicago’s) answer is probably similar to Newport’s. They’ve had a history of difficulty between directors and board. It probably had to do with the same maturation processes we went through. . . .

In some sense, you ask yourself, what did you want to accomplish in Orange County, what did you accomplish, and what’s left? And you know, for my money, almost everything I wanted to do, I did. . . . (The museum) developed a great reputation; we’ve done great programs, I had a very, very large degree of autonomy through most of my tenure. . . .

Do you have any regrets at all?

Well, obviously the regret is not being able to occupy the building you feel you conceived and carried through the first third of its labor. But on the other hand, I think the part of that job that I can really contribute to--the basic conceptual organization, the relationship between the (building) program and the academic mission (of the museum), is done. I know very little about building supervision and all of that. So I’m not going to be missed on that end. Fund raising should be a board function anyway, and Dave Tappan and Tom Nielsen obviously have competence in that area.

So when we came right down to it, I sort of figured one of the things not essential to the success of the museum was the director. Chicago was very aggressive in their pursuit of me. . . . It’s not something I consciously thought about, like sometimes you say, “God, this is really getting stressful and unpleasant. Maybe I should start looking.” My sense is that if Chicago hadn’t actively sought me out, and if it wasn’t such an interesting opportunity, I’d be perfectly happy here for another 10 years.