Exciting, but obsessed with money. The art world of Orlando Whithfield

Orlando Whitfield, an Englishman and the son of an auctioneer, and Inigo Philbrick, an American and the son of the director of a contemporary art museum, meet at Goldsmiths, University of London, become friends, and set up an art dealing firm (which begins with the daring sale of several drawings by Paula Rego), they attempt to pry Banksy works off a wall and meet extremely wealthy collectors, becoming part of that exclusive, deceitful world depicted, for example, by Robert Ostlund in "The Square". What appears to be a tale of success and glamour takes an unexpected turn when, in the Pacific Ocean, the FBI arrests the fugitive Philbrick, accused of a multi-million-dollar fraud for selling the same works to several people—or even works he did not own.

It is Whitfield himself—now a former art dealer—who recounts this story in his book Quel che luccica (Altrecose, translated by Luca Bernardi), a fascinating work that debunks the myth of the ‘côté’ of the contemporary art world by revealing exactly how the law can be circumvented through wealth, and how social background and connections are worth more than any qualification. “I hope my book will serve as a warning to anyone interested in working in the art market,” Whitfield tells Il Foglio, emphasising how “the power structure of the contemporary art world, characterised by impunity fuelled by money, increasingly resembles the political sphere, where plutocrats accumulate wealth unhindered” and how the “constraints imposed by the growing commodification of art risk making the pleasure of viewing a work of art seem beyond the reach of most people”.

But art “is too important to be the exclusive preserve of billionaires”, as evidenced in “Quel che luccica” by an enlightening visit to Dia Beacon in New York, amongst the works of Richard Serra, Donald Judd and Joseph Beuys, which gave Whitfield the realisation that art can truly change one’s perspective on the world. After a life spent among masterpieces, borderline situations and buying and selling (“I think that even from the very first deals that Inigo and I struck whilst we were still students, I sensed there was a great financial and emotional risk”), Whitfield has remained largely immune to the “corrupting and corrosive power of money” and is now happy to “be able to admire art without that financial anxiety that once accompanied me”.

“What Glitters” has an extraordinary narrative rhythm, so much so that its novelistic flow makes it resemble a contemporary version of “Lost Illusions”. Constantly oscillating between humour and sadness – “To say that I found it difficult to write would be an understatement; some of the events I recount were painful to relive,” Whitfield tells us – it attempts to capture the secret it seems to be seeking: the meaning of a friendship that began in the basements of London and culminated in the ultra-luxurious world of collectors, a friendship made up of commitment, affection but also betrayal. “My friendship with Inigo has shaped my adult life. But I believe that writing about a friendship means admitting that it is over. At times it has been painful to recall the moments we spent together, but even though we have no future, I feel no bitterness about our past.” When asked if he misses anything about his work as an art dealer, Whitfield recalls with emotion the privilege of “having been able to admire extraordinary works of art in serene, private settings, and to experience what felt to me like almost sacred moments with these objects”. ‘All That Glitters’ ultimately does just that: it recounts the abuses of power within the art market, but also the power that certain artistic experiences can convey to those capable of being moved.