When the artist Scott Burton decided on his deathbed to leave his estate to the Museum of Modern Art in 1989, he thought he was securing a permanent place in art history books. Instead, the decision made him a mere footnote — almost invisible.
Before he died of AIDS-related causes at age 50, Burton was one of America’s leading sculptors. His sleek granite chairs and tables carved a distinctive place at the intersection of art and furniture, and translated aloof minimalism into something approachable and sensual. “Burton is one of the first contemporary sculptors who created work that you are allowed to touch,” said the art historian David Getsy.
At the time of his death, Burton’s art was selling for more than $100,000 to some of the era’s most influential collectors and museums. He was also gaining traction as a public artist, collaborating with landscape architects and designers to create ambitious plazas in cities across the United States, including 787 Seventh Avenue in Midtown Manhattan, formerly known as the Equitable Center.
That momentum came to a screeching halt after Burton died. Until this fall, Burton had not had a comprehensive museum exhibition in the United States in more than 35 years. Prices for his work at auction have plummeted by more than 50 percent, according to the Artnet Price Database. And roughly half of his large-scale, site-specific projects have been removed or modified, experts say. Elements of one of his ’80s signature works, Battery Park City’s “Waterfront Plaza,” are due to be removed next year as part of a broader refurbishment plan. After that, only two of Burton’s five public works in New York City will survive as he designed them.
The story of Scott Burton is a story about how fragile, mutable and, to some degree, arbitrary art history is. It illustrates how an artist’s legacy can be transformed by one decision. In Burton’s case, that choice was to leave his estate — including his art, belongings and copyright, as well as the ability to profit from the sale of his work and the responsibility to promote it — to MoMA. “I thought it was a good idea at the time,” Max Protetch, Burton’s longtime art dealer, said in an interview. “It turns out to have not worked that way.”