Fight at the Museum:
Painter, curator, educator, historian. The Glenbow had this trove of talent in Jeffrey Spalding, its progressive, plainspoken new CEO and president. And then he practically vanished.
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Collect like drunken sailors, they were told. These orders from Eric Lafferty Harvie, an eccentric millionaire in the early days of Calgary’s oil boom, resulted in the creation of the internationally renowned Glenbow Museum and the philanthropic bedrock on which Calgary’s cultural future would be built. Comic or controversial, it was a legacy Jeffrey Spalding wanted to protect when he became president and CEO of the Glenbow in December 2007. And while “returning to the founder’s vision” was a task he relished, it may have proved to be his undoing as the institution’s new star.
By shaking up the establishment, as Harvie had done, Spalding lost neither friends nor sleep. But within a year, it cost him his job. Until his abrupt exit in January 2009, Spalding’s brief tenure enflamed the passions of artistic and philanthropic circles in Calgary and communities across the country — and left burning questions in its wake.
Kirstin Evenden, a 15-year Glenbow veteran, is now tasked with stoking those embers, a job some say is unenviable, if not impossible. Evenden started as an intern at the Glenbow and knows the ropes well; some have called the new CEO the “cautious, safer approach.” Sound reasoning, it seems, that suggests Spalding’s ouster during a time of economic turbulence was mostly due to circumstance. That’s one take.
Through the abstraction, another perspective sees a much-ballyhooed contemporary, an artist’s artist who jarred and juxtaposed against the Glenbow’s traditionally conservative backdrop.
Eric Harvie was a spirited lawyer from Orillia, Ontario, who was called to the Alberta Bar in 1915 and set up a one-man shop. The Great Depression left corporate coffers dry, where litigation on behalf of mining and oil companies could have been a lucrative business. Instead of hard cash, Harvie accepted mineral rights in exchange for his legal services. By 1944, he procured an estimated 500,000 acres of mineral rights from the British Dominions Land Settlement Co. Three years later, he received a call from the president of Imperial Oil — they had struck black gold under Harvie’s property, and he was suddenly one of the richest men in Canada. And humble. According to Time magazine in its Sept. 24, 1951 story: “Multimillionaire Harvie goes in for no big-rich gestures. He drives a two-year-old Studebaker and lives in a modest house.”
The one passion Harvie recklessly indulged was collecting artifacts. In 1954, he quietly established the Glenbow Foundation (named after his family ranch), and hired staff to travel the world over with the enthusiastic mandate: “Collect like a bunch of drunken sailors.”
Harvie’s acquisitions included Queen Victoria’s underpants, life-sized rubber Indians, New Guinea penis sheaths, an extensive collection of mounted birds, the complete landscape paintings of Carl Rungius, and a 10-foot-tall bronze statue of General James Wolfe, the British captain who led the assault on Quebec in the mid-1750s.
In the mid-1960s, John Hellson of the Royal Alberta Museum said Harvie was “so rich he doesn’t buy things from collections — he buys the whole collection.”
Kirstin Evenden, a 15-year Glenbow veteran, is now tasked with stoking those embers, a job some say is unenviable, if not impossible. Evenden started as an intern at the Glenbow and knows the ropes well; some have called the new CEO the “cautious, safer approach.” Sound reasoning, it seems, that suggests Spalding’s ouster during a time of economic turbulence was mostly due to circumstance. That’s one take.
Through the abstraction, another perspective sees a much-ballyhooed contemporary, an artist’s artist who jarred and juxtaposed against the Glenbow’s traditionally conservative backdrop.
Eric Harvie was a spirited lawyer from Orillia, Ontario, who was called to the Alberta Bar in 1915 and set up a one-man shop. The Great Depression left corporate coffers dry, where litigation on behalf of mining and oil companies could have been a lucrative business. Instead of hard cash, Harvie accepted mineral rights in exchange for his legal services. By 1944, he procured an estimated 500,000 acres of mineral rights from the British Dominions Land Settlement Co. Three years later, he received a call from the president of Imperial Oil — they had struck black gold under Harvie’s property, and he was suddenly one of the richest men in Canada. And humble. According to Time magazine in its Sept. 24, 1951 story: “Multimillionaire Harvie goes in for no big-rich gestures. He drives a two-year-old Studebaker and lives in a modest house.”
The one passion Harvie recklessly indulged was collecting artifacts. In 1954, he quietly established the Glenbow Foundation (named after his family ranch), and hired staff to travel the world over with the enthusiastic mandate: “Collect like a bunch of drunken sailors.”
Harvie’s acquisitions included Queen Victoria’s underpants, life-sized rubber Indians, New Guinea penis sheaths, an extensive collection of mounted birds, the complete landscape paintings of Carl Rungius, and a 10-foot-tall bronze statue of General James Wolfe, the British captain who led the assault on Quebec in the mid-1750s.
In the mid-1960s, John Hellson of the Royal Alberta Museum said Harvie was “so rich he doesn’t buy things from collections — he buys the whole collection.”
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