Gallery view at opening of Pope Building, 1929; Arnold Lehman, Adelyn Breeskin, Charles Parkhurst, Trude Rosenthal, and Tom Freudenheim, 1983; Visitor registry for first Baltimore Museum of Art exhibition, signed by the Cones, 1923.

To this point, it was mostly a repository for objects—objects meant to educate and inspire—and a venue for lectures and musical performances, which proved popular. In fact, more than 1,200 people turned out for a concert of religious music in 1933. That same day, over 200 people were turned away from a music-appreciation lecture.

Cheered by such a response, then-director Roland McKinney, in a letter to board chairman Henry Treide, noted, “People seem to feel that the Museum belongs to them and show that they are sincerely proud of it and its activities.”

But the “people” were mostly upper- crust, privileged, and white, a fact duly noted in a 1937 Carnegie Corporation report. “[Baltimore] cultural institutions (outside of the library and the schools) have appealed to, been intended for, and been supported by a pretty small minority,” it concluded. “They need to be opened up, for the viewpoint of the entire community and its needs. . . . No cultural institution, in Baltimore or anywhere else, is worth its salt until and unless it is democratized.”

Local artists were feeling slighted, as well. “We, the living, resent being left to work in a vacuum of indifference and neglect while so much of the dead past is exhausted [by the BMA],” the president of the Artists’ Union of Baltimore complained to The Evening Sun in 1937. The writer of the letter was Morris Louis, whose work, decades later, would become a cornerstone of the BMA’s contemporary collection.

Treide responded with the extensive community outreach survey in 1937, which resulted in, among other things, a “Labor in Art” show the following year and then, in 1939, the city’s first exhibition of African-American art, which included work by Jacob Lawrence. The latter show drew over 12,000 visitors in two weeks.

Beyond that, a glance at 1938-1939’s calendar of events shows the BMA becoming more diverse. In addition to the exhibition of “Contemporary Negro Art,” it lists shows of Religious Art, Non-Objective Art, Hindu Metal Work, Six Living American Artists, locals Herman Maril and Reuben Kramer, and posters created by public-school students. Among the lectures are talks on “Modern Typography” and “Low Cost Housing in America and England.”

But what followed transcended the city limits, as breathtaking bequests brought the BMA national and international attention and upped its standing considerably within the museum community.

Children’s art class at BMA’s Young People’s Art Center, 1950s; Saidie May, artist and collector; 19th-century African palm wine cup from the Wurtzburger Collection. Jackson Pollock’s Water Birds was given to the BMA by May; The Cone Collection includes an extensive selection of acclaimed Matisse paintings; Gauguin’s Woman of the Mango is another Cone Collection highlight.

Adelyn Breeskin and Trude Rosenthal deserve much of the credit. The two women are often mentioned in the same breath, and for good reason: The museum acquired its most vaunted collections during their tenures, and, in many ways, the duo shaped the BMA as we know it.

Breeskin started as a curator in 1930 and was director from 1942 to 1962, meaning she guided the institution from World War II into the era of civil rights and The Beatles. The daughter of Dr. Dohme, who donated the BMA’s first painting, she was the world’s foremost expert on painter Mary Cassatt and also put together the American component of the 1960 Venice Biennale. (Her exhibition included work by Philip Guston and Franz Kline.) A 1984 tribute by the American Association of Museums claimed Breeskin’s work would be “permanently etched in the fertile ground of American art history.”

Rosenthal came aboard in 1945 as research director and worked her way up to chief curator, before retiring in 1968. She was an art historian with impeccable credentials and curated the BMA’s 50th anniversary exhibition in 1964 and “From El Greco to Pollock,” which nodded to the scope of her scholarship, in 1968.

“They were serious, and they knew what they were talking about,” says Richardson. “At that time, their mission was focused inward and was all about preserving great works of art and publishing important art history. This was their mission in life, to take good care of this collection that belonged to the people of Baltimore.”

“This was their mission in life, to take good care of this collection that belonged to the people of Baltimore.”

The permanent collection swelled substantially on their watch. The bequests and gifts included the Jacob Epstein Collection of Old Master paintings, with van Dyck’s Rinaldo and Armida (1946); the Wurtzburger Collection of African and Pacific Islands art (1950s); the Saidie A. May Collection of sculpture and paintings, which consisted of everything from 16th-century bronzes to work by Marc Chagall, Piet Mondrian, and Jackson Pollock (1951); and the renowned Cone Collection (1949).

Although often overshadowed by the Cones (who were cousins of hers), Saidie May rivals the sisters when it comes to what she did for the BMA. The daughter of a prosperous Baltimore shoe manufacturer and an artist herself, she travelled extensively and built her collection around what the Cones had, filling in holes and often sending her purchases directly to the museum. She also bankrolled a Renaissance Room of objects from various European cultures, a Members’ Room that showed only contemporary art, and a Young People’s Art Center for children’s exhibitions and classes. (The Renoir painting, On the Shore of the Seine, that was stolen in the 1950s and returned to the BMA earlier this year came from May’s collection.)

“There is scarcely a single museum department . . . to which she has not contributed,” noted Breeskin at the children’s wing opening in 1950. Another speaker compared May to Johns Hopkins, George Peabody, and Henry Walters.

When asked which person she admires most from the BMA’s long history, Bolger cites May, calling her “a bold, fearless woman at a time when women weren’t as liberated. She was a model for what this museum should be: a repository for the greatest art in the world, but also open, adventurous, and humane. And she loved Baltimore.”

The famed Cone sisters were more conflicted about their hometown. Claribel died in 1929 and left her part of the collection to Etta, her sister. Claribel’s will stated she wanted the complete collection to remain in the city “if the spirit of appreciation for modern art in Baltimore becomes improved, and if the Baltimore Museum of Art should be interested” in receiving it.

Sensing an opening, representatives from The Museum of Modern Art, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the National Gallery of Art all inquired about it, and various curators and directors turned up at Etta’s apartment to schmooze and salivate over the Matisse, Picasso, Cézanne, Gauguin, and van Gogh paintings.

Ultimately though, Breeskin’s and Rosenthal’s personal relationships with Etta—reminiscent of their dealings with Saidie May and others—trumped such efforts. Etta consulted Breeskin and Rosenthal about purchases and sometimes asked the pair to suss out potential acquisitions in New York for her. When Etta died in 1949, she left the entire collection, all 3,000 items, to the museum.

In 1957, the Cone Collection moved into a BMA wing built especially for it and assumed its position as one of the most astonishing and important art collections in the world. Since then, public perception of the BMA has been inextricably linked to the Cones’s prescient taste. “The Cone Collection quickly became what everyone associated with the museum,” says deputy director of curatorial affairs Jay Fisher, who’s worked at the BMA for almost 40 years.

But as the cultural landscape shifted dramatically over the next decade, the BMA was forced to reflect on its role in the broader community. African Americans, women, and young people clamored for more of a voice in all aspects of society. Was it time for the BMA to look beyond its collections (like Treide in the 1930s) and become more outwardly focused and inclusive? Or was it above the fray?

Director Charles Parkhurst’s report to the Board of Trustees in October 1966 indicates where the BMA felt it stood at the time. After noting that the world was “moving toward egalitarianism,” Parkhurst wrote, “Against this stream a museum, like an institution of higher learning, obstinately stands out as justifiably aristocratic, charged with maintaining its role not for the lowest common denominator of its audience but . . . [to those] who crave commitment to a higher vision. The museum is reduced to nonsense the instant it abandons this aristocratic principle.”

Parkhurst ultimately concluded: “We cannot pander or succumb to popular demands or personal tastes.”

By the time Parkhurst resigned in 1970, the BMA was beset by anemic attendance, declining membership, and noticeably fewer exhibitions. It was, according to an Evening Sun editorial, “lacking in clear ideas as to its own next directions.”

The next direction came from, of all places, Berkeley, California.

Tom Freudenheim chose what he considered a conservative outfit for his interview with the BMA board in 1971. At the time, the 33-year-old Freudenheim was assistant director of the Berkeley Art Museum at the University of California, Berkeley and, prior to applying for the job, “had no impression of the BMA one way or the other. I knew about the Cone Collection and that’s about all.”

He selected a pinstripe suit with flared pants, a striped shirt of six different colors, and a polka-dot tie that, color-wise, matched the shirt. Some members of the buttoned-down board were shocked—someone on the search committee even told Freudenheim they didn’t like beards—but, they hired him anyway (facial hair and all), aware of a profound need for youthful energy and new ideas.

“The 1960s were just occurring in Baltimore,” recalls Freudenheim, “people were re-examining the meaning of public institutions and how they could be more relevant. With that in mind, I wanted to make the BMA feel as open as possible.”

Freudenheim grew up in Buffalo, NY, within walking distance of the Albright-Knox Art Gallery. “I would pop in and out of the museum all the time, because it was a comfortable place to be,” he says. “That led me to think of a museum as a park, as opposed to a performance. You should be able to walk in and out as you please. You might stay for 15 minutes and look at one piece, or you might stay all day.”

He instituted family days, emphasized community outreach, and expanded the BMA’s presence in the metropolitan area through traveling exhibitions and satellite sites at Charles Center and The Mall in Columbia.

“It felt like all these things were part of some movement,” he says. “[William Donald] Schaefer had just been elected mayor, and he made cultural life an important part of his administration. I didn’t feel like I was just a museum director—I felt like I was part of something exciting. It was a time for taking risks and experimenting.”

Freudenheim hired a former colleague, curator Brenda Richardson, from the Berkeley Museum to take some of those risks and expand the contemporary collection. Richardson curated a succession of groundbreaking shows, including, early on, an Andy Warhol exhibition (1975) and a showing of Frank Stella’s Black Paintings (1976).

Thanks to her, says Freudenheim, “The BMA became a significant force in exhibitions of contemporary art in this country. Bringing Brenda to Baltimore is one of the things I’m most proud of.”

Such exhibitions continued under Freudenheim’s successor, Arnold Lehman, who took over in 1979. Lehman believed the museum remained at something of a crossroads with regards to building an audience, and that it was critical to expand upon Freudenheim’s efforts.

“Since 1914 the community has grown, making greater and more varied demands to which the museum must respond,” Lehman noted in his 1980 long-range plan. “There are two choices for the future. The Museum can maintain a status quo and become a mausoleum. The Museum can be progressive, always ready to meet changing educational and community demands. The status quo requires lip service only to responsibilities. Progress demands total involvement.”

Lehman went for it. A prodigious fundraiser, he increased the endowment exponentially, pushed for a new Contemporary Wing that opened in 1994 (featuring a stunning collection of recently-acquired Warhols), and wholeheartedly supported Richardson’s discriminating exhibitions. In fact, they worked together on some shows, including 1997’s A Grand Design: The Art of the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Lehman was also known for championing pop-culture fare that brought more people into the building. For every Gilbert & George or Anne Truitt exhibition, there was a show of carousel horses or the art of Dr. Seuss. “Slowly but surely, we saw positive results with regards to audience,” says Lehman.

Attendance eventually tripled and membership increased nearly 400 percent.

But money was always an issue, and budgets remained tight. “It was hard raising funds to match our ambitions,” says Lehman, “and besides, nothing gets cheaper.”

In 1982, Baltimore City required the BMA to charge admission and turn over the proceeds to help offset the city’s portion of the museum’s operating costs. “Here we were trying to get people in the door, and they threw up this huge barrier to people coming in,” says Jay Fisher. “And the price went up and up, making it harder for families to come.”

And still, roofs leaked as the building showed its age, and the local artist community continued to feel slighted.

Bolger, who took over after Lehman left for the Brooklyn Museum in 1997, addressed both issues. The evidence is all around. In her office, for instance, a framed piece with the words “Forward In All Directions” dripping down the canvas hangs behind her desk. Its presence in the director’s office makes a statement in two important ways: there’s the message, obviously, and also the fact that it’s the work of a MICA graduate, Colin Benjamin.

Claribel and Etta Cone with Gertrude Stein; current BMA director Doreen Bolger; work by Baltimore artists Jimmy Joe Roche, Richard Cleaver, Grace Hartigan, and Joyce Scott recently on view in the BMA’s Contemporary Wing.

Upstairs in the Contemporary Wing, the “Symbolic Bodies” gallery recently included work by no less than four Baltimore artists: Richard Cleaver, Grace Hartigan, Jimmy Joe Roche, and Joyce Scott (the subject of a 2000 retrospective, Kickin’ It with the Old Masters, an exhibition many consider to be a turning point in the museum’s relationship with city artists). The wing also features locals in its Front Room gallery from time to time, and its interactive space was initially designed by MICA grads Nolen Strals and Bruce Willen of Post Typography. And then there are the annual Sondheim and Baker Artist Awards exhibitions.

“Baltimore is home to an amazing community of artists,” says Bolger, who’s known for frequenting openings around the city. “I feel very strongly that I need to be out in the community, not just waiting for the community to come here to the museum. It’s very important to recognize artists and encourage them, because their energy, in terms of revitalizing the city, is critical.”

As she speaks, power tools can he heard humming and whirring, a sound that’s become familiar since Bolger’s arrival. As the 100th anniversary approaches, all the museum’s galleries have been renovated, and most of its collections have been re-imagined and reinstalled. Thanks to new roofing, the galleries no longer leak.

But the most significant development of the Bolger era has nothing to do with curatorial decisions or architectural plans: It has to do with access. When she eliminated the admission fee in 2006, Bolger tapped into and enhanced the common mission shared by Lehman, Freudenheim, and directors stretching all the way back to Levy: bringing more art to more Baltimoreans.

The move ensured that the inside of the BMA would increasingly look more like the city around it. Any doubters should just ask Carl Carver.

Carver claims the return to free admission resulted in the most profound change during his long BMA career. “Once that happened, I saw more Latinos and Asians at the museum, as well as more blacks,” he says. “Now, you see all different kinds of people, which is the way it should be.

“After all, it is The Baltimore Museum of Art.”

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