Collecting Evolution
February 2008
Like most young men, Wayne Rollins frequently changes his mind about things. For instance, eight years ago he left the comforts of his hometown, Atlanta, for the excitement of Los Angeles. “I like change,” says the 34-year-old, while conducting a tour of his home, a modern aerie not far from the Hollywood Bowl. “I wanted to learn new things and know a new city. I came here hoping to evolve as a person.”“Evolution” is a word that can also be used for the growth of his rather eclectic art collection. The first piece he ever bought, shortly after turning 21, was by Atlanta-based artist Radcliffe Bailey. “It spoke to me,” he says. “It wasn’t terribly expensive—maybe a couple thousand dollars—but because I was young and it was the first piece of art I’d ever bought, it seemed like a big deal. But there was another piece that went with it, and my sister said, ‘If you don’t buy that one as well, I’m going to buy it.’ So I bought the second one. I’m glad I did because they belong together.”
The Bailey was an introduction to his collecting philosophy: Trust your instincts and buy what you love, even if you think you can’t afford it. This realization did not fully crystallize, however, until he let a Jean-Michel Basquiat slip away—a decision he regretted for years. “The painting was a bit unusual for Basquiat,” Wayne recalls of the piece from 1984 he decided not to purchase because he thought it was too expensive. “Very simple, very plain. Just a few ovals, including one labeled ‘EGG.’ I liked it because the imagery felt raw, like he just felt it and didn’t worry about where everything was in the painting. I never forgot about it and I beat myself up because I hadn’t bought it.”
But then serendipity: Three years later when the woman who had bought the Basquiat decided to sell, Wayne decided to go for it, hang the cost. “I was just so happy to get that Basquiat,” he says. “Not because it was a Basquiat but because it was the one I had been thinking about all this time. And now it had come back to me. It was as if I’d messed up a relationship with a girlfriend who’d gone on to marry someone else, but now she was available again. I wasn’t going to let her get away twice.”
When Wayne considers adding to the collection, his most important consideration is not the artist or the work’s possible resale value but rather: Am I in love with this work? “If you can’t stop thinking about it,” he says, “and it haunts your dreams, then you need to do whatever it takes to make it happen.”
Dealer Bill Lowe, who cultivated Wayne’s taste and helped him acquire the Basquiat, among other pieces in the collection, seconds that sensibility. “Wayne has always been attracted to work that is emotional,” says Lowe, who owns eponymous galleries in Atlanta and Santa Monica. “He doesn’t buy something thinking about what he’s going to do with it in 10 or 20 years. He buys it because he can’t live without it.”
Fortunately for Wayne, his wife, Mindy, is in agreement. “I’d live on ketchup packets and hot water rather than sell our art,” she says. Mindy’s comment brings up an interesting point. When she and Wayne discuss their favorite pieces, they do so in spiritual terms. In the garden and on the deck, the couple display two life-sized Deborah Butterfield horse sculptures. As Wayne leads me out to view these rather stoic equines made from an assortment of found metal, he moves slowly, quietly, as if the figures were alive. “It’s astonishing to me that someone could make something so evocative from found metal,” he says in a hushed tone. “I’d have a whole herd of Butterfield horses if I could.”
Another favorite sculpture is a 6-foot-high Senufo bird carving from the Ivory Coast, created 300 to 400 years ago. These impressive statues, which represent the Yellow-casqued Hornbill, often stood in the center of African villages. The bird’s long, phallic beak, reaching down to touch its swollen belly, suggests fertility and symbolizes the harmony of man and woman as the key to ensuring the continuity of the whole community. “It’s elegant and regal, and has such a lovely patina,” Wayne says, running a hand down the side of the smooth wood.
Walking through their house, Wayne and Mindy point out other, more contemporary pieces they love, such as an evocative ziegenkopf (goat head) (1987) by German artist Markus Lüpertz, a glass sculpture of a bull-like figure with the body of man (2004) by William Morris and a ghostly painting of a school of white guppies (1998) by Donald Sultan.
Though many of the couple’s favorite pieces depict animals, they say there is no common thread, such as medium, school or era, in the collection. “Every one speaks to me and teaches me something,” he says. “They’re like different members of an extended family. And like living with your family, living with varied pieces teaches you to enjoy their differences.”
David Lansing writes on architecture and interior design for the Los Angeles Times and other publications.