Share a home, for what?

By Janet Eastman

September 14, 2006 in print edition F-1

SAUL LEVI loves Marsha Levine. She is devoted to him. But after 18 years of sharing lives, they won’t share a home. The wedge between them: all their stuff.

His Wilshire-corridor condo is bursting with museum-quality graphic art, photographs, glass sculpture and ceramics – more than 2,000 pieces packed into 3,000 square feet. The tiny toilet room of his master bath alone holds 15 paintings by Salvador Dali, Carroll Dunham and Fernand Leger.

Then there’s Levine. For starters, her 300-square-foot bedroom closet holds hundreds of hats and purses. Inside dozens of drawers are more than 500 pieces of vintage jewelry by Panetta, Miriam Haskell and Elsa Schiaparelli.

It’s hard for visitors to imagine the dual collections fitting in any single home. Levi, 83, and Levine, 69, certainly can’t.

“He would have to get rid of something to find room for me,” says the pint-size Levine, a bubbly, green-eyed redhead whom Levi calls Pixie. “He keeps taking out closets to make room for more art.”

Levi admits that his collection verges on a compulsion.

“I can’t do anything half-hearted,” he says. “Pixie is the same way.”

Recent studies have documented couples who are in committed relationships but maintain separate homes – sometimes because of work demands, sometimes because of the simple need for personal space. In the case of Levi and Levine, however, space in either home is plentiful – just not plentiful enough to accommodate two people and their vast number of belongings.

In Levi’s home, glass curio cabinets filled with tribal masks, jade and ivory line the bedrooms, corridors, even the laundry room. Levine’s likeness is duplicated in a nymph statue installed in the master bath (making the tub unusable) and in an oil painting by Gregory Grenon over the bar. In the living room, a nude female sculpture by Japanese artist Akio Takamori lies underneath the glass coffee table.

“There’s something for everyone,” Levi says, gesturing around a space that includes pieces by Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, Clifford Rainey and Dale Chihuly. Still more treasured pieces are hidden behind doors, and that’s not counting Italian glass blower Lino Tagliapietra’s “Boat.” It’s on loan to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art for the current exhibition “Glass: Material Matters.”

Two blocks away, Levine’s 2,400-square-foot condo is practically spartan, by comparison. The dining room is spare, with a dramatic glass table set on a lightweight concrete base. The living room is uncluttered, dominated by a single canvas – Philip Slagter’s – over the gray sofa. Not until closet doors start opening does it become clear: If Levi’s home is a museum, then Levine’s is a movie star’s dressing room.

She has brooches, bracelets, even a 300-year-old princess crown from Uzbekistan, a gift from Levi. One necklace is laden with topaz gems the size of match boxes. “I wear all this stuff,” says Levine, glancing at a 200-year-old embroidered silk wedding skirt from China that lies on her bed. The hallway closet holds two tiers of furs from the 1930s and ’40s. (“Are you a PETA person?” she asks. “Because I just want you to know that none of the furs or skins is new. Many of the furs were my mother’s.”)

Even men who come to her parties, she says, end up trying on hats in her vast bedroom closet. “If I can’t sleep, I play in my closet. It’s the focal point of my home.”

Levine, who serves on member councils supporting LACMA and the Museum of Contemporary Art, sees herself as both artist and canvas. A mound of discarded clothes builds in her bedroom every time she “auditions” outfits, and rarely does she have time to return pieces to her labyrinthine closet before leaving the house.

“If she comes to live with me,” Levi says, “she’ll have to bring her own housekeeper.”

Jokes aside, the couple say it’s simply easier to live apart than to dismantle their collections – a notion that Andrea Fiuczynski clearly understands.

Fiuczynski, president of Christie’s Los Angeles, says emotions run high when people accumulate fine objects. It’s hard enough for the average packrat to shed belongings of purely sentimental value. Just imagine if the objects have added worth – artistic, historic, monetary or otherwise.

“There are collectors who are clearly obsessive,” she says. “When they sell, they may have attached such meaning to the piece, its story or its provenance that they experience separation anxiety.”

Couples who are in committed relationships but live apart are more common than ever before, says Sherry Ahrentzen, associate director for research of Arizona State University’s Stardust Center for Affordable Homes and the Family.

“The cultural acceptance of different types of relationships is better today than two or three generations ago,” says Ahrentzen, who has been researching American housing trends since 1982. “People may be curious as to why a couple wants to live in separate homes, but there’s no stigma attached to it.”

People are living longer, she says, which means they have more opportunity to be in different relationships. They also can stay in their home longer, among the cherished possessions that express who they are.

“They can live alone without their space being infringed upon by another person,” Ahrentzen says, adding that autonomy, privacy and individuality are valued in the United States more than in other countries.

“Women especially want romance and relationships, but not necessarily being the caretaker of someone else,” she adds. “And society now sees that as OK.”

Levi and Levine say their arrangement might seem unconventional to some, but they don’t care. It’s fun.

“Because we live separately,” Levine says, “it’s always a date.” Living apart allows her to do what she wants and keep the fantasy percolating.

“Instead of seeing me working in my robe, he sees me all put together when I appear and say, ‘Tada!’ ” she says, standing in a fitted black dress and black knee-high boots, with a red-beaded bracelet and red leather band wrapped around her waist. “Saulie always says that I am his best art piece.”

Whenever Levine gets lonely, she simply pops down the street.

“My friends wonder how many nights a month I spend at his house and I say, ‘What about the days?’ ” Levine says. “I’m over there all the time.”

Following one spontaneous overnighter, she rode down Levi’s elevator dressed in the silver flapper dress, mink and heels that she wore to a gala the previous evening. Two other women in the elevator gave her the once-over, but Levine laughed it off.

“I said I was left over from the night before,” she says, giggling. “I was raised in the Midwest and married in the 1950s, but the world has really changed.”

Levine thinks Levi has amassed so much art because he didn’t have toys as a child. He grew up poor in Calcutta, came to the United States in the 1950s and worked his way up from a clothing store stock boy to the head of several corporations. He was married for 39 years when his wife died in 1986; Levine was married 31 years when her husband passed away in 1987.

“Who would have thought that we both could have wonderful long marriages and then have this whole second part of life?” Levine says, turning her smile toward Levi.

The couple met in 1988 through her nephew, a contractor who worked on Levi’s home. They talked about art and music, and the days flew by.

“Ninety percent of the time we share the same taste,” Levine says. “I used to be more rigid in collecting art. He’s freed me to be open to other art.”

They have experimented with living together. About three years ago, she moved in for six weeks while workers repaired water damage in her building. His seldom-used kitchen became her temporary office. The breakfast table became a desk, and the counters were cleared to hold her files. She brought a minimum of clothes, shoes and accessories to fit into the cedar closet he always reserves for her. “I never looked at it as staying here on a permanent basis.”

And she still doesn’t.

“If I don’t feel well, I’ll stay over and Saul is always happy when I do,” Levine says. “I’m always welcome at Saulie’s place. I have a key. We refer to it as ‘our family,’ ‘our house,’ ‘our collection.’ ”

It’s a relationship symbolized by two other glass pieces on loan to LACMA: William Morris’ “Burial Raft” and Ginny Ruffner’s “Conceptual Narrative Morphing Up the Evolutionary Ladder.” Although purchased by Levi, the museum’s credit line reads: “Collection of Saul E. Levi and Marsha N. Levine, Los Angeles.”

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If you’re seeking to sell your valuables

Collections come, collections go. Auctioneer Christie’s has watched the cycle since 1766. Andrea Fiuczynski, president of Christie’s Los Angeles, says the passion to collect may be driven by financial gain, family connections or the simple thrill of pursuing and possessing something that others desire. Collecting is easy for some, but selling is another matter entirely. Collectors may edit their holdings when they run out of display or storage space. Unexpected life challenges that auction houses call “the three Ds” – death, debt and divorce – also may force downsizing. Some advice on parting with treasured belongings:

Selling. If you find it difficult to part with a prized collection, remember that the work existed before you acquired it and will continue to exist after you release it. “We are caretakers of these works of art, and it may be time to let someone else enjoy it,” Fiuczynski says. “We may have moved on intellectually, physiologically or emotionally, so let another collector who is just discovering it have a chance.”

Donating. Giving valuable works to cultural institutions or charity is laudable. Do it for the right reasons, though – and not for your ego. Remember, museums don’t display everything in permanent collections, so that family heirloom may never be part of an exhibition or press conference. Some art has more research value than display power. It even may be sold by the museum if it doesn’t fit its mission. Donors can place restrictions, but museums can choose not to accept the gift instead. The IRS requires appraisal documents for donations of $5,000 or more.

Keeping. “It all boils down to ‘buy what you love,’ because you will live with it,” Fiuczynski says. “And, as in life, when you fall out of love, move on.”

– Janet Eastman