This blog has previously covered the strange ongoing saga of the “Gurlitt Collection”—a spectacular trove of well over 1,000 artworks amassed by German art dealer, Hildebrand Gurlitt, during the Nazi era.  Gurlitt was one of only a few dealers authorized by Nazi leaders to trade in “degenerate” works of art that had been confiscated or looted by the Nazis.  After World War II, the Gurlitt family claimed that their artworks had been destroyed during the bombing of the German city of Dresden.

In fact, however, as has been widely reported, Hildebrand had kept many of the works, and when he died in 1956, they passed to his son, Cornelius.  Cornelius’s treasures flew under the radar until 2010, when he became the target of a tax investigation.  The following year, German authorities obtained a warrant to search his Munich apartment and stumbled upon the staggering cache of art, including museum-quality works by Picasso, Chagall, Matisse, and other luminaries of the Modernist art movement.  The German authorities themselves kept this discovery a secret for many months, ultimately acknowledging the find in late 2013.

From there, the story only became more convoluted, marked by criticism of the German government’s role in the matter; complicated by the discovery of additional artworks in Cornelius’s other residences in Salzburg and Bad Aussee (which, because they were located in Austria, were not subject to seizure by German authorities); and obfuscated by conflicting statements from the reclusive Cornelius and his advisors. A Task Force was appointed and began the long labor of investigating (under intense scrutiny) the works’ provenance, while Gurlitt and German authorities hashed out an agreement as to how the works should be handled.  The collection likely includes not only works that were looted from persecuted individuals or purchased via duress sales, but also “Degenerate” works removed from German museums that the Nazis sought to sell abroad.

The situation took a new turn when Cornelius himself died in May 2014 at age 81, leaving behind no children or spouse.  A few days later, news broke that Cornelius had named in his will as his sole heir the Kunstmuseum Bern, the oldest museum in Switzerland, yet an institution with which he had had no prior dealings.  The museum had six months to decide whether to accept the bequest, a question the museum no doubt carefully considered, given the sheer number of works, the legal and ethical complexities, and the risk of what World Jewish Congress president (and art collector) Ronald Lauder called an “avalanche” of lawsuits.

A few days before Thanksgiving, however, the Kunstmuseum Bern announced that it would accept the bequest.  The New York Times reported that Christoph Schäublin, president of the museum’s board of trustees, said that the institution had reached an agreement with German authorities with the goal of treating the collection as openly as possible.  The Art Law Report (whose coverage of the Gurlitt collection has been excellent and thorough from day one) provided more detailed information about the Kunstmuseum’s agreement.  It appears that provenance research will continue per the previous agreement between Gurlitt and German authorities, with the Task Force seeking to place works into various categories.  If a work were likely looted and there is a substantiated claim, then the art will stay where it is until it can be restituted.  For works that were looted but without a substantiated claim, the art will remain in Germany on public display, in hopes that potential claimants might come forward. Works that were not looted will go to the Kunstmuseum Bern, and Germany and Bavaria will indemnify the museum in any litigation that may follow.

Since the announcement, the Kunstmuseum has been busy.  The same week, images were posted online of ledgers kept by Cornelius’s father, Hildebrand, during the years leading up to and during World War II.  The Kunstmuseum also posted an inventory of the works themselves, including the first comprehensive look at the works found in Salzburg.  Resources like this will hopefully make it easier for potential claimants to come forward.

But the complex story is far from over.  For starters, a cousin of Cornelius has challenged the validity of his will, an issue that will need to be hashed out in German courts.  Even assuming that the Kunstmuseum Bern continues to play a role, Schäublin spoke of a “long road” before the museum as it seeks to deal transparently with the huge collection of works.  But this new chapter is encouraging in many ways. The museum has stated it will adhere to the 1998 Washington Conference Principles on Nazi-Confiscated Art; these principles for handling potentially looted works are non-binding, but the museum’s commitment is perhaps consistent with a growing movement, covered previously on this blog, away from litigation and toward voluntary repatriation and restitution arrangements for artworks with a fraught past. Potential claimants have expressed cautious optimism; some, including Lauder, have responded positively, while the Washington Post cited another family’s frustration at having so many entities involved in the process.  And perhaps most importantly, restitution efforts are already underway; the same day the Kunstmuseum announced its acceptance, a German official cited three specific works—by Henri Matisse, Max Liebermann and Carl Spitzweg—that would be returned to rightful heirs immediately based on the Task Force’s research.  A few days later, independent researchers had already identified a Pissarro work as looted, an assessment with which the museum agreed.

While authorities, scholars, the museum, the market, and potential claimants all continue to struggle with the complicated Gurlitt legacy, the Kunstmuseum’s commitments here may set an example for other institutions deciding how to respond to potentially looted works and potential claimants.