‘There’s a reflection of a venetian blind, can you see it?’ In Kettle’s Yard, Sebastiano Barassi makes me stand in front of a painting which catches light off a window. It happens to be by the Catalan artist Joan Miro. ‘Can you see the zigzag pattern, which is continued in the cider-press screw?’ he asks, pointing to a tall wooden construction which repeatedly curves round upon itself, spiralling up to not-quite touch the small blue painting. The two forms sit unconsciously side by side, one confident, one on the brink of not being there at all.

 

His point is to highlight the ‘conversations’ happening between the objects at Kettle’s Yard, placed in order to allow the mind of the viewer to form connections and connotations. Like in a still life or piece of music, Barrassi tells me, these items are carefully distributed around the house-stroke-gallery in order to form a polished work of art in itself: if you remove one note (or pebble, chair or sculpture) you spoil the whole.

 

The process was not so much a curatorial as a creative one. The way Barassi describes Jim Ede, the visionary founder, creator and composer of Kettle’s Yard, makes him sound as much of an artist as those whose work he was so passionate about. These ranged from famous British sculptors Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth to the Polish fisherman Alfred Wallis who began painting at seventy in order to help him deal with his grief after the death of his wife. A work by Brancusi sits on a piano in the same way as a lemon on a table. Images are hung at ground level in way that could equally be debasing or practical – a chair is, by luck or chance, located adjacently.

 

These contradictions seem characteristic. A self-proclaimed ‘friend of artists’ rather than straightforwardly a collector or curator, Ede had a different way of going about things. Wallis, who he incidentally never met, used to send parcels of ten or twenty works; Ede would return the ones he didn’t like with a cheque. On seeing that the Tate, who he then worked for, wasn’t going to buy the main body of Henri Gaudier-Brzeska’s work upon the artist’s death he declared it ‘unacceptable’ and bought it himself. These two men are today the best represented in the gallery, which contains several significant works: two of the latter’s sculptures were recently loaned to Tate Britain for its exhibition on the Vorticist movement (Barassi voices displeasure at Gaudier-Brzeska’s underrepresentation).

 

A joy of the collection as a whole is its apparent lack of an agenda: it does not represent anything more than an era and a taste. The site he selected in Cambridge for his project, not as grand as he desired because ‘he couldn’t find a college willing’ to support him, instead embodies its owner’s informal and generous attitude. Wanting people to feel like ‘they were being welcomed into someone’s personal space’, he would greet them himself, offering tea at the end of the visit. The four pre-existing cottages of Kettle’s Yard, joined haphazardly yet thoughtfully, set the scene for these encounters.

 

Behind this seems to have lain a belief in the power of art to change in great ways, even if by increments.  The lending scheme Ede developed through which students could have their own work of art for a term is representative: believing you should live surrounded by beautiful objects regardless of means he found a way to make this happen for others. His mantra seemed to have been that ‘you can find beauty in all sorts of things’.

 

When Ede grew older and moved out of his gallery-home, Kettle’s Yard changed. A painful transition period saw ‘quite a traumatic time for him’: the life of the first curator was ‘quite difficult’ because Ede couldn’t really let go. Today, twelve years after his death, the majority of visitors are not students from the university (though some still come here to revise before exams, Barassi tells me). The house no longer showcases contemporary art because the display hardly changes, and it is no longer 1958. Red dots stuck onto floors and surfaces carefully mark the positioning of each item, now set in stone.

 

However, the house continues to function and even to evolve. A gallery for changing exhibitions of contemporary art has been built, and is this year being added to: a large studio, seminar space and art store will form an education wing. The items on show in the bedroom of Ede’s wife Helen can be switched around, because it was not open to the public during her life. There is movement even in apparent stasis.

 

And as for Barassi: preservation of the house and its contents largely keeps him busy. Amidst the building work an opportunity has also arisen - work from the collection is now being shown in the exhibition space. There is still much to be done - and seen.