When renowned artist Scott Burton made the fateful decision on his deathbed in 1989 to bequeath his estate to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), he envisioned securing a lasting legacy in the annals of art history. However, this choice ultimately relegated him to a mere footnote — a figure almost lost to obscurity.

Before his untimely death at the age of 50 due to AIDS-related complications, Burton had established himself as one of America’s prominent sculptors. His innovative creations, such as sleek granite chairs and tables, occupied a unique space at the convergence of art and functional furniture, transforming the austere minimalism of his contemporaries into something both approachable and sensuous. Art historian David Getsy remarked, “Burton is one of the first contemporary sculptors who created work that you are allowed to touch.”

At the time of his passing, Burton’s works commanded prices exceeding $100,000, attracting the attention of some of the most influential collectors and institutions of the era. His growing reputation as a public artist was marked by collaborations with landscape architects and designers to develop ambitious urban plazas across the United States, including the notable project at 787 Seventh Avenue in Midtown Manhattan, previously known as the Equitable Center.

Yet, this upward trajectory came to a sudden halt following his death. Until this fall, it had been over 35 years since Burton had a comprehensive museum exhibition in the United States. The value of his works at auction has since plummeted by more than 50 percent, as reported by the Artnet Price Database. Furthermore, experts indicate that approximately half of his large-scale, site-specific installations have either been removed or significantly altered. Notably, elements of one of his hallmark 1980s works, the “Waterfront Plaza” in Battery Park City, are slated for removal next year as part of an extensive renovation plan. After this, only two of Burton’s five public artworks in New York City will remain intact as he originally envisioned.

Scott Burton’s “sculptural furniture” at the Equitable Center in Manhattan stands as a testament to his vision, but it too has faced removal amid ongoing renovations.

The narrative of Scott Burton serves as a poignant reminder of the fragility, mutability, and, at times, the arbitrary nature of art history. It underscores how an artist’s legacy can be dramatically influenced by a singular decision. In Burton’s case, that pivotal choice was to entrust his estate — encompassing his artwork, personal belongings, and copyright, along with the ability to profit from his creations and the obligation to promote them — to MoMA. “I thought it was a good idea at the time,” reflected Max Protetch, Burton’s longtime art dealer, in a recent interview. “It turns out to have not worked that way.”