Today the bulk of what remains of Wilson’s loft inventory—including chair examples that he bought and ones that he birthed—can be found at his 35,000-square-foot Watermill Center, in Southampton, New York, which, before this migration, already housed some 3,000 pieces, everything from historic totem poles from Papua New Guinea to the contemporary drawings of the late abstract artist Agnes Martin. (Wilson has yet to secure a new Manhattan nest, so many more chairs sit in storage.) He purchased the building, a former Western Union factory, in 1992 and embarked on a 15-year-long renovation (unveiled in its entirety in the summer of 2006) with the help of a starry lineup of architects—François de Menil, Fred Stelle, Richard Gluckman and Frank Michielli among them. The center, which is separated into public and residential areas, with a large wing dedicated to dorms and Wilson’s apartment, plays host to multidisciplinary artists participating in short-term residencies. Monthly open houses allow locals to wander the premises and view its guests’ performances, providing Wilson’s art objects with a decidedly wider audience than they had at his Manhattan abode.

“It was really important to Bob that the collection be used. That’s the difference here—you can touch anything,” says Carsten Siebert, executive director of the center’s operator, the Byrd Hoffman Watermill Foundation (named after Wilson’s childhood dance instructor, who helped him overcome a speech impediment). Entering through the building’s informal side entrance, one quickly sees this interactive ethos in practice: Residents grab fruit from antique Indonesian ceramic dishes and wooden bowls. Lining the hallway are three white chairs designed by the actress Lydia Grey and splattered with hot-pink stains, the remains of her 2007 Watermill performance Under the Milk, in which she sat naked, covered head to toe in paint, and poured milk over herself as she moved from chair to chair.

On the gallery-white walls of Wilson’s private quarters hang newly acquired works by wild-child art-world darling Dash Snow, a former assistant to Wilson and a grandson of one of his closest friends, the art patron and costume designer Christophe de Menil. Nearly half the objects gracing the space are chairs. In a skylighted nook, Wilson has pegged to the wall, as one would paintings, an attenuated black-and-white Superleggera, as light as its name, by the midcentury Italian architect Gio Ponti and a tiny gold-painted maquette from the 18th century created for Louis XVI (small models were made for the king whenever he commissioned new furniture). The maquette was given to Wilson in 2003 by his close friend the Baroness Philippine de Rothschild when the French government awarded him the title of Commandeur des Arts et Lettres. Filling the space between the two works are large, framed black-and-white photographs, including one of France’s former first lady Madame Pompidou, a fervent supporter of Wilson’s work, in a graceful pose and a shot of Wilson as a devilishly handsome youth taken by the late photographer Robert Mapplethorpe in the 1970s.

Roaming through diverse aesthetics, eras and media, Wilson’s collection could be a metaphor for his itinerant life. In the past few months, he has ventured to Beijing, Berlin, Melbourne, Moscow, Paris, Shanghai and Taipei, for work and pleasure. His most recent purchase is a small wooden chief’s chair from South Ethiopia, constructed to elevate its occupant very slightly above the others gathered around him on the ground. Wilson bought it at Dogon gallery in Berlin. “My collection is very personal and the result of my travels,” he says, but adds, “As I get older, the works come to me.” Among the finds he’s happened upon serendipitously are another Superleggera chair by Ponti, discovered in a dumpster in Italy in 1975, and a child’s chair made from bamboo found abandoned on a Shanghai street in 1993. “There is no rule of what to collect. I always trust my instincts. I’ve never bought anything because it was a good investment,” he notes.