Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Robert Marshall Watts, "Untitled (Asorted Eggs from American Supermarket)" (1964). Chrome-plated and flocked eggs, each 2 1/4 x 13/4 in.

Chuck Close Sol LeWitt Richard Tuttle Richard Long Donald Judd Jeff Koons Julian Schnabel Carl Andre

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Herb and Dorothy Vogel, subjects of Megumi Sasaki’s intimate new documentary, have been collecting voraciously since the early 1960s, and their passion has earned them an unlikely place alongside the Rothschilds, Gettys, and Rockefellers in a recent book: James Stourton’s Great Collectors of Our Time. For most of his working life, Herb, 86, sorted mail at the central post office in Manhattan; Dorothy, 73, was a librarian in Brooklyn Heights. They had no children, and chose to live frugally on her salary, so that they could spend his on art.

In 1992, after Dorothy retired, the Vogels donated their ever-expanding collection to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, because they had run out of space for it. The museum had no idea of the extent of the Vogels’ hoardings. It took three months and five 40-foot trucks to pack up and remove more than 2,500 pieces from their tiny Manhattan apartment: priceless work by Sol LeWitt, Donald Judd, Carl Andre, Richard Long, Julian Schnabel, Jeff Koons, and Richard Tuttle, among others. The Vogels soon crammed their home with more art.

Now even the National Gallery doesn’t have room to house the Vogel collection in its entirety (more than 4,000 pieces have now been donated) and, in accordance with their charter, they are not allowed to sell any of it. To solve this problem, curator Ruth Fine suggested a scheme, "Fifty Works for Fifty States," which will see the excess distributed around America. Each of the institutions that accept the donation must vow to display the works within five years of receiving them. Meanwhile, the Vogels — who Christo described fondly as "compulsive collectors, almost like alcoholics" — have finally kicked their habit. Megumi Sasaki talks about her experience documenting this unusual couple.

Can you describe the Vogels’ extraordinarily cluttered apartment? In your film Chuck Close says that they had so much artwork stuffed under their bed that it had risen off the floor.

Unfortunately, I never saw their apartment at its most cluttered. It was one of the challenges (among many) I faced in shooting this documentary. We found over a thousand photographs of Herb and Dorothy, but not a single image that captured the sheer volume of artwork they had before they transferred the collection to the National Gallery. So we had to re-create it. We shot close-ups of wrapped artworks and crates and boxes in an art warehouse, and mixed this footage with photos and video images of the Vogels, so that it looks like it’s their apartment. But it’s not.

The Vogels rarely articulate why they’ve collected what they have. They merely say that they "liked it." Did that present a challenge in making the film?

Six months into production, I did the first on-camera interview with Herb and Dorothy and asked them, "Why did you like this artist or that art work?" They just replied, "because it’s beautiful" or "because we like them." I thought, Oh, my god, how can I make a film about art collectors who can’t articulate anything about their collection? Then I met Lucio Pozzi, the first artist we interviewed for the film, and told him about the difficulties I was having; his response was, "That’s why Herb and Dorothy are so unique and special. Why do you have to verbalize and explain visual art? Why can’t you simply say I like it or I don’t like it?" Art is not something you have to explain, but feel. That’s the great lesson I learned from Herb and Dorothy.

What do you think drives the Vogels’ addiction to art?

They didn’t have money or social status, but had an extraordinary passion and love of art, artists, and each other. I also think that their discipline helped. They always stuck to two rules: the first was that the work had to be affordable; the second was that it had to be small enough to fit in their apartment. Usually successful collectors sell small pieces and move on to collect more significant, larger pieces, but Herb and Dorothy never sold anything. That made their collection particularly unique and, though small in size, it has impeccable beauty and intimacy.