“An Economy of Means” is clever in both name and execution. For this University of Michigan Museum of Art exhibit drawn from the Dorothy and Herbert Vogel Collection (consequently donated to the UMMA) is as economical as art can get.

Borrowing from the words of UMMA Associate Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art Jacob Proctor’s gallery statement, the exhibit is “remarkable both for the objects it contains and for the individuals who created it.”

The Vogels were “civil servants of limited financial means,” says Proctor, “Herb worked for the U.S. Postal Service, Dorothy as a reference librarian at the Brooklyn Public Library.” But they also “managed to build — over the course of 4 decades — 1 of the most significant contemporary art collections in the country.”

The financial angle is notable. Yet the exhibit’s supreme virtue lies in the kind of art the Vogels collected because it’s this 2nd “economy” that makes the display really special.

There’s unusual intelligence in this art — primarily examples of mid- to late-20th-century minimal and conceptual art — that makes this a vintage art collection. And the inherent modesty of this art makes the collection quite amazing; it took a keen eye to recognize the quality of the work at the time it was purchased.

Generally, minimalism can be defined any art form that’s been pared to its fundamental. In sound, this would be music by Philip Glass or Terry Riley; in theater, it would be the plays of Samuel Beckett; or in film, the movies of Robert Bresson. Yet a key element of minimalism and conceptualism is that the simplicity is paradoxically complex. In the visual arts, 1 might think in terms of Donald Judd, Sol Lewitt or Frank Stella. Masters each at mid-20th century, these artists reacted to what they thought of as the pretensions of abstraction. But as children of their generation, they substituted 1 form of conceptual intellectualism for another.

Hence, where the works of an Adolf Gottlieb or a Mark Rothko supposedly contain a spiritual dimension (or at the least an intellectual dimension), these other artists more or less figured, as a counter-strategy, that what you see is what you get — and the less, the better.

Based on what we see in “Economy of Means,” the Vogels took this strategy to heart when looking for art. And given that their pocketbook, as Proctor tells us, was also based on an equally constrained economy of means, their advocacy of minimalism and conceptualism was a truly artful match.

“From the beginning,” say Proctor, “the couple used Dorothy’s salary to cover their modest living expenses, while allocating Herb’s salary — and, later, pension — to the acquisition of contemporary art.

“Their limited means and space led to a natural focus on drawings and other work on paper, as well as non-traditional media that many collectors found difficult to appreciate,” continues Proctor. “Encouraged by artist friends like Sol Lewitt and Dan Graham, they gravitated to the minimal and conceptual art that was just beginning to emerge in New York at the time.

“Among the 1st collectors to buy work by many artists who were then unknown to a wide audience,” Proctor concludes, “the Vogels offered encouragement at the start of the careers of several figures — including Robert Barry, Edda Renouf, and Richard Tuttle, among others — who went on to achieve considerable acclaim. Early support was frequently matched by a commitment to collecting ‘their’ artists in depth, maintaining a sustained involvement not only with the work, but also with the artists themselves”

Among the artists the Vogels patronized (and on display in the exhibit) are Will Barnet, Robert Barry, Lynda Benglis, Charles Clough, Claudia DeMonte, Richard Francisco, Michael Goldberg, Don Hazlitt, Jene Hightstein, Peter Hutchinson, Martin Johnson, Steve Keister, Mark Kostabi, Ronnie Landfield, Barbara Levine, Robert Lobe, Michael Lucero, Joseph Nechvatal, Richard Nonas, Lucio Pozzi, Edda Renouf, Yinka Shonibare, David Trivieri and Richard Tuttle.

This is virtually a “who’s-who” of 20th century minimal and conceptual art — the sort of aesthetic (alongside, paradoxically enough, abstract expressionism) that often elicits the response that just anyone could have done it.

But, of course, not just anyone did it — nor could anyone just do it. It took serious training — as the Vogels obviously knew — to get to that rare place where minimal or conceptual concerns determine the artistic outcome.

As such, the Vogels’ concession to abstract expressionism, Charles Clough’s late 1990 “Redoubt,” illustrates the power such skillful application of oils on canvas can have on the viewer’s imagination. This outstanding oversize red gestural abstract painting can be appreciated as a vigorous application of paint on surface; the facile appearance of a masked face; or even a continent (Africa comes to mind). Dramatic to the nth degree, “Redoubt” is also counterpoised to the other artworks on display in this show dedicated to economy.

By contrast, Martin Johnson’s 1984 acrylic and thread on canvas “Inure Self” looks everything like a hairy, somewhat more psychedelic Robert Indiana- inspired sculpture poem; Yinka Shonibare’s 2002 miniature English Victorian townhouse, with furnishings in cast resin, plastic, wood, paper and fabric, “Doll House (Peter Norton Family Christmas Project),” is precisely what its title implies; Lynda Benglis’ 1985 cylindrical “Tacpere Maptom” is a smart, nonfunctional glasswork; and Edda Renouf’s 1976 acrylic on canvas “Continuous” is post-painterly abstraction at its finest.

Other exhibit highlights are Mark Kostabi’s trio of 1988 ink on paper drawings—“Progress of Beauty 1,2, and 3” — where Johannes Vermeer’s 1664-65 “Young Girl with a Water Pitcher” is used as his point of departure to comment on 3 differing kids of modern art — the cash register in the corner being his personal contribution to the doings.

Yet perhaps the artist who most accurately reflects the Vogels’ philosophy of art and their style of acquisition is Richard Tuttle. For Tuttle’s felt pen, crayon, Liquitex, or watercolor on paper artworks magnificently illustrate an economy of material means, filling an alcove of the UMMA in doing so.

And of these many artworks, his 46 “Looseleaf Notebook Drawings” are profound in their simplicity. It’s not often that what appear like water-splashed doodles might be considered serious works of art.

But Tuttle’s intent is to challenge this notion of seriousness — and his economical swipes of watercolor (which are subtly crafted calligraphy on closer inspection) run the gamut of geometrically abstracted art in their determined plainness.

After viewing Tuttle’s paintings — as well as the artwork of his fellows — 1 can only be left with the unshakable conclusion that there’s indeed a logic to the Vogels' collecting; as well as their artists’ determined styles of minimal or conceptual art. Everything needed to be said is all right there to be found in Tuttle’s inspired, watercolor-smeared loose-leaf paper.

“An Economy of Means: The Dorothy and Herbert Vogel Collection” continues through May 2 at the University of Michigan Museum of Art, 525 South State Street. In a related event, the UMMA hosts an “Economy of Means” Gallery Talk on Saturday afternoon. Museum hours are 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., Tuesday-Wednesday, and Saturday; 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., Thursday-Friday; and noon to 5 p.m., Sunday. For information, call 734-763-UMMA.

John Carlos Cantú is a free-lance writer who reviews art for AnnArbor.com.