Does art have a moral purpose, or is art for art’s sake reason enough? In Thomas Gibbons’s Permanent Collection—at the Round House Theatre through February 21—a major gift to an art gallery becomes the catalyst for an inflammatory argument about race. In the play, the fictional Morris Foundation, a museum of spectacular Impressionist and modern art, bequeaths its collection to a black university. The donation of the artwork is white millionaire Alfred Morris’s “final gesture of contempt” to an art establishment he despised, according to longtime curator Paul Barrow, also white. Barrow delivers this “message” to the new black director of the collection, Sterling North.

When North discovers eight major works of African art buried in storage by the Morris Foundation, he wants to put them on display. The idea horrifies Barrow, who remains loyal to Alfred Morris’s command that no display in the museum be altered. “It’s more than a collection of objects—it’s a vision,” he tells North. Unimpressed by a “vision” that he sees as exclusive, North replies, “Don’t tell me something can’t be changed. Don’t tell me change is not allowed.”

The play is based on actual events at the Barnes Foundation in suburban Philadelphia. To Sterling North—played robustly if somewhat unsympathetically by Craig Wallace—the value of exposing the art to new audiences justifies a legal challenge to the “racist” policies of the foundation. Barrow (Jeff Allin) is so absorbed in his own environment that he sees any change as destructive.

Tony Cisek’s set is a standout—making it clear before the play even starts that art is just a springboard for other ideas to emerge. Two walls depict two large murals (one a landscape, one a female nude), but both walls are covered with empty frames that are illuminated at different points to create distinct settings. Sometimes the scene looks like a giant Mondrian, sometimes like a prison.

The production, directed by Timothy Douglas, raises sensitive delicate questions about art and the establishment. Performances by both Wallace and Allin are heartfelt and entertaining (if a little sloppy at times). The supporting characters of North’s assistant, Kanika (Jessica Frances Dukes), and meddling journalist Gillian Crane (Susan Lynskey) add much-needed sensitivity to the onstage butting of male heads, although a synergy among all of the characters is missing.

The strongest performance comes from Lawrence Redmond as Alfred Morris—seen in sporadic flashbacks—who seems to delight in his own obstreperousness while also remaining the only character to appreciate art for art’s sake. As he recalls being transfixed by African music, he lays out his vision (which will be so fervently debated 50 years later): to communicate “the essential oneness of all human beings through art and music.”