In a dimly lit Jean-Georges restaurant, or perhaps lounging on a Turkish pillow at Carlisle’s gallery, the atmosphere is palpable.
Scandals and their associated personalities seem to be growing. Clashes are bound to happen. Yet, even today, more than fifteen years after his departure from the illustrious Nordler Gallery in Manhattan and a highly publicized trial, society appears to be drifting away from Unfriedman.
Documentary director Barry Avrich shared a memory of Friedman’s initial meeting over “a few bottles of fancy Montrachet Chardonnay” before dinner at Santo Ambous on Madison Avenue. “When she came in, she looked away,” he recalled. “People aren’t rushing to see her like they once did. That must have stung. She was like a pariah.”
The former mathematics teacher transformed into a master forger, accused of replicating signatures from legendary abstract expressionists such as Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Robert Motherwell, and Willem de Kooning in at least 70 different pieces.
In 2016, the art world was gripped by elite gossip surrounding what was dubbed the trial of the century for art fraud.
Knoedler & Co., the oldest art gallery in Manhattan, founded in 1846, faced accusations when its former president, Friedman, allegedly backed the sale of over $80 million in counterfeit art. This saga involved a duo of con artists from Long Island and a mathematics teacher who had grand ambitions.
Experts, art historians, and even the parents of the artists themselves were caught up in this web.
Yet, the case concluded before Friedman could face scrutiny. Did she conspire knowingly in the greed? The enigma of her involvement may never see resolution.
Among the influential blue-chip collectors, there’s no doubt Friedman stirred embarrassment. At one point, financier Pierre Lagrange made headlines when he became enraged after learning that a $17 million Pollock he purchased from her was created in 1957.
Avrich is currently penning a thorough account of Friedman’s fall from grace along with her ambiguous part in it all, set to explore themes in “The Devil Wears Rothko.” He described Friedman’s character as reminiscent of a “very steely, Anna Wintour” type.
This forthcoming book is a follow-up to his 2020 documentary “Make You Look: A Story in Fake Art,” which aired on Netflix.
In “The Devil Wears Rothko,” Avrich features narratives, including those of a renowned expert, a famous collector, and an $80 million deception that affected museums, shedding light on one of the largest art scams in history.
As reported back in 2016, the scheme began in the early 1990s when a former Spanish waiter, Jose Carlos Bergantinhos Diaz, teamed up with a Chinese artist selling art on the sidewalks of Manhattan. Bergantiños offered to pay Pei-Shen Qian $500 per painting.
“Bergantinos would weather the paintings using tea and dirt,” Luke Nikas, Friedman’s lawyer, explained, adding that the final artworks would be handed to Graphila Rosales, a small art dealer based on Long Island.
By 2003, a Pollock originally linked to Rosales was flagged as a forgery by the Nonprofit International Arts Research Foundation, leading to a $2 million settlement from Knoedler with buyers. Nonetheless, Friedman continued her dealings with Rosales.
In 2011, Lagrange sued the gallery over the fake Pollock after it was rejected by Christie’s and Sotheby’s for auction.
The gallery closed almost immediately after.
Rosales would later admit to selling over 60 “lost” pieces, including Rothkos—actually painted by Qian—to Knoedler and downtown dealer Julian Weissman.
In 2016, Friedman’s attorney asserted that she too had been deceived.
Despite this, De Sole’s lawyer voiced skepticism.
“The core issue persisted… Rosales continued passing through unknown works lacking documentation. This was meant to indicate that the pieces were fakes,” he commented.
Avrich’s book also dives into the behind-the-scenes narrative of his films, navigating the murky waters of the fine art market, the history of forgery, and the rise of high-tech counterfeits.
If there’s one underlying theme, it’s how deeply tangled everyone’s accountability is, from Tom Ford’s chairman Domenico De Sole to powerhouse private equity mogul John Howard and others.
Rosales, who was implicated for peddling forgeries to Friedman, spent just three months in prison while Bergantinhos fled to Spain, evading arrest. Qian returned to China.
The late Michael Hammer, former owner of Knoedler, profited heavily from the fraud—he was the father of actor Army Hammer, who passed in 2022.
Avrich stated, “Everyone in this tale seems guilty of some wrongdoing, as the art world was thriving and all were eager to cash in.”
Following Qian, Avrich discovered a room in his Shanghai apartment filled with “hundreds of paintings” leaning against the walls.
“He not only created these for personal gain but was also securing obscure sales,” the author remarked.
Several galleries in China showcase Qian’s artworks, and he’s surprisingly found success in the art scene.
“Countless reached out to me seeking Qian artworks, offering to pay substantial amounts,” Avrich noted. “They claimed they would invest hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
Still, most of the counterfeit pieces remain with the collectors who purchased them, too embarrassed to reveal their origins.
According to Avrich, some were seized by the FBI, marked as forgeries, while others were destroyed. The leftovers are mostly hoarded by collectors, with one notable case being De Sole, who mentioned an authentic Rothko still hanging on his daughter’s wall.
Rosales, however, has faced unfortunate circumstances; ordered to pay $81 million to fraud victims, authorities have seized her properties and over 200 artworks, including genuine pieces by prominent artists.
She served nine months of house arrest followed by three years of probation. Reports indicate she’s now working as a bus girl while struggling to make ends meet.
Bergantinhos, who also dabbled in selling fake Beluga caviar to auction houses, is living under FBI protection. When Avrich met him in his Spanish hometown, he displayed no remorse, even attempting to sell Avrich a harmonica he claimed once belonged to Bob Dylan.
Meanwhile, Friedman still operates in the art world, based at a location on East 73rd Street, albeit far from her former glory at Knoedler.
“She has been involved in art sales driven by passion over the last ten years,” Avrich observed. “Yet her gallery walls are now predominantly adorned with emerging artists and second-hand blue-chip pieces.”
While she remains a familiar presence on Madison Avenue, Friedman keeps a low profile. Her website is outdated, her Instagram dormant, and she hasn’t updated her Facebook since 2023. Cracks are beginning to show.
One particularly sardonic Google review reads, “Amazing Gallery! So lovely! A thin, curly-haired woman managed to score a Picasso for $500 on my way out! I paid $325, and the paint was barely dry!”
Regardless, Avrich notes he’s faced backlash for not pushing harder against Friedman’s narrative.
“I showed the film to Alec Baldwin,” he commented. Baldwin had once purchased a $190,000 counterfeit piece from another deceitful dealer. “He told me, ‘I cried, but that wasn’t my role—I wasn’t creating a 60 Minutes segment. This isn’t Michael Moore.’”
