Is It Real Art or Just Another Fake?
In the spirit of Cole Porter, one might ask, “Is it authentic sea turtle soup or just a sham?”
Susie Hodge’s latest book, *Art Fraud: 50 Fakes That Scammed the Art World*, prompts a deep reflection on the authenticity of art. It makes you question if anything is genuine at all.
“Art fraud is widespread,” Hodge states bluntly. “Many experts estimate that around fifty percent of the art circulating today is counterfeit.”
If that statistic sounds unbelievable, you might not be aware of how deep the rabbit hole goes.
*Art Fraud* delves into notorious forgery cases, exposing the art world’s dirty little secrets. It turns out, almost anyone—from seasoned experts to green online bidders—can fall for these deceits.
It’s worth noting, artists have long been inspired by the styles and techniques of their predecessors. The ancient Romans, for instance, were so adept at mimicking Greek sculptures that today, scholars struggle to pinpoint the origins of certain iconic pieces.
Even exceptional artists weren’t above the fray. Michelangelo famously misrepresented one of his cupids as a Roman original. And Canova once painted a fraudulent self-portrait of Giorgione.
Pablo Picasso once quipped, “Good artists copy; great artists steal.” This not only reflects his practice of borrowing innovation but also hints at a blurry line between inspiration and imitation.
The Louvre has a tradition where artists can copy the masterworks on its walls. Interestingly, Manet even met Degas while working on a replication of a Velázquez painting. Yet, there’s a fine line between mere copying and fraudulently claiming someone else’s creation as your own. At the Louvre, copies must be stamped and cannot mirror the size of the original.
France’s rigorous rules underscore the delicate balance between artistry and deception, signaling how easily one can slip into fraud.
*Art Fraud* goes a bit deeper, offering snapshots of renowned impostors who momentarily succeeded in posing their works as those of masters. And who knows? Perhaps the most skillful forgers are still eluding capture.
The narrative of *Art Fraud* explores the methodologies and motivations behind art forgery. You might find yourself developing a strange respect for the art of deceit.
Often, it’s not solely about financial gain. For some forgers—whether ancient or contemporary—there’s an element of ego at play when they attempt to pass off their works as masterpieces. Occasionally, counterfeiters aim to expose flaws in the art market, crafting forgeries meant to reveal underlying issues.
There are also those, often innocent, who are exploited by unscrupulous dealers into creating fakes without realizing their work is being used for deception.
Alceo Dossena, an Italian sculptor from the late 19th to early 20th century, exemplifies this tragic scenario. A keen student of the Old Masters, he crafted Gothic and Renaissance sculptures that impressed, even fooling the sharpest critics of his time.
Two Roman dealers commissioned Dossena, leading him to believe his creations were for an American church needing aged statues. Using unusual methods, including baths of urine for artificial aging, Dossena produced works that gained entry into collections like those of the Cleveland Museum of Art and the Louvre.
His deception only began to unravel when new X-ray technology revealed modern elements embedded in his sculptures.
Had Dossena been recognized as a groundbreaking artist in his own right, who knows how history might have seen him? After the truth about his deceptions emerged, interest in his work significantly declined.
In contrast, Dutch forger Henricus “Han” van Meegeren recognized the game he was playing. He profited immensely by producing dozens of fakes attributed to Vermeer and other Dutch masters, even convincing the infamous Nazi Hermann Göring to swap looted pieces for his forgeries.
Van Meegeren only confessed after the war when faced with severe consequences for plundering art during the Nazi occupation. He demonstrated his technique publicly, highlighting that the real victim of his fraud was the deceased Marshal of State.
Another fascinating case is American forger Mark Landis. Unlike many, he wasn’t driven by greed; he simply wanted attention, using fake personas to gain recognition in museums.
He would whip up forgeries in a matter of hours with everyday materials, driven by a desire to give his work away and experience the admiration that followed. It was, apparently, a heady rush.
A convincing backstory is crucial for a forger; they need to weave a narrative around the provenance of their work. British painter John Myatt famously marketed himself as a hired copyist, using unconventional materials to create his fakes, while his accomplice constructed elaborate false histories to support their existence.
The latest headline-grabbing case of art deception, which led to substantial financial losses and the closure of a historic New York museum, echoes Dossena’s story. Art dealer Grafira Rosales claimed discovery of an impressive cache of modern masterpieces allegedly sourced from a figure shrouded in mystery.
The truth? An immigrant from Queens had unwittingly created abstract works in his garage, entirely unaware of their eventual misuse.
Art fraud may seem easy to spot in hindsight, but identifying these fakes in real-time is a different beast altogether. Today, most agree that Van Meegeren’s legacy firmly establishes him as a forger.
Ultimately, the narrative of *Art Fraud* shows how easily people accept prevailing beliefs, often deferring to experts when it comes to authenticity. This is particularly evident when uncovering a lie offers little reward beyond the acquisition of knowledge.
As we step into a future shaped by generative AI and “deepfakes,” the only implication we can confidently draw is a growing skepticism towards visual authenticity.
