by Mark Forgy
That said, he still maintained that the vocal champions of these new and “facile” art movements were too often financially invested in their advancement. Modern art museums gathered momentum; their existence predicated on artistic integrity of their collections and the wisdom of those boards, directors, and contributors whose interests were substantial. As the price tags of their art rose into the millions, Elmyr wondered when the curtain would be pulled back and the hoax exposed. The mutated market for abstract art probably made Elmyr not feel so bad about selling his fakes. His buyers were at least getting a bigger bang for their buck, he believed. He also thought many of the “qualities” of contemporary art extolled by its defenders were often the product of smooth-talking snake oil pitchmen and mass hypnosis. He remained unconvinced in the face of this sway on public consciousness, insisting it, like the fashionable academic painters of the late nineteenth century, as the once-great but now obscure Meissonier, may not endure the test of time. He knew too well the fickleness of taste, having himself been a victim of its whims.
Whether Elmyr deserves notice beyond being a footnote in the history of twentieth-century art is a more complicated issue and a source of some debate. His artistic legacy, however muddled by his fakery, in all likelihood defies a catalogue raisonné. Where his authorship is clear, those works invite an honest evaluation, and in these instances their merit can be examined and compared to others, exponents of the School of Paris like himself. It is wholly fitting and appropriate, a comparison Elmyr would welcome. As for his fakes, his name will forever be linked to his illicit career that is unlikely to be matched ever again. I suspect it is here where his impact is felt most. In the wake of his long spree of deception, the art market has been quicker to discover and interdict fakers and forgers through improved laboratory analysis, a process that did not thwart Elmyr’s sales efforts in his day. Decisions by dealers or curators then relied more on a connoisseurship largely influenced by personal knowledge and opinion. In the post-Elmyr era, both institutions and individuals appear more gun-shy in authenticating works of art without a preponderance of proof supporting the provenance of a piece, and more often than not err on the side of caution, thereby avoiding any backdraft of scandal. While he could not be defined as a whistle-blower, his story illuminated much about the world of art that is neither refined nor praiseworthy, but rather a realm governed by profit motive, and frequently abject greed. Elmyr used the “system” and its weaknesses to his advantage, and in turn was used by it. I therefore view him more as a player than a villain in this theater piece. As someone pointed out, “Corporations are amoral…they operate without regard to morality.” If this is true, then ethics are not imperatives or constraints defining how corporations operate or safeguard public well-being. This loophole might then explain how Elmyr shed a sense of guilt attached to his crimes.
Don Myers, the director of the Hillstrom Museum of Art, offers an intriguing view of the forger’s role in art in his director’s notes for the exhibition Elmyr de Hory, Artist and Faker, in 2010:
Many of the most famous forgers, including de Hory, were very intelligent and knowledgeable about art and in general, in addition to being talented artists capable of producing admired artwork.
Infrequently, that admiration remains even after revelation of forgery, as when the purchasers of Giovanni Bastianini’s bust of Lucrezia Donati discovered that it was not a Renaissance work as they had been told, declaring nevertheless pleasure in knowing that a talented artist such as Bastianini was still alive; or in the case of collectors who learned from their dealer that their Modigliani was actually a de Hory fake, then electing not to return it, noting that they bought it not because they thought it was by a certain artist but because they loved and admired it. Such admiration, however, more often completely dissolves away after forgery has been revealed, and one of the most fascinating questions in considering fakes is how experts—sometimes the same people who had previously prized the works—later instead see them as quite poor works of art. As David M. Wilson states in the introduction to the exhibition catalogue of Fake? The Art of Deception, held at the British Museum in London in 1990, when Wilson was its director, “the final question is the one that appears to be unanswerable, although psychologists have tried to explain it: why does an object which is declared a fake lose virtue immediately? This question, which concerns the eye and mind of the beholder, should be pondered by all who read this book or visit the exhibition which it records.”
That question—of why the very same drawing or painting can appear beautiful when it is believed to be a genuine work by Matisse but, after it has been revealed as a fake by Elmyr de Hory, is perceived as unaccomplished, dead, and despicable—likely has much to do with the manner in which the human brain perceives. Aesthetic purists embrace the idea of the unaffected, pure eye, and hold that an artwork can and should be judged only by its appearance, without regard to anything outside of the purely visual operation, an attitude termed “aesthetic empiricism.” The relatively new field of neuroesthetics, however, has shown that vision is not just in the eye, but is conditioned and affected by the brain. Furthermore, neuroesthetic scientists such as Semir Zeki, professor of neurobiology at University College, London, have suggested that it is likely that a connoisseurship system exists in the brain and probably can soon be located—as was noted in an article by Ann Landi titled “Is Beauty in the Brain of the Beholder?” in ARTnews in January 2010. Thus the brain is equipped with an area that assesses, categorizes, and groups artworks seen by the eyes, and also, using its collected data, intermediates in how those artworks are perceived. Some of the disdain for a newly revealed fake artwork comes from the brain shifting its functioning toward the object with the added knowledge about its nature. In other words, the brain, based on the new information it has acquired, changes what is actually seen. This is, effectively, a more scientific basis or explanation for observations made by art historian and perceptual psychologist Rudolf Arnheim (1904–2007), whose Art and Visual Perception: A Psychology of the Creative Eye (1954) remains a fundamental study on the perception of art. Arnheim has noted, in his essay “On Duplication,” in The Forger’s Art: Forgery and the Philosophy of Art (Denis Dutton, ed., 1983), that “perception is not a mechanical absorption of stimuli but a search for structure,” continuing by stating that the “same painting, considered…a forgery, is not only judged differently but actually seen as a different painting.” He further noted, “Once a work is suspected of being a fake, it becomes a different perceptual object.”
The point is that, in some significant, physiological way, a fake artwork is not seen in the same way as when it was believed to be genuine. Gertrude Stein famously claimed that “a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,” but the brain, armed with newly acquired facts, is capable of changing a rose into a weed, a beautiful artwork into a despised and ugly fake. Thus a drawing by Elmyr de Hory that was accepted as a fine example of the draftsmanship of Henri Matisse or Amedeo Modigliani can suddenly, when its true genesis is uncovered, look far less accomplished—perhaps especially to those who have been embarrassed or harmed by the trick. But to those who are removed from the situation, as is the case with most viewers of de Hory’s artwork today, it is possible to appreciate the evident abilities of the artist, and to perhaps regret that his talent was diverted from what might have been.
So, while public perception of the faker and his art is now better understood by recent research into brain function, he still stands naked before public judgment, unable to shed his mug-shot image and burden of criminality. However, once more this invites a closer look into the strangely symbiotic relationship of the faker or forger within the largest unregulated market in the world—the art market.
The vertical rise in popularity of online auction sites, most notably eBay, or television broadcasts of Antiques Roadshow, give witness to how pervasive public interest has become and how these formats are an instant source of reference for any artwork or collectible the
world over. Fascination with art has never been greater, its audience larger, or the challenges of the fertile market this activity has created been more substantial. Its genesis has its roots in the mid-twentieth-century art boom that rode a postwar economic wave of prosperity, and Elmyr was in the right place at the right time to take full advantage of this gold-rush fever and satisfy his buyer’s desire for his believable and always-affordable fakes.
He recognized the roles of his enablers and how often mutual interests intersected at the bottom line, whether that meant profit or prestige. And it is this common ground, where morality is brushed aside by willing participants that renders laws ineffective inhibitors to art crimes. The lessons learned from this forger’s tale, I suspect, may well arm the art world with knowledge to avoid being duped by future artists gone to the dark side, but will do little to thwart the indomitable self-interest and mercantile survival-of-the-fittest instinct that prevails in the art world. Furthermore, as this return to social Darwinism gains traction, the notion that business (any business) should be tempered with a modicum of fair play (morality), which lends civility and benefits a society, is then discarded and has no place in laissez-faire capitalism. If greed then is the engine that drives our economy, it is unsurprising that this is the same rule by which criminals play. In addition, “regulation” is not a welcome remedy, but rather a dirty word to the free-market slaves. They consistently insist that measures meant to police business practices are hostile to free enterprise, thus creating the loopholes and havens for unethical or illegal activity. The steady ascent of prices attached to art continues to provide the greatest incentive to make art crime a growth industry in a bleak landscape of economic disparity. According to The Journal of Art Crime in 2010, “The annual dollar value of art and cultural property theft is exceeded only by trafficking in illicit narcotics and arms.” Elmyr’s saga may then become a how-to book rather than a cautionary parable to the would-be forger.
Profit-motive is what art dealers and Elmyr had in common, and in this respect, they were cut from the same cloth. This reality is what obscures the line that separates Elmyr from his victims. Law-and-order enthusiasts see less gray than black and white here, and that allows their condemnation of Elmyr and others like him to be unequivocal. This moral superiority, in my view, is disingenuous in light of a culture that discourages stricter regulation of this business. The laws that now exist governing the art trade are as unsettling as they are ineffectual. A dealer cannot be prosecuted for fraud unless he “knowingly” traffics in inauthentic or stolen works of art. “Plausible deniability” is a time-honored escape mechanism for those fleeing accountability. Even though establishing provenance of an artwork is an important part of the due-diligence process in buying or selling, it too often gets short shrift, as witnessed by numerous instances of reputable auction houses selling works either stolen or looted. Nor do they accept any responsibility for determining authenticity, as that is not part of their business. They are merchants with deep pockets and worldwide influence who work tirelessly to maximize profits. Yet, I expect they too would disavow engaging in any “illegal” activity.
The New York Times featured an article in February, 2012, about a “little known art dealer” who sold—repeatedly—to Ann Freedman, president of Knoedler & Company, New York’s oldest gallery, a passel of modern masters, including works by Motherwell, Rothko, and Pollack. Their authenticity became a firestorm of contentious lawsuits that coincided with the demise of the 160-year-old gallery. Only after huge sums of money changed hand did paint analysis indicate the presence of pigments not contemporary to those used in the purportedly genuine works. That these transactions occurred without any preliminary testing, is only slightly less astounding than the fact that the source of the art preferred to remain anonymous—and that raised no red flags. While the lack of due diligence in establishing the bona fides of provenance is mystifying, it suggests a mind-set prone to engage in risky business little changed from the halcyon days of Elmyr’s fakery. As long as the business practices of the art world bend to the bad habits of self-interest or greed, a fruitful future is assured for forgers and fakers. This inertia guarantees a paradigm impeding the forces of change. As Atlantic writer Megan McArdle points out, “Even a dysfunctional culture, once well established, is astonishingly efficient at reproducing itself.” (the Atlantic, March, 2012). Here again, fine art has a cachet, a public perception, warranted or not, that dealers of such refinements and the cultural elite who make up their clientele enjoy a trustworthiness implied by economic or social status.
Democratic Senator George Washington Plunkett was famous for his alacrity to engage in “honest graft.” In this regard he said, “I seen my opportunity and I took it.” Elmyr just did the same. In totality, when viewing the very serious damage done by nefarious but legal Wall Street traders, speculators, bankers, junk-bond brokers, and insurance, pharmaceutical, petroleum, medical, and food industry giants and their paidoff political cronies, Elmyr’s crimes amounted to chump change. For these reasons, Elmyr’s exploits raise no sense of outrage in me, nor does he deserve an afterlife of perdition. And, while I am mindful not to excuse his criminality, but better understand it, I would argue that he actually provided something beautiful at fire-sale prices, and never pauperized his victims in the process.
Elmyr not only understood the murky ethics of these institutions and the powerful art dealers’ cartel, but also seamlessly fit in among the champagne-sipping society, the patrons of this world whose thirst for his fakes seemed unquenchable. Over time, as his own works were consistently rejected, his bitterness replaced remaining vestiges of guilt attached to his art crimes. After all, value, public esteem and commercial success were kept at bay only by a signature that appeared in the lower corner of his art, whereas the demand for his art was vigorous under the names of Picasso, Matisse, Modigliani, and other established artists. The question that persisted was “If my fakes earn respect and acceptance, and my own work is grounded in the same ability, then why can’t I too earn the acclaim given others?” Moreover, he thought his talent was equal to or greater than some of those he emulated. Elmyr liked to ask, “Would you prefer a bad original to a good fake?” It drew attention to how we value art and how much is based on intrinsic merit.
I suppose the foremost lesson Elmyr imparted to me was that we should not immediately look to the signature on an artwork to seek validation, nor to the price attached to it. He also rejected the notion of art as an investment and thought if these became the benchmarks to determine the worth of art, then for those whose judgment was based on these ephemeral criteria, he had little sympathy. Why? Because, if we put stock in the signature alone, we don’t understand art. If we view it as a commodity, we are courting disappointment. If we think of art as an investment vehicle, we disconnect it from its cultural significance. Furthermore, Elmyr knew these distorted motives put him and his art on an uneven playing field. In a way, he also knew that he was powerless to change a system that panders to artifice, and in the end, he too realized that his celebrity and eventual commercial success was built on that artifice. People became enchanted by owning an Elmyr. I could see in his eyes his mixed emotions that the onetime rebel could only go with the flow. So, he resigned himself to this irony. Still, it was better than going unrecognized. That recognition meant that people knew his name—and if they knew him, they could love him.
For my part, these new discoveries of Elmyr’s past, gaining a clearer view of a man’s life consumed by deception and the realization that even I was a victim of his lies, oddly do little to change my feelings about him. As Dr. Ford once more eloquently states:
Trust is not destroyed by deceit but rather by a loss of confidence that the offending party does not have our best interests at heart.
Elmyr never once gave me pause to doubt his affection or loyalty to me, and nothing assails my love for him. My friendship with him was a blessing, and I will feel endlessly indebted to him for allowing me into h
is life, being a witness to an extraordinary man and time, and enabling me to now share that unique perspective. I’m lucky to have known him and loved him. I’m also confident that there are people out there enjoying his art—no matter whose name is on it.
Elmyr’s self-portrait – oil
bronze bust of Elmyr de Hory by James Goodbrand
Acknowledgements
This book’s completion is largely due to the help, patience, and better judgment of friends, scholars, editors, and others kind enough to read or listen to rough drafts or excerpts, and who exercised more diplomacy than I could ever display.
First, I want to thank my friends, Jeff Oppenheim and Chris Allaire for giving me the inspiration to attempt writing this story. Their conviction that it merited a feature film treatment inaugurated this journey. It has not only allowed me to pay my respect to my dear friend Elmyr, it has turned me into a writer, for better or worse.
My advisors and friends, Ian Graham Leask, Lauren Coss, Susan King, Nancy Adam, and Scott Ross have provided valuable advice during this project, which leaves me in their debt. My principal editor Jennifer Lynn took on the daunting task of dusting and cleaning these pages in a way that made sense of it all. My special thanks also to Sharon Stevenson for her splendid book cover design. Most of all, it is my wife, Alice Doll, who deserves full credit for her relentless support and love she has shown me throughout these past years.
My good friend Colette Loll Marvin brought a depth of research and detail to this story that continues to amaze me. Dr. Jeff Taylor and Andrea Megyes helped enormously in gaining access to Elmyr’s family records in Budapest, and interviewing Edith Tenner, Elmyr’s last surviving family member.