Whiteley on Trial

by Gabriella Coslovich

  ‘Everybody that saw it, loved it, and then you know, a year later they all hate it, so … this is the way the art world works.’

  ‘So what did Nasteski pay for the painting?’ Stefanec asked. Again, Gant’s memory was fuzzy. He couldn’t remember but thought ‘we would have had a million dollars on it’.

  ‘But I don’t know what John sold it to Nasteski for,’ he said, distancing himself from the transaction.

  Stefanec suggested $1.1 million. Gant said that sounded ‘about right’.

  How much of that money did Gant receive, and who would have paid him? Playfoot would have paid him, but Gant couldn’t remember whether the money came to him or not.

  ‘I represented the picture to John and he would have paid me or I would have directed him where to pay and I don’t recall what I did.’

  ‘Right. Okay.’

  ‘But it’s never been an issue so I’ve never had to look it up.’ Was the orange painting in its original frame when it was sold to Nasteski?

  ‘That I can’t remember, but John would probably have a better idea than me.’

  Gant was nebulous about many things—prices, the money trail, frames, storage, ownership—but he was extravagant in his critique of the paintings. Even though a moment before he couldn’t remember whether he’d seen Whiteley’s Big Orange (Sunset)— despite claiming to know Whiteley’s work better than 99.9 per cent of Australian dealers—now he was offering his opinions ‘as an art historian’, telling police that the orange painting they’d shown him was the best of the three.

  ‘This one,’ he said, pointing to the blue painting, ‘this is the worst of any of them,’ he said. It was a ‘dog’.

  ‘Because in the seventies he was doing great work. By the late eighties he was hashing and rehashing stuff for the market and he needed money for his—he wanted money.

  ‘You know, he also had a terrible problem. He went through money like water, it would seem. And it’s interesting, when these were done he was not living with Wendy, she had nothing to do with him,’ Gant said, talking about the three paintings in question.

  ‘He was living with another woman, Janice. Who he left his estate to. And then when he died, Wendy and her daughter contested the will and had it overturned. And then Janice died soon after of a heroin overdose herself. So, you know, Wendy, who is the one they trot out now to say that something’s right or wrong, she wasn’t even around when Brett was doing these.’

  Stefanec asked whether Gant had ever rung Nasteski to ask for the orange painting back so he could refund him the money.

  ‘Me? No way,’ Gant said defiantly.

  ‘And to cancel the transaction?’

  ‘No way. Why would I do that?’

  ‘Oh, I was just asking whether you did.’

  But as the jury knew, Gant had.

  Stefanec asked whether Gant knew where the orange painting was now. Gant did, but he was not going to tell—unless it was important.

  ‘It is important,’ the officer said.

  ‘Well, I’ll be advised by my solicitor.’

  ‘Has it been sold to somebody else?’

  ‘That I couldn’t say. I just know where it is.’

  ‘Right, yeah.’

  ‘But I’m not the owner,’ Gant said, arms crossed.

  ‘Now, Lavender Bay through the Window, or Through the Window Lavender Bay, it’s been thrown up, two different names. Do you know what it’s actually titled?’

  ‘No, I don’t. And who’s thrown it up?’

  ‘Are you in possession of the painting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is somebody else in the possession of that painting?’

  ‘Well, they must be ‘cause I’m not.’

  The police had information that the painting was given to someone Gant knew in lieu of some debts. Was that person Guy Angwin?

  ‘No,’ Gant said. ‘And who gave you that information?’

  ‘It didn’t take place?’

  ‘Well, not in lieu of any debts, no.’

  ‘In payment for something?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Did he pay you for that painting?’

  ‘I … I just … again, I can’t remember. ‘Cause it’s a long time ago but … it’s not in lieu of any debts,’ Gant grumbled. ‘And it’s not for sale and I don’t even have any intention about wanting to talk about it. It’s a 100 per cent Brett Whiteley. And I don’t want it being besmirched any more by … see, you’ve only got this photo of it,’ he said pointing to the image, ‘so I don’t want this picture being publicised and being shitcanned and crucified when I know it’s right.’

  ‘Do you know where it is?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I know where it is, yeah.’

  The police returned to the subject of the catalogue—Gant said he had ‘only ever had a few proof copies from the printers’. He still had all the old artwork, so he got some copies made for himself.

  ‘But they’re just—they’re just made in today’s processes so they’re digital and—and all that crap,’ he said.

  The catalogue Playfoot gave to Nasteski was a copy—Gant’s solicitors were holding the original.

  ‘And I’ve also got a forensic report on it, if you want. You can have that as well,’ Gant said, suddenly amenable.

  An hour into the interview, the police confronted Gant with their allegation. They had information that the three Whiteleys were produced in Collingwood.

  ‘It’s absolute bullshit,’ Gant said in response.

  ‘There’s information to say that … View from the Sitting Room Window, Lavender Bay was taken to Collingwood. That frames were ordered to go to Collingwood and those frames were used on the Whiteley paintings that were then produced at Collingwood and sold. Do you have any comment to make on that?’

  ‘Absolutely none,’ Gant said, hands clasped behind his head once more, elbows jutting out.

  The police had information that Gant had offered the orange and blue paintings for sale saying that the vendor was a Melbourne collector.

  ‘Does that sound about right?’

  ‘M’mm.’

  ‘And did you offer any details of the owner …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘To any of those people?’

  ‘Not—certainly not to John Playfoot and … to Anita I would have, yeah.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘I would have told her it was Robert Le Tet … he will claim he wasn’t, but … notionally, as far as I’m concerned, ‘cause I owed him so much money and the picture was in his premises as part collateral and … but he’ll claim otherwise so … I’m not going to contest that. As far as I’m concerned, he says he wasn’t, he wasn’t.’

  When Anita Archer went to see Big Blue Lavender Bay in person at Le Tet’s office in South Melbourne, was Gant there?

  ‘I would have met her there, I don’t recall who else was there. Probably Robert’s secretary, I would think, but I’m not sure.’

  ‘Was Robert there?’

  ‘I can’t recall.’

  ‘And so why was it in his office?’

  ‘Because it was appropriate that it’d be there and it was—that’s the best I could say.’

  ‘Where was it prior to being in his office?’

  ‘In storage.’

  ‘Okay. Can you tell me where that was? The storage?’

  ‘Not a hundred per cent ‘cause I’m not a hundred per cent sure.’

  Stefanec asked whether Gant could recall any particular locations where the painting was kept.

  ‘I had it hanging at my gallery at one stage about ten years earlier. Not for very long. Otherwise a lot of the time it was parcelled up, in storage at Questco, but it was wrapped up.’

  A moment ago Gant had said that he wasn’t a hundred per cent sure where the painting was in storage. Now he was claiming it was mostly in storage at Questco.

  The second officer, Detective Senior Constable Tink, asked Gant about Archer telling Pridham that Le Tet was
the owner of Big Blue Lavender Bay. What did he have to say about that? It was ‘a fairly common thing to do in the art world’, Gant said, a way of protecting one’s sources. ‘So, yeah, so, she didn’t do anything knowingly wrong at all,’ Gant said.

  ‘So why would you lead her to believe that?’

  ‘’Cause it suited me to.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want everybody knowing what I happen to own or don’t own or have an interest in. So … I led her to believe that it was purely from him and in a lot of ways it was anyway, but he’s going to deny that so I will bow to that and just cop whatever. But that doesn’t mean the picture’s wrong. The picture’s a hundred per cent right.’

  It was the start of another long spiel about how lots of art dealers ‘give misleading ideas about where pictures come from’, because they don’t want other dealers stealing their clients and having access to their client’s collections. It was the same line Wraight had used in court, polishing it into a tale of subagent upon subagent. At the end of his lecture, Gant insisted: ‘The picture’s not a dud. There’s nothing wrong with the picture.’

  The officers waited for the sermon to end. Stefanec resumed questioning and asked Gant for the location of the orange painting and Lavender Bay through the Window.

  ‘Do you understand the importance for us to locate those paintings?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Gant replied obstinately.

  ‘Well, our concern is that they’re fraudulent paintings, forged. I know you’re saying they’re not. But our evidence is saying they are. And I’ll just ask you again if you’re prepared to tell us …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘…who owns them and where they are.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  Stefanec spelt out the allegation against Gant: the three paintings were painted by Aman Siddique. Gant knew they were fakes but sold them as original Brett Whiteleys, deceiving collectors into purchasing them.

  ‘You’re alleging. I find it laughable, but yeah, I understand what you’re alleging. I’m surprised you’re alleging,’ Gant responded.

  ‘Do you want to comment any further on that?’

  ‘Well, only that it’s ridiculous. But, you know, if you … if you really believe that then I’m obviously not a very good person at portraying my side of the story, so …’ Gant said, arms crossed.

  ‘All right, all right,’ Stefanec said, unfazed. He turned the conversation back to the ‘brown’ painting, telling Gant that the police were alleging that Siddique had used the ‘brown’ painting to produce the fakes. Gant became agitated, hands thumping the table once more.

  ‘I’ve heard all this crap before,’ he said, launching into another tirade. Everyone accused of forgery faced the same ‘bullshit’ allegations: that suspect artworks were an amalgam of the motifs from an artist’s genuine works. Of course the three paintings had elements in common with known Whiteley works—because Whiteley was simply ‘rehashing shit’ in the eighties. He wasn’t interested in doing any more Lavender Bay paintings.

  ‘And this is where these idiots like Sloggett have just got—they’re just so stupid—like, I’ve read all—I’ve read all the reports from Sloggett.’

  Next came a rant about Australia’s cultural ignorance.

  ‘Go through the museums in Paris today, go to the Louvre and you’ll find art students, as part of their training, they have to get up—they’re in there copying pictures. It’s not against the law to copy pictures by masters.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But Australia’s got this weird mentality that—Australia’s so stupid, we’re so unsophisticated and our so-called collectors are nouveau riche morons, most of them. That—that, you know, everything’s got to be original, it’s got to be special—it’s got to be this. The notion of copying a picture they think is criminal. It’s—it’s actually how people train to be artists. And it’s accepted practice everywhere in the world except Australia.’

  ‘Do you wish to say anything in answer to the charges?’ Stefanec asked.

  ‘Well, I haven’t been charged.’

  ‘No, just in relation to the possibility of those particular charges.’

  ‘Well, if I get charged I’ll defend it vigorously.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘And prove you all wrong.’

  There was little that Gant’s lawyers would need to add to his already well-refined arguments.

  The next morning, the jury watched Gant’s second interview with the police, a brief encounter on 9 April 2014, this time held at the Prahran Police Station. Stefanec had saved the best for last. If he was gloating internally as he shared his evidence with Gant, he did not show it. The officer promised to be quick. He slid a new batch of photographs towards Gant. The dealer looked at them and went quiet. This time there was no swagger, no boasting, just a strange, uncertain look on his face.

  ‘I wish I’d brought my glasses,’ he said. ‘Why is it taken from so high up?’

  ‘I can’t discuss that particular thing,’ Stefanec said. ‘What I’m alleging here is that this photo was taken approximately 2007—towards the end of 2007. This painting here, do you recognise that painting at all?’

  ‘Oh, it looks a bit like the brown painting that we had, yeah.’

  ‘So do you know the name of that by any chance?’

  ‘No, well, Lavender Bay, but I don’t think it is that.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, if I said to you that that was the View from the Sitting Room Window, Lavender Bay, you don’t think it’s that painting?’

  ‘Maybe it is. I don’t—to be honest I don’t know.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘If I could take the photo with me I could double-check for you.’

  The suggestion didn’t interest Stefanec.

  ‘This picture here, the larger blue one on that particular picture, what can you tell me about that?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Well, it looks like a painting in progress.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘In the style of Brett Whiteley,’ Gant said.

  ‘Do you recognise that painting …’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘… as one you’ve seen before?’

  ‘Nuh.’

  ‘Okay. If I said to you that was the painting Lavender Bay that was sold to Andrew Pridham …’

  ‘I would say it’s not …’ Gant answered, before the officer had finished asking.

  ‘You don’t believe that’s that painting?’

  ‘No, no way,’ he said, keeping his cool.

  Stefanec showed him another photograph shot from an unusual angle, this time of an orange painting, taken in 2008. Gant looked at the photo for quite some time, frowning.

  ‘2008?’ he said. ‘Why do you say 2008? How do you know when it was taken?’

  ‘I’ve got the digital properties of the photo,’ the officer replied.

  Stefanec showed him another image.

  ‘It looks like a very, very average Brett Whiteley. And it’s obviously at the same place ‘cause of the fence,’ Gant said. ‘It looks like an artist’s studio.’

  ‘If I said to you it’s inside Easey Street?’ Stefanec said.

  ‘It could be,’ Gant said, quietly. ‘I would not know. I don’t know. That looks like a storage area.’

  ‘We are alleging that that is the commencement of Orange Lavender Bay.’

  Gant looked intently at the photos, saying very little.

  ‘I could see how that could be the start of that,’ he said, hesitantly, pointing at the various photos.

  ‘What we’re alleging is that that is the Orange Lavender Bay painting and that it was in fact painted in 2008 … the painting you were involved in selling to Steven Nasteski.’

  ‘No, well, it can’t be the Orange Lavender Bay, so …’

  Stefanec pointed to another image.

  ‘Were you involved in the transaction, in the sale of that particular painting?’

  ‘I’v
e never seen that painting,’ he said.

  Stefanec kept showing him photos of Whiteley-style paintings in progress. Gant denied having seen any of them before.

  ‘Is there anything else you want to comment on or say, Peter?’

  ‘No, except that—well, I’m just curious as to the weird perspective on those photos.’

  The officer did not satisfy his curiosity but reminded him that he might be charged with obtaining financial advantage by deception.

  ‘Do you wish to say anything in answer to the potential charges or charge?’

  ‘No, it’s just bullshit.’

  After fifteen minutes Gant was released.

  ‘We’ve nearly been as quick as you said we would,’ he said breezily on his way out.

  Siddique retained his right to remain silent. His words were conveyed second-hand, through other witnesses, and now the Crown’s final witness was in the stand, Detective Senior Constable Justin Stefanec. When police raided the conservator’s Collingwood workshop on 5 March 2014, Siddique had told Stefanec that only he had access to the storeroom because he kept ‘paintings that are worth a million dollars’ in there.

  ‘The security and all that is critical,’ Siddique had said, ‘so at night-time sometimes after I finish work I put them under secure lock.’ He worked on ‘extremely expensive paintings’ in there, he had said. Clients were not taken to the storeroom, unless their paintings were in there and they wanted to see them. Siddique had confirmed to police that a Whiteley painting was delivered to Easey Street in April 2007. He also confirmed that doors had been delivered there. In the dock, Siddique sat tight-lipped and expressionless.

  It was now Stefanec’s turn to be cross-examined. The officer’s procedures were called into question. Why, van de Wiel asked, had the signatures on the suspect orange and blue paintings not been forensically tested? Because Victoria Police forensic officer David Black had told him that a conclusive result was not possible. But it had been possible for handwriting expert Neil Holland, a retired Victoria Police document examiner, who had given evidence at the McBride versus Christie’s case in Sydney in 2014, van de Wiel hit back. Holland had forensically tested the signature on the fake Tucker painting Faun and Parrot at the centre of that case and concluded that it was highly probable that the painting was not signed by Tucker. Why hadn’t Stefanec challenged Black when he said it couldn’t be done? Why didn’t Stefanec tell him that Holland had been able to do it? van de Wiel asked.