“Do you have any idea what they’re looking to pay for this?” asked Mackenzie.
“No, at least not for any individual painting. The entire block is probably in the ten to fifteen million dollar range,” replied Ariadne.
“I can see why they want to get them authenticated.”
“So, what do you know about authentication? Have you ever worked on an authentication before?” probed Ariadne.
“I had one class on it at NYU, nothing too serious. I’m familiar with the major ways that people go about looking for forgeries, but I’ve never had any experience actually doing it. I’m sort of excited to see how you do it.”
Ariadne sat on one of the cushioned stools next to the painting and motioned for Mackenzie to have a seat as well.
“Okay,” Ariadne sighed. “Let me give you a quick overview of what we’re trying to accomplish here. If you’ve heard it before, let me know.” Mackenzie got the distinct impression that Ariadne saw her as more of a burden than an asset.
“Forgery is a very specialized craft. It’s as much about being an artist as it is about being a con man. Good technique is critical, but there is a lot of psychology that comes into play in any successful forgery. Forging old masters is getting very difficult, but not impossible. The main reason is that a lot of people, people whom one would expect to know better, don’t bother seeking out the experts and getting a piece of artwork tested using proper scientific methods.” Mackenzie picked up a note of disdain in her voice directed at those individuals who failed to take advantage of experts such as Ariadne.
“Let’s assume that there is a painting by a famous artist, a Velázquez, for instance, that has been hanging in the Prado for seventy five years. Back then, there weren’t particularly good scientific analyses to help detect forgeries. So while the museum would be able to pull up the painting’s provenance or its pedigree, there would be no guarantee that the painting as well as the documentation wasn’t fake. If that painting that has been sitting on the walls of the Prado for seventy five years comes on the open market, say at a Christie’s auction, it’s more likely that it would not be subjected to rigorous testing to confirm that it was really a Velázquez as opposed to a forgery.”
Mackenzie jumped in, “You mean it would be tested.”
“No,” corrected Ariadne. “It most likely would not be tested. There’s too much money and reputation at stake. The Prado would not pay the money to have it tested. Testing would either confirm what everyone already assumes, that it’s the real thing, in which case they really haven’t gained anything and they spent a lot of money. But if it turns out to be a forgery, then not only does the painting become effectively worthless, the reputation of the Prado’s entire collection is called into question. It’s a no-win scenario for them.”
“But it’s probably a reasonable risk, right? I mean, if it’s been sitting in the Prado for that long, it’s probably been viewed and evaluated by dozens, if not hundreds of art critics and Velázquez scholars. If it really was a forgery, it would have been found out years ago, wouldn’t it?” asked Mackenzie skeptically.
Ariadne shook her head. “One of the greatest forgery teams in history, John Drewe and John Myatt, were able to forge approximately two hundred paintings of mid-tier artists, such as Giacometti, Millet, Georges Braque, and Ben Nicholson, to name a few, for prices ranging from $40,000 to over $250,000 each. Myatt was the artist, but the real mastermind behind the plan was Drewe. He realized early on that the documentation of the painting’s history, from owner to owner—in other words, its provenance—was just as important, if not more important than the painting itself. If you could show direct and credible evidence of the painting’s history, then no one would question the painting itself. That’s where Drewe’s real genius showed.”
Ariadne was becoming a bit more animated. Mackenzie got the feeling that while Ariadne was obviously not in favor of forgery, she held a grudging respect for the people who were able to pull them off. Perhaps catching them at their game was part of the thrill of this whole painstaking process.
“For the price of two forged paintings that he donated to a fundraising auction, he was able to gain full access to the archives of some of London’s greatest museums, including the National Art Library and the Victoria and Albert Museum. With access to the records themselves, he went about inserting new pages with photos of Myatt’s forgeries along with fake provenances into the museum’s record books. So should a gallery or a collector wish to research a particular painting, namely one of the forgeries that Myatt had made, Drewe would recommend that they look to the National Art Library archives in order to feel comfortable with the lineage and authenticity of the paintings. This all happened in the 1980s and 1990s. We’re not talking about ancient history here. Even today with internet access to these archives, you are still making the assumption that the information in the archives is legitimate. All the internet has really done is provide broader and faster access to potentially bogus information.”
Mackenzie nodded. “Actually, I remember reading about them in class. I remember thinking at the time how easy it was to pass off a forgery as long as you had the proper documentation.”
“Also, even if you do use the latest technology and analyses to determine the authenticity of a piece of artwork, it’s not as clear cut as you imagine. For instance, with dendrochronology, we can tell the exact year that someone felled the tree that was used to make the panel for a painting. But if someone were able to get hold of some original panels or planks from the right time period and then completely strip and paint over them, they would pass that test with flying colors. That’s one of the problems with dendrochronology and why we use IR spectroscopic analysis more often.”
“Wouldn’t an X-ray be able to detect that it was painted over?” asked Mackenzie.
“Not really,” said Ariadne. Mackenzie could tell that Ariadne was fascinated by this whole subject and probably didn’t get a lot of opportunities to talk about it in this much detail. She was tempted to start taking notes, but decided to just pay attention instead. “You run into the same problem with X-rays, Wood’s light, microscopic analysis, ultraviolet, infrared and autoradiography studies. If the forger has been careful and hasn’t used paints from the local art supply store to paint a Rembrandt, then he might be able to pass all of the scientific tests. Science really works best at flagging the most glaring irregularities, like twentieth century paint on an eighteenth century painting. Having said all that, it’s getting much harder to pass off a newly created work as something significantly older.” Ariadne paused and took a sip of bottled water before continuing. She had wrapped the bottle in a paper napkin so that her hands didn’t get wet. Even sipping water she looked casually elegant, thought Mackenzie. She wondered if she had been raised in a wealthy family or just had impeccable manners.
“Art historians and connoisseurs aren’t immune either. Van Meegeren, perhaps the most famous forger of all time, sold fake Vermeers for millions of dollars to buyers as sophisticated as Andrew Carnegie and Hermann Goering. Not only that, he was so good that he accomplished such successful ruses by fooling the top art experts of the day. His paintings hung in the top galleries in Europe and the U.S., including the Louvre and the Met. In fact, his Christ in Emmaus was hailed by experts as perhaps the greatest Vermeer of all.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Mackenzie, sharing in Ariadne’s excitement. “I remember seeing some of his paintings and some were amazing, while some of them that passed as Vermeers were horrible. Anyone looking at them now would see in a second that they aren’t Vermeers.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Ariadne with a sly smile, waggling her finger. “If I told you that those Vermeers had been sitting in the Louvre for the past century and they were considered to be some of his greatest works, you would already be biased to see them in a certain light. Sometimes it’s the most sophisticated art connoisseurs that are the most likely to be taken advantage of, precisely because they don’t think
that they could be taken advantage of.”
Mackenzie had to agree. Her father had told her as much years earlier. He had basically explained it as everyone can be suckered, and rich people are more likely to be suckers because they’re convinced they can’t be suckered.
“At the end of the day, there’s still a great deal of speculation involved in authenticating a piece of art. The best that we can say after all of the tests and the reasoned analysis by someone familiar with that genre and time period is that the documentation, the scientific tests, the general style of the artist, etc., would strongly suggest that it is an original. In other words, there is nothing to suggest that it is not an original. But that doesn’t mean that it is an original.”
“What about the piece you’re currently working on? Where do you stand at this point?” Mackenzie asked, looking at the painting in front of them.
“Good question,” replied Ariadne, gesturing towards the panel. Mackenzie was again caught by the elegance of her movements. The hands of most artists she knew, including her own, tended to be worn and stained because of the chemicals they used for cleaning brushes. But Ariadne’s hands were supple and exquisitely manicured. She moved with a genteel grace that gave off an air of wealth and refinement.
“Here’s where I am so far in terms of the process. I’ve X-rayed it, and the underlying panel is clean. It wasn’t painted over anything else. Also, it doesn’t appear that the painting has been touched up, which is impressive because it’s in great shape, as you can see. Someone took very good care of it, kept it out of direct sunlight, didn’t expose it to large swings in temperature and humidity.”
“But couldn’t that be a red flag for you?” suggested Mackenzie. “What I mean is that this painting dates from 1492 or thereabout. There is no discoloration, no significant fading. The red and green of St. John’s tunic and cape are stunning. There’s almost no craquelure either.”
Craquelure is the formal name of the delicate, shallow network of crisscrossing cracks that appear on most old paintings. Craquelure occurs because oil paintings are multilayered, combining thin layers of glue, followed by gesso, typically made from glue and chalk, a priming layer of oil and then subsequent layers of oil paints, to get the right hues and shades. A final layer of varnish, maybe from tree resin, is applied to protect the painting. Over time, with slight changes in humidity, temperature, etc., canvas, as well as wood, expands and contracts, putting more strain on the underlying layers of sealer, primer, glue, paint and resin, and then small hairline cracks begin to emerge.
“Very good. You’re right, there is no craquelure. Why might that be?” probed Ariadne.
“Well,” Mackenzie paused and thought about the question. “I can only think of two reasons. One would be that the painting isn’t nearly as old as it is purported to be, in which case it’s a forgery. The second would be that it is done completely in tempera.” She smiled confidently. “The painting I was working on with Anthony was in tempera and he said they don’t show craquelure.”
“Ah yes, the talented and charming Mr. Bataglia,” responded Ariadne with a discernible edge to her tone. “I’m sure you’re learning a great deal from him.”
Mackenzie wasn’t sure what Ariadne meant by that, but there was a definite chill attached to that last statement. Was Ariadne jealous of her working with Anthony?
“Yes, he’s been amazing to work with,” replied Mackenzie matter-of-factly. “Is there anything about him that you want to share? I take it that you’re not a big fan of his.”
Ariadne shook her head and gently held up her left hand in protest. “No, no, of course not.” She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully, and then continued. “There’s just something odd about him that raises questions in my mind. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time searching for forgeries, but he makes my radar go up and I don’t really know why.”
“Anything specific that makes you suspicious?” asked Mackenzie, clearly taken aback by Ariadne’s impression of Anthony.
“Nothing in particular,” admitted Ariadne, looking around the workshop to make sure none of the other restorers could hear her. Fortunately, they were off in a far corner and many of the other workers were either done for the day or engrossed in their own work far at the other end of the room. Anthony was off today, his work area clean and free of any sign of habitation. “But sometimes,” she said quietly, “when something or someone seems too perfect, it makes me wonder.” She looked up at Mackenzie and smiled conspiratorially. “But he is awfully good looking, I have to give him that.”
Mackenzie smiled at Ariadne, but she was left feeling uncomfortable. Ariadne’s tone had shifted from professorial to downright snarky when she referred to Anthony. Maybe there was something in their past that led her to negativity. She thought it best not to pursue it at this point but made a mental note to dig into it later.
“In any case,” continued Ariadne, focusing back on the artwork in front of them, “you’re right. This painting was done entirely in tempera, which doesn’t experience craquelure to the same extent as oil and varnish. It also makes dating it extremely easy because the tempera base they used at that time was almost entirely made up of egg yolk and water. An organic compound like egg yolk is ideal for analysis. I took a tiny small sample from the corner and had it tested using an infrared spectrophotometer. This one comes back right in the appropriate time period, 1485 to 1495. This painting was supposedly painted in 1492, the same year Columbus discovered America, so that analysis supports its age, at least.”
“You mentioned the wood panel itself and that you don’t use dendrochronology much anymore. Why not?” Mackenzie asked, looking at her notes.
“Like I said, that’s a good method for some things, like dating wood in ships. Dendrochronology can tell you not only the year that a tree was felled, but it can pretty much tell you where, right down to the specific forest. But a smart forger can get their hands on an old plank.”
Ariadne paused and leafed through a stack of manila folders on the workbench. She pulled one folder out from the stack and took out two sheets of computer printouts with lines that looked like icicles dripping from the top of the page.
“Take a look at these,” said Ariadne with a note of mild excitement. “These are two analyses using the IR spectroscope. The one on the left is of the surface layer of the wood from this painting and the one on the right is from the wood on the inside of the plank. Do you notice anything?” She laid the two sheets on the table in front of Mackenzie.
Mackenzie had never seen an IR spectroscope analysis before, although she was familiar with the general theory. They looked very similar to each other but several of the downward spikes differed between the two reports. “I don’t know, they look pretty similar, but there are some differences,” she replied meekly, not wanting to sound like a complete idiot.
Ariadne nodded in agreement. She pointed to three clear differences in the depth and width of the icicles. “In an older painting the profile of the surface will be much different because it has been exposed to the elements more than the inside of the plank. If it’s just an old plank that was recently painted, then the two profiles will appear identical.”
“Clever,” admitted Mackenzie. “It sounds like you’ve pretty much wrapped this up.”
“Not quite,” cautioned Ariadne. “We can say with great certainty that the wood panel is the right age, and that the paint used is also the right age. So we’re pretty good there. What science can’t tell us is who painted it. For that we need some more subjective analyses.
“This painting was supposedly painted by the Master of Moulins. He was a very prolific painter at that point in time and, although his true identity isn’t known, we think that he was either Jean Perreal, the official painter of Charles VIII and Margaret of Austria, or that he was actually the Flemish painter Jean Hay. What you and I are going to do is sift through every painting we can find that is attributed to this artist, analyze their structure, style, use of
color and brushwork and compare it to this one.”
“We have another Master of Moulins here, don’t we?” asked Mackenzie eagerly.
“Yes, we have one here and there are two others at the Met,” replied Ariadne. “I’m going to review those personally. I want you to go through everything you can find online and do a similar analysis. Let’s see what we come up with. I’ll give you the same notes template I use for analyzing the paintings and we can compare notes in a couple of days.”
Mackenzie was so excited she squirmed in her seat. “Sounds like a great plan. Would you mind if I shadowed you while you reviewed the one here at the Cloisters so I can get a feel for how you approach it?” Mackenzie asked timidly.
“Of course,” responded Ariadne. “I’d welcome another set of eyes on these. No matter how many times I do these and how confident I am in my findings, there’s always a part of me that wonders if someone was able to slip something past me. The hacks are easy to find. But the real master forgers are meticulous and they’re clever. You have to be on constant guard because even if you’re looking for them, they can fool you.”
Mackenzie saw that glint in Ariadne’s eyes again that seemed to tell her that she begrudgingly respected the great forgers. Her dad had told her many times that most criminals were idiots and, if left to their own devices, they would get themselves caught. It was the criminal geniuses that posed the most danger, and also the most challenge. In thirty years on the force he said he had only run into three, but those three were the ones he thought of most, and ultimately held in the highest esteem.
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