Koos Raucamp (ANEFO); GaHetNa (Natiionaal Archief NL)
The art world: where paintings are sold and bought for fortunes. The cynical eye and mind of a purist art lover may see in this statement the sad state art is reduced to – serving as a form of currency – despite this having been the inescapable case since time immemorial. And yet this is often a matter of rigorous etiquette in the rigid world of serious art and art collecting. Anyone familiar with the proceedings of acquiring a painting at an art gallery will know never to directly ask the price of a painting. This stage is arrived at only after lengthy conversations with the gallery owner, and plenty of proof of an individual’s credentials as a reputable patron of the arts. These decorous traditions aside, it is altogether too frequent that such patrons cannot tell a Manet from a Monet, and that their sole interest is in owning a work by a famous name, foregoing the appreciation due first and foremost to the talent and craftsmanship that made the painting itself. Such is the lure of the symbolic value of art, in particular of paintings. As the joke goes, a millionaire walks out of an art gallery and, counting on his fingers, remarks to his wife on his arm: “Well, we’ve got three Picassos, two Dalis and a Cézanne – that’s the Christmas cards settled.”
Looking beyond this millionaire’s mildly eclectic taste, it is also possible to see why the art market may easily run more to stem than blossom, with the ominous shadows of forgeries perpetually looming behind the corner. This blinding gluttony for ‘names,’ much like children’s collections of football player cards, is the cause for the reports of at least half of the art world being a forgery. Collectors want more pieces by long-dead and famed artists, and there are those who are just willing to fulfil their wishes.
The art world: where paintings are sold and bought for fortunes. The cynical eye and mind of a purist art lover may see in this statement the sad state art is reduced to – serving as a form of currency – despite this having been the inescapable case since time immemorial. And yet this is often a matter of rigorous etiquette in the rigid world of serious art and art collecting. Anyone familiar with the proceedings of acquiring a painting at an art gallery will know never to directly ask the price of a painting. This stage is arrived at only after lengthy conversations with the gallery owner, and plenty of proof of an individual’s credentials as a reputable patron of the arts. These decorous traditions aside, it is altogether too frequent that such patrons cannot tell a Manet from a Monet, and that their sole interest is in owning a work by a famous name, foregoing the appreciation due first and foremost to the talent and craftsmanship that made the painting itself. Such is the lure of the symbolic value of art, in particular of paintings. As the joke goes, a millionaire walks out of an art gallery and, counting on his fingers, remarks to his wife on his arm: “Well, we’ve got three Picassos, two Dalis and a Cézanne – that’s the Christmas cards settled.”
Looking beyond this millionaire’s mildly eclectic taste, it is also possible to see why the art market may easily run more to stem than blossom, with the ominous shadows of forgeries perpetually looming behind the corner. This blinding gluttony for ‘names,’ much like children’s collections of football player cards, is the cause for the reports of at least half of the art world being a forgery. Collectors want more pieces by long-dead and famed artists, and there are those who are just willing to fulfil their wishes.
Perhaps the most famously known case shook the art world just as the world itself had stopped shaking, following the end of the Second World War. For a painting to be recognised as a true piece by an artist, an excruciatingly solid provenance has to be established – a lifeline of the painting, from the painter’s easel through all its owners, step by step from the depths of history to the present day. Think of it as a pedigree or genealogy, if you like. While this is more easily proven for works of the Modernist era, once galleries and dealers established the use of large registries and archives, most anything prior to the eighteenth century has to rely on other sources of attribution, such as the erudition of formal techniques, or at times even forensic studies. Such was the case when in the 1930s a number of Dutch Master works began to emerge, in particular by Johannes Vermeer, who at the time was highly sought after. Little was known of his life or career, with only around thirty of his works being known to exist. These were in fact the works of a much more contemporary master in his own right, Han van Meegeren, who, having studied down to the infinitesimal detail the techniques of the Dutch Masters, had acquired all of their virtues but originality.
Perhaps the most famously known case shook the art world just as the world itself had stopped shaking, following the end of the Second World War. For a painting to be recognised as a true piece by an artist, an excruciatingly solid provenance has to be established – a lifeline of the painting, from the painter’s easel through all its owners, step by step from the depths of history to the present day. Think of it as a pedigree or genealogy, if you like. While this is more easily proven for works of the Modernist era, once galleries and dealers established the use of large registries and archives, most anything prior to the eighteenth century has to rely on other sources of attribution, such as the erudition of formal techniques, or at times even forensic studies. Such was the case when in the 1930s a number of Dutch Master works began to emerge, in particular by Johannes Vermeer, who at the time was highly sought after. Little was known of his life or career, with only around thirty of his works being known to exist. These were in fact the works of a much more contemporary master in his own right, Han van Meegeren, who, having studied down to the infinitesimal detail the techniques of the Dutch Masters, had acquired all of their virtues but originality.
As the war ensued in the early 1940s, nations hastily sought to protect their artistic patrimony from the pillages of the Nazis, in particular one of Adolf Hitler’s primary disciples, Herman Goring, a bon vivant with a penchant for works of art. Despite these frantic efforts, many pieces could not escape the fate that was simultaneously pervading the population of Europe, ultimately falling into the hands of the Nazis. So when the Allied forces found Goring’s collection, they also came across a Vermeer that had been recently rediscovered and greatly praised for its exquisite characteristics. This Vermeer was also traced back to a Van Meegeren, who was then charged with treason to the Dutch state for having plundered cultural property and having colluded and profiteered with the Nazis. With an imminent death penalty, Van Meegeren soon raised the curtain of smoke, revealing that, in fact, he had sold a mere forgery to the enemy. This fact alone was enough to turn public opinion around, elevating him to recognition as a national hero. More ironically still, or perhaps not so, his paintings became highly sought-after and valued pieces themselves. This was both for their symbolic value, in having duped auguste historians around the world, but also for their inherent skill and Van Megereen’s virtuosity. In an even more bewildering turn, his forgeries began to be forged themselves, at times even by his own son. Few other examples could prove how technical skill, whether it be by a Vermeer or a Van Megereen, receives recognition for its own merits, but how the symbolic and cultural attribution to a name can raise the value of a work of art to even greater heights, showing in the end that truth will out, and so will talent.
As the war ensued in the early 1940s, nations hastily sought to protect their artistic patrimony from the pillages of the Nazis, in particular one of Adolf Hitler’s primary disciples, Herman Goring, a bon vivant with a penchant for works of art. Despite these frantic efforts, many pieces could not escape the fate that was simultaneously pervading the population of Europe, ultimately falling into the hands of the Nazis. So when the Allied forces found Goring’s collection, they also came across a Vermeer that had been recently rediscovered and greatly praised for its exquisite characteristics. This Vermeer was also traced back to a Van Meegeren, who was then charged with treason to the Dutch state for having plundered cultural property and having colluded and profiteered with the Nazis. With an imminent death penalty, Van Meegeren soon raised the curtain of smoke, revealing that, in fact, he had sold a mere forgery to the enemy. This fact alone was enough to turn public opinion around, elevating him to recognition as a national hero. More ironically still, or perhaps not so, his paintings became highly sought-after and valued pieces themselves. This was both for their symbolic value, in having duped auguste historians around the world, but also for their inherent skill and Van Megereen’s virtuosity. In an even more bewildering turn, his forgeries began to be forged themselves, at times even by his own son. Few other examples could prove how technical skill, whether it be by a Vermeer or a Van Megereen, receives recognition for its own merits, but how the symbolic and cultural attribution to a name can raise the value of a work of art to even greater heights, showing in the end that truth will out, and so will talent.
Nevertheless, one such example is to be found in the painting par excellence, the work that is synonymous with the medium itself: La Gioconda by Leonardo da Vinci, more colloquially referred to as the Mona Lisa. Listing its cultural presence would only be a pedestrian effort, but considering the path that led to its vernacular omnipresence can shed further light on the commercial implications of art. It was during the Victorian era that the first odes gushed over Mona Lisa’s qualities, marking its entrance into common artistic parlance. It was not however until the turn of the twentieth century that it reached the celestial heights that secured its place in the firmament of man’s wondrous achievements. Its theft from the Louvre Museum in 1911 was what transposed its place from a prominent masterpiece to one of the earliest mass culture icons. While it took an entire day for the Louvre to notice its disappearance, the pundits in the press swiftly gave birth to an enthralling cultural guessing game of whodunit for the two-year period in which its whereabouts remained a mystery. It was this mystery, concerning in part just what the painting looked like in the first place, that spurred on its aura of mystique and its surrounding reverence. Fan fictions were even written about it, and it was then that patrons first came to the Louvre with the sole purpose of visiting the hook upon which the painting once hung. In essence, its absence acted as a colossal advertising campaign at a time where finding out what the Mona Lisa looked like was not an immediate enterprise. When it was returned two years later, it had become the most revered painting in the world, in part due to the mythical reputation that had been painted by the press and the general public.
So although the artistic merits of paintings are the first criteria judged, it is the underlying societal mechanisms of fame and glory that ultimately dictate the value that is affixed to works of art, particularly monetary value. Yet this is the case with more superficial observations only, because if one looks beyond the frame, the painting may take one through a fascinating path of craftsmanship, history and, most interestingly, talent. That is the real value paintings serve: a testament to the wondrous artistic talent of mankind.
Nevertheless, one such example is to be found in the painting par excellence, the work that is synonymous with the medium itself: La Gioconda by Leonardo da Vinci, more colloquially referred to as the Mona Lisa. Listing its cultural presence would only be a pedestrian effort, but considering the path that led to its vernacular omnipresence can shed further light on the commercial implications of art. It was during the Victorian era that the first odes gushed over Mona Lisa’s qualities, marking its entrance into common artistic parlance. It was not however until the turn of the twentieth century that it reached the celestial heights that secured its place in the firmament of man’s wondrous achievements. Its theft from the Louvre Museum in 1911 was what transposed its place from a prominent masterpiece to one of the earliest mass culture icons. While it took an entire day for the Louvre to notice its disappearance, the pundits in the press swiftly gave birth to an enthralling cultural guessing game of whodunit for the two-year period in which its whereabouts remained a mystery. It was this mystery, concerning in part just what the painting looked like in the first place, that spurred on its aura of mystique and its surrounding reverence. Fan fictions were even written about it, and it was then that patrons first came to the Louvre with the sole purpose of visiting the hook upon which the painting once hung. In essence, its absence acted as a colossal advertising campaign at a time where finding out what the Mona Lisa looked like was not an immediate enterprise. When it was returned two years later, it had become the most revered painting in the world, in part due to the mythical reputation that had been painted by the press and the general public.
So although the artistic merits of paintings are the first criteria judged, it is the underlying societal mechanisms of fame and glory that ultimately dictate the value that is affixed to works of art, particularly monetary value. Yet this is the case with more superficial observations only, because if one looks beyond the frame, the painting may take one through a fascinating path of craftsmanship, history and, most interestingly, talent. That is the real value paintings serve: a testament to the wondrous artistic talent of mankind.