Hans
Van Meegeren successfully forged
Vermeers, one of which he sold to Nazi General and notorious
art thief, Marshall Goering, during World War II. At the end
of the war, Van Meegeren was arrested
for involvement in collaborationist activities with the Germans.
To avoid prison charges, he confessed to having painted the
Vermeer himself and swindling Goering. When authorities found
his defense unconvincing, van Meegeren painted a "Vermeer" right
before their eyes, verifying his craft for forgery. He was
instead charged for fraud and sentenced one year in prison.
Hans told investigators that fooling experts had been for him
some kind of sweet revenge. He added that it had been quite
exciting to ridicule art critics who once scorned his own works. David
Stein managed to have his imitation
Picasso authenticated by the master himself. Stein was later
arrested when another one of his forgeries was detected, hanging
in a New York Gallery. After serving a prison term, Stein started
a career as a painter, under his own name. Giorgio de Chirico surrealist painter who was caught pre-dating his paintings by 20 years, to a time when his work was in heavy demand. His later was work was so despised that he went as far as to create fakes of his older ‘metaphysical’ series, which once made him popular. Alfredo Martinez a former collaborator of mine who became part of a long and fascinating lineage of forgers when the FBI apprehended him on June 19, 2002. Alfredo has yet to elaborate on his motives for forging paintings by the late Jean Michel Basquiat, but one can only wonder… |
Alfredo Martinez convinced art collector, Leo Malca, to purchase two paintings by Jean Michel Basquiat in the late winter of 2002 for a bargain price of $38,500. The pieces belonged to Tom Warren, a staff photographer at Sotheby’s and the forthcoming yearbook of New York’s cultural elite, The New York School. The work in question had appeared that December in an exhibition Martinez co-curated with me entitled, ‘Welcome to the Playground of the Fearless.’ Alfredo took charge of returning the pieces to Warren, but before doing so, made his own versions. After returning Warren’s paintings, he mentioned that there was interest in the work from collectors who saw the show. He said he wanted to make copies of the certificates of authenticity before shopping the work around. Tom handed over the certificates, which Alfredo went on to forge as well. He then returned falsified certificates to Tom and sold fake paintings – with real certificates – to Malca. Tom Warren’s relationship with the works in question began on a warm evening in June of 1983. He had just left a wild gathering at the downtown loft of rising art star, Jean Michel Basquiat. Julian Schnabel, Renee Ricard, David Byrne and Vincent Gallo were among the notables partying with Basquiat that night. It was a celebration of Basquiat's part in a group show at Marlborough Gallery, curated by Diego Cortez. Warren was standing in front of the Crosby Street loft, as the party raged on inside, when he saw a bunch of drawings he recognized as Basquiat's scattered on the sidewalk and amid a pile of garbage on the curb. It looked as if someone had gone through Basquiat's trash, examined the drawings and discarded them. Warren couldn't believe his good fortune. He quickly scooped them up and took them home. There were more than two dozen drawings in all. In the following weeks, Warren showed his treasure to some artist friends and even gave a couple of the drawings away as gifts. Word of his find made its way through the art world circuit and back to Basquiat. A month later, Warren was having a drink with friends in Times Square at the Tin Pan Alley. Basquiat happened to be there, shooting pool, and recognized Warren. He said he’d heard that the photographer was giving his work away. Basquiat was concerned that giving his drawings to dealers or collectors for free might reduce the value of his paintings. Warren assured the artist that he had only given away two pieces, both to other artists who were fans of his work. Basquiat nodded. "That's cool," he said. "I guess you found thousands of dollars." Warren has been able to authenticate the drawings he found that fateful night with this story. Alfredo Martinez’s art career began in 1994 when his work was shown at the Pat Hearn Gallery. The show was ‘Skater Angels,’ curated by David Greenberg and Diego Cortez. He went on to participate in the seminal ‘Bong Show’ at Alleged Gallery, where artists such as Tom Sachs and Mike Kelly made elaborate bongs as sculpture. He reached the height of legitimacy after participating in two group shows – ‘Agent Artist’ in 1994 and ‘Generation Z’ in 1999 – at P.S.1, an affiliate of the Museum of Modern Art. In the summer of 1999, famed art critic Roberta Smith reviewed an exhibition he curated, ‘Ne'er Do Wells,’ for The New York Times. That same year, a dot-com millionaire by the name of Joshua Harris financed an indoor firing range designed by Alfredo for a millennial project entitled ‘Quiet.’ Alfredo personally sound-proofed it and had it staffed with ex-Navy Seals. He literally shot his way through the new millennium with high powered, automatic weapons. These were noteworthy achievements for someone who never graduated high school. In a community where an MFA may not even get you up to bat, Alfredo managed to go pretty far in the art world with no formal education. In this regard, he was a true folk artist – an elitist term synonymous with “outsider,” a derelict. The NY Post once described Alfredo as, “a hulking 300 pound gun-toting Puerto Rican madman.” Manhattan District Attorney, Andrew De Vore, described him as “homeless.” I consider Alfredo what I consider every good artist to be: a magician. People were drawn to Alfredo’s teddy bear-like demeanor. He was big, always hungry and often without a place to live. But just like a bear, he would attack with great fury if you came too close. At a Gramercy art fair several years ago, Alfredo brandished a weapon he’d just made – then shot an art dealer at close range. The gun was loaded with blanks, but no one except Alfredo knew that. The dealer and everyone else at the fair thought for sure he was hit. Alfredo’s fanatic obsession with guns supposedly began at the age of twelve when he learned to load and shoot Tommy guns in his father’s basement. His gun mastery landed him several roles as a weapons adviser on movie sets. Jim Jarmusch used Alfredo's expertise in his 2000 film, Ghost Dog. (Forest Whitaker’s character was rumored to be partially based on Alfredo). Director Henry Bean used Alfredo’s counsel for his controversial film, The Believer, about a neo-Nazi Jew. The details of Alfredo’s past are ambiguous. No one I’ve spoken to, at least, can recall him ever mentioning his family or concrete facts about his early life. His last Christmas as a free man was spent with newfound friend, photographer Ellen Jong, and her family in Queens because he had nowhere else to go. It is certain that he is a native New Yorker and that, around the age of 16, he started hanging around Keith Haring’s studio. He was one of many lost kids – particularly the young, male Puerto Rican kind – to find his way there. Alfredo was always hustling someone, hastily making art work just to get through the week. People were shocked and delighted when he pulled off massive art works and exhibitions. Those feats, however, came at a high price. The shows he curated were typically large and festive, the spaces usually illegal. ‘Misanthropes,’ a show he curated in 1998, included close to sixty artists. When the neighbors complained, all the artists were forced to remove their work immediately, a mere two days after it went up. In another exhibition, where a similar situation occurred, those who failed to remove their art in time had their work thrown in a dumpster. When ‘Welcome to the Playground of the Fearless’ prematurely came to an end, we were given 24 hours to remove nearly 45 pieces. Alfredo suddenly disappeared. He later told everyone that he was paralyzed by the chagrin of once again not being able to see something through. The June 2002 issue of Art & Auction put a painting I had chosen for this show on its cover: John Newsom’s “Heroes.” In an ironic twist, the same issue featured an article on Alfredo’s forgeries – by the same author. Serious collectors and art experts often cannot fathom the possibility of being rooked. And then once taken, cannot face the humiliation of admitting it. Clear information on the quantity of bogus artworks that have been sold is difficult to come by. When fraud is discovered by dealers and auction houses, it is usually kept secret in order to maintain the public's confidence in the market. Christie’s sold Basquiat’s “Prophet I” (1982), which had belonged to Metallica’s Lars Ulrich, for a record $5.5 million in May of 2002. A few weeks later Alfredo was apprehended, causing some to speculate an adverse effect on the Basquiat market. Judging from November 2002 results at Phillips, Christie's and Sotheby’s, however, it appears he hasn’t shaken up the market one bit. Martinez briefly enjoyed financial success he could never (at least in his own lifetime) have approached by selling his own work. He managed to vicariously experience the legacy of a great artist by convincing experts that his versions were real. If Alfredo’s success provides any lesson, it is that the art world's aura of sophistication creates a false sense of security, making it especially vulnerable to what was, in the end, a confederacy of mediocrity. Hans van Meegeren said at his 1947 trail about
forging a Vermeer: ''Yesterday this picture was worth millions
of guilders, and experts and art lovers would come from all over
the world and pay money
to see it. Today, it is worth nothing, and nobody would cross the
street to see it for free. But the picture has not changed. What
has?'' Only time will tell what effect this series of events and Alfredo Martinez will have on art history. Assuming, of course, that we remember him. |
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- James Fuentes is an independent currator living in New York City. |