Read in 2011
Synopsis: Provenance is the extraordinary narrative of one of the most far-reaching and elaborate deceptions in art history. Investigative reporters Laney Salisbury and Aly Sujo brilliantly recount the tale of a great con man and unforgettable villain, John Drewe, and his sometimes unwitting accomplices.
Chief among those was the struggling artist John Myatt, a vulnerable single father who was manipulated by Drewe into becoming a prolific art forger. Once Myatt had painted the pieces, the real fraud began. Drewe managed to infiltrate the archives of the upper echelons of the British art world in order to fake the provenance of Myatt's forged pieces, hoping to irrevocably legitimize the fakes while effectively rewriting art history.
The story stretches from London to Paris to New York, from tony Manhattan art galleries to the esteemed Giacometti and Dubuffet associations, to the archives at the Tate Gallery. This enormous swindle resulted in the introduction of at least two hundred forged paintings, some of them breathtakingly good and most of them selling for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Many of these fakes are still out in the world, considered genuine and hung prominently in private houses, large galleries, and prestigious museums. And the sacred archives, undermined by John Drewe, remain tainted to this day.
Although I know next to nothing about the art world, I found this book pretty interesting. Sometimes I think the magnitude of what John Drewe did escapes me, but the overall impression of a manipulative scumbag was pretty clear. It isn’t the actual forged painting that did the most damage, but the provenance and thus the title of the book. I don’t know if he and the painter really did rewrite the history of art, but they certainly did bilk people out of a lot of money and ruin reputations.
In some ways, I’m sympathetic to Drewe. These people were asking for it. Valuing art for its circumstances and pedigree rather than its merits makes it really easy to be taken. Greed blinds us all and Drewe knew it. Pretty much everyone who was taken was a willing victim, ignored contradictory evidence and just wanted to be the next star in their particular firmament. It makes it hard to have sympathy for them; too much ego and too much money. Myatt’s musing about how that money could have been better spent is spot on. The grandiose waste is appalling and it’s delicious irony to know that many of his forgeries are still on display, cherished for their provenance rather than their aesthetic. It’s easy to believe these people got what they deserved.
My sympathy is directed at the archivists and the artists who were lied to, betrayed and taken advantage of. At the beginning of the book the author states that archivists are the lowest rung on the art world ladder; the least appreciated, but the most important in terms of preserving provenance and thus proving a work’s credibility. That credibility is what drives up the perceived value of a work and thus the price at which it can be sold. Drewe knew this, too and found a way infiltrate and corrupt a totally legitimate archive.
Even though he’s a lying asshole, Drewe is a talented lying asshole. A plot this intricate and far-reaching is impressive no matter how damaging. His ability to set up events far, far in advance is mind-boggling. Attention to detail, imagination, foresight and a deep understanding of human nature are only part of it. The kind of confidence Drewe displays is his biggest key to success. People want to believe him. They’re dying to be led, shepherded and mentored by such a luminous figure. His looks, accent, clothes, supposed contacts, job and bits of spouted science are enough to convince people he is what he says he is. Daring. I’d never even dream of pulling off that kind of farce. In some ways I have to admire the bravado, but that kind of soulless existence also gives me pause. Crossing with art at its most essential, as human expression, is the most extreme contradiction I can think of. A soulless human cannot create art, but it can exploit it and even art at its most corrupt is susceptible to its charms. You’d think an already morally bankrupt system would recognize one of its own. As I said, greed blinds people and that’s what this is ultimately a story of. The power of greed.
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