So What if It Is a Fake?

Just two months ago we were floored by the fact that a single oil painting sold at auction for nearly $4 million--or, rather, we all hit the ceiling because no comparable work of art had ever sold for more than about $1 million before. We were outraged because we think that our system of trade--the financial values of our material exchanges--is rational, and we were confronted by conduct that looked so exceptional as to be considered crazy. But, on examination, it is the system itself that turns out to be incurably irrational. The necessity to recognize that unnerved us--for a while.

To make matters worse, we are being battered by news of deception and fakery in the art world. Even paintings of a master as revered as Rembrandt are up for grabs--a panel of scholars in the Netherlands is issuing bulletins regarding which of those revered paintings are from “the unique hand of the master” and which were executed only by apprentices in his studio. And now the latest and one of the liveliest controversies is over two works of ancient Greek sculpture--”stars” of the J. Paul Getty Museum in Malibu--that certain experts have proclaimed fake.

In the famous essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” Walter Benjamin wrote: “In principle a work of art has always been reproducible. Man-made artifacts could always be imitated by man. Replicas were made by pupils in practice of their craft, by masters for diffusing their works, and, finally, by third parties in pursuit of gain.” It is only in respect to the latter that the accusation of “fake!” matters, because only their replicas or duplicates were made with the deliberate intention of deceiving a buyer.

If the person deceived is a wealthy collector, there is something especially fascinating about his being taken. The collector is revealed as an amateur. When, in the case of a museum, the collector is a group of “authorities,” we enjoy the embarrassment of those who ought to know better. As Tevya sings in “Fiddler on the Roof”: “When you’re rich, they think you really know . . . .” It’s the ironic discovery of unauthentic art bought and believed in by people who run the museum of the richest man in the world that gives us a laugh.

On the other hand, what difference does it make as far as the aesthetic experience is concerned whether the object is genuine or not? For some works of art there is no original but only copies--as in still photography and motion pictures. The experience of ancient Greek sculpture is more like watching a theatrical performance--the quality can be judged by comparing it with other performances, seeking the best version but never assuming that there might be one ideal performance for everyone forever. Where there is no original, each copy may be “one of the best.”

Nevertheless, in painting, sculpture, architecture and jewelry “one of a kind” becomes the crucial value. But such uniqueness is not a measure of the art of the work; it determines, rather, the financial value of the object that may change hands--essential to justifying the price in a market of supply and demand.

But, for the pleasure and the benefits of art itself, wouldn’t a “perfect fake” painting or sculpture be as beautiful, as moving, significant, valuable as the original? Aren’t most of the works of art known to us through reproductions rather than at firsthand? Although sculpture and painting are embodied in finite materials of a specific age that can be identified by physical, chemical and X-ray tests, none of these contribute to the aesthetic experience of the beholder.

Well, then, if no fake can be perfect because it cannot consist of the same material as the original, although in every other respect its form, shape, arrangement (its art!) approximates the original, what is it that’s missing?

It is the authority of the artist rather than the ersatz quality of the copyist--a sense of mystical creative power that takes us back to something primitive in the idea of artistic creation, magical powers of creation embodied in the authentic object only. The importance is not to our judgment about the aesthetic experience but rather to our belief system, to something fundamental to human psychology. Through the integrity of the genuine work of art we feel “the unique hand of the master,” which enriches our belief in the glory of creativity.

If we have no reason to believe in such integrity, we are made to worry about our own integrity. Fakes remind us of the instances when we ourselves are not what we seem, when we might try to get away with something. Therefore, each time a fake is detected, discovered or revealed we are reminded of the risky gamble that we take along the fuzzy margins of our own integrity that might be found out, and that’s what scares the hell out of us.