Genuine Fakes, pt. I

When discussing an artist or a work of art, originality is often cited as a key aspect to determining quality. Discussing originality can be framed in various aspects: as a daring new composition (Bernini's David), new techniques (Cezanne's edges), the willingness to be boring (Warhol), or new materials (Duchamp). Originality is what gives us goosebumps when standing in front of a Michelangelo sketch or a Picasso painting: we believe we are seeing the brushstrokes of a genius, that they touched this very canvas. Our physical proximity to the art makes us thismuchcloser to a famous genius; we are now a witness to their artistry.

An artist that is perceived as "unoriginal" can kiss his artistic legacy good-bye. For example, Dutch Baroque painter Jan Lievens was one of the most sought-after artists during his lifetime. He also happened to be a close friend and colleague (they shared a studio) of Rembrandt's. Lievens's style changed quite a bit by the end of his life due to international travel, and his late works clearly show the influence of the Catholic Flemish style. Perhaps that is why Dutch Protestant historians and critics criticized that Lievens never lived up to his prodigious talent? Or maybe Lievens's technique and handling of paint really isn't as expressive as Rembrandt? Regardless, Lievens has been a minor footnote even in Dutch Baroque studies, considered a lesser imitation of Rembrandt. The recent traveling exhibition "Jan Lievens: Out of Rembrandt's Shadow" seeks to amend Lievens reputation as a truly talented, original artist in his own right.

When discussing originality and art, there are implications of ownership and quality. (We won't even get into the notion of the male artistic genius and the female amateur practitioner.) And with these contentious issues, art historians and scholars have had their work cut out for them. For example, we have to determine who made what: artists have worked collectively in studios and workshops since antiquity. Many medieval works of art fail to capture the world's attention simply because we can't name the artists. And master artists like Raphael, Titian, David, etc. all ran their own workshops. In a workshop, the master artist runs the show: he lands commissions, creates designs and sketches, and then lets his assistants fill in the canvas. The master artist may come in to do a difficult part of the painting - some hands, or a difficult body position, or he may come in to do the most important part (the Virgin's face, the climax of action). Or for some artists, they may simply sketch in the lines and direct their assistants as they paint it. Some contemporary artists do this as well. For the general public, once learning this fact of artistic production, the mystique and grandeur of the viewing process has been lost.

What happens when we stand in front of a work of art and believe it is an original work by a genius? What happens when we find out that piece is actually a forgery? The work of art that we "oohed" and "ahhed" over is actually made by some random guy?

Forgeries are excellent tests to those who believe originality and quality are assuredly linked. A forgery shines a light on the hypocrite who fawned over the "excellent" brushstrokes and the choices made with line and color, but then dismisses the object upon learning it's a fake. A forgery that gave a person a pleasurable viewing experience forces the person to ask if the cache of a famous name was a factor in their pleasure. A very good forgery asks us to redefine who can and should be considered artists in their own right. And a forgery places the burden of proof on scholars, historians, critics, conservators, and art dealers to not only reasses an artist's entire oeuvre, but their own expertise.