The Psychology of the Art Forger
THE CRAFTSMAN hinges on the question of art forgery. For many forgers, it’s about much more than money.
Originally produced during Lantern Theater Company’s 2017/18 season and streaming March 2–28, 2021 as part of our new Plays from the Lantern Archives program, The Craftsman hinges on the question of art forgery: are these masterpieces authentic, or the work of a skilled copycat? If they are forged, what motivates forgers to repeatedly take such risks? What were they pursuing?
The answer for many art forgers is that they’re not trying to avoid being caught; they’re courting it.
If kept under wraps, art forgery is a lucrative business — but a lonely one. Only the forger and perhaps a partner or accomplice knows about the fraud; the risk of widening that circle is too great. Skilled forgers can make millions by passing their paintings off as genuine, but the recognition of their skill and talent must remain out of reach as long as the charade continues.
Perhaps this is why so many of the most famous forgers ultimately seem to want to be caught. Like The Craftsman’s central character, many of these forgers started out as legitimate — if unsuccessful — artists. The original goal was not to make art under another artists’ name, but to become well-known and respected under their own. These artists, though, never found success and turned instead to forgery, often in an attempt to prove to the art world — and perhaps to themselves — that they do have talent after all.
Some of these forgers can chalk their eventual exposure up to simple carelessness, or pure bad luck. Modern-day forger Wolfgang Beltracchi made millions on his forgeries by creating origin stories with his wife Helene, copying less well-known artists, and paying careful attention to the frames to make sure they were period appropriate. He also worked hard to get inside the minds of the painters he was forging, to channel their essences as well as their techniques. The years of hard work and huge paydays ended in 2010 when he used a paint containing titanium white dioxide, an anachronistic pigment. He wasn’t trying to be discovered, though; the pigment just wasn’t listed on the paint tube.
However, there are many revealed forgers who welcomed the spotlight, happy to finally receive the attention and acclaim that eluded their original work.
Tom Keating coined the term “time bombs” for his forgeries. Where Beltracchi’s anachronistic material was an error, Keating’s were purposeful. He would write in lead below a white painting, so that if the work was x-rayed his message would be revealed. He purposefully used modern pigments in period forgeries, inserted 20th century objects into scenes meant to be painted centuries ago, and occasionally even booby-trapped the paintings with glycerin so that they would be destroyed if anyone tried to clean them. These were more than simple taunts or showmanship; he resented the gallery owners and critics he saw as inhibiting his own art career, and included these elements both so that they would look foolish whenever the anachronisms came to light and so that Keating himself could take the credit for the forgeries.
Another curious case of prestige triumphing over safety was Mark Landis. Unlike many other forgers, he cared little about authentic materials, often buying his supplies at Home Depot for $6 per painting and simply tracing the work from digital prints. But where other forgers chased profits along with praise, Landis never took money for his forgeries. He would create elaborate characters and backstories before donating his work to museums or collectors, seeking only the thrill of getting away with his scheme and duping the experts.
And then there’s Lothar Malskat, who took the extraordinary step of suing himself to claim credit for his forged work on a German medieval fresco. Malskat was not caught; in 1952, he simply announced that he had painted the fresco four years earlier, and waited for acclaim. It never came, though; no one believed him. So he hired a lawyer, sued himself, and as his own witness for the prosecution pointed out the time bombs he’d inserted in the work: a turkey, a painting of his sister, and a portrait of Marlene Dietrich.
For many forgers, the revelation of the scheme is not the end of the story. If they were punished at all, the sentences were usually quite light; forgers often serve fewer than six years in prison, or are let off entirely. But many then achieve the fame they craved from the start in their new careers as famous forgers. Beltracchi is an in-demand speaker and has written memoirs. Keating went on to host his own TV show about forgery. And Malskat, Keating, Beltracchi, and many other forgers then also attained what they always wanted: successful careers as artists, under their own signatures, now buoyed by their fame as tricksters.
As we see onstage in The Craftsman and in the experiences of so many other famous forgers, wounded pride and frustrated ambition are often at the heart of both a forger’s career and their urge to be caught. If being caught means being recognized, then the work must go on. Safety would mean obscurity.
The Craftsman is part of Plays from the Lantern Archives, a new program celebrating some of the finest productions from recent Lantern seasons, brought vividly back to life on screen. This world premiere performance was professionally filmed with a live theater audience in November 2017, and is streaming March 2 — 28, 2021. Visit our website for tickets and information.
