by Jim Klise
Anyway, as you know, what Kevin and his sister found was not one Darger drawing, but a whole book. Ten pages.
Here’s some basic math for you: Ten times eighty grand equals eight hundred grand. Right? A truckload of cash. Except that since these pages are all bound together and tell a story, they’re worth more than that. In this case, the album is probably worth more than the sum of the individual paintings.
My first guess, the art was worth a million, at least. Had to be.
The art itself? To be honest . . . I think it’s kid stuff, and more than a little creepy. I mean, the violence in the pictures doesn’t bother me—it’s no different than what you see in video games. But whatever, girly watercolor paintings aren’t my thing. For me, the interesting part is the financial value.
So on Halloween, out of the blue, I saw my dad standing outside the main office here at school. This isn’t so unusual, because he’s on the board of directors. He’s their financial guy, so he comes for meetings a lot. I went over to say howdy, and then saw Kevin and Kendra Spoon standing there, along with Mr. Delacroix, the art teacher. I ended up following them all into the principal’s office.
As you may know, walking into the principal’s office is like walking into the Oval Office. Oil paintings, brass desk set, everything’s got a shine to it—including the principal herself. I mean, she wears those dark suits and do-not-mess-with-me shoes, like someone who doesn’t shy away from a fight. That’s just who she is.
Dr. Stickman made some introductions, and then we all sat down in those fancy leather chairs. The hilarious thing was, I had no business being in there. I should have been in class! At the same time, I don’t like to miss out on what’s going on, you know? I usually go where stuff is happening. Plus, I get pulled out all the time for student-government shenanigans. So I sat down and listened.
The first thing out of Dad’s mouth was to the Spoons. He wanted to speak to their parents. Kendra said he could call her mom whenever he wanted. She wrote down the phone number and handed it to him. “Before you call, you’ll want to clear your schedule,” Kendra warned him. “Mom loves to talk.”
Kevin just laughed.
Anyway, Dad told the Spoons he wanted them to get this artwork appraised and insured. He started getting into the details, the hows and whys, making notes for Kevin and his sister to take with them.
Only thing is, the Spoons looked at the grown-ups as if they were nuts.
Mr. Delacroix was pacing the room. He said something like, “Listen to what he’s telling you, kids. I haven’t slept a wink in two nights.”
Kevin cleared his throat and was like, “Thanks, but we’re not interested in insuring the artwork.”
Nobody said anything, which was completely awkward. Kendra finally said, “The thing is . . . well, we donated it to the school fundraiser.”
“That’s correct!” Principal Stickman said. “The girl is absolutely right. It was a donation to the school fundraiser. If anyone should insure it now, it should be the school.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. She wasn’t happy, that was obvious.
My dad looked at the Spoons the way he looks at me when I ask to borrow his good car. “You’re saying you still want to sell the work and give the money to the Indian family?”
“Pakistan,” Kendra corrected him. “Saba’s parents are from Pakistan.”
Dad shrugged, but I could see he was embarrassed.
Mr. Delacroix said, “Kids, right now, it doesn’t really matter what you plan to do with the artwork, exactly. Think for a second. People are going to know about this thing. Before long, everyone is going to know. That means you have to protect it.”
Dad was like, “What if it gets stolen? What if there’s another fire? You’d lose everything. Get an insurance policy, even for a month or two, so you sleep at night.”
The Spoons were not into it. They said they didn’t want the hassle, or the attention, when the artwork was going to be sold so soon anyway. “Besides,” said Kevin, “we wouldn’t lose anything. It’s just something we found in an alley. It doesn’t have any real value to us.”
“But it might bring in some money for the Khans,” Kendra added.
“Then get it insured for them,” I said suddenly, thinking of Saba. Everybody turned and looked at me, like I had farted or something. “Seriously, guys,” I said, “please do it for Saba. Protect the art for her sake.”
Kevin and Kendra stared at each other, and even though neither of them said anything, I could see some freaky telepathic sibling communication going on. After a few seconds, they both had these tiny smiles, and Kevin was nodding, and I thought: Score! I’d convinced them. That felt awesome. It made me glad I’d crashed this little meeting.
Then Dad gave us a quick intro to the insurance business. He told us that when it comes to art and antiques, the insurance value on a painting is worth even more than the auction value. It’s different for cars and ordinary stuff. To replace a car is the cost of the car. Simple. But to replace something rare or unique, like art, it’s really impossible.
“Who will pay to have it insured?” Principal Stickman said. “An insurance company won’t insure it for free. Now if the art belonged to the school, couldn’t we—?” She looked to my dad for support, and he was like, “Of course, the board would be happy to insure it. It wouldn’t be expensive to buy a policy for a month or two. I can call my pal Brian over at—”
“Our mom will pay,” Kendra Spoon said. “It will be her donation to the auction.”
Kevin nodded and said we should call her right then.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mr. Delacroix said. “We need to have this work authenticated before we can even talk about insurance.”
A couple days later, on Friday, an appraiser came to school. Apparently she’s a top dog in the field. This chick was eccentric, which is a polite way of saying she was weird. All dressed in black. Pink scarf tied around her neck, covering half her chin. And she had on these clunky round glasses, which I guess passes for chic these days. We were all crowding her, asking questions, so she took the album into the principal’s office and spent about thirty minutes alone with it. We could see her through the office window, photographing the pages, scribbling in her notebook. When she came out, this goofy art lady seemed almost excited. She said a few words to the effect that they really might be authentic. She asked Principal Stickman for permission to take the album with her, so her lab technicians could do some chemical testing.
Plus, she said, she needed to show it to other people. Because, even if the work could be authenticated, which would be awesome, they had to determine what class of Darger’s work it belonged to. Even artists have off-days, I guess, so their work gets ranked in quality. Top level, second level, third level, and so on. And that ranking, within the artist’s body of work, helps to determine the value.
Principal Stickman was standing in the corner, hands behind her back and looking down at the floor. Between you and me, sir, you could tell she was pissed at the world. She muttered something like, “It seems you will have to ask the Spoons for permission to take them with you.”
Next to me, Kevin was like, “Totally fine with us. Take whatever you need to see if any of it’s worth something.”
A couple weeks later, the appraiser lady came back with the paintings and a signed appraisal—which I assume you have seen—along with the excellent news.
Appraisal Correspondence
MEMO
Date: November 16
To: Ms. Monica Spoon
Cc: Regina Stickman, Highsmith School
From: Louise Denison
International Fine Art Authentication & Appraisals
Chicago, Illinois
I am very grateful for the opportunity to appraise this work.
Based on the distinct style, the age of the materials, and the unique subject matter, this was easy for me to recognize as the work of Henry Darger—probably made between 1935–1945. I could take thi
s work to any number of reputable galleries in Chicago, and they would say the same thing. In fact, I did show it around to confirm that what I was seeing was real.
There is a difference, of course, between recognizing the work of a particular artist and authenticating it. The process of authenticating art can take quite a long time. There are many fascinating stories of an art gallery—or an art scholar—spending years working to prove the authenticity of a piece of work, tracking down evidence, identifying correspondence or journals or gallery sales records in which the piece is referenced or mentioned. All these details come together to create what is called the artwork’s “narrative,” or provenance—the story of how it was created and what has happened to it since then.
Authenticating work by Henry Darger is challenging, because the paper trail is, at best, incomplete. He didn’t attend art school, didn’t exhibit or sell his work, didn’t trade or even correspond with friends. The ideal situation would be to establish that this work was part of the collection found by Darger’s landlord upon his death in 1973. That body of work has been extensively catalogued. I regret that these ten watercolors are not part of it. If they were, their value would increase substantially.
However, as with any artist whose work is emerging, when you consider that there were many years before Darger’s work was discovered and appreciated, things did “go missing.” Items got thrown away. Darger himself may have discarded this album of pictures. It happens more often than you might think. And if/when a piece of this art later reappears, we rely upon the judgment of the community of appraisers to see if it’s “right.” In this case, two young people who have demonstrated little to gain (by authenticity or lack of authenticity) found this volume—the right watercolors in the right condition—in the right neighborhood in the right city. The unique story of their discovery will now become part of the provenance of this particular work. It’s a narrative that Darger collectors will trust. And many of them would be happy to own this collection, despite knowing the uncertainty of its path to the present day.
Darger was meticulous about labeling his illustrations. Typically we see hand-printed, penciled notes on his work. He has not written anything on these pages. Possibly these are rudimentary sketches—ideas for something he was planning to do on a larger scale—and that will affect its value to collectors, too.
At this time, however, we are pleased to confirm with a high degree of confidence that this is authentic, second-level work by Henry Darger (1892–1973). A conservative estimate of the value of the collection would be $350,000–$450,000. Of course, at a well-advertised auction, it could sell for much more. Insurance value: $550,000.
I have attached the necessary paperwork, which should remain with this work going forward.
Congratulations, and thank you again for the privilege of seeing and appraising this important work.
Steve Davinski, senior,
continues his conversation with the reporter.
Okay, so I was off by half a million. Still, five hundred fifty K is a major stack of coin, am I right?
At that point, the Spoons took out an insurance policy on the artwork, and the album got locked up tight in the gym office. This helped us all to breathe a little easier, you know? Knowing everything was safe. My dad was happy. Mr. Delacroix was happy.
The only freaky part is, the Spoons still want to donate the artwork to the auction. It’s unbelievable. People are saying, “Are you effing nuts? You can’t donate this thing. That money can change your life!”
And Kevin’s like, “But the whole point was to raise money for the Khans. Maybe it sounds crazy, but it’s what we’re going to do.”
At practice the other day, I heard Coach P telling Kevin, “You have college tuition ahead, a house to buy someday. Trust me, kid, it’s one thing to be generous, and it’s another to be a moron.” Kevin really respects the coach, but even she couldn’t convince him.
Kevin’s attitude is that his family is financially comfortable. He feels “fortunate.” All I’ve heard is that Mr. Spoon, whoever he was, has been dead a while. He left the kids with a trust fund. I’m thinking college costs are taken care of, you know? And so they’re sticking to this plan to use the Darger money to help the Khans. At one point, Principal Stickman posted a letter on the school’s website. Did you see that? Here, I’ll pull it up:
[He grabs an electronic tablet from his gym bag so he can show the Web page to the reporter.]
To: Principal Stickman
Subject: Artwork donation
A message to the Highsmith community:
(Dr. Stickman, please feel free to share this. We have received many, many thoughtful phone calls like yours.)
With all of you, we celebrate this unexpected good fortune. We do appreciate your guidance about how to proceed on this matter. However, at this time I respectfully submit to the wisdom of my children, Kevin and Kendra. After all, they are the ones who found the treasure in the first place. If they have decided to sell the Darger artwork and use the money for the benefit of the Khan family, then I support that decision. The Khans are part of our community, and something that benefits one family benefits all of us.
Most of all, I admire my children’s altruistic spirit, which gives us hope for the future of the great nation called the United States of America.
Sincerely,
Monica Spoon
That’s the kind of people they are, these Spoons. I guess that particular flavor of crazy runs in the family.
All I know is, my girlfriend, Saba, is suddenly worth half a million dollars.
Afterward, as the gym floor swarms with his teammates running drills,
Kevin Spoon, senior,
finally gets a chance to speak to the reporter again.
You know what’s funny? I meant to tell you this the other day. My sister and I first learned about Louise Denison in your paper. This was last summer, long before we had any clue we might need her help. But the story really caught our attention because this woman’s life sounded freaking awesome.
Do you remember the article? Ms. Denison has an “eye for art,” the story said, an “expert genius,” “glamorous globetrotter,” passionate advocate of self-taught artists who work in isolation. “Outsider artists,” the article called them, “whose work often isn’t discovered until after the artist is dead.” The article said that Denison had just returned from India, where she had seen the work of a guy named Nek Chand, an ordinary government worker who spent half his life building this elaborate, whimsical kingdom in the woods near his house. Twenty-five acres, thousands of sculptures, gods, people, animals, made of cement, marbles, bottle tops, broken glass and tile, you name it. And the cool part was, he did it all in secret.
When Mom showed us the clipping, she told us, “Here’s the perfect job for one of you.” The newspaper story included a big photo: two cement people, bug-eyed, straight nosed and long necked, covered head to toe in shiny beads. And dozens more just like them in the background.
I said, “Mom, do you want me to build you a secret kingdom in the woods?”
She was like, “No! Look, the art appraiser. She lives in Chicago, but she travels all around the globe, scoping out amazing art. And she gets paid for it. Who wouldn’t want to do that?” She stuck the clipping on the fridge, between an article about a lady who designs super-tiny houses for rich people and one about the dude in Taiwan who invented Razor scooters.
So earlier this month, when we needed to have the Darger artwork authenticated, we were all like, yes! We knew exactly who to call.
My sister nearly flipped when she finally got to meet Ms. Denison. Kendra was all, “I gotta be honest. I want your life.”
“I want your luck,” Denison said. “You found this in an alley?”
After she authenticated the work, Denison told us that when a painting is not part of the artist’s known body of work, then the painting usually doesn’t have a title. Since this art was legit, she said, Kendra and I had the right t
o name it. Our book of Darger watercolors definitely needed a title before we auctioned it. I mean, to me, “Untitled” is about as interesting as a car without tires.
Kendra suggested something creepy like Naked Girls Fight Off Old Men. She said it would generate a lot of interest from the general public.
“But wait, are they girls?” I asked. “A certain part of their anatomy says otherwise.”
With a choking sound, Kendra indicated we had reached a place beyond her comfort zone. Mom said, “Now listen for a minute. The gender ambiguity doesn’t suggest that Darger was a pervert. Just the opposite. The research suggests he was truly an innocent. It’s possible this profoundly isolated man did not know there was a difference between boys and girls.”
Anyway, best way to put it was, the gender of the kids in the album was dubious.
Mr. Delacroix had shown us a list of Darger’s titles. A lot of them don’t make sense. Things like At Jenny Richie. Or At Jenny Richie at Hard fury/2000 Feet Below. Or Sacred Heart: Battle of Marcocino. The titles don’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Darger also wrote a 15,000-page illustrated novel he called The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What Is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion.
I mean . . . right?
Our mom knows way more about art than we do. She was an art major in college. No matter where we’ve lived, she’s always taken us to museums and taught us about artists. Mom deserves the credit for coming up with the title we used: Dubious Figures Frolic in a Fantastical Dreamscape.
The best part is thinking about what the money will mean to the Khans. They already moved into a new place. Picture it: This family goes from living in a cramped apartment in a so-so neighborhood to a Lincoln Park penthouse with marble floors and a sweeping view of Lake Michigan.
Kendra and I started this thing, and it’s snowballing. Everybody is on board to transform this family’s life for the better. And the Darger artwork . . . obviously, that’s the key. We never could have expected that. It’s like a magic rabbit yanked out of a hat.
