The Art of the Con: The Most Notorious Fakes, Frauds, and Forgeries in the Art World

by Anthony M. Amore

  Little more was needed to convince Ramnarine and his attorneys that their prospects were dim. Facing a maximum term of 80 years in prison (including 20 for the crimes he committed after his arrest), he pleaded guilty just days after Johns’s testimony, admitting to three counts of fraud. As part of the plea deal, he also agreed not to challenge any sentence of ten years or less in prison administered by District Court judge John G. Koeltl. In their sentencing recommendation to the judge, prosecutors sought a severe sentence, departing from the opinion of federal probation recommendations and arguing that Ramnarine’s pattern of behavior warranted stiff punishment. “Here, the defendant pled guilty on the fifth day of trial, only after six witnesses had powerfully testified against him,” assistant United States attorney Daniel Tehrani wrote. Arguing against the prospect of Ramnarine receiving a lesser sentence because he pleaded guilty, Tehrani continued, “Because the defendant did not admit to his criminal conduct until after the Government had compellingly begun to prove its case (including presenting virtually all of the evidence of the Cemin fraud), [an] acceptance of responsibility reduction is not merited.”29

  Before his guilty plea, Ramnarine and his attorneys gave indications to Judge Koeltl that they intended to introduce an argument involving one of Jasper Johns’s assistants as part of their defense. That assistant, James Meyer, was the man who had originally and unsuccessfully attempted to retrieve the mold for Flag back in 1990. Incredibly, Meyer had appeared in federal district court related to the theft of Johns’s works within just days of the artist’s testimony in US v. Ramnarine. But Meyer’s appearance was not related to Ramnarine’s crimes. Instead, he was also arrested by federal agents in an unrelated investigation for selling works by Jasper Johns that he claimed were gifts from the artist.

  James Meyer is an artist in his own right, albeit not in the same stratosphere as Johns. He has received some critical acclaim for his work, much of which addresses perceptions of suburban America. His love of creating art extends back to his grade school days, and he has said that school was where he “saw that drawing was the only thing [he] did well.”30 Soon, he would be asked to create murals while still a student and would eventually move to Washington, D.C., as a young man to begin his career as a professional artist. By the early 1980s, however, he had moved back to New York, where he would occasionally see his paintings shown at local galleries.31 At 22, he was earning $6 an hour selling copies of other artists’ masterworks to restaurants.32 But soon he would win praise for his paintings and ultimately saw his works included in the collections of the National Gallery of Art and the Whitney Museum of American Art. By 2014 his work would appear in more than 50 group shows.33 Undoubtedly, his work under Jasper Johns had a great influence on his career and would prove to be the key to his rise in standing as an American artist.

  Meyer describes himself as barely aware of the work of Jasper Johns when he knocked on the door to the artist’s studio looking to apply for a job as an apprentice in July 1985. With the artist unavailable to greet him, he left his resume and slides of his work with an assistant of Johns’s and went home, whereupon he discovered that he had no other copies of his resume to use for other applications. He returned to the studio with a request to make a copy of the materials he had left and, by happenstance, met Johns in person. The artist, apparently intrigued by Meyer, told him he could have the materials back after the two spoke for a bit. “Two hours later, he hired me,” Meyer said. “[He] told me to come back the next day.”34 Meyer went on to serve Johns as one of his small, select group of studio assistants for more than a quarter of a century, becoming so trusted that he was given the responsibility of traveling to St. Martin every year to prepare Johns’s home studio for his annual three-month stay on the French side of the island.35

  Meyer’s skill set benefited greatly from his exposure to the techniques and style of his mentor. But it was Johns’s mental approach to his work that impacted him greatest. “Most important, however, Jasper has taught me to think about what I’m making before I make it.” He has also professed his own love for using encaustic painting—the same technique Johns used in creating Flag—after being taught his mentor’s method. “For a long time I didn’t work in it out of respect for his medium,” Meyer told Matthew Rose in a long interview in 2005.36

  Meyer’s so-called respect for Johns came into question in 2014 when he was arrested by the FBI after being indicted by a federal grand jury for selling 22 works he stole from Johns’s studio. According to the indictment, Meyer perpetrated a six-year scheme to defraud Johns that ultimately netted him $3.4 million. Meyer’s scam, the FBI found, involved a component that was now all-too-familiar to Johns: he claimed that the 22 works he removed from the studio were gifted to him by Johns. He then told both gallery owners and potential buyers this fiction, and produced phony provenance by creating fake pages from the official ledger book of authorized works kept by Jasper Johns to present to buyers. Ultimately, a Manhattan gallery sold the works for about $6.5 million.37 In August 2014, Meyer pleaded guilty to a fraud charge before Judge J. Oetken.38 The gallery, unnamed in the indictment, was not charged with a crime.

  While federal prosecutors did not charge the gallery with a crime in the scheme, at least one party did not see them as innocent dupes of Meyer’s scam. On May 8, 2014, Frank Kolodny filed a civil suit against James Meyer as well as the gallery involved in the sale of Johns’s art—which he named as Dorfman Projects LLC—in federal district court, alleging fraud and seeking compensatory damages. In his civil complaint, Kolodny claimed that Meyer stole the artworks from Jasper Johns’s private studio and, “with the aid and assistance of the Dorfman defendants,” sold him the purloined piece for $400,000. Kolodny’s suit also claimed that the affidavits produced by Meyer authenticating the works were notarized by Fred Dorfman’s wife.39

  Kolodny’s suit alleged that aspects of both Meyer’s story and the art he was selling should have raised red flags to Dorfman, considering that Dorfman Projects had been in business for more than three decades and that proprietor Fred Dorfman is a respected specialist in twentieth-century art. For instance, Kolodny stated that it “defies credulity” that the gallery believed Meyer would have received “gifts” from Johns valued at $6.5 million. (As to why he as the buyer would believe that the works were gifted to Meyer, Kolodny points to information he received that Johns had given his longtime administrative assistant an original work as a wedding gift.) Further, none of the 22 works, created in the 1970s, had an exhibition history, which, Kolodny stated, was simply implausible. But perhaps the greatest concern should have been raised by conditions that Meyer insisted upon, said Kolodny. These included a demand that the sale of the works remain confidential and that they “not be re-sold, loaned, or exhibited during Johns’ lifetime.”40

  The civil case notwithstanding, with the evidence against him overwhelming and indisputable in the criminal case, James Meyer pleaded guilty in federal court to theft charges in relation to the 22 works he stole from Jasper Johns.

  As the chaos surrounding allegations of criminal activity swirled around Jasper Johns, he prepared for a new exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The exhibition bore a relevant and poignant title: Jasper Johns: Regrets. The title referred to the words he used to sign most of the pieces in the show, which consisted of two paintings, ten drawings, and two prints he produced—probably not coincidentally—contemporaneous to the height of the Ramnarine and Meyer affairs. According to MoMA, the title of Johns’s exhibition “call[s] to mind a feeling of sadness or disappointment,”41 emotions that undeniably the artist must have experienced firsthand upon learning of the stories of alleged multimillion-dollar gifts that he never really gave, made up by once-trusted associates.

  The show features images based on a photograph of the artist Lucien Freud seated on a disheveled bed, his head in his hand in an image that screams of dejection. Interestingly, Freud too was a victim of art crime
when his painting of his friend Francis Bacon was stolen in 1988 and not seen since (Freud himself designed a “Wanted” poster for the painting that was posted around Berlin in 2001). In a 2014 interview with FT Magazine, Johns was asked his thoughts on the apparent betrayal by his longtime assistant Meyer. “Certainly not a pleasure,” he said in his typically understated manner. Referring perhaps to both the ongoing litigation and the distress he had to feel over what had occurred in the past years, he added, “But I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to define it in any way.” Apparently closing the book on the matter, he avoided self-pity by alluding to the title of his exhibition and saying, “Regrets belong to everybody, don’t they?”42

  Five

  The Inheritor

  Many libraries throughout the United States have on their walls and in their archives impressive art collections that are often overlooked by their patrons. And central branches of libraries serving major cities aside, it is often a guessing game as to which boast art that is of great cultural or historical significance and, therefore, high monetary value. Sometimes, wealthy benefactors bequeath prized pieces of their collections to a cherished library. Other times, an artist who is the town’s favorite son or daughter might decide to donate some works to the library in order to make an indelible mark in his or her hometown’s venerable institution. These works can range in value from pieces worth little more than the canvas they are painted on to millions of dollars. In Boston, Massachusetts, the great artist John Singer Sargent didn’t merely donate some of his priceless works to the main branch of the Boston Public Library, he turned a portion of the building into a work of art all its own.

  The main branch of the BPL, designed by noted architects McKim, Mean & White, is one of the last American buildings whose design was an attempt to mirror the great buildings of Europe both architecturally and artistically. And it succeeded, in large measure because of the breathtaking murals contained within, including one of Sargent’s greatest accomplishments, his Triumph of Religion. Though considered perhaps the greatest portrait artist of his era, Sargent embraced the opportunity provided to him by the trustees of the BPL to secure his place among the great artists by embarking on an ambitious project in a genre considered to be superior to portraiture—the mural.1 Temporarily turning his back on portrait painting completely, he chose a challenging time to embark upon this test, starting his project for the BPL shortly after the completion of another work by perhaps the best muralist of his time, Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, whose Muses of Inspiration Acclaim Genius, Messenger of Enlightenment adorns the library’s grand staircase. And another acclaimed artist, Sargent’s friend Edwin Austin Abbey, also contributed to the mural projects at the BPL, completing his most famous painting, The Quest for the Holy Grail, after 11 years of work. Sargent’s decision to dedicate himself to a significant mural made sense—already established as the nineteenth century’s premiere portrait artist, he understood that, especially during his era, murals were the standard by which artists were measured. Monumental wall paintings in public buildings or churches were considered the key to enduring fame as a great artist, continuing a tradition that went back centuries to the time of Michelangelo, Raphael, Giotto, and others whose classic frescoes endure today as landmark artistic accomplishments.

  Sargent’s decision to tackle the BPL commission was a prudent one, and it went a long way toward solidifying his place in the annals of great artists. Of Triumph of Religion, art critic J. Walker McSpadden wrote in 1923 that the “foundation of Sargent’s popular fame was laid in 1890, when he received a commission to decorate a hall in the Boston Public Library.” He added that the work “carried the name of Sargent into every corner of the United States.”2

  Triumph of Religion is regarded as a multimedia masterpiece, enhanced by reliefs consisting of plaster, papier-mâché, metals, stencils, glass jewels, and gilded or painted commercial wall coverings.3 The BPL would later come to describe Sargent Hall as “‘an American Sistine Chapel enshrined within a place of learning’ . . . the object of ‘worship’ here, however, was not the Christian deity of the ‘original’ Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, but rather the informed and enlightened subjectivity that education could produce.”4

  In the concluding phase of Sargent’s work, the hall was at last transformed into what conservators would later describe as “a highly ornate expression of [Sargent’s] distinctive aesthetic vision.”5 Rather than creating frescoes for his murals, Sargent employed the marouflage technique. This allowed him to complete his paintings in his studios in Britain rather than scaling up scaffolding and working in awkward positions. Upon completion, his murals would be rolled and shipped to the United States and affixed to the library’s walls.6

  A key component to this vision was the installation of gilded plaster moldings patterned after flowers, vines, leaves, dolphins, and shells. Just as his painted works were affixed to the walls by craftsmen, Sargent’s motifs were designed and molded by the artist himself, but their casting and installation was entrusted by Sargent to his young assistant, Boston sculptor Joseph Coletti.7

  Coletti was described as a “gifted and personable young man” who hailed from the working-class suburb of Quincy, Massachusetts.8 He soon became a protégé of Sargent’s, who by that time was already established as one of the leading artists of his era. Coletti so impressed Sargent while assisting him on his murals at the BPL that Sargent later not only got Coletti into Harvard, he also paid his tuition.9

  Coletti’s talents are on display throughout greater Boston, and at least one of his works has been viewed by untold millions of people. Since 1934, every driver entering the east end of the Sumner Tunnel, which provides access under the Boston Harbor from Logan International Airport and into downtown, has seen the bronze relief Coletti created to honor the famous Massachusetts abolitionist senator Charles Sumner. More than 75 years later, Coletti’s work still adorns the facade of the tunnel, depicting two angels, each holding an automobile in her hands. His talents are also on display along the famed Charles River Esplanade, where his bronze sculpture of David Ignatius Walsh—the first Irish Catholic to serve as a governor and, later, a senator from Massachusetts—stands in the area adjacent to the Hatch Shell, where each Independence Day the Boston Pops performs the nation’s most venerable birthday concert. To be sure, Coletti’s career was in no small measure launched by the influence, mentoring, and direct assistance he received from the estimable John Singer Sargent.

  On a seasonably warm Florida day in May 2010, David Wilson traveled to Pompano Beach, Florida, to meet Luigi Cugini, 68, an art connoisseur and the president and director of Art Forum, whose collection of paintings would be the envy of a small museum. Wilson, a jewelry broker with an affluent clientele, had become interested in branching out into the world of fine art, and when a few of his clients inquired about his ability to find for them valuable paintings with the same aplomb with which he acquired gems, he was eager to please. Through a mutual friend, Wilson made contact with Cugini and informed him that he was in the market for some high-end art by well-known artists.

  The meeting went as well as Wilson could have hoped. Cugini shared with him a sampling of his art collection, the highlights of which included works by the famed Edwardian era painter John Singer Sargent. The jewelry-broker-cum-art-buyer could hardly believe his eyes. Wilson asked if the works were authentic, and Cugini assured him they were all originals. In order to assuage Wilson’s concerns, Cugini explained the provenance of his collection. Most of the collection, he explained, came from his grandfather, the Boston-area sculptor Joseph Coletti.

  According to Cugini, his grandfather’s relationship with Sargent was a key reason that he was able to accumulate such an impressive array of valuable art. Wilson was duly impressed with the provenance claimed by Cugini and the collection he had amassed. Clearly, here were the sorts of works his wealthy clients had in mind.

&
nbsp; Wilson and Cugini would kick the relationship into high gear soon thereafter, a clear sign that Wilson was serious about making a deal. Just five days after their initial meeting, Wilson phoned Cugini at home to talk more about possible purchases. He wondered: Could these paintings by Sargent and other notable artists, including Picasso, be authentic? This wasn’t like the jewelry business, where a true gem could quickly and easily be distinguished from a fake by an expert with a loupe. Authenticating a painting—especially an older one—is usually an incredibly painstaking process, and in many cases, the validity of works attributed to the likes of even Rembrandt remain in dispute indefinitely. Cugini allayed Wilson’s concerns. Not only are they authentic, Cugini told him, but they came along with paperwork to prove so. Satisfied for the moment by the prospect of proper provenance, Wilson asked about the prices for some of the choice works. Cugini provided prices ranging up to $1,250,000. He told Wilson that a bank wire transfer would be the preferred method of payment for any works he purchased. With all of this amenable to Wilson, the two parties made plans to meet at Cugini’s home the following week.

  On June 8, 2010, Wilson again traveled to Pompano Beach and to the Cugini home. Together they examined some of the more valuable pieces in the collection, and then Cugini put on the hard sell. He presented a painting depicting a portrait of a beautiful young brown-haired woman, her hair accentuated by a red flower that matched her full lips. “This,” Cugini told Wilson, “is A Venetian Woman.” To Wilson’s untrained eye, the painting appeared to be the real deal. And lest Wilson have any remaining doubt, Cugini directed him to the upper left portion of the canvas, where an inscription bearing Sargent’s signature read, “Dedicated to my friend Joseph Coletti.” Cugini explained the close relationship that his grandfather, the famed sculptor Coletti, had with Sargent. Then there was the letter from Sotheby’s, the famous international auction house, dated five years earlier and offering to consign the painting for sale with an asking price of $310,000. Cugini offered A Venetian Woman to Wilson for the bargain price of just $175,000.