Provenance_ How a Con Man and a Forger Rewrote the History of Modern Art - Laney Salisbury [40]
Nothing had changed much in the intervening years. Sprigs of rosemary still fought their way up through the cobblestones to the light, and wild grapevines climbed the brick facades. What attracted Palmer most about the courtyard was its solitude. Palmer, the longtime director of the association and personal assistant to Giacometti’s widow, Annette, appreciated the short distance that separated her from the bustle and flow of the city. Here she could focus on Alberto Giacometti’s legacy and defend it from the vultures and forgers that had hovered since his death.
On this November morning Palmer was leafing through the latest Sotheby’s catalog when she spotted something unusual. The auction house routinely sent her its glossy publications with the understanding that if she or Annette came across a dubious Giacometti, Sotheby’s would hear about it.
The new catalog heralded an upcoming auction of impressionist and modern pieces featuring four works by the Swiss artist: a sculpture of a woman, a bust of the artist’s brother Diego, a portrait of one of Giacometti’s mistresses, and a fourth piece, lot number 48, a painting entitled Standing Nude.
The painting caught Palmer’s eye. It was a phony.
Underneath the photograph of Standing Nude was a thumbnail sketch of the provenance: It had purportedly been painted in 1954 and bought by Peter Watson, a cofounder of the ICA. Watson, in turn, had sold it to the Hanover Gallery, which had then sold it to the Obelisk Gallery. Finally, in 1957, it had been bought by Peter Harris, a private collector. The piece was estimated at £180,000 to £250,000.
The provenance seemed impressive enough. The Hanover had been a prestigious gallery until it closed down, and Watson had been a wealthy collector and benefactor until he mysteriously drowned in his bathtub in 1956. It was rumored that he was murdered by a rich American lover, Norman Fowler, who was also found dead in a bathtub, some fourteen years later.
Despite the Standing Nude’s persuasive documentation, Palmer remained skeptical. When she showed the catalog to Annette Giacometti, with whom she had worked for nearly two decades, Annette was struck by the odd-looking table in the foreground, which sliced the nude’s lower legs off and shattered the composition. Whoever painted the picture, she thought, had probably bungled the feet, then tried to cover up the mess with a piece of furniture.
Palmer called Sotheby’s, told them she had problems with the piece, and asked for copies of the provenance documents. Several days later she received a package from the auction house that included a receipt from the Hanover Gallery and another from the lesser known Obelisk Gallery, which had supposedly sold the work to Peter Harris for £150.
Palmer wasn’t sure what to make of it all, but her instinct told her that the piece was wrong, and her experience had taught her that instinct was her greatest ally. The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s former director Thomas Hoving, a notable fake-buster, would have agreed. He once described “that vague tug at the brain telling you that something is not quite right,” a feeling often ignored by art dealers, collectors, and curators, particularly when it failed to harmonize with a deal.
You’ve been waiting for that Degas pastel for years; it’s the one that will flesh out your heady collection of the master. Get it quick, before the competition hears about it! You’ve been given a special two-day window of opportunity to make up your mind. You’ve simply got to snag it. . . . You know you should be calm, but this is a sure thing and you are dying to own it. Go for it.14
Palmer had no financial stake in the transaction. Her job was to protect Giacometti’s legacy, and she was determined to stop the sale of the piece. The photograph in the catalog was not sufficient proof of forgery, and the association