Authentic African Art and the Serious Collector-An Essay

This piece, by Gene R. Shreve, originally appeared on www.maineantiquedigest.com.

In the 1480's, Charles the Reckless, Duke of Burgundy, bought an African "idol" from a Portuguese nobleman. This may be the first recorded instance of sub-Saharan African art being collected by a non-African. During this time, the Portuguese traded with the Kongo Empire in what is now The Republic of Congo and northern Angola. The British Museum established one of the first displays of African art in 1753. Prominent museum collections thereafter appeared in France (1878) and Germany (1886). Sub-Saharan objects were not sought by many private collectors until the late 19th century.

Many prominent artists championed African art and were greatly influenced by it. They included Picasso, Braque, Gris, Modigliani, Matisse, Duran, and Brancusi. African art became commercially popular in the 1920's. Famous American collectors included Nelson Rockefeller, whose collection now resides at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City.

Beginning with important early collectors, two attributes have been prized in a piece of African art. First, it should be an accomplished and aesthetically pleasing example of the particular indigenous form. Second, the piece should be authentic. That is, it should have seen actual use by the ethnic group it represents.

-The Central Place of Authenticity in Evaluating African Art

The distinction between reproductions and authentic ("field used") items is central to an understanding of African art. It guides museums and serious collectors.

Many African works were never intended for ceremonial use by African people. Rather, they were made for sale to outsiders from places such as Europe, the United States, and Japan. Some are obvious tourist mementos (sometimes called "airport art"). Others may be more careful renderings of indigenous forms, but by their newness and construction clearly they are reproductions. Others have been created (by distressing the items in various ways) to look as though they have been made for and have received actual indigenous use. The last mentioned are often held in disdain by serious collectors, who label them fakes, frauds, or forgeries.

Many reproductions are attractive and interesting in their own right. My purpose is not to discourage people from acquiring and enjoying them. It is true that reproductions have little investment value. Because they are "made for market," they are simply decorator items. They do not appreciate. Usually they cannot even be resold for the prices paid for them. In contrast, while authentic pieces of African art are, like all fine art, subject to market fluctuations, they have significant intrinsic worth. The current soft market notwithstanding, they can be expected to hold their value and to increase in value over time.

-What Does Authenticity Mean and Why Is It So Important?

For all of the weight attached to authenticity by museums and serious collectors, the meaning of the term remains uncertain.

Africans might find our conception of authenticity odd. We often display African ceremonial figures on a shelf or coffee table with little understanding of how the figure would be received and understood by the local culture that created it. For example, we might place a figure on casual display that was intended to be seen only on special occasions and in a special place—and then only by a select group of people. We are unaware, or perhaps indifferent, that the manner in which we have chosen to use and enjoy the figure might be regarded as sacrilegious by those who made it.

And Africans might find the notions of authenticity we associate with masks even more ludicrous. Authentic masks were almost never created to hang on a wall. Not only do we display them out of cultural and religious context, but they usually are mere fragments of the larger visual representations for which they were intended. For example, the vegetal (raffia) fibers often attached to the mask are usually gone. And the costume worn by the celebrant (often an integral part of the original creation) has almost always disappeared.

A reason for this cultural difference is that we display African art in just the ways we display Western art. We hang an African mask as we would an old master print or painting. We position African ceremonial figures as we would pieces of Classical Western sculpture. So much for literal authenticity.

Problems also exist in determining what items are entitled to authentic designation. Reproductions, of course, are not. Ambiguities, however, arise concerning just when an item has actually seen "indigenous use." For example, some masks made for local ceremonies are never danced because the village diviner rejects them as without magic or for having bad magic. Some local carvers make more masks than are necessary for the prescribed ceremony, expecting those that are not chosen by the dancers to sell to collectors. Some masks continue to be made by local carvers even though the ceremonies for which they are required have vanished. In such cases, local dancers may adorn the masks to entertain tourists.

Moral questions also arise. To keep their consciences clear, serious collectors like to think that all of their field-used pieces came onto the market under peaceful, benign circumstances. Thus they might assume that a village chief or dignitary freely sold or made a gift of the item to an outsider. This is possible but by no means certain. The item might instead have been stolen or taken by force from one horrified at the thought of losing it. Nearly as bad, the original owner might have been driven by the threat of starvation to sell the item. Outbreaks of famine, disease, and civil unrest in many parts of sub-Saharan Africa have increased the possibility that authentic pieces have come onto the market through tragic circumstances. Do serious collectors have a right to own such pieces? Does our premium on authenticity in African art encourage such violent and disruptive behavior in Africa?

Despite the aforementioned cultural absurdities, problems of definition, and moral questions, authenticity will continue to be a, or perhaps the, major preoccupation of those seriously interested in African art. For reasons of both freestanding aestheticism and anthropological fascination, it will remain important to us that the pieces that excite us also gave excitement and spiritual direction to the persons who made them. This is a human bond. It exists even if we cannot capture the nature of their experience. In contrast, reproductions are soulless. They are cynical and patronizing masquerades of belief rather than sincere expressions of belief.

This distinction between the genuine and the reproduction applies throughout fields of fine arts, antiques, and antiquities. For example, I have in my office a Windsor armchair that I found in a secondhand shop. It is nearly 200 years old. The style is emulated in new "early American" style chairs in furniture stores everywhere. Yet the difference between this chair and a new reproduction is overpowering.

The former, though covered with drab old paint, has a resonance and radiance that is palpable. When made, it represented the current fashion. It expressed the aspiration and energy of its time. It was and is alive. A shiny furniture store reproduction is in contrast a cold dead thing-disconnected from the life, heart, and time of its maker.

-How Can One Tell If a Piece Is Authentic?

Since we cannot avoid the concern of authenticity, how do we determine if a piece is authentic? Let us start with one of several possible working definitions: a piece of African art is authentic if it was made for a ceremonial or ritual purpose and was used for some period of time for its intended purpose. This excludes reproductions of any kind as well as indigenous pieces that never see actual or appropriate use. One might think that authentication is possible from a close and informed examination of the African piece, but this is not always true.

It is often said that it is easier to determine that a piece is a fake than that it is genuine. For example, discernable forgeries may have unconvincing wood surfaces (smooth, shiny, or monochromatic wood patina) or unconvincing paint aging (rubbed wear without oxidation). Beyond these easy cases, even experts frequently disagree over the authenticity of works of African art. Forgeries have become so numerous, and the forgers so good at their work, that we are fast approaching the point where anything we see could be a forgery. Thus, in determining authenticity, the history (provenance) of the piece may be more conclusive than our inspection of the piece itself. If collection of a piece that looks right can be documented as before 1925, the piece is almost certainly authentic. Until then, indigenous field-used pieces were so plentiful and cheap that there was no reason to fake them. A provenance fixing a collection in the 1930's is fairly reassuring; the 1940's a little less so, and so on.

The greatest pieces of African art are those of exceptional form with a collection provenance going back to the 19th century: works acquired by European expeditions, colonial officials, missionaries, and the like. These are prized parts of museum collections and those of wealthy collectors. When such items come on to the market, they are very expensive, certainly beyond the reach of most collectors. Works that most serious collectors can afford usually will lack a conclusive provenance at all.

This does not mean that serious collectors must abandon hope of acquiring authentic pieces, only that they must be patient, careful, and realistic. One must try to limit acquisitions to pieces with signs that are consistent with authenticity (actual field use). Collections built on this basis should contain many authentic pieces along, regrettably, with some forgeries. It may never become entirely clear to the collector or to those examining the collection which is which.

Some of the signs thought to suggest authenticity are sweat stains, smoke odor, evident use of primitive hand tools, local repairs, wood patina, paint oxidation, stains or discoloration, libations, and damage. Sweat stains that darken the wood can occur in the outer portion of the back of the mask. The odor of smoke can occur when masks or figures come close to ritual fires or when they are stored in village houses heated by wood. Evidence of the use of primitive tools (for example, an awl instead of a mechanical drill for attachment holes) occurs when results are asymmetrical or varying. Local repairs over breaks or splits in the wood include cross-stitching (with wood strips or string) and caulking (with a soil- or resin-based fixative). Wood surfaces should acquire a rich darkened color (patina) over time. Similarly, paint will react to the atmosphere by forming fine cracked ridges or other crazing (oxidation). The objects, through use or storage, may have plant or inorganic stains or discoloration that is sometimes quite vivid. The objects may be streaked or caked with material thought to add to their potency (libations). They may have suffered various forms of damage (broken or missing parts; rot from sitting on damp ground). Yet none of these signs may be conclusive, since all can be fabricated by forgers.

Some of the signs thought to suggest forgeries are smooth paint surfaces, fresh paint, evident use of modern tools, new or no raffia, no raffia attachment holes, combined representation of different indigenous forms, or crude carving. Such signs, however, may not conclusively demonstrate that a piece is a forgery.

Local practice may be that the piece is periodically cleaned or scrubbed. In addition, many have assumed, albeit incorrectly, that pieces are more attractive to serious collectors if they are cleaned down. Fresh paint on a piece may simply reflect the local practice of repainting to restore ritual power. Many indigenous carvers use modern tools and, at least as to mechanical hand drills, have been doing so for some time. Raffia may be replaced repeatedly over the life of an authentic mask. Many carefully documented masks in museum collections lack raffia attachment holes. Similarly, a single authentic mask may combine the designs of two different ethnic groups, particularly when their territories are adjacent. Finally, authentic pieces do not always display the most artistic or accomplished carving. Authentic indigenous carvers in remote areas may lack the polish of those in cities whose business is to carve reproductions of the same forms.

Thus it is unfortunately true that, while concerns about authenticity are inescapable for the serious collector of African art, definitive proof about the authenticity of a piece is often impossible to obtain. But it is also true that, as one studies objects over time, one can develop a sense about when a piece seems right. In the absence of an extensive provenance, that is about the best that one can do.

Update from Maastricht: Buyers are Anywhere!

"Going Dutch: Buyers aplenty at the Maastricht art fair"

RECESSIONS affect art fairs in different ways. The most obvious is when buyers stay away, especially if a fair has fallen from fashion or if entry tickets are too expensive. Another is when dealers abandon ship, curtailing the fairs they attend to two a year, say, instead of three. Or they suddenly offer deep discounts to ensure a sale. Slashing prices is a sure sign of lack of confidence.

This year at the Maastricht fine art fair, Europe's premier decorative and fine art festival, there was a different problem: an abundance of ordinary offerings, not so much second-rate as indifferent. Dealers have clearly found it hard to source fresh, top-quality works during the recession. Much of the art was even quite stale: Antonio Guardi's beautiful 18th-century “View of the Villa Loredan at Paese”, presented by Simon Dickinson, a London dealer, was on its fourth Maastricht visit, after a winter with another dealer and no buyers in New York.

None of this was evident at first glance. The private view on the first day, March 12th, was anything but private. A record 10,500 people attended. Cashmere, fur, high heels and hairspray was the uniform of the day. Maastricht is a destination fair; people regard it as an outing. The number of personal jets that bore them there would have been higher had Munich airport not been closed by fog.

More than $3 billion worth of art work—covering every category and period, from ancient Egyptian statuary to post-Modern painting—was presented on 263 stands (24 more than last year). The exhibitors came from 17 countries; most were American, British or continental European, but some trekked from further afield, such as Uruguay and South Korea. A conservative estimate would put the fair's entire offering at over 25,000 pieces. Yet no more than a dozen were truly memorable.

Alan Rubin of Pelham Galleries, a British dealer based in Paris, is something of a maestro. His stand is always a theatrical show, and this year was no exception. The centrepiece was a magnificent canopied bed that once belonged to Talleyrand, the great 19th-century French diplomat. But the most intriguing item was an elaborate automaton clock that hadn't been seen in public for more than 100 years. Standing 130 centimetres high, it had feet shaped like dragons that spat out pearls at regular intervals.

Chinese specialists also like to put on a show. Ben Janssens, a London-based Dutchman and the chairman of the fair, had a small side room at his elegant stand displaying 20th-century Japanese bronzes. Beautiful late Japanese craftsmanship is beginning to gain ground among collectors, especially Westerners, who no longer want to compete with the Chinese in buying Chinese porcelain and metalware.

Lacquer, though, is still something in which Western collectors lead the way. Littleton and Hennesy, which has offices in London and New York, unveiled a spectacular lacquer piece at Maastricht: a 15th-century chest of drawers depicting a Taoist paradise. From the Manno collection in Japan, the chest was unusually large—more than 80 centimetres across and 64 centimetres high—and, despite its age, impressively well-preserved (lacquer is treated with special care in Japan). A Western collector bought it on the second day of the fair, happy to pay the full asking price of €3.1m ($4.2m).

Another eye-catching display was Bernard de Grunne's crowd of 27 Igbo monumental standing sculptures from Nigeria (above), many of them taller than their owners. Drawn in part from his father's collection and that of Jacques Kerchache, once a leading French dealer of tribal and contemporary art, this unusual show featured works that had not been seen in public for many years. Much sought after by French, Belgian and, increasingly, American buyers, these pieces are both fragile and rare, and they seldom travel. The demand for African art has grown over the past five years, and it is expected to expand yet further with the reopening of the Museum for African Art in Manhattan next year. Several buyers were keen on the most important statues—a male and a female carved by a sculptor known as the Awka Master—which ultimately went to a European collector for close to the asking price of €400,000.

Maastricht is the sort of fair where clever dealers bring their discoveries. Often these are works acquired at auction for a bargain price, owing to an original misidentification. John Mitchell Fine Paintings, a family dealership in London, arrived with a Dutch winter landscape it had found in a French provincial sale last summer. The picture came from a chateau in central France and was so dirty as to be almost unrecognisable. Auctioneers described it as Dutch school (circa 1620) and estimated its value at €20,000-30,000. Some cleaning and a good deal of research established it as a hitherto unknown work by Adam van Breen. Dated 1611, it is one of the earliest known paintings of its kind, and was snapped up at Maastricht by the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, for €910,000.

An even more impressive surprise came from Mr Rubin, again of Pelham Galleries. He brought a large French champ de bataille painting, a huge formal garden landscape featuring a grand chateau. Mr Rubin had bought the picture at an auction house that was unfamiliar with this kind of work and gave it an estimate of €50,000-70,000. Given the painting’s odd perspective—at once topographical and a bird's eye view—Mr Rubin identified it as a lost work by Pierre-Denis Martin, who painted some of the most important topographical landscapes in the Trianon palace at Versailles. The picture depicts the visit of Louis XIV to the Chateau of Juvisy, and is still available, priced at €2m. Its value lies mainly in its discovery, the product of experience, a good eye and meticulous archival research. At its best, that is what Maastricht is known for.

Despite the paucity of works with the wow factor, dealers at Maastricht reported considerable buying interest. Mr Janssens sold 30 pieces on the opening day, and 20 more over the first weekend. James Ede, a London-based antiquities dealer, has called this fair his best fair ever. During the worst months of the recession, collectors refused to sell unless they had to, drying up both the supply of and the demand for top-quality works. Sourcing first-class art may still be difficult, but the experience of the Maastricht dealers over the past few days is that there is no shortage of money to spend. The worst of the recession appears to be over, for both dealers and buyers.

Source: The Economist