Why a fake Gauguin found its way to the Art Institute

By Charles Storch and Alan G. Artner
December 16, 2007

On an 18 1/2-inch ceramic sculpture of a faun in its collection since 1997, the Art Institute of Chicago had hung many theories about the artist Paul Gauguin (1848-1903) and his life in Paris in the 1880s. That the small figure of a half-man, half-goat could bear such scholarship must have delighted the living English family of forgers and frauds who had fashioned it and made goats of a worldwide art establishment that had accepted it as a Gauguin.

The deception, made known to the institute in recent weeks and to the
public on Tuesday, exploited the soft spot in the world’s body of
knowledge about Gauguin: his early foray into decorative art with works
in ceramics. Extrapolating from their broad knowledge of Gauguin’s works
on paper and canvas, institute experts on post-Impressionism, perhaps
partly in their enthusiasm over having acquired a “lost” work and the
first Gauguin sculpture, found sound explanations for anomalies in the
appearance of “The Faun.”

“Sometimes, a lot of knowledge colors the way you look at something,”
said Douglas Druick, who heads the museum’s departments of prints and
drawings and of Medieval through Modern European painting and sculpture.

Sitting on Thursday in his small, book-filled office, Druick said he had
been shocked to learn from Scotland Yard that “The Faun” was one of
numerous fakes and forgeries — paintings and sculpture ranging from the
ancient to the Modern — that had been made during the last 17 years by
Shaun Greenhalgh, 47, of northern England, and foisted on auction houses
and museums by his pensioner parents, Olive and George Greenhalgh.

Foiled in an attempt to sell a fake antiquity, Shaun Greenhalgh last
month received a prison sentence of 4 years and 8 months. His mother,
83, was given a 12-month suspended sentence, and his father, 84, had a
deferred sentence pending medical reports.

It had been Druick who brought “The Faun” to the institute’s attention.
In 1994 he had noticed its inclusion in a catalog for an auction that
had taken place at Sotheby’s in London. A note in the catalog indicated
the piece had been authenticated by the authoritative Wildenstein
Institute in Paris. The consignor of the work — Olive Greenhalgh, using
her maiden name, Roscoe — had offered Sotheby’s an invoice showing that
“The Faun” had been sold by a Paris gallery in 1917 to Roderick O’Conor,
an artist friend of Gauguin’s.

In 1997, Druick encountered the piece in the London home of dealer Libby
Howie, who had bought it at the auction, reportedly for about $33,000.
The institute then began researching the piece with an eye toward
acquisition. The museum refused to disclose the price it paid her and
would not comment on a report by the Art Newspaper that it was about

Institute scholars discovered a listing in a 1906 Gauguin exhibition in
Paris of a faun ceramic that had been lent by Claude Emile
Schuffenecker, another artist friend of Gauguin’s. Seeing that there had
been a faun in the collections of Schuffenecker and O’Conor, and knowing
that Gauguin’s sculpture found special favor with artists in his circle,
the scholars concluded that it must have been one of the 30-odd early
ceramics that a key source from the 1960s had posited were lost or had
been destroyed.

The only visual clues to those ceramics apparently were sketched ideas
in Gauguin’s notebooks, including some of a faun’s head. The traditional
association of the faun with lust seemed to fit the iconography that
Gauguin, by the mid-1880s, was beginning to develop regarding his animal
nature and identification with the primitive. Druick and his colleagues
also recognized in “The Faun” associations from Gauguin’s life at the
time and hints of his later method of synthesizing from multiple
artistic sources.

Technical analyses raised no alarms, and the museum concluded “The Faun”
was authentic, done in 1886 as Gauguin’s first ceramic sculpture.

“There were some anomalies,” Druick said. “But they were anomalies you
would expect if this were one of the maiden voyages in a new medium.”

Sculpture is now part of Druick’s responsibilities, but when the work
was acquired it was through the department of European decorative arts,
sculpture and ancient art, then headed by Ian Wardropper.

“It came with provenance completely believable,” said Wardropper, now a
curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. “Should we have
checked with Scotland Yard whether the consignor was a descendant of
O’Conor’s? Maybe so, but we don’t usually ask for that.”

The same scholarship, carried on in the same spirit of inquiry, built an
important Gauguin collection in works on paper and paintings. Had “The
Faun” been a print or drawing, there would have been more comparisons
with known Gauguins. In sculpture, Gauguin research is slim, and the
small number of available ceramics — about 50 are extant — compromises
scientific analysis.

“There is no pool to turn to in terms of science,” observed Wardropper.

He said he was “kind of in awe” of Greenhalgh’s ability to play to
scholarly interests.

“This kind of thing comes along once in a while. Hopefully, what one
learns is what the forger saw we wanted: an early piece, lost. He had an
uncanny ability to see what we wanted.”

“The Faun” was on display for years in the institute, and Gauguin
scholars in this country and abroad saw it. No one cried fake. It now is
in storage as the museum seeks restitution.


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