This memoir is an amusing series of anecdotes about the art business of the 80′s loosely organized around the author’s quest for a Warhol painting that he could afford. I’m not a Warhol fan and not fond of modern art, but I enjoyed Polsky’s stories, many of which left me wondering how some of of these dealers manage to stay in business. It’s about buying, selling, dealing, partying, and posturing.
This retracing of Thoreau’s 1839 boat trip sounded promising, but I really didn’t enjoy it. If my copy had been a library book I would have returned it unfinished, but since I had received it as a gift (at my own request) I felt obligated to finish it. By the second chapter I was already sick of Leff’s monotonous repetition of the phrase “deep travel”, not to mention the wooden – and, I suspect, made up – dialog he stuck in the mouths of his traveling companions, who must have been terribly embarrassed by the way he portrayed them.
For about 10 years John Drewe sold dozens of fake paintings in the English art market. The art was the work of his partner-in-crime, John Myatt, a failed painter. The frauds all had a history, or “provenance”, consisting of bills of sale, exhibition catalogs, and correspondence recording their passage through time. It’s provenance that seals the value of a work of art, and Drewe was smart enough to realize that a provenance that looked authentic would cover up any anachronisms or faults in Myatt’s painting. Drewe, posing as a philanthropist, gained access to museum archives in Britain and not only removed material that he used for forge documents, but inserted material so that a prospective buyer of one of Myatt’s fakes would, on researching the work’s history, find an impeccable pedigree.
“Provenance” is the story of Drewe’s criminal scheme which not only defrauded collectors and dealers but which polluted the history of art by his meddling in the archival records. Myatt co-operated with the authors, and the sections on his part of the crime are vivid. Drewe didn’t talk to the authors (and probably would have lied if he had), so his part in the story is fuzzier. I was left with the feeling that there is a lot more to this story (for example, Drewe’s real past and the mentioned-in-passing works sold by Drewe but not painted by Myatt) than the authors were able to dig up.
In addition to being a good story, it raises questions about the market’s valuation of art, for if buyers are happy with a work, why should its history matter so much?
David Meyer
In this small volume, the author of “Memoirs of a Book Snake” recounts some of his experiences collecting books on stage magic. It’s a pleasant read for someone who likes books about books (as I do) but the most interesting parts are his stories of visiting now-vanished magic stores.
This is a history of stage magic. More preciously, it’s the story of certain large stage magic illusions that, mostly, use mirrors. Now I know what the phrase “it’s all done with mirrors” really means.
Steinmeyer’s attempt to use Houdini’s disappearing elephant as the mystery that structures the book doesn’t work very well: the book reads like a series of loosely-connected essays. The author is at his best when describing specific magic acts, making it possible to imagine yourself in the audience of many famous magicians of the past. Also interesting are his descriptions of how magic changed with the end of vaudeville as well as his repeated but always well-illustrated point that it’s the presentation, not the “secret”, that makes for a great illusion and how a well-conceived and executed trick is as much a psychological manipulation as a mechanical invention.
David Meyer
This is a pleasant little book about books from a collector and publisher.
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