No Bull: Lost Goya Works Discovered In French Library

A complete series of the first edition of Goya’s “La Tauromaquia”, a series of engravings depicting the history and practice of bullfighting, has been discovered in a castle in France. 

The current owners of the Château de Montigny, located near Chartres, were taking an inventory of all the books in their library, when they came across what is described as a “pristine” set of the series of etchings, completed by Goya between 1815-16. The prints were bound into a ledger book, and it was only due to good fortune that someone decided to take more than just a casual glance through it before tossing it in the bin. The set will be auctioned at Sotheby’s in London on April 4th.

Goya produced a limited run of these prints, but they were not particularly popular during his lifetime. Later they became the inspiration for other artists, such as Picasso, to create their own series of engravings depicting scenes from or inspired by bullfighting. They even inspired the tourist tat that you can still pick up around bullfighting arenas and souvenir shops in Spain. 

Things have significantly changed in the 200 years since Goya struggled to find buyers for these images, however. As ArtNet reports, the last time a complete first edition of “La Tauromaquia” was sold at Christie’s back in 2013, it went for $1.9 million. Thus the current estimate of $610 million seems a trifle low.

Whatever you think of bullfighting, an activity which seems to be rapidly disappearing of late, these prints ought to serve as an inspiration. Go through those boxes and shelves when you Spring clean, and before you pitch anything, double-check to make sure you’re not tossing out something important. We may never know how many great works of art ended up in the recycling bin because someone couldn’t be bothered to take a closer look at what they were throwing away.

Is This Goya Painting A Political Cartoon?

Hoo boy.

Recently Spanish lawyer and art researcher Antonio Muñoz-Casayús has come out with a rather interesting theory concerning “The Pilgrimage of San Isidro”, one of the so-called “Black Paintings” by Francisco de Goya (1746-1828). Up until now, most art historians have assumed that the figures in this painting are anonymous types, rather than representations of specific individuals. However according to Muñoz-Casayús, about two dozen of the figures in the painting are in fact caricatures of famous people from the Napoleonic period in Spain, including Napoleon Bonaparte himself.

Back in June, I revisited the “Black Paintings” at The Prado, along with a friend who was seeing these haunting works in person for the first time. They have always struck me as symbolic tableaux, demonstrating different aspects of the Spanish tendency toward embracing the darker side of life. Broadly speaking, art historians often look at them as commentaries on more universal themes, such as poverty and human suffering. Therefore the idea that Goya included caricatures of personalities of his day in the “San Isidro” is an extremely interesting one, because it would completely alter the way that most people, myself included, interpret this painting.

In favor of the argument that Goya was commemorating the disastrous politics of early 19th century Spain in this painting is the fact that Goya, like many radical republicans of his day, had a bizarrely fanatical attachment to Napoleon Bonaparte – or at least, to the Napoleon-shaped god whom he and many others had come to believe in. As often happens when one decides to lionize a dictator and overlook his evil tendencies, be he Adolf Hitler or Fidel Castro, Goya fell into the trap of believing that Bonaparte stood for something other than self-aggrandizement, even though his words never quite matched his deeds. If, as Muñoz-Casayús suggests, the little emperor is perhaps the only figure painted with some degree of sympathy in the “San Isidro”, this could be because Goya failed to reconcile the dichotomy between the real Bonaparte and Goya’s imaginary one.

Also in favor of the argument that the “San Isidro” is a political work is the fact that this painting was not created either for sale or for public exhibition. Rather it was a personal piece, like the rest of the works that collectively make up the “Black Paintings”. It was painted directly onto the wall of Goya’s own home in Madrid, where it remained until long after the painter’s death. The only people likely to have seen the “San Isidro” at the time of its creation would have been those invited to the artist’s home, and we can reasonably assume that Goya’s only invitees at this time would have been those whom he considered friends.

Yet significant arguments against the idea that the “San Isidro” is a giant political cartoon do exist. Perhaps foremost among them is the possibility that Muñoz-Casayús’ theory is an example of pareidolia, the human psychological tendency to perceive intentional images or hidden messages where none in fact exist. An example of this is the innocuous practice of looking up at the sky, and comparing the shape of a particular cloud formation to a human face, a running dog, or some other object. Another is the Rorschach or “ink blot” test, in which a person is asked to look at a series of ink blots on cards, and describe what, if anything, they see.

As stated above, Muñoz-Casayús claims that he can identify two dozen individuals in the “San Isidro”, including Bonaparte himself, his first wife Josephine, and his sister Pauline, among others. Certainly, the figure in the center of the main group, who is supposedly the Corsican, has the attributes we have come to expect in a representation of Napoleon: the short stature, the sunken eyes, the curl falling over the receding hairline of the round head. However, it is also entirely possible that this could be a case of seeing what one wants to see, and that the resemblance is merely coincidental.

The fundamental problem that arises in trying to prove or disprove Muñoz-Casayús’ theory is that we have no explanation from Goya or any of his contemporaries about the significance of any of the “Black Paintings”, including the “San Isidro”. In fact, some scholars believe the “Black Paintings” are not by Goya at all, or that some are by Goya and others are by his son Javier. We simply have no records indicating that Goya, or anyone else at the time, laid out what these paintings mean, let alone pointed out the presence of specific individuals in them. We don’t even know what Goya himself titled these paintings, if they are indeed his work, as I believe they are.

Goya is perhaps the first great “modern” artist, not because he was a technically accomplished painter, but because of his approach to his subject matter. There are no sacred cows in Goya’s art. His images of the court in Madrid are astonishing not because they are well-painted (which they aren’t), but rather because he often got away with painting powerful people as unattractive, parasitical creatures. His boldness in tackling unpleasant subjects, such as madhouses or witchcraft, as well as unpleasant people, like the Spanish royal family of his day, put him far ahead of his time.

It is this characteristic boldness that leaves me willing to remain open-minded about Muñoz-Casayús’ theory. Would the old, sick, and disillusioned Goya, his hearing gone, and his revolutionary ideals crushed into dust, have hesitated to paint a monumental political cartoon on the wall of his house, after a lifetime spent mocking power with paint? I can’t imagine that at this point in his long career that he would have restrained himself from doing so, if indeed the idea to create such a work had occurred to him. On the other hand, given the contemporary, gnostic tendency to declare the discovery of hidden meanings where there are none in works of art, architecture, literature, and so on, I’ll leave it to those better-informed than I to reach a consensus on this latest theory.

Ocean’s Fourteen? Con Artists Get Conned In Art Swindle

Every now and then, a great crime story emerges from the art world, one worthy of Danny Ocean and his crew of con artists.

Back in 2003, two art-collecting brothers put down a 20k euro deposit on what they believed was a portrait of the Spanish artist Antonio Maria Esquivel, by the very great Spanish artist Francisco de Goya. Goya, if you are not already aware, is generally considered to be the dividing line between the Old Master painters and the beginning of what we would consider Modern art. Thus his importance, and therefore the value of his work both from an historical and indeed a financial perspective, cannot be overestimated. A single, authentic Goya drawing can sell for millions of dollars.

The brothers were supposed to pay the seller 250k euro in order to complete the transaction, but began to doubt whether the painting was the real thing, despite the certificate they had received from the seller that the work was genuine. According to press reports, in 2006, a leading Goya expert determined that the painting was not the real deal, but rather a copy or fake, albeit one painted in Goya’s time. A court ruled that the brothers could keep the painting, but they did not have to pay the remaining 250k owed to the seller, due to the seller’s knowing misrepresentation. Again, according to the press, what originally tipped off the expert hired by the court was the fact that the portrait was lacking two medals which Esquivel had been awarded, and which appeared in what the press described as the “original painting” (more on that later.)

The fun part of the story begins when the brothers decided that they were going to use the painting to try to rip someone else off. They found a broker who told them that he knew an Arab sheikh who would be interested in acquiring the work. After a successful meeting with the Saudi collector, the brothers provided the same false certificate of authenticity that had been used to trick them. The collector agreed to pay a price of 4 million euros for the painting, while the brothers agreed to give the broker 300k euros as a finder’s fee; they borrowed this money from a friend, who paid a representative of the broker on their behalf, promising that they would repay him the next day with an 80k euro bonus for allowing them to borrow the money.

The pair then traveled to Turin, where they met a representative of their Saudi buyer, who brought them a bag filled with 1.7 million in Swiss francs. Wisely, the brothers had purchased a machine used by currency experts to verify that these were real notes and not counterfeit. Unwisely, at some point before they left Turin for Geneva, the bag containing the real notes was switched, and replaced with one containing counterfeit notes.

When the brothers arrived in Switzerland to deposit their ill-gotten gains at their Swiss bank, they were informed that the notes were nothing more than photocopies of Swiss francs. Realizing they had been tricked, they then tried to make it back to Spain via train. Rather stupidly, they decided to bring the fake bank notes with them. Unfortunately, they had the further bad luck of being stopped by French customs police in Avignon, and charged with trying to smuggle 1.7 million counterfeit Swiss francs into the country. Oh and if you hadn’t already guessed, the broker and the sheikh have disappeared, along with the 300k euros.

If you have ever seen the British television show “Hustle”, the story reads like an episode of that program. It was a brilliantly planned and executed con, and one that targeted two people who were trying to con someone else. However, here’s the problem I have with the story.

Antonio Maria Esquivel (1806-1857) was a portrait painter who was born in Seville. He moved to Madrid in 1831, in order to study at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts there. In 1840 he was awarded the Order of Isabel the Catholic, arguably the most prestigious prize that Spain can bestow, and became an official painter to the royal Court in 1843.

If you know something about art history, then you have already seen what the problem is with this timeline: Goya died in France in 1828. In fact, the painter had been living there in exile since he left Spain for the last time in 1824. In other words, by the time Esquivel moved to Madrid, Goya was long dead; by the time Esquivel was awarded the Order of Isabel the Catholic, Goya had been gone for almost two decades.

Moreover, the painting is clearly a poor copy, not of a Goya, but rather of Esquivel’s own “Self Portrait”, which hangs in the Lázaro Galdiano Foundation in Madrid. While I cannot say that I am familiar with all of Goya’s work, it would seem to me that there is a logical impossibility that Goya painted the picture, based both on the timeline of artist and subject, as well as the fact that this is arguably Esquivel’s most famous painting, or at least one of them. Thus, it seems odd to me that none of the news articles that I have read on the case, whether in English or in Spanish, have pointed out that no one in their right mind would have thought this a Goya, to begin with.

Still, whatever the reason why this fact as overlooked, the story itself is certainly a highly entertaining one.

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The fake painting and fake Swiss francs