February 1, 2022 • 35 mins
The Knoedler Gallery first opened its doors in 1846 in New York City. The gallery sold works of unparalleled quality. But who was Knoedler? And how did the venerable gallery get its start?
Hosted by Alec Baldwin. Art Fraud is brought to you by iHeart Radio and Cavalry Audio. Our executive producers are Matt DelPiano, Keegan Rosenberger, Andy Terner, Alec Baldwin and Michael Shnayerson. We’re produced by Branden Morgan and Zach McNees. Zach also edited and mixed this episode. Music by Blue Dot Sessions. Lindsay Hoffman is our managing producer. Our writer is Michael Shnayerson.
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Speaker 1 (00:05):
Just off Madison Avenue on East seventy third Street for
lunchtime crowded Via Quadrono fills every sidewalk table as well
as the seats in its pandemic inspired shed. It's a
cheerful neighborhood joint, catering to a young crowd with great coffee,
sandwiches and pasta. A sense of triumph pervades the place.
(00:28):
Among all the restaurants closed by COVID nineteen, Via Quadrono
is more popular than ever. Often from a town house
next door, a stooped figure emerges from an upper floor
and makes her way down the stately front steps past
the Millennials. She looks smaller than she once did, as
(00:50):
if scrunched by the circumstances that let her here, though
she still has the white corkscrew curls that made her
stand out in any art fair or gallery opening, and
the stern, almost imperious mien for which she was known.
A little over a decade ago. Ann Friedman was among
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the most powerful art dealers in New York. Her fiefdom
was the Knodler Gallery, from which she sold works by
many of the best known artists of the mid twentieth century.
Mark Rothkoe, William Dacooning, Barnett Newman, Clifford Still, and Jackson Pollock.
(01:33):
Today the Kndler is gone. Just three blocks down Madison
on the north Side Street stand the ghosts of the
now infamous gallery to adjoining limestone mansions in the Italian
Renaissance style with ornate stone arches topped by decorative balconies.
In the galleries own Renaissance. A Royal Blue Awning announced
(01:58):
the Ndler's two buildings in appital letters. In this season
of Art Fraud, we're examining the rise and fall of
the Knoedler Gallery. It's a story about one of New
York City's oldest and most celebrated galleries dealing in world
(02:18):
class art, and how its doors would close forever in
the face of insurmountable pressure, ultimately in the form of
looming prison time. We're talking, of course, about paintings, fake paintings,
or more plainly, forgeries. The best fakes are still hanging
off people's walls. You know they don't even know or
(02:41):
suspect that they're fakes. Of course, art forgeries only happen
because there's money to be made, a lot of money.
Tens of millions of dollars would change hands between a
cast of characters. Before it was all over, A few profited,
some were cheated, and at least one person and would
find themselves behind bars. With me today is Michael Schneerson,
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a long time contributing editor for Vanity Fair, whose feature
story on the Knoedler Gallery appeared in the magazine shortly
after the scandal broke in the spring of two thousand twelve.
Michael is also the author of Boom Mad Money, Mega
Dealers and the Rise of Contemporary Art are compelling and
entertaining overview of the dealers who helped make the contemporary
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art market what it is today. The honest dealers, I
hasten to add, because generally these dealers were and are honest,
driven by a passion for their artists far more than profit.
Here's Michael Schneerson. I've written a lot of articles for
Vanity Fair, but the Notler case sticks in my mind
because at the heart of it lies an unresolved mystery.
(03:54):
The story, of course, has taken some turns that even
Anne Friedman could not have predicted. You could say that
about the whole contemporary art market. I suppose who would
have imagined at the start of the century that an
artist named Jeff Coon's would make a supersized stainless steel
rabbit that's sold at auction in May two nineteen million dollars,
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the highest price ever paid for a living artist's work.
Who could have predicted that a young Brooklyn artist named
Jean Michel Baskuillade would make his oddly haunting abstract portraits
of tribal figures and totems in a basement for drug money,
only to have them sell after his premature death for
as much as a hundred and ten million dollars. Record
(04:39):
Breaking sales like that have done more than juice the
art market. They've led to a gray market of private
dealings that thrive in a hot climate. It's important to
note that the art market is still the world's largest
unregulated business. Legal business anyway. You have to do what
you say you'll do when striking a deal. You have
to pay your taxes, and that's about it. I remember
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go in to a mega dealer's home in East Hampton
one night and commenting that the art market was the
last unregulated multibillion dollar equity market in the world. Our
host said, and let's try to keep it that way
as his guests raised their glasses and toasted. When a
dealer goes further trafficking and paintings that turn out to
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be fakes, is there any pattern to explain why that happens.
Usually it starts with someone down on their luck, a
dealer or perhaps an unsuccessful artist. The fraudster may have
no intention of doing more than tweaking a painting to
make it more saleable, or fabricating just one work to
pay the bills. But what if he or she turns
out to be awfully good at it and the dealer,
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in desperate straits buys it. What if the dealer then
sells it for a profit to someone unaware of the fraud.
And so a fascinating dance begins to dance about the
art that's changing hands, but even more so, a dance
about the story behind the art. At first, the froster
tells a bit of the story, just one or two
tantalizing and fabricated bits to explain how and when the
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painting was done. And then as the dance goes on,
the victim let's call him the mark, grows ever more
eager to hear more. After all, the more he hears,
the more the expanding story seems to authenticate the art
he's bought and the money he'll lose if it turns
out the story was a scam, until the fraudster and
the mark are intertwined, each so eager to believe the
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story that for both it sort of comes true. So
it would become for Ann Friedman, the Nole Gallery's director,
and a mysterious woman named Lepa Rosalez, who, on her
visits to the Nodler starting in always seemed to have
another mid century masterpiece under her arm. As we embark
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on this exploration, it's my opinion that Anne sold those
paintings convinced they were real, until the day Glafira brought
the whole story crashing down. I don't believe Anne knew
they were fakes and sold them as fakes. I have
to be honest with you, Alex, I disagree. I think
you couldn't be a well known, long time dealer in
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top tier art and sell paintings one after another with
no clear trail of ownership unless you were acting with
criminal intent. I think and knew exactly what she was doing.
If not from the beginning, then soon enough and that
she hoped she could fool the art world over and
over again, as indeed she did for some fourteen years.
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So the first question is whether Ann Friedman knew what
she was buying when she bought these works for whopping
discounts from Fia Rosalie and her confederates. And the next
question is should Anne's own customers, to whom she retailed
these paintings, should they have been more aware of what
they were doing. There's an argument in the art world
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that when you purchase an expensive work of art, it's
your obligation, as a sophisticated buyer to do your research,
talked to experts and so forth. Robert Store, former director
of the Yale School of Art and one of the
country's most important art critics, said at a conference not
long ago, the collectors are quote unquote stupid to spend
millions of dollars on a work of art without personally
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investigating its authenticity. And I think he has a point.
That's an interesting idea. So what's your responsibility of your
the buyer, to figure out if my artist fake. I've
got a gallery full of art in the Upper East Side.
Some of it is real, some of it is not
you decide. Well, that's a fair point. I guess my
reluctance to think the worst event has as much to
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do with how I felt about the gallery is what
I felt about her. I'm not a serious collector of
contemporary art, far from it, but I like looking at art,
and on occasion I've bought a painting not for seven
or eight figures, but maybe six. In fact, I've been
the victim of an art forgery myself, but we'll get
to that later. The Noodler felt different from almost every
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other gallery in New York. There's a stateliness about the
a touch of class, old world manners. The Noder didn't
just sell contemporary art. It's old modern art too, which
is to say, art by artists who started before World
War Two, anyone from Brock and Picasso to Francis Bacon.
A sweeping stairway led from the showrooms to the office above,
where Ann Friedman presided. The true marvel of Knoedler was
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its legacy. It was the oldest gallery in New York,
opened in eight Through those five years, it had never closed,
not in the Civil War, not in World War Two,
through every calamity in American history since the Antebellum era,
the k Noodler had survived. But who was Knodler and
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how did the venerable gallery get its start in New York?
That's after the break. It was an eighteen fifty two
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that a young and ambitious gallery assistant named Michael Ndler
disembark from a Transatlantic ship in New York, scanning the
busy waterfront for the face he hoped to find. Soon enough,
he spotted his man, William schaus Chaos had come from
Paris four years earlier to start a New York branch
of a company called Goupil vbel a C soon to
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be known as Ndler. Michael Knoedler was a Goupeel employee
in Paris. That's Dick McIntosh. For years, Dick worked at
the Knoedler Gallery as its historian. He was on the
verge of publishing the definitive history of the gallery when
its gates came crashing down. Out of Goupiel met Michael
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Knoedler in Stuttgart in the course of business and brought
him to Goupeel in Company in Paris, and Michael Knodler
trained in Paris for a good ten or twelve years
he was totally a vassal of Adolf Kupel. William Schaus
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was the first person sent here to open the gallery,
who arrived in eighteen forty seven to scout things out
to help us understand how the Noodler became the first
art gallery in New York and how for decades it
remained the Venerable Nodler Gallery, as if venerable was part
of its title. I've asked Noodler historian Dick McIntosh and
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Francis Batty to art market experts to share some Nodal
history with me at my home on the Upper East Side.
The fact that I live on East seventy third Street,
steps from Freedom and Arts is just a coincidence, though
it does mean I get more sightings of Anne than
I otherwise would, And to be candid, I've often found
myself turning a corner at almost the exact moment and
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reaches the corner from the other side, or spotting that
mop of silver curls to block away heading in my direction.
I would be less than honest if I didn't admit
I've taken avoidance measures, darting between parked cars or turning
so abruptly that I bargined to strangers. Partly it said
I have nothing to say to her, but also I
know that my Vanity Fair story, while it seemed fair
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to me, cut her deeply. That's never my intent with
the magazine story. But sometimes the facts just go where
they will at any rate. There's not much to say
other than to ask questions she'd rather not answer, and
to watch her stock off and a huff dick. I
know the firm that came to be an odler didn't
start as an art gallery. What was it exactly? When
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you walked into the place, what did you see? A store?
The family always called it the store, which is an
indication of its very eclectic nature. It would be very,
very pretentious to call yourself a gallery, because it's like
calling yourself a museum, and that would be, I think
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at that point, very inappropriate. That's Francis Beatty. Francis has
been an art dealer for nearly forty years, first in
partnership with the late legendary Richard Fagan, now with her
son Alex, a tall and suave dealer in his own
right who spends every spare moment schmoozing with tech billionaires
ready to cover their walls with art. The point was
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to sell the excess stock of the Goopeel Company from Paris.
The technology of making reproductions had improved to the point
that many more a much larger quantity of reproductions could
be made could be manufactured. Did reproductions usually mean engravings?
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Originally it meant engravings, but by this time there were lithographs,
which were the cheapest and easiest to produce in the
largest quality, and etchings and media. At the same time. Though,
in the eighteen forties when this store opened, someone was
painting right, even in America. Thomas cole A should b
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drand the whole school in school, then Coloss Let us
not forget the German American Immanuel Leitza who painted the
famous Washington crossing the Delaware right. In fact, goo Pelee
made reproductions of the painting in all sizes in Paris
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and sent them to America, where they sold like hock kicks.
Mark Twain famously said that if General Washington had known
the extent of reproductions that were going to be made
of his image, he'd have thought twice about crossing the
Delaware in the first place. How did Michael Nodler get involved.
When Goopeelee and Shouts had a serious disagreement over how
(14:55):
profits from the New York Gallery, We're going to be divided.
Chow's quit and set up his own business, and Michael
Nodler was dispatched here to continue on in eighteen fifty two,
how would you describe the store's evolution from selling reproductions
to actual paintings for the store to become the first
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real art gallery in New York gradual, and then it
kind of starts to really pick up steam in the eighties.
Then you have this extraordinary kind of explosion for the
next thirty years of them bringing major, major pictures, Goya, Turner,
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I mean, just these legendary names of incredible quality to America.
Did a few collectors become the lynchpins of notary success?
I'm thinking Henry Clay Frick, for one, the great steel industrialist. Frick,
for many years was Noler's biggest client. The first painting
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he bought was four and immediately afterwards he began buying
in real quantity, and his close association with the Knodler
Gallery lasted for the rest of his lifetime, in other words,
until when he died, and when he died. Charles Carstairs,
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the man who had sold him the first painting, was
a pall bearer at his funeral. Michael K. Nodler made
the gallery grow, and so did his sons. As it did,
it began moving uptown, up along Broadway, then over to
Fifth Avenue, following the city's own restless course. The location
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of the store was important for two reasons. First, it
was in Little Farge buildings. The choice of the location
was determined by a network of French people in New York,
one of whom was the father of Jean LeFarge, the artist,
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who was a real estate investor, a successful real estate
investor in early New York. Secondly, due to the rise
of department stores in Paris in the mid nineteenth century,
which is where they really began in the form that
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we know them today, it was clear to all concern
that it was a good idea to be located near
a department store, because that's where everybody went for every
last little thing. As the Nodlers migrated, they started taking
on more original art, even oil paintings. They sold to
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the founders of New American fortunes Erbilt's Asters and Rockefeller's
all frequented Kndler, so did Henry Flagler of Standard Oil
and sugar refiner H. O. Have Ameyer. In the course
of two days, railroad magnate Jay Gould bought twenty two pictures.
All of these grandees had more than paintings on the
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walls of their brand new mansions. They had collections. Then,
in the early nineteen twenties, the dashing Roland Ballet, a
Knodler on his mother's side, came from Paris in his
twenties to work at the family business. The last of
the Ndler family directors, Roland had no choice, really, but
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to join the store when he came of age. Roland
liked to recall that his very first memory of meeting
an artist came when he was just five. His parents
brought him to the Parisian countryside of State of Verny
to have lunch with Claude Monet. They brought a ham
that got sliced at a table in the arden. For
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the rest of his life, Roland would remember the white
bearded artist eating the ham and looking at him with
kindly eyes against a backdrop of water lilies. Roland arrived
in New York in n at the age of twenty two,
drinking most of the way with Pierre Matisse, the artist's son,
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who would remain a lifelong pal. He came bearing other
friendships with some of Paris's best contemporary artists, brac Lege
and Picasso. To his chagrin, he found his older family
members in New York underwhelmed by the paintings he brought.
Put them in the basement. They told him when he
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showed them the new Cubist that Paris had embraced, the
children will take them. The Knoedler wasn't avant garde, as
its family directors reminded Roland. It solved the art of
its times, or, perhaps more accurately, it sold the art
of the times it's buyers embraced, which tended to be
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a decade or two behind contemporary art. Roland had no
choice but to guit his teeth and sell his clients
what they wanted. In the aftermath of World War Two,
a new school of art arose to show its devastation
the often brutal, sweeping brushstrokes of abstract expressionism. Yet Noodler
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kept its distance, as painters like Jackson Pollock and William
Dacooning Clifford still Barnett Newman and Mark Rothko rose with
a new generation of dealers, namely Betty Parsons, Sidney Janie
and Leo Castelli. These were the groundbreaking dealers of the
nineteen fifties. Very few people were buying contemporary art. If
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Pollock hadn't had Peggy Guggenheim, he would have starved. They
were all starving in the fifties. They really weren't, not
until sort of Andy Warhol started to make money out
of art under Rolla Ballet. The Knodler was running out
of steam. Having missed the post war era, it went
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on to overlook pop art too. By the end of
the sixties, it had moved to One East, then proceeded
to spend so much money renovating its newly acquired mansion
that it nearly went broke. The Knodler needed an angel,
someone far more deep pocketed than Roland Ballet. In nineteen
seventy one, the Knodler found that angel in Armand Hammer,
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the billionaire industrialist. Knowing how financially imperiled Rollan Ballet's ndler was,
Hammer bought the gallery for two point five million dollars
in nineteen seventy one. For that modest sum Hammer got
Knodler's business, its artists, its reputation and history. He also
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got the Italian Renaissance mansion at nineteen East seventieth Street.
Not long after that deal, Hammer would buy the adjacent
mansion at one East sevente Street. For Hammer, the deal
was as much about real estate as art. Hammer hired
one of his two grandsons, Michael, to run the gallery
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as part of a family foundation. Incidentally, Michael's son, Army Hammer,
would become a well known Hollywood actor. Still, Michael Hammer
needed top rate dealers who could finally bring contemporary artists
to Musty Old Noler. He found them in Lawrence Reuben
and John Richardson. Reuben was a widely respected private dealer
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whose artists included Richard Deepencorn, Robert Motherwell, and Robert Rauschenberg.
Larry Ruben was very famous because he was the brother
of Bill Ruben, who I had actually worked for in
the seventies. They were arguably two of the most important
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people in the entire art work or. Bill Ruben was
the chief curator of the Museum of Modern Art, and
that was a time when the chief curator of the
Museum of Modern Art was more important than any director anywhere,
and the fact that his brother actually ran Kndler was
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a let's say, a subject of both admiration and envy
and some sort of I would say snarkiness because people
would say, well, Bill Rubens having a big Frank Stella
show at the Museum of Modern Art, which would of
course make Frank Stella's incredibly valuable. And at the same
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time Stella was represented by his brother who was running
the Kndler gallery, So there was some more than whispering
about conflict of interest, but um, it was evaded by
Bill Ruben very effectively. We'll be back in a minute.
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Larry brought with him a number of artists who really,
almost overnight, returned the not Aler to some sort of eminence.
I mean, I'm thinking of obviously Stella, as you mentioned,
Deven Corn, Richard Depon Corn, another huge coup. And wasn't
Robert Rauschenberg there for at least part of the time, Yes,
I think Rauschenberg was there, and mother, well, you know,
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abstract Expressionism was Bill and Larry's kind of sweet spot,
and so you know, those artists were artists that were
celebrated the Museum of Modern art and celebrated, and I'm
sure ensured Ndler's financial viability and success at that time.
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Along with Larry Reuben, Michael Hammer's other heavy gun was
John Cherson, an english born critic, curator, Picasso biographer, and
men about town. He told naughty stories about wealthy people
and made them clamor for more. Along with handling artists
he brought to Knodler himself. Richardson was induced to take
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on Salvador Dolly, or as he came to put it,
to join the Dolly team. Dolly had been with k
Noodler since the nineteen twenties, when Roland Ballet had brought
him in. Roland's wife, Pelisse, tells the story of how
he brought Dolly Toner. Roland was a very good friend
of Christian Dio since they were young, and Christian Dio
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was had a little gallery in Paris, and he and
Rollan had lunch one day and Dior said him, you know,
I'm representing a Spanish artist. I'm having a show of
his right now. Would you come to the gallery after lunch?
And Rolland said sure, I'd love to. And he went
to the gallery and looked at the paintings and It
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was this young Spanish artist named Salvador Dolly, And of
course Nodler Gallery was a big deal gallery, and Christian
Dior just had this little thing. And he said to
Rolland do you really like him? He said, yes, I
like his work very much. And Dior said, would you
be interested in taking him on for Ndler? And Rolland said,
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I really would. I'd like to meet him and I'd
like to to see more of his work. And that's
what happened, and his Rolland always tells the story. I
took Dolly to Ndler, and Christian Dior went onto the
dress business. Dolly's health was fragile now, but the old
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surrealist remained immensely popular and sold out bi annual shows
at Nodler with a little help from the staff. In
an interview for Vanity Fair, Richardson described Dolly's poignant situation.
It was fascinating because he couldn't draw anymore. Richardson recalled
of Dolly his hands were too weak for him to
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do the work. All he could do was sign his name.
His eyes had gone. To put Dolly in a good mood,
the staff would bring female models down to the basement
have them undress and tell them to roll around naked
on large pieces of rolling paper smeared with blue paint.
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For one show, Dolly had the idea to do holograms
of his own work, but he hadn't made them yet.
Richardson explained, in order to do them, we had to
find some original dollies. So Roland and I went down
to the basement and we found a bunch of old
nineteen century sculpture of no great distinction. We got someone
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to paint antlers on a loaf of bread and other
surrealist cliches, and this crap sold. Dolly's only contribution was
a huge signature, because that's all he could do anymore.
It was, in its way a kind of art world fraud,
except that the clay lumps and the blue painted paper
and the holograms were at least touched and blessed by
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the artist, and buyers, foolish as they might be, more
or less new what they were buying. Coincidentally, it was
at a Salvador Dolly opening at the Knodler Gallery in
Night where Philly Say first laid eyes on Roland Dalet.
As she recalls, it was love at first sight. It
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was a Dolly opening I was representing Dolly at the
time in the United States, and I went with his
manager and his wife and we went to the gallery
and as I walked in, I saw this man at
the end of the gallery and I just thought to myself,
my god, that's the man of my life. I was
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married at the time you were married. Yes, he was
married without don know how many mistresses, and there were
thirty eight years between you. Yes, he was so delightfully charming.
This is European elegance like doesn't exist anymore, didn't even
really exist then. It was five years later, in ninety three,
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when Philice Say was arriving at Michael Hammer's gallery to
meet a client for lunch, when fate would bring the
two back together, this time for good. I went to
the gallery and we were up on the second floor
and the elevator opened and then off the elevator came
Roll on and I was like, oh my god, and
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I said, I've been in Paris for three months. If
I can't pull this off today, there's something definitely wrong
with me. At the end of lunch, we got up
and rolland came over to me and he said, you know,
I really enjoyed having lunch with you. I find you charming,
but I would like it if we could have lunch
just the two of us. Would you do that? And
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I said, just tell me when, And we had lunch
the next day and really practically didn't separate from that moment. On.
With the sale of Knodler to armand Hammer, Roland Ballet
began organizing his exit. He married Philie Say she at
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he at sixty six, and the two moved to Paris.
They lived like the newly weds. They were oblivious to
their nearly four decade age difference until armand Hammer disrupted
their idol. Hammer owed a third and final payment to
Ballet to complete his purchase of the Ndler Gallery and
simply refused to make it. Roland was appalled. He never
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thought armand Hammer would be so awful and such a crook,
Phelice Say recalled later. A judge had to intervene. We
were in Paris and we got this call from his
lawyer that Almand Hamma was going to be in New
York in two days and he wanted to settle it,
and Roland, if he really wanted to do, they should
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come to New York. So we dropped everything and flew
to New York. Roland went to court and Hamma was
there and the thing was he said, yes, you know,
I'll settle in. And Roland said, I I have to
go back to France and I have things to do,
and if you want to settle it, I want a
bank check for it by the end of the day. Today.
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Hammer gave the check. By the end of the day,
the bank check, and we went back to Paris. Sick
of the art business, Roland Ballet resigned as Ndler's director
and settled in to enjoy what would prove to be
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more years of conjugal bliss with his young and adoring wife.
He owned one of the two buildings on East sevent Street,
number twenty one, which would eventually pass to Philly Say
and be sold by her in two thousand eleven for
fifteen and a half million dollars, but he rarely came
to the gallery anymore. So he almost certainly failed to
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notice a nine year old salesperson who joined Nodler in December.
Her name was Ann Friedman, and her impact on the
gallery would be both profound and tragic. Over many of
its one fifty plus years, the Knoedler had been a living,
breathing presence, a character in the story of twenty century art.
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Its fortunes had risen and sometimes dipped, but its reputation
remained intact, and the employees who chose to work there
for modest salaries were personally devoted to it. They would
find in Ann Friedman a very different kind of gallerists,
one much more focused on money that art. Over a
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fourteen year period, and Freedman oversaw the selling of more
than sixty disputed paintings, reaping eighty million dollars for the gallery,
a trio of forgers, and Freedman herself to the shock
and scorn of the entire contemporary art market. She even
managed to open a new gallery, Friedman Arts, on the
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third floor of a townhouse on East seventy third Street,
next door to the chik Via Quadrono restaurant. She goes
up and down those stairs every day, a free woman,
but a shunned presence in this neighborhood of world renowned dealers.
We're coming back from Frank Stella's studio and you got
a call, and now he's boiling. He wants to kill her.
(33:46):
That's next time on art Fraud. Come with me I'm
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(34:15):
you by iHeart Radio and Cavalry Audio. Our executive producers
are Matt del Piano, Keegan Rosenberger, Andy Turner, myself, and
Michael Snayerson. We're produced by Brandon Morgan and Zach McNeice.
Zach also edited and mixed this episode. Lindsay Hoffman is
our managing producer. Our writer is Michael Schneerson. If you
(34:40):
want to view paradized, simply look around and fu you
think you want. I want to change the world. There's
nothing O, there is no life. I go to
Just off Madison Avenue on East seventy third Street for
lunchtime crowded Via Quadrono fills every sidewalk table as well
as the seats in its pandemic inspired shed. It's a
cheerful neighborhood joint, catering to a young crowd with great coffee,
sandwiches and pasta. A sense of triumph pervades the place.
(00:28):
Among all the restaurants closed by COVID nineteen, Via Quadrono
is more popular than ever. Often from a town house
next door, a stooped figure emerges from an upper floor
and makes her way down the stately front steps past
the Millennials. She looks smaller than she once did, as
(00:50):
if scrunched by the circumstances that let her here, though
she still has the white corkscrew curls that made her
stand out in any art fair or gallery opening, and
the stern, almost imperious mien for which she was known.
A little over a decade ago. Ann Friedman was among
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the most powerful art dealers in New York. Her fiefdom
was the Knodler Gallery, from which she sold works by
many of the best known artists of the mid twentieth century.
Mark Rothkoe, William Dacooning, Barnett Newman, Clifford Still, and Jackson Pollock.
(01:33):
Today the Kndler is gone. Just three blocks down Madison
on the north Side Street stand the ghosts of the
now infamous gallery to adjoining limestone mansions in the Italian
Renaissance style with ornate stone arches topped by decorative balconies.
In the galleries own Renaissance. A Royal Blue Awning announced
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the Ndler's two buildings in appital letters. In this season
of Art Fraud, we're examining the rise and fall of
the Knoedler Gallery. It's a story about one of New
York City's oldest and most celebrated galleries dealing in world
(02:18):
class art, and how its doors would close forever in
the face of insurmountable pressure, ultimately in the form of
looming prison time. We're talking, of course, about paintings, fake paintings,
or more plainly, forgeries. The best fakes are still hanging
off people's walls. You know they don't even know or
(02:41):
suspect that they're fakes. Of course, art forgeries only happen
because there's money to be made, a lot of money.
Tens of millions of dollars would change hands between a
cast of characters. Before it was all over, A few profited,
some were cheated, and at least one person and would
find themselves behind bars. With me today is Michael Schneerson,
(03:08):
a long time contributing editor for Vanity Fair, whose feature
story on the Knoedler Gallery appeared in the magazine shortly
after the scandal broke in the spring of two thousand twelve.
Michael is also the author of Boom Mad Money, Mega
Dealers and the Rise of Contemporary Art are compelling and
entertaining overview of the dealers who helped make the contemporary
(03:31):
art market what it is today. The honest dealers, I
hasten to add, because generally these dealers were and are honest,
driven by a passion for their artists far more than profit.
Here's Michael Schneerson. I've written a lot of articles for
Vanity Fair, but the Notler case sticks in my mind
because at the heart of it lies an unresolved mystery.
(03:54):
The story, of course, has taken some turns that even
Anne Friedman could not have predicted. You could say that
about the whole contemporary art market. I suppose who would
have imagined at the start of the century that an
artist named Jeff Coon's would make a supersized stainless steel
rabbit that's sold at auction in May two nineteen million dollars,
(04:17):
the highest price ever paid for a living artist's work.
Who could have predicted that a young Brooklyn artist named
Jean Michel Baskuillade would make his oddly haunting abstract portraits
of tribal figures and totems in a basement for drug money,
only to have them sell after his premature death for
as much as a hundred and ten million dollars. Record
(04:39):
Breaking sales like that have done more than juice the
art market. They've led to a gray market of private
dealings that thrive in a hot climate. It's important to
note that the art market is still the world's largest
unregulated business. Legal business anyway. You have to do what
you say you'll do when striking a deal. You have
to pay your taxes, and that's about it. I remember
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go in to a mega dealer's home in East Hampton
one night and commenting that the art market was the
last unregulated multibillion dollar equity market in the world. Our
host said, and let's try to keep it that way
as his guests raised their glasses and toasted. When a
dealer goes further trafficking and paintings that turn out to
(05:22):
be fakes, is there any pattern to explain why that happens.
Usually it starts with someone down on their luck, a
dealer or perhaps an unsuccessful artist. The fraudster may have
no intention of doing more than tweaking a painting to
make it more saleable, or fabricating just one work to
pay the bills. But what if he or she turns
out to be awfully good at it and the dealer,
(05:44):
in desperate straits buys it. What if the dealer then
sells it for a profit to someone unaware of the fraud.
And so a fascinating dance begins to dance about the
art that's changing hands, but even more so, a dance
about the story behind the art. At first, the froster
tells a bit of the story, just one or two
tantalizing and fabricated bits to explain how and when the
(06:07):
painting was done. And then as the dance goes on,
the victim let's call him the mark, grows ever more
eager to hear more. After all, the more he hears,
the more the expanding story seems to authenticate the art
he's bought and the money he'll lose if it turns
out the story was a scam, until the fraudster and
the mark are intertwined, each so eager to believe the
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story that for both it sort of comes true. So
it would become for Ann Friedman, the Nole Gallery's director,
and a mysterious woman named Lepa Rosalez, who, on her
visits to the Nodler starting in always seemed to have
another mid century masterpiece under her arm. As we embark
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on this exploration, it's my opinion that Anne sold those
paintings convinced they were real, until the day Glafira brought
the whole story crashing down. I don't believe Anne knew
they were fakes and sold them as fakes. I have
to be honest with you, Alex, I disagree. I think
you couldn't be a well known, long time dealer in
(07:10):
top tier art and sell paintings one after another with
no clear trail of ownership unless you were acting with
criminal intent. I think and knew exactly what she was doing.
If not from the beginning, then soon enough and that
she hoped she could fool the art world over and
over again, as indeed she did for some fourteen years.
(07:32):
So the first question is whether Ann Friedman knew what
she was buying when she bought these works for whopping
discounts from Fia Rosalie and her confederates. And the next
question is should Anne's own customers, to whom she retailed
these paintings, should they have been more aware of what
they were doing. There's an argument in the art world
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that when you purchase an expensive work of art, it's
your obligation, as a sophisticated buyer to do your research,
talked to experts and so forth. Robert Store, former director
of the Yale School of Art and one of the
country's most important art critics, said at a conference not
long ago, the collectors are quote unquote stupid to spend
millions of dollars on a work of art without personally
(08:14):
investigating its authenticity. And I think he has a point.
That's an interesting idea. So what's your responsibility of your
the buyer, to figure out if my artist fake. I've
got a gallery full of art in the Upper East Side.
Some of it is real, some of it is not
you decide. Well, that's a fair point. I guess my
reluctance to think the worst event has as much to
(08:36):
do with how I felt about the gallery is what
I felt about her. I'm not a serious collector of
contemporary art, far from it, but I like looking at art,
and on occasion I've bought a painting not for seven
or eight figures, but maybe six. In fact, I've been
the victim of an art forgery myself, but we'll get
to that later. The Noodler felt different from almost every
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other gallery in New York. There's a stateliness about the
a touch of class, old world manners. The Noder didn't
just sell contemporary art. It's old modern art too, which
is to say, art by artists who started before World
War Two, anyone from Brock and Picasso to Francis Bacon.
A sweeping stairway led from the showrooms to the office above,
where Ann Friedman presided. The true marvel of Knoedler was
(09:22):
its legacy. It was the oldest gallery in New York,
opened in eight Through those five years, it had never closed,
not in the Civil War, not in World War Two,
through every calamity in American history since the Antebellum era,
the k Noodler had survived. But who was Knodler and
(09:42):
how did the venerable gallery get its start in New York?
That's after the break. It was an eighteen fifty two
(10:04):
that a young and ambitious gallery assistant named Michael Ndler
disembark from a Transatlantic ship in New York, scanning the
busy waterfront for the face he hoped to find. Soon enough,
he spotted his man, William schaus Chaos had come from
Paris four years earlier to start a New York branch
of a company called Goupil vbel a C soon to
(10:26):
be known as Ndler. Michael Knoedler was a Goupeel employee
in Paris. That's Dick McIntosh. For years, Dick worked at
the Knoedler Gallery as its historian. He was on the
verge of publishing the definitive history of the gallery when
its gates came crashing down. Out of Goupiel met Michael
(10:49):
Knoedler in Stuttgart in the course of business and brought
him to Goupeel in Company in Paris, and Michael Knodler
trained in Paris for a good ten or twelve years
he was totally a vassal of Adolf Kupel. William Schaus
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was the first person sent here to open the gallery,
who arrived in eighteen forty seven to scout things out
to help us understand how the Noodler became the first
art gallery in New York and how for decades it
remained the Venerable Nodler Gallery, as if venerable was part
of its title. I've asked Noodler historian Dick McIntosh and
(11:33):
Francis Batty to art market experts to share some Nodal
history with me at my home on the Upper East Side.
The fact that I live on East seventy third Street,
steps from Freedom and Arts is just a coincidence, though
it does mean I get more sightings of Anne than
I otherwise would, And to be candid, I've often found
myself turning a corner at almost the exact moment and
(11:55):
reaches the corner from the other side, or spotting that
mop of silver curls to block away heading in my direction.
I would be less than honest if I didn't admit
I've taken avoidance measures, darting between parked cars or turning
so abruptly that I bargined to strangers. Partly it said
I have nothing to say to her, but also I
know that my Vanity Fair story, while it seemed fair
(12:17):
to me, cut her deeply. That's never my intent with
the magazine story. But sometimes the facts just go where
they will at any rate. There's not much to say
other than to ask questions she'd rather not answer, and
to watch her stock off and a huff dick. I
know the firm that came to be an odler didn't
start as an art gallery. What was it exactly? When
(12:40):
you walked into the place, what did you see? A store?
The family always called it the store, which is an
indication of its very eclectic nature. It would be very,
very pretentious to call yourself a gallery, because it's like
calling yourself a museum, and that would be, I think
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at that point, very inappropriate. That's Francis Beatty. Francis has
been an art dealer for nearly forty years, first in
partnership with the late legendary Richard Fagan, now with her
son Alex, a tall and suave dealer in his own
right who spends every spare moment schmoozing with tech billionaires
ready to cover their walls with art. The point was
(13:24):
to sell the excess stock of the Goopeel Company from Paris.
The technology of making reproductions had improved to the point
that many more a much larger quantity of reproductions could
be made could be manufactured. Did reproductions usually mean engravings?
(13:46):
Originally it meant engravings, but by this time there were lithographs,
which were the cheapest and easiest to produce in the
largest quality, and etchings and media. At the same time. Though,
in the eighteen forties when this store opened, someone was
painting right, even in America. Thomas cole A should b
(14:09):
drand the whole school in school, then Coloss Let us
not forget the German American Immanuel Leitza who painted the
famous Washington crossing the Delaware right. In fact, goo Pelee
made reproductions of the painting in all sizes in Paris
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and sent them to America, where they sold like hock kicks.
Mark Twain famously said that if General Washington had known
the extent of reproductions that were going to be made
of his image, he'd have thought twice about crossing the
Delaware in the first place. How did Michael Nodler get involved.
When Goopeelee and Shouts had a serious disagreement over how
(14:55):
profits from the New York Gallery, We're going to be divided.
Chow's quit and set up his own business, and Michael
Nodler was dispatched here to continue on in eighteen fifty two,
how would you describe the store's evolution from selling reproductions
to actual paintings for the store to become the first
(15:16):
real art gallery in New York gradual, and then it
kind of starts to really pick up steam in the eighties.
Then you have this extraordinary kind of explosion for the
next thirty years of them bringing major, major pictures, Goya, Turner,
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I mean, just these legendary names of incredible quality to America.
Did a few collectors become the lynchpins of notary success?
I'm thinking Henry Clay Frick, for one, the great steel industrialist. Frick,
for many years was Noler's biggest client. The first painting
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he bought was four and immediately afterwards he began buying
in real quantity, and his close association with the Knodler
Gallery lasted for the rest of his lifetime, in other words,
until when he died, and when he died. Charles Carstairs,
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the man who had sold him the first painting, was
a pall bearer at his funeral. Michael K. Nodler made
the gallery grow, and so did his sons. As it did,
it began moving uptown, up along Broadway, then over to
Fifth Avenue, following the city's own restless course. The location
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of the store was important for two reasons. First, it
was in Little Farge buildings. The choice of the location
was determined by a network of French people in New York,
one of whom was the father of Jean LeFarge, the artist,
(17:12):
who was a real estate investor, a successful real estate
investor in early New York. Secondly, due to the rise
of department stores in Paris in the mid nineteenth century,
which is where they really began in the form that
(17:33):
we know them today, it was clear to all concern
that it was a good idea to be located near
a department store, because that's where everybody went for every
last little thing. As the Nodlers migrated, they started taking
on more original art, even oil paintings. They sold to
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the founders of New American fortunes Erbilt's Asters and Rockefeller's
all frequented Kndler, so did Henry Flagler of Standard Oil
and sugar refiner H. O. Have Ameyer. In the course
of two days, railroad magnate Jay Gould bought twenty two pictures.
All of these grandees had more than paintings on the
(18:18):
walls of their brand new mansions. They had collections. Then,
in the early nineteen twenties, the dashing Roland Ballet, a
Knodler on his mother's side, came from Paris in his
twenties to work at the family business. The last of
the Ndler family directors, Roland had no choice, really, but
(18:40):
to join the store when he came of age. Roland
liked to recall that his very first memory of meeting
an artist came when he was just five. His parents
brought him to the Parisian countryside of State of Verny
to have lunch with Claude Monet. They brought a ham
that got sliced at a table in the arden. For
(19:00):
the rest of his life, Roland would remember the white
bearded artist eating the ham and looking at him with
kindly eyes against a backdrop of water lilies. Roland arrived
in New York in n at the age of twenty two,
drinking most of the way with Pierre Matisse, the artist's son,
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who would remain a lifelong pal. He came bearing other
friendships with some of Paris's best contemporary artists, brac Lege
and Picasso. To his chagrin, he found his older family
members in New York underwhelmed by the paintings he brought.
Put them in the basement. They told him when he
(19:42):
showed them the new Cubist that Paris had embraced, the
children will take them. The Knoedler wasn't avant garde, as
its family directors reminded Roland. It solved the art of
its times, or, perhaps more accurately, it sold the art
of the times it's buyers embraced, which tended to be
(20:02):
a decade or two behind contemporary art. Roland had no
choice but to guit his teeth and sell his clients
what they wanted. In the aftermath of World War Two,
a new school of art arose to show its devastation
the often brutal, sweeping brushstrokes of abstract expressionism. Yet Noodler
(20:25):
kept its distance, as painters like Jackson Pollock and William
Dacooning Clifford still Barnett Newman and Mark Rothko rose with
a new generation of dealers, namely Betty Parsons, Sidney Janie
and Leo Castelli. These were the groundbreaking dealers of the
nineteen fifties. Very few people were buying contemporary art. If
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Pollock hadn't had Peggy Guggenheim, he would have starved. They
were all starving in the fifties. They really weren't, not
until sort of Andy Warhol started to make money out
of art under Rolla Ballet. The Knodler was running out
of steam. Having missed the post war era, it went
(21:06):
on to overlook pop art too. By the end of
the sixties, it had moved to One East, then proceeded
to spend so much money renovating its newly acquired mansion
that it nearly went broke. The Knodler needed an angel,
someone far more deep pocketed than Roland Ballet. In nineteen
seventy one, the Knodler found that angel in Armand Hammer,
(21:29):
the billionaire industrialist. Knowing how financially imperiled Rollan Ballet's ndler was,
Hammer bought the gallery for two point five million dollars
in nineteen seventy one. For that modest sum Hammer got
Knodler's business, its artists, its reputation and history. He also
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got the Italian Renaissance mansion at nineteen East seventieth Street.
Not long after that deal, Hammer would buy the adjacent
mansion at one East sevente Street. For Hammer, the deal
was as much about real estate as art. Hammer hired
one of his two grandsons, Michael, to run the gallery
(22:10):
as part of a family foundation. Incidentally, Michael's son, Army Hammer,
would become a well known Hollywood actor. Still, Michael Hammer
needed top rate dealers who could finally bring contemporary artists
to Musty Old Noler. He found them in Lawrence Reuben
and John Richardson. Reuben was a widely respected private dealer
(22:35):
whose artists included Richard Deepencorn, Robert Motherwell, and Robert Rauschenberg.
Larry Ruben was very famous because he was the brother
of Bill Ruben, who I had actually worked for in
the seventies. They were arguably two of the most important
(22:57):
people in the entire art work or. Bill Ruben was
the chief curator of the Museum of Modern Art, and
that was a time when the chief curator of the
Museum of Modern Art was more important than any director anywhere,
and the fact that his brother actually ran Kndler was
(23:18):
a let's say, a subject of both admiration and envy
and some sort of I would say snarkiness because people
would say, well, Bill Rubens having a big Frank Stella
show at the Museum of Modern Art, which would of
course make Frank Stella's incredibly valuable. And at the same
(23:43):
time Stella was represented by his brother who was running
the Kndler gallery, So there was some more than whispering
about conflict of interest, but um, it was evaded by
Bill Ruben very effectively. We'll be back in a minute.
(24:09):
Larry brought with him a number of artists who really,
almost overnight, returned the not Aler to some sort of eminence.
I mean, I'm thinking of obviously Stella, as you mentioned,
Deven Corn, Richard Depon Corn, another huge coup. And wasn't
Robert Rauschenberg there for at least part of the time, Yes,
I think Rauschenberg was there, and mother, well, you know,
(24:33):
abstract Expressionism was Bill and Larry's kind of sweet spot,
and so you know, those artists were artists that were
celebrated the Museum of Modern art and celebrated, and I'm
sure ensured Ndler's financial viability and success at that time.
(24:55):
Along with Larry Reuben, Michael Hammer's other heavy gun was
John Cherson, an english born critic, curator, Picasso biographer, and
men about town. He told naughty stories about wealthy people
and made them clamor for more. Along with handling artists
he brought to Knodler himself. Richardson was induced to take
(25:17):
on Salvador Dolly, or as he came to put it,
to join the Dolly team. Dolly had been with k
Noodler since the nineteen twenties, when Roland Ballet had brought
him in. Roland's wife, Pelisse, tells the story of how
he brought Dolly Toner. Roland was a very good friend
of Christian Dio since they were young, and Christian Dio
(25:42):
was had a little gallery in Paris, and he and
Rollan had lunch one day and Dior said him, you know,
I'm representing a Spanish artist. I'm having a show of
his right now. Would you come to the gallery after lunch?
And Rolland said sure, I'd love to. And he went
to the gallery and looked at the paintings and It
(26:03):
was this young Spanish artist named Salvador Dolly, And of
course Nodler Gallery was a big deal gallery, and Christian
Dior just had this little thing. And he said to
Rolland do you really like him? He said, yes, I
like his work very much. And Dior said, would you
be interested in taking him on for Ndler? And Rolland said,
(26:24):
I really would. I'd like to meet him and I'd
like to to see more of his work. And that's
what happened, and his Rolland always tells the story. I
took Dolly to Ndler, and Christian Dior went onto the
dress business. Dolly's health was fragile now, but the old
(26:45):
surrealist remained immensely popular and sold out bi annual shows
at Nodler with a little help from the staff. In
an interview for Vanity Fair, Richardson described Dolly's poignant situation.
It was fascinating because he couldn't draw anymore. Richardson recalled
of Dolly his hands were too weak for him to
(27:08):
do the work. All he could do was sign his name.
His eyes had gone. To put Dolly in a good mood,
the staff would bring female models down to the basement
have them undress and tell them to roll around naked
on large pieces of rolling paper smeared with blue paint.
(27:28):
For one show, Dolly had the idea to do holograms
of his own work, but he hadn't made them yet.
Richardson explained, in order to do them, we had to
find some original dollies. So Roland and I went down
to the basement and we found a bunch of old
nineteen century sculpture of no great distinction. We got someone
(27:49):
to paint antlers on a loaf of bread and other
surrealist cliches, and this crap sold. Dolly's only contribution was
a huge signature, because that's all he could do anymore.
It was, in its way a kind of art world fraud,
except that the clay lumps and the blue painted paper
and the holograms were at least touched and blessed by
(28:12):
the artist, and buyers, foolish as they might be, more
or less new what they were buying. Coincidentally, it was
at a Salvador Dolly opening at the Knodler Gallery in
Night where Philly Say first laid eyes on Roland Dalet.
As she recalls, it was love at first sight. It
(28:33):
was a Dolly opening I was representing Dolly at the
time in the United States, and I went with his
manager and his wife and we went to the gallery
and as I walked in, I saw this man at
the end of the gallery and I just thought to myself,
my god, that's the man of my life. I was
(28:55):
married at the time you were married. Yes, he was
married without don know how many mistresses, and there were
thirty eight years between you. Yes, he was so delightfully charming.
This is European elegance like doesn't exist anymore, didn't even
really exist then. It was five years later, in ninety three,
(29:19):
when Philice Say was arriving at Michael Hammer's gallery to
meet a client for lunch, when fate would bring the
two back together, this time for good. I went to
the gallery and we were up on the second floor
and the elevator opened and then off the elevator came
Roll on and I was like, oh my god, and
(29:42):
I said, I've been in Paris for three months. If
I can't pull this off today, there's something definitely wrong
with me. At the end of lunch, we got up
and rolland came over to me and he said, you know,
I really enjoyed having lunch with you. I find you charming,
but I would like it if we could have lunch
just the two of us. Would you do that? And
(30:04):
I said, just tell me when, And we had lunch
the next day and really practically didn't separate from that moment. On.
With the sale of Knodler to armand Hammer, Roland Ballet
began organizing his exit. He married Philie Say she at
(30:26):
he at sixty six, and the two moved to Paris.
They lived like the newly weds. They were oblivious to
their nearly four decade age difference until armand Hammer disrupted
their idol. Hammer owed a third and final payment to
Ballet to complete his purchase of the Ndler Gallery and
simply refused to make it. Roland was appalled. He never
(30:49):
thought armand Hammer would be so awful and such a crook,
Phelice Say recalled later. A judge had to intervene. We
were in Paris and we got this call from his
lawyer that Almand Hamma was going to be in New
York in two days and he wanted to settle it,
and Roland, if he really wanted to do, they should
(31:10):
come to New York. So we dropped everything and flew
to New York. Roland went to court and Hamma was
there and the thing was he said, yes, you know,
I'll settle in. And Roland said, I I have to
go back to France and I have things to do,
and if you want to settle it, I want a
bank check for it by the end of the day. Today.
(31:32):
Hammer gave the check. By the end of the day,
the bank check, and we went back to Paris. Sick
of the art business, Roland Ballet resigned as Ndler's director
and settled in to enjoy what would prove to be
(31:53):
more years of conjugal bliss with his young and adoring wife.
He owned one of the two buildings on East sevent Street,
number twenty one, which would eventually pass to Philly Say
and be sold by her in two thousand eleven for
fifteen and a half million dollars, but he rarely came
to the gallery anymore. So he almost certainly failed to
(32:14):
notice a nine year old salesperson who joined Nodler in December.
Her name was Ann Friedman, and her impact on the
gallery would be both profound and tragic. Over many of
its one fifty plus years, the Knoedler had been a living,
breathing presence, a character in the story of twenty century art.
(32:38):
Its fortunes had risen and sometimes dipped, but its reputation
remained intact, and the employees who chose to work there
for modest salaries were personally devoted to it. They would
find in Ann Friedman a very different kind of gallerists,
one much more focused on money that art. Over a
(33:00):
fourteen year period, and Freedman oversaw the selling of more
than sixty disputed paintings, reaping eighty million dollars for the gallery,
a trio of forgers, and Freedman herself to the shock
and scorn of the entire contemporary art market. She even
managed to open a new gallery, Friedman Arts, on the
(33:21):
third floor of a townhouse on East seventy third Street,
next door to the chik Via Quadrono restaurant. She goes
up and down those stairs every day, a free woman,
but a shunned presence in this neighborhood of world renowned dealers.
We're coming back from Frank Stella's studio and you got
a call, and now he's boiling. He wants to kill her.
(33:46):
That's next time on art Fraud. Come with me I'm
you know, world of pure imagineation. Mhm. Take coll and
you see into your imagination. Art Fraud is brought to
(34:15):
you by iHeart Radio and Cavalry Audio. Our executive producers
are Matt del Piano, Keegan Rosenberger, Andy Turner, myself, and
Michael Snayerson. We're produced by Brandon Morgan and Zach McNeice.
Zach also edited and mixed this episode. Lindsay Hoffman is
our managing producer. Our writer is Michael Schneerson. If you
(34:40):
want to view paradized, simply look around and fu you
think you want. I want to change the world. There's
nothing O, there is no life. I go to
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