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Caveat Emptor: The Secret Life of an American Art Forger
By Ken Perenyi
Pegasus BooksCopyright © 2012 Ken Perenyi
All right reserved.
Chapter OneLondon 1993
Twenty minutes passed as I waited in the oak-paneled consultation room. Well into my second day of a vicious bout with the flu, I was burning with fever and getting nervous. I just wanted to get this over with, get back to my hotel room, and sleep.
The day before, I'd visited the posh bank at Harrods and handed the head teller a withdrawal slip for the equivalent of ninety thousand US dollars in cash. They requested a day for the transaction.
When the door finally opened, I lifted my weary head to see three sour-looking bank officials stride in. One solemnly placed a package the size of a New York City telephone directory on the table and asked dryly, "Do you want to count it?"
The plastic package bearing the emblem of Barclays Bank looked hermetically sealed. Inside, I could see stacks of twenty-pound banknotes bound with neat paper bands. "No thanks," I replied, as a pen and paper were slid in front of me to sign. The three sourpusses looked on in silent alarm as I unceremoniously jammed the package into the canvas safari shoulder bag I'd brought for the occasion. As I rose to leave, an attractive woman poked her head around the door and gently said, "Be careful with that now!"
Desperate to get back into a warm bed, I left Harrods and headed down into the Knightsbridge tube station with part of the package sticking out of my bag. An announcement came over the PA system alerting passengers to pickpockets. I did my best to pull the flap of the bag over my precious cargo, but the strap and buckle wouldn't reach. I clutched it to me and ran.
Back in my hotel room, I took two aspirin and fell into bed. My throat was so sore, it was agony to swallow. A chill had set into my bones and I wished I was back home in Florida soaking in the sun. As I lay in bed, my eyes were fixed upon the package on the dresser: money wired into my account at Harrods a few days before from Christie's auction house, the proceeds from a painting of a pair of hummingbirds that I had left with them some time ago. I fell asleep thinking about my career, how lucky I was, and how it all had started years ago.
* * *
Nearly a year passed without my hearing any more from the FBI and, indeed, I probably would never have heard from them again had it not been for the continual and uncontrolled third-party sales of my pictures. Just as in the 1970s, another critical mass of paintings had been building up, and the stage was set for meltdown number two. The catalyst in this circumstance took the form of two separate incidents that took place in two countries half a world apart:
In order to advertise a sale of British marine paintings in their salesrooms at Knightsbridge, Bonhams had chosen a delightful little painting by James E. Buttersworth consigned by an American woman, which was reproduced for a promotional postcard sent to their clients all over the world. And out on the West Coast of the United States, a failed actor posing as a decorator and would-be relation to the royal family (as in Windsor) was pulling off handsome scores by selling some "family treasures" (as in oil paintings).
The problem was that the Buttersworth had a striking resemblance to another that had sold at Sotheby's a few years previously, and the British paintings being peddled by Queen Elizabeth's "nephew" were just a little too good to be true—so someone alerted the authorities.
It didn't take long for the feds, and whoever was helping them, to connect the dots and round up the culprits. However, this time not only would they discover that the paintings had come directly or indirectly from me, but that I was the artist as well. Nevertheless, the feds would have to prove that a conspiracy existed between me and the scoundrels who had sold those paintings in order to have a case against me.
No matter what the feds found out, they still faced a dilemma. Conspiracies are easy to suspect but difficult to prove. The testimony of cooperating witnesses is not enough. Usually they will lie in order to get themselves off the hook. Incriminating statements made by the target of the investigation and gathered by either wiretaps or hidden recording devices are needed to make a case strong enough to stand up in court.
They were also aware that it's not illegal to create or sell fake paintings, as long as they're sold as such. So instead of raiding my house with a search warrant, which would only have yielded more paintings for their growing collection but prove nothing, the feds—either convinced that I was part of a conspiracy or in an attempt to create one where none existed—chose instead to rely on tricks everybody's seen on TV a million times.
When I got a call from someone who had purchased paintings from me some months previously and was in cahoots with the Royal Decorator, I assumed that he wanted to buy more pictures. But when he nervously said, "There was some trouble over those paintings," I was immediately on my guard. The FBI, he went on to explain, had contacted him and wanted to talk about some paintings. He then asked, "What should I tell them?" I knew at once that this was a setup. "Tell them the truth," I said, and added, "I hope you didn't defraud anyone with those pictures."
Excerpted from Caveat Emptor: The Secret Life of an American Art Forger by Ken Perenyi Copyright © 2012 by Ken Perenyi. Excerpted by permission of Pegasus Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
- Cover Page
- INTRODUCTION: London 1993
- CHAPTER ONE: The Castle
- CHAPTER TWO: Ciao! Manhattan
- CHAPTER THREE: Art Forgery 101
- CHAPTER FOUR: Union Square
- CHAPTER FIVE: The Ferguson Club
- CHAPTER SIX: Number 39
- CHAPTER SEVEN: Urban Survival
- CHAPTER EIGHT: The American School
- CHAPTER NINE: Indian Spring
- CHAPTER TEN: Sotheby’s Chump
- CHAPTER ELEVEN: The British School
- CHAPTER TWELVE: The Gems of Brazil
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Checkmate
- Copyright Page
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
A poorly written auto-biographical babble by an egotistical con man. Save your money.
Caveat Emptor (or "Buyer Beware") is an amazing story I can only hope someone turns into a movie. Years ago I had come across art forger Ken Perenyi's name and the magazine article intrigued me. It wasn't until this past summer that I saw him interviewed on the Today Show and I realized had "come out of hiding" and penned his incredible story. I was slightly apprehensive about buying the book only because I was afraid that a story based in and around classical artwork might fall a little flat (I love art, but I draw the line at art history as I find it can be a tad tedious for my taste). Caveat Emptor was a page turner from beginning to end. Perenyi is far from the pretentious art aficionado I had originally pegged him for, in fact his wit, sometimes faltering self esteem (especially growing of age in the 60's and trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life) and at times self-deprecating personality gives Perenyi a very human side. The goings on in Perenyi's apartment building in NYC, then called the "The Ferguson Club", was not only hilarious, some of the characters could have all been straight out of the classic Pulitzer awarded "Confederacy of Dunces". I was so taken by the building and it's tenants I had to go and stand in front of the actual building the last time I found myself in Manhattan! There's a part of the story when one of the forgeries is going to be cleaned by Sotheby's auction house--which puts you in the room with Perenyi and leaves you with sweaty, clammy palms. Although I didn't want the story to end, I was glad that moved so beautifully and so quickly. I would much rather be left wanting more, than to have to read too much. Well done!!!
The book is a roller coaster ride through the art world. The reader will be both surprised and shocked at the dealings and the ease with which Mr perenyi worked to his own advantage. The reader will, no doubt , form an opinion as to the direction of Mr perenyi's moral compass, but no matter what direction you feel it points , you will conclude that he is a truly talented individual.
self serving but interesting account. he shows no remorse but book os good for group discussion. i resented paying for his boastful testimony.
I had a few reasons for reading this book. My curiosity was peaked because a relative of mine actually met Ken Perenyi, and only has good things to say about him and how he lived his younger life. I wanted to see what Ken had to say about his amazing adventures into forgery and how he justifies it, even today. After reading an article about him in our front page newspaper, I just could not resist. I found Ken's story very interesting, and at times a little hard to believe. How could someone get away with passing forgeries of famous, dead artists lost art and actually make a living at it. This went on for decades! Thousands of forgeries were being passed around in the US and also in Great Britian while Ken lead the good life. In many cases he had a middle man act on his behalf. Ken was never prosecuted when the FBI finally did catch up to him. I can see a movie being made, and Ken making even more money. It just doesn't seem fair somehow.
Well designed, well written insight in to the secretive world of art forgery. J.R. Locke, Author, Down and Out in Manhattan & Possible Twenty
Quite fascinating! How this guy pulled off these forgeries, with complicity of art auction houses, is curious and eye-opening. He's an odd bird to be sure, but the story is quite riveting.