Meaningful Returns

Leaving straight forgeries aside, any discussion about the “authenticity” of an artwork opens suddenly, like a trapdoor, into the murk of semantics. On the sliding scale of attribution that art historians use – painted by; hand of; studio of; circle of; style of; copy of – each step takes the artist farther from the painting. These variations, often subtle, are compounded by the unease about overpainting; Salvator Mundi had been worked over so many times and so heavily, critics argued, that it was less by Da Vinci than by his restorers. Deliberate fakes, misattributions and poor restorations all encroach into the realm of the authentic. In two decades at the Met in New York, Thomas Hoving, the museum’s director until 1977, must have examined at least 50,000 objects, he wrote in his book False Impressions. “I almost believe that there are as many bogus works as genuine ones.”

As many bogus works as genuine ones. The above comes from this really interesting read about the world’s foremost spotter of art forgeries, James Martin. In a world that for centuries relied on “expert” opinions that amounted to little more than strong hunches and superstitions, James brings a scientific rigor to the process of judging the attribution of a given painting. Given the absurd financial stakes involved with forgeries on the art market, Martin’s services are incredibly valuable to Sotheby’s (the auction house that purchased his independent firm).

But beyond the obvious economic consequences of fakes being passed off as the real deal, there is another, more philosophical reason why we want to expose fakes: we desire authenticity. Can an untrained eye (even a trained eye) tell the difference between an original Rembrant from a well-done spoof? No. But something about the inauthenticity of it spoils the whole work of art. Something about the back story of the painting and the original artist matters to us, even at some subconscious level.

Of course, this desire for authenticity is not exclusive to the world of expensive art collections. The same thing in the back of our mind that doesn’t just want the finished product of art but also its original context–that same thing is at work in all areas of our lives.

And yet, we really do struggle with this when it comes to our financial decisions. To carry on the art metaphor, most of the time our lives (mine included!) do not closely resemble a unique work of art so much as a mass-produced Justin Bieber poster in Target. We like to say we are making decisions that are best for our family, that we are maximizing the joy and gumption with which we live our lives, and yet we want to live in the same houses, drive the same cars, wear the same clothes, send our kids to the same schools, be seen with the same people, retire in the same way–in short, live largely the same life–as everyone else (in our socio-economic class, or more than likely, the one just above ours).

This is not to say everything that is popular is bad or that by living lives similar to your friends you’re a fraud, far from it. But what is fraudulent is either the pretending that things bring us joy when they do not, or perhaps worse, the neglecting to think about our lives deeply enough to know. What is fraudulent is to have a deeply inherent desire for authentic relationships, authentic community–a desire that science and many faiths would say is part of what it means to be truly human–and to squelch that desire in preference for the lesser desires that do not meet our deepest needs.

As a financial planner one of the questions I often ask people is, “What do you spend money on that really makes you happy, that really brings joy to your life.” But sometimes we need to step back even further and ask, “Is the version of happiness you’re buying the one you were made to enjoy?“