Emergency Forgery: The Incredible Survival Story of a Professor on the Road

Dearest art enthusiasts and connoisseurs of peculiar stories!

At Moon Rabbit Art, we often say that every piece tells a story – but sometimes, the story behind the appraisal is far more fascinating than the artwork itself. Pour yourself something strong (might I suggest schnapps?) for this week's tale of desperation, ingenuity, and possibly the most morally ambiguous solution to a travel emergency ever conceived.

The Appraisal Request: A Sketch from France

This week, we received an appraisal request from Vladimir, a retired art professor from Russia. His submission: a sketch allegedly by Henri Matisse, purchased in France "before the current unpleasantness," as he delicately put it.

The sketch was, to put it kindly, about as authentic as a three euro banknote . The paper was indeed old, but the ink showed none of the aging patterns consistent with a century-old drawing. More damningly, the signature appeared to have been copied directly from a published example in "Matisse: Master of Line," right down to a tiny imperfection in the crossbar of the 't'.

I drafted a gentle but firm appraisal report explaining why we believed the piece to be inauthentic, valuing it at approximately 50 Euros (and that's being generous).

The Follow-Up Call That Left Me Speechless

Vladimir requested a WhatsApp call to discuss the results, which I happily scheduled. What I expected to be an awkward conversation with a disappointed collector turned into one of the most extraordinary stories I've heard in my 30 years of appraisal work.

Rather than being disappointed, Vladimir laughed heartily. "You are confirming what I already knew," he said. "I wanted to be certain my eye for fakes is still sharp. But perhaps you would be interested in hearing about another fake I once encountered?"

And thus began the tale I'm still processing days later.

The Great German Travel Disaster of 2015

In 2015, Vladimir was enjoying a cultural tour of Germany – visiting museums, collecting antique books on early 20th century art, and purchasing the obligatory chocolates and schnapps for friends and family back home.

Three days before his scheduled return to Moscow, disaster struck. While riding in a taxi, Vladimir left behind his small bag containing ALL of his money and credit cards (thankfully, his passport remained safely at the hotel).

Picture this distinguished professor of art history, stranded in a foreign country with:

• No money

• No credit cards

• No contacts to wire emergency funds

• Nothing but chocolate and schnapps for sustenance

After walking back to his hotel in a state of shock and enjoying a gourmet dinner of Ritter Sport chocolate paired with a medicinal shot of Jägermeister, Vladimir had what he described as "either a moment of genius or absolute moral bankruptcy – possibly both."

The Desperate Forgery

Vladimir examined his recently purchased antique art books and had a revelation. Taking one with unwritten pages of appropriately aged paper, he carefully tore out a sheet and began to sketch.

Drawing upon his extensive knowledge of German artistic styles, Vladimir created a garden scene in the academic style of late 19th century Germany. He worked meticulously, ensuring the drawing technique matched the period.

Then came the pièce de résistance – the signature.

The Most Problematic Autograph in History

With steady hand and questionable judgment, Vladimir signed the drawing with a name guaranteed to attract attention: A. Hitler.

For those unaware of this historical footnote, before becoming history's most reviled dictator, Hitler was a failed art student who produced hundreds of mediocre architectural and landscape paintings and drawings. These works, despite their artistic mediocrity, now fetch tens of thousands of Euros from collectors of historical oddities.

The Sale

The next morning, Vladimir took his antique book – now containing a "discovered" Hitler sketch – to an upscale antiquarian bookshop. With Oscar-worthy nonchalance, he explained that he needed to sell the book, making no mention of the drawing tucked inside.

The bookseller offered a paltry 20 euros. Vladimir feigned offense and headed for the door – only to have the bookseller chase after him, suddenly offering 300 euros.

Vladimir accepted with just the right amount of reluctance, securing enough funds to survive until his flight home.

The Ethical Quagmire

When I asked Vladimir if he felt any remorse about selling a forged Hitler drawing, he responded with the dry wit that I suspect has served him well through decades of academic politics:

"I created terrible art and blamed it on Hitler. Considering his legacy, this seems like the mildest of revenges."

He added, "Besides, Hitler's authentic paintings fetch astronomical sums at auction houses despite their flagrant artistic mediocrity. At least my forgery could boast some technical skill"

In Conclusion

While Moon Rabbit Art Company would never condone forgery (ahem, legal department, are you reading this?), we must acknowledge Vladimir's resourcefulness in a desperate situation. His story serves as a reminder that sometimes the provenance of an artwork contains far more creativity than the piece itself.

It also raises fascinating questions about value in the art world. Why does mediocre art by monsters of history command such prices? And is a technically superior fake Hitler morally superior to an authentic Hitler? These are questions best pondered over a glass of schnapps

Prosit!