Dealers and experts must approach all shipments with extreme caution and employ modern scientific testing methods because of the skill that has developed in the forging of scenes and signatures.
A recent purchase of a Modigliani, described merely as a “Portrait of a Woman,” as so many of his works are, demanded much time and research. A well-known American collector obtained the picture for $25,000—a bargain, considering the quality of the painting. Our appraisers and examiners set to work. They delved into the very elaborate history of the painting and discovered that the canvas actually was 2 inches smaller than the original—also there were color differences. To the dismay of the importer, this import was appraised at $150 and returned for duty as a copy.
Many of the fakes are discovered through the use of X-ray and infrared and ultraviolet lights, which reveal overpainting, restorations, and flaws not visible to the naked eye. Chemical analysis of the paints and varnishes used by the artists often give a clue to the period in which the work was done.
Over the years, the Customs examiners have learned that any decision they make on a work of art is potentially explosive. They have learned, too, that on some days they can expect to appear very dumb—and on other days very smart. And that very few people seem to hear of the smart days.
19
SEX AND THE CENSOR
Censors are unloved creatures. They are damned by writers, artists, and liberal thinkers wherever men cherish free expression. They are regarded generally as crude conformists who wear their righteousness as proudly as a Boy Scout wears his merit badge.
Every rule is likely to have its exception. The exceptional censor in the United States is a tall, good-natured, erudite lawyer named Huntington Cairns, who might justifiably be called the nation’s watchdog against the importation of obscene books, pictures, and other items of a questionable moral character. It would be too much to call Cairns “the beloved censor.” But if a department of the government were capable of affection, then the Treasury Department (and the Customs Bureau) at least should feel this warm emotion for the man who has kept them remarkably free from foot-in-mouth embarrassment for more than a quarter of a century.
Since 1934, Cairns has advised the Treasury and the Customs Bureau in their decisions as to what constitutes obscenity in foreign imports. Since his arrival on the scene there has been no significant public controversy over his decisions, even though the dividing line between genuine art and pornography is often no more than one man’s prejudice.
Officially, Cairns is secretary, treasurer, and general counsel of the National Gallery of Art. His headquarters is a large, secluded and attractive office in a wing of the National Gallery on Constitution Avenue in Washington, D. C. It is from these improbable surroundings that Cairns advises Treasury and Customs on what is obscene and what isn’t, what should be refused entry into this country as plain trash, and what should be permitted to enter. The Treasury is under no obligation to follow his advice, but it does.
Cairns is a big, dark-haired, distinguished-looking man in his early sixties who is far more interested in Plato than in pornography. He is convinced that the ancient Greeks were the greatest people, intellectually, who ever trod the earth. Even their pornography, in his view, was superior to the modern product.