Art

Fakes, Fame, and Fabulous Lies: The Wild Stories of Nat Tate, Brassau & Van Meegeren

Dive into art fraud’s boldest tales—Nat Tate, chimp genius Pierre Brassau, and master forger Han Van Meegeren—where deception meets audacious creativity.

Por: Angela Leon Cervera
Meegeren
Han van Meegeren "painting" a fake Vermeer, Oct. 1945. Photo: Koos Raucamp

Art fraud is more than a crime; it is theatre. Swindlers craft plots as gripping as any novel, then sell them—sometimes for millions. Their stage? Auction houses, museums, and the minds of critics eager for the next discovery.

 

Today we spotlight three wildly different acts. A tragic genius who never existed. A chimp who painted “like a ballet dancer.” And a Dutch rebel who fooled the Nazis with brand-new “Vermeers.” Buckle up; deception rarely looked this dazzling.

Peter (aka “Pierre Brassau”) in 1964. Photograph taken by Åke “Dacke” Axelsson.

Who Was Nat Tate—and How Did an Imaginary Painter Fool the Elite?

On 31 March 1998, novelist William Boyd and rock icon David Bowie threw a glittering party in Manhattan. The guest of honor: Nat Tate, a melancholic Abstract Expressionist who had burned most of his canvases before leaping off a Staten Island ferry in 1960. Except—Tate never lived.

 

Boyd wrote a faux biography packed with grainy photos, forged sketches, and glowing quotes from art luminaries. Bowie published it, then read aloud from the “artist’s letters” while champagne flowed. Guests nodded sagely; a few claimed to have met Tate in Paris.

 

A week later, journalist David Lister blew the whistle. The embarrassment was delicious: the story exposed how social pressure and fear of looking ignorant can override skepticism in high-stakes art circles.

 

Ironically, the myth gained value. In 2011 Sotheby’s auctioned a “Tate” drawing for £7,250, its fiction now a prized collectible.

Nat Tate. Bridge No 114. Photo: Sotheby's
Painting "The Last Supper I" by Han van Meegeren. Photo: Croes, Rob C., Fotocollectie Anefo, Nationaal Archief NL

Why Did a Chimp Named Pierre Brassau Outsmart 1960s Critics?

Swedish tabloid reporter Åke Axelsson wanted to test avant-garde rhetoric. His co-conspirator was Peter, a four-year-old chimp at Borås Zoo. Axelsson supplied brushes and oils; Peter preferred eating cobalt blue but eventually produced energetic swirls. The reporter selected four canvases, signed them “Pierre Brassau,” and booked a Göteborg gallery.

 

Critics swooned. One praised Brassau’s “furious fastidiousness” and “delicacy of a ballet dancer.” Only a lone voice sniffed, “Only an ape could have done this.” When Axelsson revealed the prank, most reviewers blushed—yet one insisted the chimp’s work remained the show’s finest. A canvas sold for US $90 (about US $900 today), proving market momentum sometimes outruns fact.

 

Brassau’s episode still haunts modern art pedagogy. It asks whether intention matters more than perception—and how easily a persuasive label can prime viewers to find profundity in random marks.

How Did Han Van Meegeren Turn Revenge into the Greatest Vermeer Forgery?

Han Van Meegeren, a technically gifted Dutch painter, felt snubbed by critics who dismissed his conservative style. So he hatched a vendetta: paint “new” Vermeers and watch the experts praise them.

 

He bought 17th-century canvases, mixed vintage pigments with modern Bakelite for quick-crackle varnish, then baked each work in an oven to age it overnight.

 

His 1937 Supper at Emmaus dazzled scholar Abraham Bredius and sold to Rotterdam’s Museum Boijmans for a record sum. Over the next decade he produced six more faux Vermeers and several “lost” masters, earning today’s equivalent of tens of millions.

 

World War II ended his spree. Accused of treason for selling a Vermeer to Hermann Göring, Van Meegeren confessed—but to forgery, not collaboration. Under police guard he painted Jesus Among the Doctors to prove his skill. The stunt spared him the firing squad and made him a folk hero—“the man who swindled Göring.” He received a one-year sentence yet topped popularity polls in post-war Netherlands.

 

Van Meegeren’s saga forced museums to marry connoisseurship with science. Lead-isotope tests, X-ray imaging, and later radiocarbon dating exposed the modern resin in his paints, launching today’s forensic arms race against art fraud.

Trial of art forger Han van Meegeren, District Court on Prinsengracht, Amsterdam, 29 October 1947 Photo by Ben van Meerendonk / AHF, IISG collection, Amsterdam

Nat Tate, Pierre Brassau, and Han Van Meegeren prove that stories, status, and psychology often trump pigment and canvas. Their exploits reshaped authentication methods and reminded us that seeing is not always believing. In a market where narrative can mint gold, healthy skepticism—and a dash of lab work—remain the sharpest tools against the next brilliant con.

Forgery Field Notes

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