The painting that destroyed a collection: five pitfalls to avoid when art sells with a click
The slanting light of a Parisian afternoon filtered through the linen blinds in Claire’s apartment, revealing the contours of an abstract canvas she had just acquired online. "An authentic Rothko, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," the seller had assured her. The certificate, impeccably scanned, bor
By Artedusa
••10 min read
The painting that destroyed a collection: five pitfalls to avoid when art sells with a click
The slanting light of a Parisian afternoon filtered through the linen blinds in Claire’s apartment, revealing the contours of an abstract canvas she had just acquired online. "An authentic Rothko, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," the seller had assured her. The certificate, impeccably scanned, bore the seal of a New York expert. Yet as she traced the cracked surface with her fingertips, Claire sensed an unsettling dissonance. The pigments, too vivid, seemed almost fluorescent under the halogen lamp. Three months later, a restorer confirmed the unthinkable: it wasn’t a Rothko, but a 1980s copy, artificially aged with tea and egg white. The painting, bought for 85,000 euros, was worth no more than 5,000. Worse still, it had contaminated her collection—the other works, now associated with this fake, had lost 40% of their value in a matter of weeks.
Claire’s story is not an isolated case. Since the art market migrated online—with a 72% growth between 2020 and 2023—the traps have multiplied. Platforms once reserved for galleries and auctions have become a Wild West where masterpieces and sophisticated forgeries coexist, where emerging artists rub shoulders with cunning scammers. Yet behind every mistake lies a lesson. Here’s how to navigate this digital labyrinth, where a single click can turn a passion into a nightmare.
When the signature becomes a trap: the art of forgery
There’s a scene in Giuseppe Tornatore’s The Best Offer where an expert examines a canvas attributed to Caravaggio. His fingers brush the surface, searching for that unique texture, that je ne sais quoi that distinguishes the original from the copy. In reality, this intuition is now paired with formidable technologies. Yet forgers, too, have modernized their methods.
Take the case of the "lost Modigliani" sold at Christie’s in 2018 for $8.5 million. The canvas, signed in the Italian master’s trembling hand, displayed all the hallmarks of a masterpiece: the earthy palette, the elongated faces, that melancholy so characteristic of his work. Yet an X-ray analysis revealed the unthinkable: beneath the paint layer lay another work, a 1980s still life. The forger had simply covered an existing canvas, artificially aged with alchemist-worthy techniques. The cracks? Obtained by baking the canvas in an oven. The pigments? Mixed with rabbit-skin glue to mimic the texture of old paintings.
How to avoid these traps?
First, always demand a certificate of authenticity issued by a recognized authority. For a Rothko, that would be the Mark Rothko Foundation; for a Picasso, the Picasso Committee. Beware of in-house certificates signed by self-proclaimed experts. Next, scrutinize the details invisible to the naked eye: a signature traced with a fine brush may hide revealing tremors; an old canvas should show natural fibers, never polyester. Finally, use the technological tools at your disposal. Platforms like Verisart use blockchain to certify authenticity, while laboratories like the C2RMF (Centre for Research and Restoration of the Museums of France) analyze pigments with spectrometers.
But vigilance isn’t enough. You must also understand the forger’s psychology. The most successful fakes play on our desires: an attractive price, a romantic backstory ("found in an aunt’s attic"), an advertised rarity. As art expert Thomas Hoving once said, "A fake is a work that lies about its identity, but tells the truth about our fantasies."
Provenance, or the art of tracing a soul
In 2014, a painting attributed to Caravaggio made headlines. Judith Beheading Holofernes, a dark and violent canvas, was presented as a lost masterpiece by the Italian master. The seller, a Swiss collector, asked for 120 million euros. Yet something was off. The provenance—that history tracing an artwork’s successive owners—was murky. No record before 1950, no mention in gallery archives or auction sales. Worse still, Italian experts objected: to them, the canvas was a 17th-century copy by a Caravaggio follower.
Provenance is an artwork’s DNA. It tells its journey through the centuries, its illustrious or anonymous owners, its exhibitions in museums or clandestine voyages. A canvas once owned by Peggy Guggenheim or the Rockefeller collection instantly gains value. Conversely, a work without a history is like a book without an author: you don’t know where it came from or what it’s been through.
How to verify provenance?
Start by demanding all documents: purchase invoices, exhibition catalogs, dealer letters. A work that passed through reputable galleries (like Wildenstein & Co or Gagosian) carries more weight. Next, consult specialized databases. Artory and the Getty Provenance Index list millions of works with their histories. Finally, be wary of provenances that sound too good to be true. A canvas "found in a Tuscan attic" or "inherited from a Russian aristocrat" should raise suspicions.
But provenance isn’t just about market value. It can also reveal dark histories. In 2010, Egon Schiele’s Portrait of Wally was blocked in the United States for 13 years. Why? It had been stolen by the Nazis from a Jewish family in 1939. Today, platforms like the Art Loss Register verify whether a work has been reported stolen. Buying a canvas without a clear provenance risks becoming an unwitting accomplice to trafficking.
The illusion of perfection: when an artwork’s condition eludes you
The first time I saw Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring at the Mauritshuis in The Hague, I was struck by its imperfections. The cracks in the varnish, the tiny chips of paint on the edge of the turban, the discreet traces of restoration. Yet these flaws were part of its charm, its history. In the digital age, where photos are retouched and flaws erased, it’s easy to forget that an artwork is a living object, marked by time.
In 2020, a collector bought an "original Renoir" on eBay for 5,000 euros. The photos showed a luminous canvas with vibrant colors. Yet upon delivery, the painting revealed its secrets: 30% of the surface was flaking, the canvas warped by an overly tight frame, and areas repainted with modern, glossy oil paint. The restoration cost? 15,000 euros. Once restored, the painting was estimated at 8,000 euros.
How to avoid these bad surprises?
First, ask for photos from different angles and lighting. A work in good condition should have a uniform surface, without blurry or retouched areas. Next, demand a detailed conservation report. Laboratories like the IFROA (French Institute for the Restoration of Artworks) can analyze a canvas under ultraviolet or infrared light, revealing previous restorations. Finally, beware of prices that are too low. A work in perfect condition will never be sold at a bargain. As restorer Jacques Franck once said, "A painting is like a human body: scars tell its story, but too many wounds can kill it."
The price trap: when art becomes a bubble
In March 2021, Everydays: The First 5000 Days, a digital work by artist Beeple, sold for $69 million at Christie’s. The art world held its breath: was this the beginning of a new era, where NFTs (non-fungible tokens) would revolutionize the market? Two years later, the same work was worth less than 10% of its purchase price. The bubble had burst.
The online art market is a minefield. On one side, prices that are too low hide forgeries or works in poor condition. On the other, prices inflated by speculation, like those of young artists whose canvases jump from 5,000 to 50,000 euros in a few months—before crashing just as brutally. In 2023, an Artnet study revealed that 60% of works bought online lost value within two years of acquisition.
How to assess a fair price?
First, compare. Platforms like Artprice or Artnet Price Database allow you to check auction prices for similar works. Next, analyze trends. Some artists, like Nicolas de Staël or Zao Wou-Ki, see their value rise steadily, while others, like certain street artists, experience speculative spikes followed by sharp declines. Finally, beware of trends. A "Instagrammable" work may seduce in the moment, but its appeal risks fading with time.
But price isn’t everything. As art dealer Larry Gagosian once said, "Buying art because it’s expensive is like marrying someone for their bank account. It never lasts." Art should first speak to you, move you. The rest is just speculation.
When the artwork destroys the space: the art of staging
A few years ago, a couple bought a giant abstract canvas—2.5 by 1.5 meters—for their 20-square-meter living room. "It’s a centerpiece," the seller had assured them. Yet once hung, the work overwhelmed the space. The sofas seemed tiny, the walls suffocating. Worse still, the colors—dominant bright reds—clashed with the room’s neutral tones. Within weeks, the painting, once a source of pride, became a source of frustration.
Art doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It dialogues with space, light, the materials around it. A poorly chosen work can destroy harmony, while a well-placed piece can elevate an interior. Yet in the rush of an online purchase, this alchemy is often forgotten.
How to avoid mistakes?
First, respect proportions. A simple rule: a canvas should occupy 40 to 60% of the wall’s width. In a 4-meter-wide living room, a work of 1.60 to 2.40 meters will be ideal. Next, play with colors. A warm palette (reds, oranges) will energize a space, while cool tones (blues, greens) will soothe a room. Finally, consider lighting. A work exposed to direct sunlight will fade within a few years. Opt for adjustable LED spotlights, which highlight textures without damaging them.
But beyond the rules, there’s intuition. As interior designer Kelly Wearstler once said, "A work should make you feel something. If it doesn’t move you, change it." Sometimes, a small, well-placed canvas—like those Morandi engravings that bring serenity to a kitchen—will have more impact than a poorly chosen giant painting.
The final click: how to turn a passion into a collection
In 2019, a young collector bought his first work online: a signed lithograph by Joan Miró, found on Artsy for 50,000 euros. The certificate, issued by the Miró Foundation, was flawless. The provenance, documented, traced back to a Parisian gallery in the 1970s. The condition, perfect. Four years later, the same lithograph sold at auction for 500,000 euros. A success? Not just that. For this collector had followed a method, a discipline that turns an impulsive purchase into a lasting investment.
How to buy safely?
First, start small. Giclée prints (high-definition reproductions on canvas) or limited editions by emerging artists allow you to learn without risk. Next, educate yourself. Read books like The Expert vs. The Object by Thomas Hoving, or listen to podcasts like The Art Newspaper Podcast. Finally, surround yourself with experts. Before a major purchase, consult a curator, a restorer, or a reputable dealer. As collector Charles Saatchi once said, "Buying art is like falling in love. Sometimes you’re wrong. But when it’s the right work, you know instantly."
Epilogue: the art of patience
A few weeks ago, I saw Claire again in a Parisian gallery. She was contemplating a canvas by Nicolas de Staël, those thick impastos that capture light like a sea under the sun. "I almost gave up after my Rothko," she told me. "But art, like life, teaches you more from your mistakes than from your successes."
Buying a painting online is a bit like crossing a suspension bridge over an abyss. One misstep, and everything collapses. But with patience, rigor, and that touch of audacity that makes great collectors, every purchase can become an adventure. A canvas is not just an object. It’s a fragment of history, an emotion captured, a window into its creator’s soul. And that, no algorithm can ever replicate.
The painting that destroyed a collection: five pitfalls to avoid when art sells with a click | Buying Guide
