In the entertainment industry, conspiracy theorists are waiting for a resurrected Michael Jackson. In sports the question is, did Canada really score that gold-medal goal in Olympic hockey? For better or worse, the art world is not so ready-to-wear. On those very rare occasions when conspiracy theories arise, accusations are always more complex. Like Gary Arseneau’s assertion that the Goya Disasters of War lithograph collection of the National Gallery of Canada is completely forged. 

“Francisco Goya y Lucientes died in 1828, and the National Gallery of Canada knows the Disasters of War etchings were posthumously forged in 1863,” says Arseneau from his home in Florida. “When you are referring to etchings, you are referring to original works of art, and these are misrepresented because they were altered after his death and are therefore not original.” 

At the National Gallery, John Collins, assistant curator of prints and drawings, sees it differently.  “Goya made many working prints. These plates (referred to by Arseneau) were made in 1810, but he couldn’t release them because of the political climate (in Spain). Prints and the making of prints are two different processes, and all printing uses slightly different process, such as different aquatints. I’m not sure you can apply the principles of an original work to multiples.” 

This is a tussle over the definition of what constitutes an original work of art. Arseneau feels the Gallery is “an arbiter of lies. They’re just in it for the money.” I haven’t heard such vitriol since two British critics nearly came to blows over whether a tunic in a Stanhope Alexander Forbes painting was Forest Green or Hunter Green.

Goya's Disasters of War: There Is No More Time 1810

This issue may well be valid. But to call the NGC’s collection a forgery is pretty heavy. Of course this isn’t the first time Arseneau has found discrepancy. On his blog he accuses the Gallery of Alberta of harbouring Degas forgeries; the Delaware Art Museum of fake Maxfield Parrish’s; the Art Institute of Chicago of a fake Gauguin statue; the North Carolina Museum of Art of showing fake Rodins; and the travelling John Lennon art show as being completely faked. And that’s just his top five posts in the last year. 

Maybe the issue here is not about the definition of original works of art but about originality. How altered can most people’s appreciation of the NGC’s Goya lithographs become if there might be a few printing mistakes? There’s a news item on UnFolding’s Website called “Machine-Made Soul” that explains how music made by David Cope’s computer software is indistinguishable by experts from original human scores. Would it move someone less knowing it was written by a machine? 

I suppose that’s a tough question to answer. I was once told that the last purely original melody was written in 1862, and that everything since has been derivative. Even if that date is accurate, it certainly wouldn’t dilute my enjoyment of the music I love, most composed after that era. Derivation is mutation, and mutations either kill you or make you thrive. 

I don’t know when I’ll see reports of Michael Jackson coming back to life. But I do know that when I see a beautiful Goya etching, it will make my heart sing, even if a printer’s apprentice in 1863 had a little too much wine for lunch.