[...] Aladdin’s cave of treasures, trophies and discoveries awaits all who travel to Maastricht in the Netherlands over the next two weeks for The European Fine Art Fair (Tefaf). It is that sense of impending discovery that explains why this is one of the fairs best attended by museum directors and wealthy private collectors, from Dutch burghers and Middle Eastern sheikhs to American philanthropists looking to endow a museum with something special.

Tefaf is a place for dealers to upstage the salerooms, particularly by demonstrating their superior knowledge and wisdom; they are constantly outsmarting the auction rooms. Last year, Old Master dealer and Rubens specialist Fergus Hall spotted a red chalk drawing of a putto or cherub on the website of a small auction room in Dorset catalogued as “Dutch School” and with an estimate of £1,000. “I had a confident hunch that it was a Rubens,” says Hall.

Someone else also had a hunch, but it was not as confident as Hall’s, and Hall ended up paying £23,000 for it. He then showed the drawing to several Rubens experts, including Christopher Brown at the Ashmolean, Jane Turner at the Rijksmuseum, and David Jaffe at the National Gallery, and all concurred that it was a study from circa 1618 for a Rubens painting of the Virgin and Child surrounded by the Holy Innocents in the Louvre Museum. Only very few such studies have survived, says Hall, who is now asking £150,000 for it.

Contributing editor Henry Adams, a Case Western Reserve University specialist in 19th century American art but an admirer of the Modern painter’s work, had an idea. In an article promoting the imminent publication of his 2009 book, “Tom and Jack: The Intertwined Lives of Thomas Hart Benton and Jackson Pollock,” he suggested that, in effect, the name’s the thing.

In "Decoding Jackson Pollock," Adams wrote, “I'm now convinced that Pollock wrote his name in large letters on the canvas — indeed, arranged the whole painting around his name.”

He wasn’t referring to the artist’s signature at the lower left, which Pollock added almost four years after he finished “Mural.” Instead, inspired by an observation first made by Adams' wife, art historian Marianne Berardi, he went on to show where the letters of the artist’s first and last names could be detected — in proper order — beneath the roiling shapes and colors all across the densely painted field.

“It may not be possible to answer the question definitively unless scientists use X-ray scanning or some other method to trace which pigments were put down first,” Adams observed.

Now that Getty conservators have done exactly that (and more), it seemed to be worth checking in on what they found. Does Pollock’s name appear in the under-painting of the canvas, either as a compositional motif or otherwise?

The Getty Museum’s Yvonne Szafran said no. So did the Getty Conservation Institute’s Tom Learner.

“We knew about the proposal but found no evidence supporting it,” Szafran said in an email. Added Learner, “None of the scanning techniques employed (X-ray fluorescence and hyper spectral imaging) detected anything resembling his name.”

Fewer than 43 percent of art museum directors are women. And the female directors, on average, are paid less than their male counterparts. These are the results of a joint study done by SMU’s NCAR and the Association of Art Museum Directors. It found that female directors at museums with budgets of more than $15 million earn 71 cents for every $1 male directors earn. At the same time, women who run art museums with smaller budgets do earn more than their male counterparts – annually, they earn 2 cents more.

Averaging both groups, though, still leaves a gender gap for female directors of 79 cents for every dollar male directors earn.

The idea that art is valuable is something that underpins everything we do at the Art Fund. It is a fundamental belief that access for everyone to great art is something worth funding, and worth fighting for. A recent report by Fiammetta Rocco for The Economist showed that globally the number of museums has nearly doubled in the last 20 years, reaching 55,000 across the world. China in particular is building more and more to meet a growing demand from an increasingly educated and culturally hungry nation. Here at home, a record number – over half the population of UK adults – visited a museum in 2013.

But to ensure that the government, businesses and individuals continue to invest in the arts, we need hard statistics as well as warm words, which is why it is encouraging to see that so much work is taking place to bring together – in evidenced-based terms – a tangible understanding of the value of culture. What the Treasury needs to understand – and embrace – is that investing in culture is an important economic activity and part of the growth agenda of this country. Above all else, it makes economic sense to invest in museums.

From the Commission on the Future of Cultural Value at Warwick University to the Department for Culture, Media and Sport’s ongoing work with the Arts and Humanities Research Council on the holistic value of culture, and the Arts Council’s work with the Centre for Economic and Business Research on the economic value of art, there is much debate on how we can demonstrate the financial value of culture. We at the Art Fund are working hard to understand these complex models, from gross value-added calculations to life satisfaction equations: but it is also vital to remember that whatever the monetary value of culture, its real worth is something entirely unquantifiable.

A recent survey by Barclays of the very wealthy suggested that while there are 30 art investment funds in the world, only a minority of people would buy art purely in the hope of turning a profit. This view was echoed at a packed talk at the London Art Fair in January. But we are all too aware, as my fellow trustees and I decide which works of art we are able to help museums purchase, that the price of art is rocketing and that the art market is, in investment terms, in a healthy position.

The truth of the matter is that no activity is beyond the reach of value and we must ask again ‘what is the real and irreducible value of the arts in our lives?’ In an ideal world it would not be necessary to state the need for something so fundamental to an enjoyable, fulfilled life. But if the argument does need to be made – and funds produced – we stand ready to make the case.

Reading the dismal account of David Verey’s speech I could only think of Théophile Gautier’s “art for art’s sake” principle. And then I remembered a splendid metaphor in Michael Levey’s biography of Walter Pater: “It was the equivalent of finding one’s tutor recommending in place of some study of Greek syntax Mademoiselle de Maupin.” Sadly I think we can only expect more irregular verbs from politicians and those involved in arts administration.

As an economist I have been called upon to calculate the economic benefit of various government programs over many years.  Some deserved testing their economic benefit or rate of return.  Art as a tourist attraction has a benefit, hence the invests of Las Vegas casinos in creating small galleries.  But is has additional benefits.

Ultimately, government investment in culture broadly makes a society richer in ways that aren't measured on financial statements, but that are recognized in historical perspective.  We remember ancient Greece, the Sumerians, and other societies for their cultures and how their cultures enriched life in those societies and ours rather than their GDP that funded the culture.

In the case of art, Philadelphia for its the most disadvantaged and dangerous neighborhoods created The Mural Arts Program which supports artists, has improved life, and is a source of local pride in areas where pride is in short supply.

The city lured the Barnes Foundation and its extraordinary collection to town from a suburban location with great public and private contributions in total exceeding $ 100 million in order to build its position as an art destination and its prestige.  Indeed that in part an economic investment much like adding another attraction at a theme park, but there is more benefit if you build a critical mass.

The reason most wealthy individuals buy art are for enjoyment, prestige, and as a store of value, often chosen in the opposite order.  Governments invest in art funding for two of the same reasons.  Given that governments spend vast amounts on prestige and enjoyment, like funding Olympic games lavishly and well beyond their economic return, buying long term prestige with art institutions is consistent with established government policy in developed countries.  And smaller or newly wealthy countries invest in art to increase their social standing among nations. 

Investing in cultural activities is both consumption and investment like buying and furnishing a residence, but the consumption is part of sustenance as well as of pleasure.  It should be treated as a matter of public policy, at whatever level is chosen, as a stable expenditure with long and short term benefits rather than an annually fluctuating budget item.  It is part of building and maintaining a society.

It's taken him 12 years, but an amateur art historian from Texas reckons he's solved the mystery of the Mona Lisa's enigmatic smile, five centuries after it was immortalized by Leonardo da Vinci. In a just-published book, "The Lady Speaks: Uncovering the Secrets of the Mona Lisa," William Varvel argues that La Gioconda was a 16th-century feminist who favored a greater role for women in the Catholic church.

"La Gioconda was trying to get people to see that the New Jerusalem would be here as soon as you recognize women's theological rights," Varvel, 53, a former mathematics professor, told AFP in a telephone interview. "La Gioconda may be a grand statement for women's rights," he added.

His theory joins many others -- some serious, others fanciful -- surrounding what is perhaps the world's most famous painting, which draws legions of tourists every day to the Louvre museum in Paris. History remembers the Mona Lisa as Lisa del Giocondo, a mother of five born into an aristocratic Florentine family whose husband, a cloth and silk merchant, commissioned the portrait.

Da Vinci, who had already painted The Last Supper for a Dominican convent, toiled on the oil-on-poplar painting from 1503 to 1506 and perhaps several years after. In his 180-page book that's not always an easy read, Varvel explains that, in the course of his career, Da Vinci had painted "each and every verse" of the final chapter of the Old Testament's book of Zechariah, which anticipates the rise of an ideal society within a New Jerusalem.

He did so, Varvel contends, "in order to state that women's rights to the priesthood should be recognized." What's more, the author said, "Leonardo constructed and placed a total of 40 separate symbols taken from chapter 14 into the background, middle ground and foreground of the composition of the Mona Lisa." Religious clues? Thus, Calvary rises from behind the Mona Lisa's right shoulder, while the Mount of Olives is on the other side. And folds on the arms of her robe suggest a yoke -- a reference to Biblical texts and women's oppression. For Da Vinci, the idea of a New Jerusalem "was based upon a universal recognition of both men and women of the laity to have recognized rights of the priesthood of Jesus Christ," Varvel said. He added: "The perception of the New Jerusalem is the secret that her smile reflects." 

The Lady Speaks compels the Church to critically re-examine biblical texts and religious works of art that recognize Theological Gender Equality to the Preisthood of Jesus Christ.

“The Lady Speaks presents Leonardo da Vinci’s hidden message within the Mona Lisa, Theological Gender Equality to the Priesthood of Jesus Christ. The message broadens the understanding of men and women to the truth that the Priesthood of Jesus Christ is universal to all.”

—Brenda Gordon--Product Manager, Vice President of a large financial institution

Alas, I must now reveal the "true" meaning of the "Mona Lisa" portrait. Notice that she is looking slightly to her left and that her hand is pointing subtly to her left.  Either she is looking to Venice or Greece or she's a Socialist.

Though it is far too cramped and small, playing second fiddle to a once fashionable photographer — David Bailey in this case, but my objection applies to every other who might have been so honoured, so foolish is this misjudgment of priority. I am grateful to the NPG for this exhibition. It falls between too many stools and concentrates on only one campaign, the long-drawn Western Front, but it is to some degree a reminder of the horrors inflicted by war. My diminishing generation needs no such reminder; in my childhood before the Second World War, on every street in London I could see the living wreckage of the Great War, men limbless, eyeless, dreadfully damaged, selling matches and bootlaces for a penny, or, in hope of a penny, singing (often rather well), playing the accordion, the saw (outside St Mary Abbots, Kensington) — yes, the saw — and a harp outside Tattersalls in Knightsbridge. The fortunate legless might have a wicker chair on wheels, the unfortunate a simple wooden chassis paddled along with the hands. A curious child, I wonder how such damaged beings emptied their bowels and bladders, where they slept, how they could eat. Now I see them only in my memory and in the dreary northern paintings of Laurence Lowry. The Great War did not create a world fit for heroes — it threw them on to the street.

It did, however, establish lasting loyalties and affections. Only once did my stepfather speak of that war, though he fought throughout it — in France, the Balkans, Gallipoli, Mesopotamia and the Holy Land — and that was when I unwisely developed an interest in Lawrence of Arabia (who is among the many not included in this exhibition) whom, I learned, my father had good reason to think “a boastful little shit”. But his loyalty to those with whom he fought was quite extraordinary and to be found in no other of his interests; he joined his soldier peers once a month for dinner, even in the blackouts, the Blitzes and the Buzzbomb Summer of the Second World War, until his death in 1962. I experienced something of that loyalty as a National Serviceman with not an enemy in sight — but had there been an enemy, that loyalty would have been much more intense and lasted longer.

But these are the maunderings of an old man in melancholy mood inspired by the pathos of the young so early dead. As the experience of war in any form, in the armed forces or as a civilian, is now the privilege of very few in Britain, I doubt if many will share my powerfully empathic response to this exhibition but I beg them to try. Having done so, having watched the film clips (cramped and uncomfortable) and perhaps having gleaned something of the inglorious sufferings of the soldier, cross the road towards Pret A Manger and, glancing to the left, spare a moment for Edith Cavell, nurse, executed by the Germans in October 1915, for there is her monument, “Patriotism is not enough”, the inscription — her last words, we are told. And it is not, but how now are we to interpret this Delphic utterance when young Gavrilo Princip’s patriotism proved to be so much too much?

The weakness is a jarring curatorial voice that makes bombastic claims that are quite unnecessary; the pictures tell their own story. But the wall text offers questionable generalities like this: "The appalling consequences of [new] weapons suggested that human nature itself had changed, compassion snuffed out by unbridled cruelty and hatred. Such altered perceptions raised profound questions for artists". Was it really new weapons? Was it really worse than, say, the thirty years' war? And even if it was, why should other horrific conflicts not have caused such questioning? Were changed perceptions really caused by war? Virginia Woolf thought human nature changed in December 1910; why do the curators think it was later? These questions are better left for visitors to ponder. Less would have been more in this otherwise fine show.

I would have to disagree with you and had hoped that the National Gallery would have acquired it.  Indeed, following its appearance before the RCEWA in 2006, they were looking seriously into it. At that stage it was valued at £2M but: “Prior to the end of the second deferral period, a serious intention to purchase the painting was made by a UK institution. Before the end of the second deferral period the applicant withdrew their application.”  

They clearly had a change of mind when it came before the Committee again in January last year as they made no effort to acquire it at £4.25 (there are some interesting reports in the records about the valuation including the applicant making direct representations to the Secretary of State in order to up the price).  I guess the trustees of the National Gallery were in the midst of negotiations to bring the, wholly inappropriate, Bellows to London and couldn’t afford it.  So where now are they going to get a major example of 16thc Spanish portrait painting?

The export position does seem quite curious. The Kimbell Director is claiming it as one of the 5 or 6 best 17th century Dutch landscapes in the world. [...]

If there was a licence application, it makes one wonder what was said on it.

The Mellon Centre event looks interesting... but it's nowhere to be seen on their website (even though they have stuff on events happening much later, in July). Do you think it's because they are themselves deeply ambivalent about connoisseurship?

"[the basic skill of art history is] the ability to assign a date, place, and, if possible, a name on the evidence of style. I know no art historian who is not aware of the fact that this skill could not be practised in splendid isolation. The historian of art must be a historian, for without the ability to assess the historical evidence, inscriptions, documents, chronicles, and other primary sources the geographical and chronological distribution of styles could never have been mapped out in the first place."

I think there is a struggle to hand as the general run of art and art-history theorists believe that connoisseurship needs to be locked away in a cupboard (probably dark brown 18th century gothic revival) and not mentioned.

It’s an enormously important area and I wonder about finding another name for it so that ordinary folk don’t get frightened off... ?

In your recent blog you asked for views on connoisseurship. Perhaps an obvious point but one which does not seem to be stressed much is that science i.e. proof of facts such as pigment identification, dendrology  etc.  can only really be used to prove unequivocally that a painting is not by a given artist. (I do not include fingerprints or handwriting in this which are subjective fields and, speaking as a  lawyer,I know how woeful the track record for these is.  ). Whilst science  may contribute towards a positive identification it is hard to see how it could ever do so unequivocally on its own. So long as positive identification is desired therefore connoisseurship will be essential. Or am I being simple minded?!

Their isn't any certain recipe for attributing a work of art about which a doubt exists or should exist. Connoisseurship is a tool in authentication and attribution.  It isn't the only tool, but it is an essential one.

If one thinks of a hierarchy of authentication: first is a signed work with documents that show that it was by a particular artist, science that validates the materials, and a provenance that can trace this particular piece to the artist, which only leaves the possibility of intentional fraud by the owner who could have substituted a copy with the right materials for the original.

After that all of the tools of authentication must be applied to the work.

Provenance - documentation and historical support.

Scientific examination - of the pigments, canvas, wood, and other materials.

And then Connoisseurship.

In general, scientific data can only disprove an attribution.  It can only show that a work could not have been created by a particular artist or in an positive sense, that it might have been created by a particular artist.  Even a work on a piece of canvas cut from the same larger piece of canvas as a work by Vermeer could be (admittedly unlikely but still possible) by a contemporary, but for an artistic examination of the work itself.

If documentation is lacking and the work passes the other tests, and probably some which I have overlooked, connoisseurship is still necessary.

Two identical or similar works of the same vintage are often by two different artists and could pass other tests including provenance, both possibly having had the same original owner who wanted a copy, and ultimately it is style, brushwork, peculiarities of signature or other indicia (Strong noted how dates were indicated), and the other elements of connoisseurship that can attribute (provide an informed opinion regarding) the authorship.

Like science, connoisseruship isn't a proof of anything only a statement that a particular artist could have created, might have created, or is very likely to have created a work.  It can also suggest that there is evidence to disprove an attribution.

Then, when there is a individual work, aside from deliberate fraud which is a separate topic, there is the question of whose hand created it or which parts of it which, in the absence of other proof, requires connoisseurship.

But this still only an informed opinion.  A great difficulty with connoisseurship is assessing the agenda and qualifications of the expert.  There are both professional and financial pressures at work here.  And the expert is only a human.

Why consider connoisseurship, because the scientific  tools are also inconclusive, and C adds evidence to build an opinion.  The work, in general, must speak for itself.  Res ipsa loquitor.

As a painter the bit I'm always troubled by is something that is rarely spoken about in the art world - some experts are colour blind and some others have no spacial awareness and that's why for many it's easier to talk about scientific analysis and provenance, without looking at the picture concerned and asking basic questions about why, what's achieved and how.  

Sometimes with a collector one can tell what their strengths and weaknesses are from the art they collect and that's true also with gallery owners who choose and put on exhibitions - I can think of several who I think might be colour blind! (I won't name anyone)  But 'experts' are opaque about their abilities / prejudices and preferences.  And frequently they are unable to either explain decisions or engage in debate about these decisions.  I can understand why they back off - especially if the other party has a financial incentive to prove a picture.      

I'd happily try to devise an exam in practical skills in which experts could demonstrate their understanding and sensitivity to line, colour, texture, composition, sculptural qualities and pattern.  Maybe a if an expert could analysis - for example which colours he/she can see in a shade of grey or do a quick sketch to demonstrate their understanding of the work they are looking at, this would inspire greater confidence in them.

If we really are talking about a national divorce in this case—and let’s not forget the polls tell us it is highly unlikely—it would be difficult to see how the thorny issue of a division of spoils could be avoided. The pain could, however, be mitigated if the institutions themselves, unlike our politicians, could begin to consider one or two preliminary ideas, at least in abstracto.

The outstanding collection of around 1,400 Old Master drawings and prints that the British Museum acquired from the estate of the Scottish clan chief John Malcolm of Poltalloch in 1895 could certainly be the subject of a cross-border concordat. This single acquisition, which includes important works by Michelangelo, Leonardo and Verrocchio, among others, raised the museum to the same level as the Louvre overnight. There is no reason why these could not, from time to time, be shared with Scotland on an agreed loan basis. 

Similarly, the Tate could release a number of drawings by William Blake that have a Scottish provenance. Even the British Library could help out. It is something of an anomaly that it holds the country’s most significant collections of Pictish and Celtic survey drawings, most of them Scottish. It would hardly be much of an intellectual sacrifice to send them north.

On the other hand, even if Scotland does opt for independence, the subject may never come up. I contacted the office of the Scottish government’s culture minister, the SNP’s culture spokesman in Westminster and the Scottish National Party press office in Edinburgh to ascertain their views on the matter. I have yet to hear from any of them. Perhaps they don’t much care—in which case the curators of Millbank and Great Russell Street can probably rest easy in their beds.

The books in the Virtual Library come from three of the Getty’s programs: the Getty Conservation Institute, the Getty Research Institute, and the J. Paul Getty Museum. The over 250 offered here today—and the many more we will continue to add into the future—represent a significant portion of our publishing list. Still, they are just a modest part of what is becoming an important, informally networked library, spread across multiple institutions and spanning thousands of years of art historical knowledge. Our virtual library proudly joins those already created by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Guggenheim, LACMA, and others. We hope you will explore and use them all. The books they hold are treasures meant for all, and now easier than ever for all to access and enjoy.

In 1714 George I ascended the throne as the first British monarch of the German House of Hanover. With the dawn of a new dynastic age came a silent revolution – one of the most dramatic periods of change across all aspects of British political, intellectual and cultural life. 

To mark the 300th anniversary of the beginning of the Georgian era, The First Georgians: Art and Monarchy 1714-1760 explores royal patronage and taste in the reigns of George I and George II as a product of a time when Britain was the world’s most liberal, commercial and modern society. It brings together over 300 works in the Royal Collection from royal residences across the UK.

If George Clooney feels so strongly that works of art should be returned to their place of manufacture, perhaps he could take this work back home with him...