This is a Forgery (MA)

Forgery

I have the ability to forge any painting in the world. It will be Madame X by John Singer Sargent. I have gone to the Met almost every day since the American Wing opened early this year and stared at this painting for hours on end. This is the type of painting I would covet for decades. A lifetime. I want to touch the canvas and imagine the care and intention of stroke that Sargent applied with his brush, as Virginie Amelie Avegno Gautreau stood close by, posing for days and months. I can imagine as he stares at her, studies her, records her, and breathes her in. I want to smell the age. I want to study the artistry, the skill, Sargent’s magnum opus. I want the painting to hang on my wall and be a part of my private collection; until death, do us part.

I will retreat into my studio and meticulously, feverishly, and relentlessly work to recreate a perfect facsimile of the masterpiece. I need to know that I too, can paint like a master. It is not good enough to create an original work of art. My desire is to fool everyone. The snobs and the critics and the rich and the conservators and the curators and the art historians. I need to replace the original with my own. If I could do this, I would be as great as Sargent. NO! I will be better than him. I will have to figure out how to make the paint appear to be from the late 19th century. The canvas. The frame. Yes, I would have to be brilliant.

Then there is the test. The real test. I must steal Madame X from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. No easy feat for sure, but, one that is not impossible. I know a couple less than honorable men who would be able to pay off a couple night guardsmen (they make shit for pay anyway) and from there it will be easy. I’ll meet them in Central Park, somewhere dark, like the North woods. I will have the copy of the artwork hidden. I will inspect the original work, before I pay, and then, a distraction (a cop that owes me a very big favor). I will only have a minute, but that’s all I’ll need to make the switch. By the time they recoup and focus back on me, I will reject payment. They will leave angry, confident that they will be able to find another buyer. Unfortunately for them, my cop friend will apprehend them less than ten minutes later. He will be the hero and owe me another favor. I won’t ever have to worry about him, you see, because I am the only person who knows where he buried his wife. He knows, that if anything happens to me, everyone will know what he did to her. I made sure of that. So, my cop is the hero and the painting is returned to the Met. My painting. My perfect painting. Yes, I will fool them all. I will have the original Madame X in my possession. I will never let her go. She will never leave me. I will have her forever…