Saturday, May 18th: the first antique market of the year on the Dreef in Haarlem. In my opinion, it's one of the most charming antique markets in the Netherlands. The market is nestled beside the historic city park, De Hout, near Pavilion Welgelegen—once the residence of King Louis Napoleon (the brother of Napoleon Bonaparte) during the French period. The alarm rings at 6:45 AM. Shortly after, I hop on my bike toward Houtplein. Apparently, I am not alone; dozens of fellow dealers are already wandering around, eager to see the fresh catches of the year. Upon arrival, the sellers begin to unpack. The atmosphere is slightly tense. You greet each other briefly, a nod here and there, and then move on. There’s no time for idle chatter. Most deals are sealed in the early hours—a large 17th-century portrait, a silver Empire teapot with a milk jug, and a uniquely colored swing glass all find new owners. After a couple of hours, the hunt gives way to a more relaxed mood. The first visitors trickle in, often unaware that most of the treasures have already been snapped up. And what had I found? A long, worn office ledger.
No painting, no intriguing drawing, but a book. "An address book," the seller told me—once purchased by her husband from an estate in The Hague. As I leafed through it, I came across hundreds of well-known and lesser-known artist names, all carefully alphabetized—yet no street addresses or phone numbers. The book had paint splatters on the cover and frayed edges. A vague notion of its true nature began to form in my mind, so I asked for the price. Twenty euros. Sold..
A Collection of Artist Signatures
Back home, my suspicion was increasingly confirmed. The book contained a collection of 500 artists' names—or more precisely, their signatures. These signatures came from catalogues, photographed in museums, meticulously copied in pencil or ink, or painted in oil, then cut out and pasted into the book. Here and there were little notes on how to prepare a background (“ochre with burnt sienna”). From a sales sticker inside the book, I could deduce it had been purchased in the 1960s from Corn. Paap, a stationery store on the Spui in The Hague. This wasn’t an address book, but rather a forger’s signature book.
The signatures were precisely and carefully copied, with attention to slant and typeface. If an artist used multiple signatures, these were usually included as well. Two names stood out to me: Jan Toorop and Willem de Zwart. The art forger had clearly practiced these extensively, given the many variations of their signatures in the book. Toorop and de Zwart are two artists whose works are highly sought after commercially, making them lucrative targets for forgery. Anyone who frequents auction houses knows of the many forgeries of these artists circulating in the market.
Artist and Forger
Naturally, the question arises: who compiled this book? My strong suspicion is that it was a certain artist who lived in The Hague and passed away about ten years ago, whose name is notably inscribed in a special place within the book. This artist was versatile, familiar with various movements—from (magical) realism and surrealism to the Hague School. Could this have started as an act of revenge against the establishment of critics and self-appointed art experts who scorned his work? Such was the case with the world’s most famous art forger, the Dutch artist Han van Meegeren (1889–1947). Driven by a hunger for recognition, he found a perverse satisfaction in deceiving connoisseurs. Or was it a pragmatic choice to turn his talent into a lucrative business? It is estimated that he was active for around 40 years, during which he could have brought thousands of works to market, mostly through a network of local auctions and shady art dealers.
This book is a curiosity—an art forger's bible from the pre-digital era, and above all, a tangible testament to the dark side of the art world. A side that everyone knows exists, but few truly understand.