“Things are seldom as they seem; skim milk masquerades as cream.”
— Mark Landis quoting Gilbert and Sullivan
It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then the gods offer up someone who is doing something for which there is no precedent. Because we’ve not seen it before, we are not sure how to react and acceptance varies, sometimes to the extreme. Take Mark Landis, for example.
If you read Jan Swoope’s Lifestyles cover story in last Sunday’s paper, the name will be familiar. For three decades Landis created museum-quality forgeries of artworks and donated them to institutions around the country. Some curators were duped; others were not. Some took it with good humor; others did not.
Let me be clear: Unlike art forgers who do what they do for financial gain, Landis (who employed a variety of pseudonyms) never asked for or received any remuneration for his work. A Wikipedia entry reports Landis has shared his output with more than 60 museums in 20 states.
“Art and Craft,” a documentary on Landis’ artistic exploits was released in the fall of 2014 (Google “Art and Craft trailer” for a preview). By then The New Yorker, The Financial Times and The New York Times had published pieces on him.
Landis, who lived with his mother in Laurel until she died in 2010, characterizes himself as a “lonely old shut-in.”
Since the release of the film, that has changed: He’s been to New York for a screening; a touring exhibit of his forgeries has been organized and he’s invited to appear at screenings of the movie, as was the case Thursday evening at the Rosenzweig Arts Center.
Landis, 60, is distinctive in many ways. He speaks in a soft, halting, almost childlike tone. He rarely eats. His conversation is peppered with quotes from old TV shows and movies. And, he is easily distracted by details — a woman’s bracelet, an ornate door hinge, the authenticity of a vintage movie poster –which command all his attention.
His most recent visit was not his first to Columbus. In August 2011, posing as a Jesuit priest, Landis showed up at Mississippi University for Women with a sketch by costume designer Edith Head he wanted to donate to the school in honor of his sister.
“He showed up in a bright red Cadillac,” said Robert Gibson, then art department chair. During a tour of the department Landis told Gibson though his sister had never gone to The W, she thought highly of the school. Landis is an only child.
“Before he left, he blessed me,” said Gibson. “I think he blessed everyone (here).”
“I’m kind of like a method actor,” Landis told the BBC earlier this year. “Once I was there, I was able to convince myself I really was a wealthy benefactor. I’d believe it myself until I was on my way home.”
Among the artists Landis has copied are Walter Anderson, Walt Disney, Mary Cassatt, Picasso and Charles Schulz. He’s also made copies of letters from John Hancock and Abraham Lincoln. He’s copied 19th century bank notes from the Republic of Texas.
And then there is a more practical side to his art.
After a short driving tour of Columbus, as we were looking for a parking spot near the arts center, I asked Landis if he (I was driving his car) had a handicap sticker. He reached in the side pocket and produced a handicapped parking tag.
“It’s fake,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll get into trouble.”
I hung the handicapped tag on the mirror and we went inside.
That evening before the screening of the film, Landis mingled easily with the crowd attending Elayne Goodman’s opening. Many recognized him from Jan’s story, including Elayne and her husband, Pete.
“I had poor self-esteem and then all of a sudden I’d get treated like royalty,” said Landis, explaining one of his motivations.
As we approached the stairs to the Omnova Theater, Landis said to no one in particular, “It’s Mark’s big adventure.”
The crowd seemed charmed by the film, but more so, they were charmed by its subject, who fielded questions afterward. Landis was self-depreciating, brutally honest and frequently hilarious.
Someone asked what artists he admired. Landis thought for a moment, then said, “Well …, Elayne.”
A woman who attended Thursday’s screening wrote in an email later, “… it’s almost charming to find a tale of deceit in the 21st century that has absolutely nothing to do with money, power or sex. That may be just as remarkable as his talent.”
The next morning Landis came by the paper to say good-bye. Early he had shown me a canvas tote bag someone made for him with “Marco the Magician” (“I was a failed magician before I was a failed artist,” he explained) screened on one side and “Art and Craft” on the other.
As I moved the bag for him I asked about its contents. Inside was what looked to be a medieval icon, a vintage print of Br’er Rabbit from Joel Chandler Harris’ Uncle Remus and a short, handwritten note on folded, crinkled paper. It was signed by Thomas Jefferson.
Birney Imes III is the immediate past publisher of The Dispatch.
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