Once upon a time a famous art museum searched the world over for the
best paintings it could find. After a long search, the museum found
a beautiful Old Master painting depicting youths and maidens
frolicking in a wood. The directors were only too glad to pay
millions for this painting because they were captivated by its
beauty and elegance. How delightfully the maidens' hair and mouths
were drawn, how perfectly the hands and arms of the youths, how
life-like the bare feet on the forest floor. But the curator of the
museum was the happiest one of all, for he had now become guardian
and protector of a famous work by a famous painter. "Every time I
look at that painting," he would say, "I see new beauties and
excellences. Just look at these leaves here, the sweep of the
branches from this tree, capturing just the hint of a breeze and
seeming to vibrate with the music from the dance of the youths
and maidens in the clearing. My very soul resonates with the
greatness of it all."
Needless to say, this wonderful painting was the most popular
exhibit at the museum, providing instruction and delight for
thousands of visitors. Everyone, from the young child who could
barely walk to the old man who could barely walk, enjoyed its beauty
frankly and openly or profited from studying its color and
arrangement. Children loved to see the happy figures kicking up
their feet with joy; the young people marveled at the freshness and
beauty of the figures; those of mature years stood astonished at the
excellent technique that could present such a convincing vision; the
old remarked upon the feeling of cozy intimacy produced by the scene
of innocent pleasure.
"This painting is almost too good to be true," remarked one visitor
prophetically as he purchased a print of it.
One day a horrible discovery was made: the painting was not a
genuine Old Master after all. It was a forgery. It had not been
painted by the famous artist whose name was on it, and in fact it
had been painted within the last ten years. The museum directors
and the curator were horrified and consumed with shame. Immediately
the painting was jerked from the walls of the museum and
ignominiously relegated to a basement storeroom. "We regret such
an unfortunate imposition," the curator told the museum's patrons.
"This painting is not art; it is a tawdry fake. This painting
is a lie."
At first the public was saddened to lose sight of such a popular
painting, and a few mild protests were raised, but eventually
concern for the painting was pushed aside by other more pressing
concerns, and it was forgotten (as are all things no longer directly
in front of us in this busy world) and life continued.
Only the museum curator and an occasional junior staff member ever
saw the painting now, hanging in the dim light of the basement well
away from public view. All that was heard of it was the curator's
occasional disparaging comment. "Every day I see new defects and
ugliness in this fraudulent outrage," he would say. "Just look how
false the sun on the leaves looks, how phony is the wisp of that
girl's hair, how ugly the clouds there, and how awkward that boy's
position in the dance. How we were ever taken in by this obvious
cheat is beyond me." And finally, shaking his head to show his
regret, he concluded, "What we did was foolish and shameful."