The experiences of art dealers with the bureaucracy in France made grim, off putting reading in the 1980s and 1990s. I thought I knew enough about them by March 1987 to be more than careful about their practices and ways of doing business with them. No EU FREE trade days in force yet and so it was not easy to get paintings out of France or consign to auctions there.
In March 1987 I bought a painting by the Russian artist Franz Roubaud, another painting destined for New York. Roubaud was an artist selling well in London and New York and I expected the work I bought to bring in at least 50% profit on the investment. Cologne was the place I bought it, and, because I had another painting to collect from Calais, I thought it would be a good idea to collect the paintings with one trip and save some money on shipping expenses. Money was getting less and less in the account. No salees and a few purchases already and the money was dwindling and dwindling to zero.
Worrying times!
I was in Cologne within ten hours by car and in no time I was back on the borders of Belgium and France. No problems with Belgium customs and I thought no issues with the French since the painting was coming to England and bought in Germany with all the paperwork in place.
( EU free movement of goods was not in operation in 1987. What a pity! )
Wrong thinking and wrong assumption. All the paperwork of the painting was perfect but I missed one small detail at the border. THAT MINOR DETAIL WOULD PROVE A HEADACHE AND A SERIOUS POCKET ACHE SOON ENOUGH!I should have filled in a form declaring that I had the painting in the car. It was a formality that cost a fiver according to the customs officers of France!
I did not know and …….
On opening the back door of the car the painting was sitting pretty on the seat. No worries and no need to hide anything. How mistaken could I be?
The French customs officers went mad as soon as they saw the painting. I spoke in English and they pretended they spoke only French. They took the painting away as if I had a haul of fifty million pounds drugs. There was commotion, there was a crazy atmosphere that I had never experienced before. They took the painting apart looking for drugs, money and lord knows what. They were so hungry to sacrifice me and my property.
It was dramatic, it was traumatic and I was scared for dear life. These guys were inhuman, they hated me, I felt! There was pandemonium in the offices. They went mad with excitement and heated discussions about the issue. I was in serious trouble, I was panicking. In addition to all the events I could barely understand a word they were saying.
Soon after a customs officer told me what the problem was in French. Three or four of those vultures were standing by. It was just a small form I did not fill in, which he showed me.
I used my little French to communicate with them and all of them spoke in one voice:
Vous parlais Francais!
No! No!
Je ne pas parlais Francais!
So, you speak French!
No, I do not! I do not know French! I forgot all my French years ago.
I do not know!
Now, you know! Now you learn and you know next time!
I spoke a little French, but that was not French at all. It was communication of a desperate person trying to appease his troupe of torturers. It was desperation to get out of the mess, it was self preservation but…
I had to do with vultures and I was their prey. They were read to disembody me and devour me!
You should have declared the painting with us here. You did not and because of that, you will be fined with 10% of the value of the painting. That cost me 175.00 pounds and it was a harsh lesson in French customs formalities. I hated them before and I know I felt ten times more hate after that event! I was relieved it was just a 10% fine and not confiscation of the painting.
Fortunately I had enough cash on me to pay for the fine and as a matter of curiosity I asked if it was OK to collect the other painting at Calais.
No! Absolutely not!
The painting has to go to Paris, clear customs there and then be shipped to you from there, they made it clear to me. They were such hateful b……. , those customs officers. I hated their guts, I hated their existence, they made my life miserable!
I felt miserable, I felt stupid, I felt inadequate! This was a lesson in dealing with French bureaucrats and learning the hard way their ways and their rules. I was a legitimate concern and I had to play by their rules!
Sickening! Sickening! Sickening!
I was stuck, I was once again stung by French bureaucracy. My thinking of saving money by collecting the paintings myself backfired. It cost me double the money to get the two paintings back to London. The year started badly and things were getting worse quickly!
What an ordeal and what a torment by French bureaucrats!
Yes, 1987 did not start in the best possible way. It was one disaster after another and the money was disappearing fast from my account. The profits of 1986 were quickly evaporating and there was no profit to be seen during the first part of the year. By July 1987, I was virtually penniless but with a number of good paintings to sell.
Did I sell anything? Was I doomed? Was I ruined?
