There are countries that establish schools of art. There are countries that build museums, archives, research centres, and serious cultural institutions. And then there is contemporary Cyprus, where it seems we have managed to create something unique in world history: an industry of artistic self-confidence without artistic knowledge.
The Cypriot art market has evolved into a theatrical performance in which everyone is playing a role. One pretends to be a gallery owner, another a curator, a third an expert, and a fourth an art investor. The only thing missing is knowledge of art itself.
In recent years, galleries have sprung up like mushrooms after the rain. Not necessarily as centres of culture, but often as commercial spaces with a painting on the wall and an abundance of self-confidence. The word gallery has become much like the word boutique: simply put it on the sign outside, and suddenly prestige follows.
The new Cypriot school is the school of "knowing everything." Individuals with no academic background in art history, no experience in international art markets, and no knowledge of artwork examination techniques now pronounce on authenticity, value, and artistic quality. The market has acquired a new aristocracy: the aristocracy of ignorance.
And then comes the great Cypriot miracle: the person who was selling something entirely different yesterday suddenly presents himself as a leading authority on art today. Having come from unrelated trades, professions with no connection to art, or fields entirely detached from aesthetic education, some have transformed themselves within a few years into "experts" who judge artists, price artworks, and organise auctions.
Art, however, is not a matter of changing one's professional title. One does not become an art historian simply by hanging ten paintings on a wall. One does not become an expert by memorising the names of a few famous painters. And one certainly does not become a guardian of culture merely by having a client list.
The greatest concern, however, is the question of authenticity.
Cyprus possesses a remarkable artistic heritage. Telemachos Kanthos, Adamantios Diamantis, Georgios Pol. Georgiou, Christoforos Savva, Ioannis Kissonergis, Victor Ioannides, and many others form the true backbone of Cypriot art.
Precisely because their work is valuable, it becomes the target of a market in which demand often precedes knowledge. The greater the commercial appetite, the greater the need for rigorous examination, proper documentation, and scholarly evaluation.
Alongside this comes the phenomenon of prominent Greek artists such as Fassianos, Mytaras, and other distinguished creators whose names enjoy considerable recognition. When the market becomes more interested in the signature than in the substance, the door opens to imitations, poor reproductions, and works of questionable quality.
And this is where the great Cypriot comedy begins.
Auctions have multiplied. Auction rooms are full. Catalogues have become glossier. Photographs more impressive. Descriptions increasingly grandiose.
Yet sometimes the real question is not, "How much is this work worth?"
The real question is:
"Who decided that this is a work of art?"
Because in certain cases, the auction resembles a theatrical spectacle far more than a serious artistic event. A painting of mediocre aesthetic quality is presented as an "investment." An unknown artist suddenly emerges as the "next major talent." A decorative object is transformed into a "contemporary artistic statement."
And the audience watches the performance.
What is most troubling is that this problem does not concern private collectors alone. It concerns our broader cultural memory. Public collections, private foundations, corporate collections, and institutions that ought to serve as examples of quality require continuous scholarly scrutiny, proper documentation, and periodic re-evaluation.
A collection does not become important simply because it contains many works. It becomes important because it contains the right works.
One may own hundreds of paintings and possess nothing more than a large warehouse of objects. Quantity does not create culture. Knowledge creates culture.
The Cypriot art market is long overdue for a revolution of seriousness. It needs fewer grand declarations and far more scholarly work. It needs people who know before they speak, verify before they sell, and respect before they profit.
For today we risk creating the only museum in the world where the greatest exhibit will not be the paintings.
It will be ignorance.
And that, unfortunately, requires no frame.
Andrew Themistokleous
Art Historian
Brussels