The motives guiding the likes of Nat Tate and Rrose S?lavy diverge fundamentally from those of the sinister Pietro Psaier For some time I've been contemplating the difference between hoax and fraud, and I've yet to establish solid parameters for which to define either, which is problematic. I remember as a 15-year-old watching the first broadcast of Peter Jackson's Forgotten Silver on New Zealand television and being completely taken in (having few critical faculties at such a tender age) ? as was a large percentage of the country's population, one viewer even writing to the New Zealand Listener claiming to have discovered a historical link to the mocumentary's protagonist, the fictional film pioneer Colin McKenzie. Of course there have been many similar hoaxes, the Orson Welles War of the Worlds radio broadcast springs to mind, and recently William Boyd discussed his invented artist Nat Tate . We might deem these "celebrated hoaxes", as sometimes it's entertaining for the perpetrator, the victim and the observer, but not always. I suppose one could claim a distinction between hoax and fraud as the subversion of systems and institutions v deceit for financial (even emotional) gain ? though I'm not even certain the two can be separated so distinctly. The agenda and vehicle of a hoax often take the form of parody and satire. In January 2006 a friend and I exchanged a number of amusing emails that resulted in the invention of a new art movement we called metadadaism . Intended as affectionate satire on contemporary art, at the core of metadadaism was a fictional exhibition titled Nothing ? an empty art gallery. We added metadadaism to Wikipedia, where it remained for a number of years unchallenged, additionally picked up by various other encyclopaedic websites. To our amusement, later that year an exhibition titled Gallery Space Recall ? an empty gallery ? took place at the Chapel Arts Centre in Wales. Although I may fantasise about it being the first metadadaist exhibition, any concrete link is surely spurious: an empty gallery was obvious evolution for the art world. Of course William Boyd was not the first to invent an artist complete with biography and art works ? there are hundreds of examples, the motives of which could perhaps be deemed as pseudonym, alter ego, propaganda, satire, homage, fraud and others. Many artists were and are tied to exclusivity agreements with art galleries and sign works with a pseudonym in order to earn extra revenue on the side; others have used pseudonyms to create distinction between their primary "creative" artworks and those that pandered to say a "tourist" market. Marcel Duchamp used alter ego in the guises of R. Mutt and Rrose S?lavy for purposes of subversion, humour and critique. I'm unsure what the motives were for the Spanish/Mexican writer Max Aub who invented Jusep Torres Campalans, perhaps a number of the above, but the fictitious artist is in most cases allied to a celebrated master (Campalans was associated with Picasso) as well as historic events (Colin McKenzie at Gallipoli and the Spanish civil war); by these associations the fictitious artist is seeded in reality and gains kudos. One invented artist I'm certain falls into the category of fraud is Pietro Psaier . Apparently Psaier lived some kind of global traveller's existence; according to various biographies he originated in Italy, later living in Spain, the US and lastly Sri Lanka, where he "died" in the tsunami. Psaier conveniently collaborated with famed artists such as Andy Warhol, Mel Ramos, Rupert Jasen Smith , John Lennon, hobnobbed with celebrities, and must have spent a fortune lugging around the thousands of artworks he never exhibited, as well as all the essential printing equipment. Psaier artworks started appearing on the market in the late 1990s and have been sold at every major UK auction house, most provincial auction rooms, and others across the globe. Not just a few either: by my estimation approximately 5,000 Psaier works have been sold in the past 10 or so years, ranging in price from ?50 to ?14,000 ? easily well over a million pounds' worth. You could view Psaier as altar ego, in the same way as Aub's Campalans or Boyd's Tate, but the absence of an "in joke", or indeed any joke or agenda apart from intent to defraud monies by deception, is for me a vital distinction. As with Forgotten Silver and Tate, people have claimed to have known Psaier, including Uri Geller (who later backtracked) as well as the Madrid-based psychiatrist Carlos Langelaan Alvarez . At least six Psaier works were marketed as collaborations with Mel Ramos ? these works were copies of Ramos works and signed with both artists' signatures. Ramos himself told me they were (and I quote) "knock-offs" and that he'd never heard of Psaier. As yet there have been no investigations and the work still appears regularly in auction houses. (Don't even get me started on the ethics of some auctioneers.) The naivety of the art world is oft exposed and curiously celebrated, with hoaxers and fraudsters gaining the celebrated status of the anti-hero, perceptively beating the establishment at its own game. I can take pleasure from a good hoax, but more sinister applications leave you contemptuous, resentful and out of pocket. I'm not exactly sure where the line is, but there must be one, surely? As for the people who claim to know these fictitious characters: well, some people apparently talk to aliens, others to God. Art Art markets Crime William Boyd Tim Williams guardian.co.uk © 2011 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds