march 16–29, 2020 | new york 37
Baker-Harber. He opened a gallery in
Miami, and they spent more and more
time there.
The private planes came off multiple
contracts for six figures apiece, while the
wine went for $5,000 a bottle, drunk at
$25,000 tables at clubs from Ibiza to
Miami as Philbrick began to follow techno
raves by star DJ Marco Carola across the
globe like a groupie.
The only night I ever accompanied him
in Ibiza, the dinner began at his rental
house and ended up at the club Amnesia.
Though I tossed the MDMA pill he’d
handed me over my shoulder (I’ve never
wanted to do a drug that would make me
like everyone else; it would ruin my shtick),
I managed to get plenty wasted enough to
return home at 9 a.m. the following day
to my less-than-amused wife, whom
I saw while clambering through the
bathroom window after being locked
out of the bedroom. My family grew
to expect such antics after just about
every time he and I went out together.
The bravado of drunken backgam-
mon games, with betting at up to
$100,000 each, played with wealthy
art speculators (or, more often, their
offspring) and a bevy of prostitutes,
was all part of the program. Phil-
brick’s, anyway. He once spent a week-
end playing checkers with a high-end
hooker in a rented villa in Antigua and
sent me a picture when I expressed my
incredulousness at the very thought—
who over 8 years old plays checkers?
Inigo! Inigo! Inigo! Inigo! Each
and every morning, the young art
dealer would shout at himself at full
volume in the shower to fire himself
up for the daily dealing tasks at hand.
He related this to me endearingly, while
Baker-Harber recounted this unusual
habit with more than a little alarm. The
young man was clearly under a great deal
of pressure. Maybe its meaning changed as
his elaborate façade fell to pieces. He even
had a sweatshirt with inigo inigo inigo
printed on it that his girlfriend had made
for him.
I refer to the participants who regularly
traded with Philbrick and whom he went to
ex ceptional lengths to keep apart—lest we
all compare notes and realize what was
afoot—as the victim support group of people
who got Inigo’d, hoodwinked by the sleight
of hand of the art world’s David Blaine.
Among the key players were Aleksandar
“Sasha” Pesko, a tall, dashing young British
investor who bought with Philbrick a share
in a Stingel portrait of Pablo Picasso, or so he
thought. (It’s not uncommon to jointly
invest in a painting.)
This is where it gets a bit confusing: Hesold a majority share of a Basquiat to Pesko,
then used the Basquiat as collateral for a
$10 million loan from Athena Art Finance,
allegedly claiming he still owned the entire
thing. Around the same time, he sold yet
another share of it to another dealer in Lon-
don, Damian Delahunty. Are you still with
me? (I didn’t think so, but you get the idea.)
I happened to be the one who informed
Pesko of Philbrick’s initial wrongdoing.
Pesko went dead quiet when I told him
something was amiss; I could practically
hear the panic in his silence. I wouldn’t
exactly call it a Ponzi scheme but rather a
carousel on which the same works were
sold or used as collateral for loans more
than once. And often more than twice. Not
only should the buyer beware but the
seller, too! Today, Pesko can express hisdisdain at Philbrick only in expletive-filled
sentences beginning with sleazy and end-
ing with I want to see the MF in jail.
Then there are Andre Sakhai and Victo-
ria Brooks, a pair of collector-investors
who, as I understand it, partnered with
and bought works from Philbrick repeat-
edly, as many of us did. Sakhai, a Japanese-
Iranian in his mid-30s, is, I was told, the
godfather of Philbrick’s daughter, but that
didn’t render him immune from the foul
play that grew more pronounced as things
fell apart, including the outright sale bro-
kered by Philbrick of a work Sakhai had
merely asked Philbrick to help obtain a
condition report for. When a lawsuit
appeared on Sakhai’s doorstep affirming
ownership of a work, the full extent of his
double-dealing became manifest. Sakhai’s
father, Ely, served time in 2005 for selling
forged art. Sakhai told me he’d like to get
some out-of-work Mossad agents to track
down Philbrick.rooks is a pixieish, behind-the-
scenes art-worlder whose father,
David, passed away in prison
under suspicious circumstances
in 2016 while serving time for
insider trading and securities
fraud; he’d spent lavishly for her bat mitzvah
featuring performances by 50 Cent and
Aerosmith. Works owned by Sakhai and
Brooks ended up as collateral for Philbrick
loans without their knowledge.
When the art market peaked and began
to fall for the artists Philbrick specialized
in, the lies became more on the order of
psychopathic in lockstep with his increased
alcohol-and-drug intake. There were
instances of forged bank documents sent
to me and others to evidence transfers that
were never transferred as well as reports
at testing to the condition of various
artworks that were as phony as the
fake swift (Society for Worldwide
Interbank Financial Telecommunica-
tion) he concocted. I received such
a concocted swift myself and was
to ld of creative-condition reports
fr om a young London-based French
collector. The stories of money he
owed began to pile up and circulate.
The world is small, and the art world
is minuscule—and there is nothing the
participants like to gossip about more
than someone speeding off en route
to a horrific crash.
Before the extent of his crimes bub-
bled to the surface,
Philbrick himself
related to me the occasion on which he
tried to negotiate the sale of a badly
damaged Stingel painting from Hiscox
insurance company that had been writ-
ten off owing to catastrophic water
damage. An employee of the company con-
firmed to me that Philbrick indeed had
tried unsuccessfully to purchase the dam-
aged painting. Simultaneously, he engaged
his assistants to buy the super-rare German
paint Stingel uses, which was available only
seasonally, so they could replicate over the
course of months the precise method of the
pricey artist and create an exact replica.
Though Philbrick never managed to buy
the destroyed work from the insurer—such
companies often facilitate or contribute to
the restoration of a work that has a claim
against it to repatriate it into the market-
place, or they sell it discounted with
damage—the fate of Philbrick’s meticu-
lously crafted copy is at present a mystery.
Chances are it will be on offer at an auction
house near you, if it hasn’t been sold already.
Another scheme (or scam, rather)
entailed consigning an Ai Weiwei work
entitled Map of China to Christie’s in
May 2016 with anB(Continued on page 90)March 2020: DM-ing me while in hiding.0620FEA_Inigo_lay [Print]_36890243.indd 37 3/13/20 10:24 PMmarch16–29, 2020 | newyork 37Baker-Harber. He opened a gallery in
Miami, and they spent more and more
time there.
The private planes came off multiple
contracts for six figures apiece, while the
wine went for $5,000 a bottle, drunk at
$25,000 tables at clubs from Ibiza to
Miami as Philbrick began to follow techno
raves by star DJ Marco Carola across the
globe like a groupie.
The only night I ever accompanied him
in Ibiza, the dinner began at his rental
house and ended up at the club Amnesia.
Though I tossed the MDMA pill he’d
handed me over my shoulder (I’ve never
wanted to do a drug that would make me
like everyone else; it would ruin my shtick),
I managed to get plenty wasted enough to
return home at 9 a.m. the following day
to my less-than-amused wife, whom
I saw while clambering through the
bathroom window after being locked
out of the bedroom. My family grew
to expect such antics after just about
every time he and I went out together.
The bravado of drunken backgam-
mon games, with betting at up to
$100,000 each, played with wealthy
art speculators (or, more often, their
offspring) and a bevy of prostitutes,
was all part of the program. Phil-
brick’s, anyway. He once spent a week-
end playing checkers with a high-end
hooker in a rented villa in Antiguaand
sent me a picture when I expressedmy
incredulousness at the very thought—
who over 8 years old plays checkers?
Inigo! Inigo! Inigo! Inigo!Each
and every morning, the youngart
dealer would shout at himselfat full
volume in the shower to fire himself
up for the daily dealing tasks athand.
He related this to me endearingly,while
Baker-Harber recounted thisunusual
habit with more than a littlealarm.The
young man was clearly undera greatdeal
of pressure. Maybe its meaningchangedas
his elaborate façade fell to pieces.He even
had a sweatshirt with inigo inigoinigo
printed on it that his girlfriendhadmade
for him.
I refer to the participants whoregularly
traded with Philbrick and whomhewentto
ex ceptional lengths to keep apart—lestwe
all compare notes and realizewhatwas
afoot—as the victim support group of people
who got Inigo’d, hoodwinked by the sleight
of hand of the art world’s David Blaine.
Among the key players were Aleksandar
“Sasha” Pesko, a tall, dashing young British
investor who bought with Philbrick a share
in a Stingel portrait of Pablo Picasso, or so he
thought. (It’s not uncommon to jointly
invest in a painting.)
This is where it gets a bit confusing: He
sold a majority share of a Basquiat to Pesko,
then used the Basquiat as collateral for a
$10 million loan from Athena Art Finance,
allegedly claiming he still owned the entire
thing. Around the same time, he sold yet
another share of it to another dealer in Lon-
don, Damian Delahunty. Are you still with
me? (I didn’t think so, but you get the idea.)
I happened to be the one who informed
Pesko of Philbrick’s initial wrongdoing.
Pesko went dead quiet when I told him
something was amiss; I could practically
hear the panic in his silence. Iwouldn’t
exactly call it a Ponzi scheme butrathera
carousel on which the same workswere
sold or used as collateral for loansmore
than once. And often more thantwice.Not
only should the buyer bewarebutthe
seller, too! Today, Pesko can expresshisdisdainatPhilbrickonlyinexpletive-filled
sentencesbeginningwithsleazyandend-
ingwithI wanttoseetheMFinjail.
ThenthereareAndreSakhaiandVicto-
riaBrooks,a pairofcollector-investors
who,asI understandit,partneredwith
andboughtworksfromPhilbrickrepeat-
edly, asmany ofusdid.Sakhai,a Japanese-
Iranianinhismid-30s,is,I wastold,the
godfatherofPhilbrick’s daughter, butthat
didn’t renderhimimmunefromthefoul
playthat grew morepronouncedasthings
fellapart,includingtheoutrightsalebro-
kered by Philbrick of a work Sakhaihad
merely asked Philbrick to helpobtaina
condition report for. When a lawsuit
appeared on Sakhai’s doorstepaffirming
ownership of a work, the full extentofhis
double-dealing became manifest.Sakhai’s
father, Ely, served time in 2005forselling
forged art. Sakhai told me he’dlike toget
some out-of-work Mossad agentstotrack
down Philbrick.rooks is a pixieish, behind-the-
scenes art-worlder whose father,
David, passed away in prison
under suspicious circumstances
in 2016 while serving time for
insider trading and securities
fraud; he’d spent lavishly for her bat mitzvah
featuring performances by 50 Cent and
Aerosmith. Works owned by Sakhai and
Brooks ended up as collateral for Philbrick
loans without their knowledge.
When the art market peaked and began
tofallfortheartistsPhilbrickspecialized
in,theliesbecamemoreontheorderof
psychopathicinlockstepwithhisincreased
alcohol-and-drug intake. There were
instancesofforgedbankdocumentssent
tomeandotherstoevidencetransfersthat
werenevertransferredaswellasreports
at testingtotheconditionofvarious
artworksthat wereasphony asthe
fakeswift(SocietyforWorldwide
InterbankFinancialTelecommunica-
tion)heconcocted.I receivedsuch
a concoctedswiftmyselfandwas
to ldofcreative-conditionreports
fr oma youngLondon-basedFrench
collector. Thestories ofmoney he
owedbegantopileupandcirculate.
Theworldis small,andtheart world
is minuscule—andthereis nothingthe
participantslike togossipaboutmore
thansomeonespeedingoffenroute
toa horrific crash.
Beforetheextentofhiscrimesbub-
bledtothesurface,
Philbrickhimself
relatedtometheoccasiononwhichhe
triedtonegotiatethesaleofa badly
damagedStingel paintingfromHiscox
insurancecompany that hadbeenwrit-
tenoffowingtocatastrophicwater
damage.Anemployeeofthecompany con-
firmedtomethat Philbrickindeedhad
triedunsuccessfullytopurchasethedam-
agedpainting.Simultaneously, heengaged
hisassistantstobuythesuper-rareGerman
paintStingeluses,whichwasavailableonly
seasonally,sothey couldreplicateoverthe
courseofmonthstheprecisemethodofthe
priceyartistandcreateanexactreplica.
ThoughPhilbricknevermanagedtobuy
thedestroyedworkfromtheinsurer—such
companiesoftenfacilitateorcontributeto
therestorationofa workthat hasa claim
againstit torepatriateit intothemarket-
place,ortheysellitdiscountedwith
damage—thefateofPhilbrick’s meticu-
louslycraftedcopyis at presenta mystery.
Chancesareit willbeonofferat anauction
housenearyou,if it hasn’t beensoldalready.
Another scheme (or scam, rather)
entailedconsigningan Ai Weiweiwork
entitledMap ofChinatoChristie’sin
May 2016withanB(Continued on page 90)March 2020: DM-ing me while in hiding.