Art of the Con

He claimed a childhood in the vineyards of Bordeaux, an internship at age 17 with Picasso, and a wealthy, discerning clientele willing to shell out as much as $250,000 for his oil paintings.

"An admired friend of many 20th-century artists, he influenced the concept and technique reflected in works by Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, Basquiat and Bofill," Sonnet wrote about himself in a 2005 letter of introduction to a New York art gallery.

Yet he spoke with a Long Island accent, rattled around the Philadelphia area in a rusted '86 Volvo, and hit up a series of girlfriends for money. And he never seemed to come up with any hand-painted, original art.

The pieces he did produce were digital - mostly abstracts printed from computers, signed, and marketed online as $200 limited editions.

Several artworks on his Web site bear dates from 1999 to 2001. They certainly weren't produced in France: For most of that period, he was sitting in federal prison.

Sonnet is indeed accomplished. Not as an imported fine artist, but as the all-American con artist Richard Carl Grossman.

From 1992 to 1995, Grossman, now 57, pulled off one of the grander scams in recent local history.

Posing as a visionary psychologist, he defrauded a dozen financial institutions that had lent him nearly $18 million for a chain of dial-in, all-hours, $1-per-minute counseling clinics that never opened.

Much of that cash went into construction of an enormous Main Line mansion, a 27,000-square-foot structure so over-the-top that its roof had to be cut flat halfway up to meet Tredyffrin Township's height restrictions.

Grossman pleaded guilty to fraud and money laundering, and spent 32 months in prison. He emerged late in 2001 and, while still under federal probation, began crafting his next persona.

As Luc Sonnet (pronounced so-NAY), he boasted of hanging out with Andy Warhol in 1980s New York. Of dating supermodel Kate Moss. Of having Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards' number programmed in his cell phone.

He invited acquaintances to visit his chateau in France. He professed to be Ivy-educated. He hired a crew of graduate students to film him proclaiming himself a digital art pioneer, then posted the clip on YouTube, calling it a preview of a PBS documentary about him.

While many who encountered him found his claims improbable, even laughable, a good many others took the bait. A sample:

At least three newspapers published credulous profiles of "Sonnet" in the last year.

At least two art galleries - one in New Hope, one in Virginia - agreed to show his work, only to cancel once they caught on to him.

A Main Line mother of four let him move in with her, turned her living and dining rooms into a gallery for his prints, and registered his business - Sonnet Arts International - in her name. Alarmed, her family paid him $24,000 to leave, but not before the woman had racked up $85,000 in credit-card debt while supporting him.

The owner of a Bucks County bed-and-breakfast spent thousands of dollars to convert an old workroom into a "Sonnet Gallery." But the tenant, who had declared himself the estate's "artist in residence," moved out without finishing even one painting.

A charity run by a Bucks County political leader, unaware that Sonnet was a fabrication, auctioned three prints for $1,000 each.

Regardless of price, using false credentials to help sell one's art is illegal, said Andrew D. Epstein, a Boston lawyer who primarily represents artists and photographers.