This Drawing Is Designed to Trick You

This summer I was able to speak to a small group as part of a series of talks by Getty staff during the Lines of Connection: Drawing and Printmaking exhibition at the Getty Center. As a printmaker myself, I was thrilled about the opportunity to discuss an artwork that resonated with me.

It was difficult to choose a piece to talk about from all the wonderful things on display in the show, but this drawing by Maurice Roger, a trompe l’oeil depiction of a tabletop, from the second half of the 18th century, seemed like the perfect option. Sometimes there’s art I wish I had made, just because it seems like such a joy to have made it. This highly detailed, completely obsessive drawing and watercolor had just that effect on me.

Trompe l’oeil is the artistic tradition of the artist fooling the viewer into thinking they are looking at something real, when in fact they are seeing the artist’s rendering of the object. This can be a small touch, like a painting of a fly casting a shadow so that the insect appears to be sitting on top of an artwork instead of being a part of it, or something larger, like the whole scene of this tabletop.

The French term trompe l’oeil (deceives the eye) came about after Roger’s drawing was made, but this style had been used for centuries in painting. An ancient Roman anecdote tells the story of two competing artists. The first paints grapes on a wall so realistically that birds attempt to eat the fruit. The second paints a curtain behind which an artwork supposedly rests, but when the first artist goes to pull back the curtain, he realizes that it is a painted surface, so perfectly done that it fooled not just birds, but human eyes as well.

This story highlights my favorite mischievous background element in trompe l’oeil work. There’s that moment of trickery, even if it’s just a moment. Clearly it’s a great way to show off, and oftentimes the tradition exhibits a strange, incredibly nerdy sense of humor.

The trickery of Roger’s tabletop

At the lower right of Roger’s drawing are depictions of four prints by Albrecht Dürer. One is completely visible, two partially so, and the last pokes out from under the others. These are beautifully rendered, with the lines in the drawing carefully mimicking Dürer’s woodcuts. However, one key difference is that the top three images are reversed.

In woodcut printing an image is carved into a wooden block, and any raised areas are covered in an even layer of ink. When the inked surface is pressed onto paper, the image is transferred, but in reverse.

This drawing flips the Dürer etchings back to the orientation found on the original carved blocks. It is a clever clue that indicates that what is seen might not be what it seems. A viewer familiar with the Dürer prints would know right away that this is a fun and meticulous fake, reveling in its own fakery.

And just to rub it in further, the last etching in this little stack can just be seen enough to identify it as The Doubting Thomas, also by Dürer, depicting, off-screen as it were, the moment when Saint Thomas doubts Christ’s resurrection and touches the wound in Christ’s side in order to be convinced. Touching the drawing would reveal the deception that this is not a real etching. It seems like the artist is winking at his own clever ability to fool the viewer, just like the winning artist in ancient Rome tricking his competitor to pull aside the painted curtain. The best way to compliment a piece like this would be to get fooled by it.

Roger’s tabletop creates a portrait of the absent collector, erudite and well read, with books in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin and a French newspaper casually strewn about in the left third of the drawing. (At top right is a depiction of a biblical scene by Raphael.) In a unique way, these objects depict the man, not by re-creating his face, but by standing in with perfectly reproduced objects that tell part of his story.

That aspect of storytelling draws me into a trompe l’oeil work even more than the skill or trickery of it. Roger’s drawing feels like highly detailed set pieces, so close to the real thing but just a little off, and so carefully faked as to feel precious. It’s like stepping onto the stage of a theater before a play begins and being alone with the props. It encourages careful looking, trying to find the dividing line between the real and unreal and to piece together the story that’s hiding among a carefully curated facade of objects.

Catch Lines of Connection at the Getty Center before it closes on September 14, 2025.