Art law blog

While reviewing various daily articles about the podcasting industry, I recently came across the podcast series ‟The Unfiltered History Tour with VICE World News”. This series broadcasts ‟stories of disputed artefacts, as told by people from their homelands” (sic), in relation to artefacts held/stored at the British Museum in London, in the United Kingdom (‟UK”). I listened to the 10 episodes, and was moved by how strongly the descendants of the people to whom these objects belonged (such as an Egyptian researcher, for the Rosetta stone; a filmmaker from Rapa Nui, for the statue ‟hoa hakananai’a”; an artist and writer from the kingdom of Benin, Nigeria, for the Benin bronzes; a Ghanaian drummer, for the akan drum; an Indian intellectual for the Amaravati marbles; Jamaican citizens for the figurines Birdman and Boinayel; descendants of Aborigines, for the Australian Gweagal shield; a Greek university student and activist, for the Parthenon marbles; Chinese descendants, for the porcelain vases and sculptures taken from the Summer palace; and an Assyrian writer and artist, for the artwork describing the lion hunt of Ashurbanipal) felt about the injustice to have these disputed objects ‟stuck” at the British Museum, in the UK. While the British Museum acknowledges that there are ‟contested objects in its collection” (sic), nothing has pragmatically and tangibly been done, so far, by UK authorities, to return those extremely contentious cultural assets to the descendants of the people from whom they were taken. Similar claims for cultural assets restitution were made to other UK institutions and museums, as well as to French museums, such as the ‟Musée du quai Branly” in Paris, a museum featuring the indigenous art and cultures of Africa, Asia, Oceania, and the Americas. I decided to delve into these legal issues deeper. What is the state of play, in relation to obligations of restitution of objects stolen/taken/bought during the discovery and colonisation periods (and after), by the UK and France, in visited, colonised, or ex-colonised countries? What is the legal framework applicable to these cultural assets restitution disputes and claims? How can the descendants of the people whose artefacts were stolen, efficiently and effectively obtain restitution of their objects, from French and UK institutions, as soon as possible?

1. Cultural assets restitution: legal framework

1.1. International law: UNESCO conventions and UNIDROIT convention

Various UNESCO conventions, such as the convention for the protection of cultural property in the event of armed conflict dated 14 May 1954 (the ‟1954 Hague convention”), and the convention on the means of prohibiting and preventing the illicit import, export and transfer of ownership of cultural property dated 14 November 1970, were adopted to protect cultural property, such as monuments of architecture, art or history, archaeological sites, works of art, manuscripts, books and other objects of artistic, historical or archaeological interest, as well as scientific collections of any kind regardless of their origin or ownership.

While France ratified both UNESCO conventions, in 1957 and 1997 respectively, the UK belatedly ratified the 1954 Hague convention in 2017 and ‟accepted” – but did not ratify – the 1970 UNESCO convention in 2002.

The commitments made by the state parties to the UNESCO conventions serve to preserve cultural heritage through the implementation of the following measures, inter alia:

• declaring the import, export or transfer of ownership of cultural property effected contrary to the provisions adopted under the 1970 convention by the states parties thereto, illicit;

• declaring the export and transfer of ownership of cultural property under compulsion arising directly or indirectly from the occupation of a country by a foreign power, illicit;

• adopting preventive measures such as preparing inventories, planning emergency measures to protect property against the risk of fire or the collapse of buildings, and preparing the removal of cultural property to places of safety;

• developing initiatives which guarantee respect for cultural property situated on their own territory or on the territory of other states parties. This involves refraining from using such property in any manner that might expose it to destruction or deterioration in the event of armed conflict, and by refraining from all acts of hostility directed against it;

• registering cultural property of very high importance on the International Register of Cultural Property under Special Protection in order to obtain special protection for such property;

• marking certain important buildings and monuments with a distinctive emblem of the conventions;

• providing a place for eventual refuge to shelter movable cultural property;

• establishing special units within the military forces responsible for the protection of cultural property;

• setting sanctions for breaches of the conventions, and,

• promoting the conventions among the general public and through target groups such as cultural heritage professionals and military or law-enforcement agencies.

These UNESCO conventions have a limited scope, with respect to artefacts taken and stolen before their entry into force.

Indeed, many objects, now in museum collections, were acquired from their original owners via violence or deceit, or in conditions linked to the asymmetry of the ‟colonial context”, even before the Hague conventions of 1899 and 1907 entered into force, when the practices of looting and bringing back trophies were still admissible. The collection of foreign objects, by scientific missions financed by colonising states, during the exploration and conquest of new territories, was another way to unilaterally obtain foreign cultural assets, widely used, in parallel to, and jointly with, military operations orchestrated by these same governments.

The acquisition context is therefore going to be determining in the treatment of restitution requests, because those above-mentioned acts are not legally qualified as crimes, pursuant to international law, contrary to nazi spoliations (against which the Inter-allied declaration against acts of dispossession committed in territories under enemy occupation or control dated 5 January 1943, a specific legal act, was adopted) and contrary to pillages and destructions in wartime posterior to the above-mentioned 1954 Hague convention.

Secondly, many objects from public collections were gifted or bequeathed to museums, by the heirs of colons, military men involved in the conquest operations, colonies’ administrators or missionaries, sometimes several decades after the death of their ancestors. The terms of the initial acquisition of these objects – which spread over almost a century and a half – may be very diverse: spoils of war, of course, thefts, gifts more or less freely consented, but also barter, purchases, fair or not, or even direct orders made to local artisans and artists. Most of the time, the museum that is the beneficiary of those gifts, already ancient, has limited information on the terms of the first acquisition of these objects, and even sometimes on their exact provenance. These objects do not fall into the scope of the above-mentioned two UNESCO conventions.

Also, those UNESCO conventions do not have any effect in relation to cultural assets which are held in private hands, as confirmed by the legal case relating to a restitution request, made for the Nok statues, by Nigeria: ‟The provisions of the 1970 UNESCO convention are not directly applicable in the internal public order of state parties, therefore M.X. is right in arguing that this convention only provides for obligations applying to state parties, and does not create any direct obligation against private citizens of these state parties” (Court of Appeal of Paris, 5 April 2004, Federal republic of Nigeria v/ M.X., case 2002/09897, confirmed by Court of cassation civ. 1, 20 September 2006, nº04-115599).

Finally, these two UNESCO conventions do not provide for any restitution mechanisms, in relation to any stolen or looted cultural property, thereby leaving a legal void, in international law, with respect to art restitutions.

However, the UNIDROIT convention on stolen or illegally exported cultural objects, dated 24 June 1995 (the ‟UNIDROIT convention”), fills this gap and is therefore complementary to these UNESCO conventions. It is an important step of establishing a common mechanism, and minimal legal rules, for the restitution and return of cultural objects between contracting states, with the objective of improving the preservation and protection of the cultural heritage in the interest of all.

Indeed, the UNIDROIT convention applies to claims of an international character for (a) the restitution of stolen cultural objects and (b) the return of cultural objects removed from the territory of a contracting state contrary to its law regulating the export of cultural objects for the purpose of protecting its cultural heritage (‟Illegally exported cultural objects”).

But the scope of the UNIDROIT convention is limited in practice, because countries such as France and the UK, where a considerable portion of Illegally exported cultural assets and stolen cultural objects, taken during the ‟colonisation period”, is stored in national public collections, have either not ratified, or not even signed (for the UK), such UNIDROIT convention.

Also, some time restrictions to claims for restitution of stolen, or illegally exported, cultural objects are set out in the UNIDROIT convention. Such claims may be brought in three years from the time the claimant or the requesting state knew the location of the cultural object, and the identity of the possessor, and in fifty years since the time of the theft, the export or from the date on which the object should have been returned (articles 3.3 and 5.5). However, there are exceptions to this rule for stolen objects. Cultural objects that form an integral part of an identified monument or archaeological site, or which belong to a public collection, are not subject to time limitation other than a period of three years from the time when the claimant knew the location of the cultural object and the identity of its possessor (article 3.4). In addition, a contracting state may declare that a claim warrants an extended time limit of seventy five years or longer, if so stated in its national law (article 3.5).

Besides, the UNIDROIT convention is not a retroactive treaty and, as such, it only applies to cultural property stolen, or cultural objects illegally exported, after the UNIDROIT convention entered into force (article 10). However, the UNIDROIT convention ‟does not in any way legitimise any illegal transaction of whatever which has taken place before the entry into force of this convention” and does not ‟limit any right of a state or other person to make a claim under remedies available outside the framework” of the convention (article 10.3).

1.2. European Union legislation: Directive 2014/60/EU of 15 May 2014 on the return of cultural objects unlawfully removed from the territory of a member-state

This issue of writing and adopting common rules, between states, to guarantee the restitution of cultural property, has first emerged in Europe, and more precisely within member-states of the European Union (‟EU”).

EU member-states benefit from economic, cultural and legal integration tools, which are highly developed on certain aspects, and in particular on restitution of cultural assets.

But the implementation, and benefit, from these automatic restitution mechanisms, for cultural assets which were stolen or illicitly exported, are limited to EU member-states only, of course.

Directive 2014/60/EU of 15 May 2014 on the return of cultural objects unlawfully removed from the territory of a member-state (the ‟Directive”) provides for this EU-wide right of restitution of cultural assets.

Since Brexit, the UK is no longer a member-state of the EU, and therefore the above-mentioned Directive no longer applies on its territory.

However, the Directive applies in France, one of the remaining twenty seven EU member-states, via its transposition into French national statutory laws.

The above-mentioned Directive is a very ‟hands-on” framework, on how cultural assets should be returned, within which timeframe, and under which conditions.

However, when the request for restitution comes from a third-party state (i.e. not an EU member-state), the protection of the buyer acting in good faith, as well as the principle of territoriality of laws (i.e. the principle pursuant to which the judge will rule only in compliance with the law of the country in which the object is located, at the moment of the restitution claim) usually block any successful outcome to such restitution request.

So, in case the request for restitution comes from a state outside the EU, the above-mentioned UNESCO 1954 and 1970 conventions apply, but, as already stated, they have limited scope.

The imbalance between the law applicable in EU member-states, and the principles that the judge uses against third party states located outside Europe, seriously impacts the future of cultural assets’ restitutions to countries located in Africa, Asia, Australasia and the Americas. Such imbalance could be addressed if France and the UK, as well as African, Asian and Australasian countries ratified the above-mentioned UNIDROIT convention. This convention sets out an automatic restitution mechanism, which would apply to its contracting states. It could be the foundation for a common right to restitution, in particular, and potentially, in relation to cultural assets taken during the ‟colonial period”. The ratification of the UNIDROIT convention may therefore be the key to set up an automatic restitution mechanism, not only in the EU, but also outside the EU.

EU member-states have applied such ambitions by infusing the principles from the UNIDROIT convention within the Directive. Therefore, the extension of such principles to third party states, via the UNIDROIT convention, should be achievable.

1.3. French rules

The current French legal framework is set up in such a way that it blocks, and opposes, most restitution requests addressed to French museums, with respect to their museum collections, via its:

• provisions from the ‟code du patrimoine” (‟CP”), which entered into force in 2004, and

• provisions from the ‟code général des propriétés des personnes publiques” (‟CGPPP”), which entered into force in 2006.

The French current legal framework sets out a definition of the public domain furniture which covers all cultural assets – in particular, public collections. Such definition of the French public domain furniture triggers some legal protection backed up by the rules of imprescriptibility and inalienability of the public domain, which blocks all restitution requests.

Indeed, the statutory principle of inalienability of French public collections, enshrined in article L. 451-5 CP, is opposed to the transfer of ownership of any one of these assets preserved in these collections. This is because all assets belonging to the French public collections are national treasures, pursuant to article L. 111-1 CP.

In France, the rare restitution cases which took place during the last twenty years were made possible via mechanisms designed to go around the rules relating to the French public domain. Two legal avenues were pursued, as follows:

• enacting a law creating an exception to the principle of inalienability of French public collections, derogating to the above-mentioned rules applicable to French cultural assets and public domain. For example law nº2002-323 dated 6 March 2002 relating to the authorisation of the restitution by France of the mortal remains of Saartjie (Sarah) Baartman, also known as the ‟Hottentot Venus”, to South Africa, and law nº2010-501 dated 18 May 2010 relating to the authorisation of the restitution by France of the Maori heads to New Zealand, are such laws providing for exceptions to the principle of inalienability on the grounds of the principle of dignity and of the respect due to dead people, and

• removing a cultural asset, from the scope of the laws relating to the French public domain, because such object does not belong to the museum’s collection. For example, art works stamped ‟Musées Nationaux Récupération” since 1953, which are comprised of 60,000 works pillaged by nazi occupiers and never restituted, were never added to the French public collections, precisely in order to allow their restitution once the owners or right-holders would be identified or recognised. Also, the restitutions of Chinese cultural assets, done in 2015, were possible via the withdrawal, at the request of the French state, of the gift made a few years earlier, by a private collector, to the Guimet museum. Consequently, rebranded as ‟private property”, these objects were able to be restituted, directly by the donor, to the Chinese state. Moreover, the removal of a cultural asset from the French public domain may be due to an irreparable original defect tainting its acquisition. Objects coming from illegal trafficking, entered into French public collections after 1997 (as France ratified the above-mentioned 1970 UNESCO convention on 7 January 1997), because of some negligence in controlling their provenance upon acquisition, or which illicit status was revealed further to discovering new facts, may be the object of a cancellation of their acquisition (by way of sale, gift or donation) via legal proceedings initiated by the defrauded French public entity, in compliance with law nº2016-925 dated 7 July 2016. The object is therefore deemed to have never entered the French public domain, and new article L. 124-1 CP provides that the judge may order its restitution to its original owner.

1.4. UK rules

Similarly, the current UK legal framework is set up in such a way that it blocks, and opposes, restitution requests addressed to UK museums, with respect to their museum collections.

As mentioned above in this article’s introduction, London’s British Museum is fiercely targeted by growing calls for repatriation of cultural assets, with repeated requests from various countries, such as Greece, Ethiopia, Italy and Nigeria, to return items from its vast collection.

However, the British Museum, and the UK government, have systematically opposed those restitution requests by citing the British Museum Act 1963, a national statute which prohibits the institution from returning works. Indeed, section 5 (Disposal of objects) from the British Museum Act 1963 provides that ‟the trustees of the British Museum may sell, exchange, give away or otherwise dispose of any object vested in them and comprised in their collections if:

• (a) the object is a duplicate of another such object, or

• (b) the object appears to the Trustees to have been made not earlier than the year 1850, and substantially consists of printed matter of which a copy made by photography or a process akin to photography is held by the Trustees, or

• (c) in the opinion of the trustees the object is unfit to be retained in the collections of the Museum and can be disposed of without detriment to the interests of students (provided that where an object has become vested in the trustees by virtue of a gift or bequest the powers conferred by this subsection shall not be exercisable as respects that object in a manner inconsistent with any condition attached to the gift or bequest)”.

Similar very limited exceptions to the principle that objects from UK public collections cannot be deaccessioned, are set out in the National Heritage Act 1983, which focuses on the collections from the Victoria & Albert Museum, the Science Museum, etc.

The UK has enacted only two acts so far, which carve additional exceptions to the principle of prohibition of returning works from UK public collections.

The provisions of the Human Tissue Act 2004 create a new exception to the provisions of the British Museum Act 1963. Indeed, pursuant to the Human Tissue Act 2004, the trustees of the British Museum have the power to deaccession human remains, and return them to their owners and/or the descendants of such deceased persons. Consequently, the British Museum has set up a pragmatic policy, which sets out the circumstances in which the trustees may consider a request for the deaccessioning of human remains. It gives guidance on the procedures to be followed by those seeking to submit a claim for the return of human remains in the British Museum collection that are less than one thousand years old to a community of origin.

Also, the Holocaust (Return of Cultural Objects) Act 2009 opened up repatriation of artwork looted during the nazi era.

Aside from those two above-mentioned ‟ad hoc” exemption acts and processes, the UK has stuck to its guns and objected to each one of the restitution requests, made by various third party states or indigenous communities in Africa, Asia and Australasia, a stern ‟no” because it is not allowed under the British Museum Act 1963 and/or under the National Heritage Act 1983, which provide that objects considered part of the country’s national heritage may not be taken out of the UK.

In particular, with respect to the contested objects from the collection of the British Museum, the UK government and institution have muddled the waters, proposing the development of ‟long-term relationships with the communities” (sic) making the restitution claims, signing ‟memorandums of understanding to develop mutually beneficial projects with artists, scholars and other community members” (sic), suggesting that some new museums be built in the territories of third party states which have made the restitution claims to facilitate permanent displays of objects, while still fiercely opposing any attempt to restitute these objects.

Many think that such backward attitude towards restitution of stolen or illegally exported cultural assets is no longer acceptable, with Vice’s ‟unfiltered history tour” being a very poignant illustration of how many communities are reeling at not being able to get their cultural objects back from the British Museum.

Some stakeholders even use guerilla war techniques, to shock members of the public and make a point, in particular with respect to African cultural assets. Mwazulu Diyabanza, a Congolese pan-African political activist, expressed his support of cultural restitution and the removal of African artefacts from European museums obtained during colonisation by barging in the ‟Musée du Quai Branly” in June 2020, and subsequently taking a 19th-century funeral post of the Bari people from this French institution.

2. Cultural assets restitution: actions taken – or to be taken – to allow the return of stolen or illicitly exported objects to their countries of origin

While French president Emmanuel Macron is widely disliked in France, in particular due to his autocratic and violent ways to impose ‟reforms”, he was surprisingly ‟avant-gardiste” in his approach to cultural assets restitution during his first five-year mandate. Indeed, he commissioned Senegalese academic, Felwine Sarr, and French art historian, Bénédicte Savoy, to research, and then write, an ethics report on the restitution of African cultural assets, which was issued in November 2018 (the ‟Report”).

The Report, which is excellent, extremely well-researched and well-balanced, on the whole, to find an appropriate, lawful and systematic approach to ethical restitutions of African cultural assets – which are currently predominant in French public collections, that contain around 90,000 sub-Saharan African objects acquired in dubious circumstances by France – is a major step in the right direction.

In particular, the Report suggests to amend the CP, in order to institutionalise the restitution process and enshrine it in law, in a new section 5 of such CP, relating to the restitution of cultural assets on the grounds of a bilateral cultural cooperation agreement with countries which used to be French colonies, protectorates or managed under French mandate. Such suggested new section 5 of the CP and such proposed bilateral agreement template are both enclosed to the Report, in its Annex 2. The Report does set out that such ‟ad hoc” restitution process would be an exception to the overarching principles of inalienability and imprescriptibility of the public domain, in particular to return African objects to their countries of origin.

Helpfully, the Report sets out a list of restitution criteria, even providing a suggested timeline of the restitution programme in three stages. During the first stage, from November 2018 to November 2019, the Report suggests to return several African cultural objects, listed in the Report, to African countries such as Benin, Senegal, Nigeria, Ethiopia, Mali and Cameroon. During the second stage, from spring 2019 to November 2022, further works and initiatives should be implemented, relating to inventories, digital sharing, workshops, joint committees between France and each of the African states that wish to recover their cultural assets. During the third stage, from November 2022, the Report suggests that the restitution process, with respect to African cultural assets in particular, should become permanent and allow third party states to continue claiming back their objects.

For now, the Report has been mostly wishful thinking. However, France has returned the sword of Omar Tall, a 19th century Islamic scholar and ruler, to Senegal in November 2019, and returned twenty six artworks looted from Benin during the colonial era, after its parliament adopted an ‟ad hoc” law allowing such restitutions.

The UK continues to have a ‟stiff upper lip” attitude, when it comes to restitution requests. However, many think that this is no longer acceptable, and push towards either the enactment of more acts providing for further exceptions to the British Museum Act 1963 and/or a complete overhaul of this act (even if, after such amendments, the trustees of the British Museum would deal with each restitution request on a case-by-case basis). A potential loophole in the UK legal arsenal had even be identified in the Charities Act 2022, with its new sections 15 and 16 allowing for charities, including national museums like the British Museum, to return objects if trustees felt a moral obligation to do so and gained approval from either the UK courts, charity commission or attorney general. However, in November 2022, the UK government deferred the introduction of these legal provisions which would enable national museums to deaccession items from their collections on moral grounds.

With up to ninety percent of the sub-Saharan Africa’s material cultural legacy outside of the African continent, for example, according to the Report, much more needs being done, in France and the UK, to return cultural assets to their rightful owners and countries of origin, and put things right. Private initiatives, such as a recent USD15 million, four-year initiative by George Soros’ Open Society, hope to spur momentum in reparation efforts through legal, financial and technical support to governments, regional bodies, museums, universities and civil societies.

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Artificial intelligence (‟AI”) technologies, which developed exponentially in the last 5 years, are here to stay and thrive. Most legal frameworks, in particular the French and US ones, are not ready for these technological advances. Indeed, most courts still refuse to grant copyright protection and ownership, to AI-generated works, worldwide. This situation is not sustainable, as AI-generating tools and platforms will replace traditional methods of generating content, in a very short timeframe. Legal frameworks must therefore adapt and yield, in order to ensure that their national creative industries remain competitive and at the top of the class. How can this be achieved?

1. The AI revolution: making AI the new normal

1.1. AI technological advances

AI technologies have exponentially developed, in 2022, making it possible to generate various creative outputs, in the literary field, music sector, art and illustration sectors, the film industry, the graphic novels’ sphere and the video gaming industry.

For example, ChatGPT is a language model developed by OpenAI, a research organisation that specialises in developing cutting-edge AI technologies, founded in 2015. ChatGPT is based on the Generative Pre-trained Transformer (‟GPT”) architecture. Its self-described purpose is to ‟provide conversational assistance and answer a wide range of questions on various topics, from factual information to subjective opinions and advice”. It can be used as a powerful research tool, writing extremely coherent and detailed research reports, which may then be inserted verbatim in any article, research paper or blog.

AI writing tools have become commonplace, and now assist humans in a variety of ways, in order to write better emails, blogs, articles and novels, to curate email newsletter content, to generate ready-to-write SEO outlines, to generate articles that are SEO friendly, etc.

In the graphic design sphere, AI tools can produce outstanding illustrations and drawings just by merely giving written instructions to AI tools such as Dall-E 2 (also created by OpenAI), Midjourney, and Stability.ai. The results are outstanding, as Midjourney’s community showcase demonstrates.

These illustrations and drawings can, in turn, be used to create graphic novels, such as ‟Zarya of the Dawn” by Kristina Kashtanova (generated with Midjourney), video games, magazines’ covers, such as The Economist’s cover and Cosmopolitan’s cover for its AI issue, or films, such as ‟The Crow”, a short film generated with OpenAI’s CLIP, and which won the 2022 Jury Award at the Cannes Short Film Festival!

In the music field, AI-generated music is become more prevalent, with AI music composition tools such as MusicLM, a model generating high-fidelity music from text descriptions from Google Research lab, Riffusion, an AI that composes music by visualizing it, Dance Diffusion, Google’s previous project AudioLM and OpenAI’s Jukebox. Soundful, a human aided AI music platform, aims at fulfilling the demand for music within the creator community and content-creator economy. At the click of a few buttons, you can have the tune you need for your project.

1.2. Who are the main players in the AI field?

As mentioned above, OpenAI, is at the forefront of AI innovation, with multiple AI tools created to be exploited on various creative medium such as:

• the spoken word, via ChatGPT;

• films, with CLIP;

• illustrations, via Dall-E 2, and

• music with Jukebox.

OpenAI was founded in 2015 by a group of prominent tech industry figures, including Elon Musk, Sam Altman, Reid Hoffman, Ilya Sutskever, Peter Thiel, John Schulman, and Wojciech Zaremba. It is an American AI research laboratory consisting of the non-profit OpenAI Incorporated (OpenAI Inc.) and its for-profit subsidiary corporation OpenAI Limited Partnership (OpenAI LP). The goal of OpenAI is to create safe and beneficial AI ‟that can help to address some of the world’s most pressing challenges” (sic). OpenAI is an independent organization, and its research is funded by a mix of philanthropic contributions, corporate partnerships, and government grants. The organization is ‟dedicated to advancing AI technology while also promoting transparency, collaboration, and ethical considerations in the development and deployment of AI”.

In 2023, OpenAI announced a partnership with Microsoft. On 23 January 2023, Microsoft announced a new multi-year, multi-billion dollar (reported to be USD10 billion) investment in OpenAI. Then, on 7 February 2023, Microsoft announced that it is building AI technology based on the same foundation as ChatGPT into its web search engine Bing, its web browser Edge, its productivity software Microsoft 365 and other products.

Google is also prominent in the AI-tools’ manufacturing sector, in particular with its above-mentioned music-generating AI tools, MusicLM and AudioLM. On 6 February 2023, Google announced an AI application similar to ChatGPT (Bard, a conversational AI chatbot powered by Google’s Language Model for Dialogue Applications), after ChatGPT was launched, fearing that ChatGPT could threaten Google’s place as a go-to source for information. Google also launched Imagen, a ‟text-to-image diffusion model with an unprecedented degree of photorealism and a deep level of language understanding” (sic), to compete with Dall-E.

For now, the media’s general impression is that Google fell behind in AI, in particular compared to Microsoft and OpenAI.

2. AI’s legal challenges

2.1. Do AI users have rights to the outputs?

The question of AI authorship is particular important, especially if actors from the content-creator economy embrace it.

The first port of call is to review the terms and conditions of the AI-generating tool, in order to clarify who owns what, as far as the AI-generated output is concerned.

For example, in order to use OpenAI’s platforms, such as Dall-E 2, Jukebox or ChatGPT, the user must first agree to OpenAI’s terms of use. In the version dated 14 March 2023 of these T&Cs, it is set out that OpenAI assigns to the user all its right, title and interest in and to the output generated and returned by the OpenAI services based on the user’s input. This means the user can use the Content (defined as the input and the output together) for any purpose, including commercial purposes such as sale or publication, if the user complies with OpenAI’s terms. OpenAI may use the Content to provide and maintain its services, comply with applicable law, and enforce its policies. The user is responsible for the Content, including for ensuring that it does not violate any applicable law or OpenAI’s terms of use.

This is an improvement on the OpenAI’s terms of use which were in force before 14 March 2023. These terms used to state that users assigned any ownership they had in any output created by the OpenAI’s system and services, and, in turn, the users had an exclusive licence to use the generated output for any purpose. Other AI platforms which can generate output, such as Soundful, still have similar contractual copyright and licensing arrangements.

2.2. Who is the author of the AI-generated output?

Was it the person who input the text prompt? Was it the AI? Was it the developer of the AI or the company that owns the AI?

Most jurisdictions require a human to be the author, and a work is only capable of being protected by copyright if it shows intellectual effort, creativity, and reflects the author’s personality.

As AI creative systems become more widespread, can we consider that a text prompt, such as ‟a cat wearing a turban gazing at the city landscape at night, from a window, in the style of Van Gogh”, constitutes enough human input and individuality, and is sufficiently creative and reflective of the human author’s personality to allow the resulting image to be protected by copyright?

For example, UK law permits copyright protection of computer-generated works, with the author being the person who made the ‟necessary arrangements” for the creation of the work pursuant to section 9(3) of the Copyright, designs and patents act 1988. Other rare jurisdictions expressly provide for copyright in computer-generated works, such as Hong Kong, India, Ireland, New Zealand and South Africa.

However, most countries, such as France, refuse to acknowledge copyright protection if the work is generated by anyone other than a human. Indeed, pursuant to article L. 112-1 of the French intellectual property code, ‟any work of the mind, regardless of its kind, form of expression, merit or purpose”, is eligible for copyright protection. French courts acknowledge the originality of a creation as soon as the said creation is endowed by the personality of their author. While the threshold of the originality requirement is low, the author of a work must be a natural person according to a well-established case-law. It cannot be a legal person, an animal or a software. The rationale behind this position is that French law only protects works of the mind and the creations at issue must bear the imprint of the personality of their author(s); legal persons, animals and AIs neither have a conscience nor have a personality that may come out of the works created by them.

Time and time again, the United States Copyright Office (”USCO”) which is in charge of registering works for copyright protection in the USA, refused to grant copyright protection to AI-generated content, such as:

• a picture autonomously created by a computer algorithm entitled ‟A recent entrance to paradise”, which Steven Thaler, the CEO of Imagination Engines, Inc. requested the USCO to register as part of his application dated 3 November 2018, and

• the above-mentioned graphic novel ‟Zarya of the Dawn”, because the images generated by Midjourney, contained within the work, are ‟not original works of authorship protected by copyright” (sic) and since ‟text prompts” are insufficient to qualify as ‟human authorship”.

Since copyright protection is automatically granted in France, unlike in the USA where copyright protection is granted solely upon the USCO’s registration, no such case law exists in France or other European countries. We will have to wait a few more years, before copyright infringement litigation, relating to AI-generated content, lands in the European courts’ dockets (with the notable exception of the claim filed by stock image supplier Getty Images, against Stability.ai, for copyright infringement, with the High Court in London, UK).

Considering the absence of a work of the mind and the lack of originality of an output resulting exclusively from an AI, such creations are thus today in the public domain and not intellectual property right is attached to them (with the notable exception, above-mentioned, of the regime applicable in the UK, Hong Kong, Ireland, India, New Zealand and South Africa, which permits copyright protection of computer-generated works, with the author being the person who made the ‟necessary arrangements” for the creation of the work).

2.3. How can the law adequately address AI, in order to make it beneficial for the creative industries?

In France, the ‟Conseil Supérieur de la Propriété Littéraire et Artistique”, an independent advisory body advising the French ministry of culture and communication in the field of literary and artistic property, provided recommendations in a report dated 27 january 2020. It suggests that a ‟sui generis” right could be created to the benefit of the one bearing the risks of the investment, like the specific regime benefiting to database producers.

The European Parliament, from the European Union (‟EU”) also suggested that a legal personality be acknowledged to IA, so that copyright protection be granted to AI-generated works.

For the time being, none of the above recommendations have been taken up by the French and/or European legislators.

The European Commission (‟EC”) has proposed a four-step test in order to assess whether AI-generated output can qualify as protected work under the current EU copyright framework, as follows:

• step one: the AI-generated output must be a production in the literary, scientific or artistic domain (article 2(1) of the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works);

• step two: the AI-generated output must be the result of human intellectual effort (i.e. some sort of human intervention such as, for example, development of software, editing or gathering or choice of training data);

• step three: the AI-generated output must be original, and

• step four: the work needs to be identifiable with sufficient precision and objectivity (i.e. the generated output will fall within the creator’s general authorial intent).

It is blatant that the current disparities in the various legal systems and frameworks, where one set of national legal frameworks strongly pushes back against granting copyright protection to AI-generated content, while the other set of national legal frameworks fully embraces AI-generated content and grants it full copyright protection, will create substantial inequalities of treatment for content creators worldwide.

Indeed, content creators based in the UK or Ireland or India are incentivised to speed up their work flow, by fully embracing time-saving AI-generator tools and programmes, the output of which these creators will be able to claim copyright ownership and protection on. Meanwhile, creatives based in France or the USA will seriously struggle to enforce any type of copyright protection and rights over AI-generated content. Therefore, French and US content creators will prefer to stick to the ‟old methods” of work creation, refusing to use AI platforms which output will automatically fall into the public domain.

This situation cannot perdure, and since AI is here to stay – big time – stubborn law makers and enforcers, such as the USCO which recently issued some narrow-minded guidance on copyright registrations involving AI, will inevitably have to yield and reform, in order to grant copyright protection to AI-generated works.

Of course, lobbies and organisations representing music and other creative disciplines will try to delay the inevitable, by setting up mindless campaigns and lobbying plots, such as the ‟Human Artistry Campaign”, to prevent copyright offices and courts from finding that AI-generated works are protected by copyright.

But the floodgates are now open. And there is no way back: the technological advances and jumps that AI-generating tools and platforms provide are so important and ground-breaking, that the creative content economy and stakeholders at large will fully embrace them in the next few months, never looking back.

Lawmakers must adapt fast, in order to keep their creative economies and actors at the forefront of competition.

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While cancel culture and culture wars are attacks on freedom of speech and freedom of expression which come from the bottom, the virulence of the latest onslaught on freedom of the press and creative expression now comes from the top. States, government structures, public and private companies, oligarchs as well as other plutocrats are using all the legal tools in the box, and more, to silence, intimidate and neuter anyone who may as much as mouth a criticism about them, their behaviours, their actions and their track records. The creative industries are particularly targeted by these authoritarian top-down approaches and legal tactics to bland their creative outputs and works, despite the legal protections offered by copyright.

It’s the story of a baffling legal case, where neither of the parties come out on top, having lost either reputation, or money, or both, in the process. Daniel Druet lost an occasion to make a splash in the art world, because his statement of claims was extremely poorly drafted and badly structured. Emmanuel Perrotin and Maurizio Cattelan came out as a bunch of amateurs, no more than unsophisticated stakeholders of the contemporary art business, from this legal saga. Here is how it could have boosted the ego and pockets, of Mr Druet, and adorned the respective blasons of Mr Perrotin and Mr Cattelan.

As explained in our two previous articles relating to Brexit, ‟How to protect your creative business after Brexit?” and ‟Brexit legal implications: the road less travelled”, the European Union (‟EU”) regulations and conventions on the jurisdiction and the recognition and enforcement of judgments in civil and commercial matters, ceased to apply in the United Kingdom (‟UK”) once it no longer was a EU member-state. Therefore, since 1 January 2021 (the ‟Transition date”), no clear legal system is in place, to enforce civil and commercial judgments after Brexit, in a EU member-state, or in the UK. Creative businesses now have to rely on domestic recognition regimes in the UK and each EU member-state, if in existence. This introduces additional procedural steps before a foreign judgment is recognised, which makes the enforcement of EU civil and commercial judgments in the UK, and of UK civil and commercial judgments in the EU, more time-consuming, complex and expensive.

1. How things worked before Brexit, with respect to the enforcement of civil and commercial judgments between the EU and the UK

a. The EU legal framework

Before the Transition date on which the UK ceased to be a EU member-state, there were, and there still are between the 27 remaining EU member-states, four main regimes that are applicable to civil and commercial judgments obtained from EU member-states, depending on when, and where, the relevant proceedings were started.

Each regime applies to civil and commercial matters, and therefore excludes matters relating to revenue, customs and administrative law. There are also separate EU regimes applicable to matrimonial relationships, wills, successions, bankruptcy and social security.

The most recent enforcement regime applicable to civil and commercial judgments is EU regulation n. 1215/2012 of the European parliament and of the council dated 12 December 2012 on the jurisdiction and the recognition and enforcement of judgments in civil and commercial matters (the ‟Recast Brussels regulation”). It applies to EU member-states’ judgments handed down in proceedings started on or after 10 January 2015.

The original Council regulation n. 44/2001 dated 22 December 2000 on the jurisdiction and the recognition and enforcement of judgments in civil and commercial matters (the ‟Original Brussels regulation”), although no longer in force upon the implementation of the Recast Brussels regulation on 9 January 2015, still applies to EU member-states’ judgments handed down in proceedings started before 10 January 2015.

Moreover, the Brussels convention dated 27 September 1968 on the jurisdiction and the enforcement of judgments in civil and commercial matters (the ‟Brussels convention”), also continues to apply in relation to civil and commercial judgments between the 15 pre-2004 EU member-states and certain territories of EU member-states which are located outside the EU, such as Aruba, Caribbean Netherlands, Curacao, the French overseas territories and Mayotte. Before the Transition date, the Brussels convention also applied to judgments handed down in Gibraltar, a British overseas territory.

Finally, the Lugano convention dated 16 September 1988 on the jurisdiction and the enforcement of judgments in civil and commercial matters (the ‟Lugano convention”), which was replaced on 21 December 2007 by the Lugano convention dated 30 October 2007 on the jurisdiction and the recognition and enforcement of judgments in civil and commercial matters (the ‟2007 Lugano convention”), govern the recognition and enforcement of civil and commercial judgments between the EU and certain member-states of the European Free Trade Association (‟EFTA”), namely Iceland, Switzerland, Norway and Denmark but not Liechtenstein, which never signed the Lugano convention.

The 2007 Lugano convention was intended to replace both the Lugano convention and the Brussels convention. As such it was open to signature to both EFTA members-states and to EU member-states on behalf of their extra-EU territories. While the former purpose was achieved in 2010 with the ratification of the 2007 Lugano convention by all EFTA member-states (except Liechtenstein, as explained above), no EU member-state has yet acceded to the 2007 Lugano convention on behalf of its extra-EU territories.

The UK has applied to join the 2007 Lugano convention after the Transition date, as we will explain in more details in section 2 below.

b. Enforceability of remedies ordered by a EU court

Before Brexit, the Recast Brussels regulation, the Original Brussels regulation, the Brussels convention, the Lugano convention and the 2007 Lugano convention (together, the ‟EU instruments”) provided, and still provide with respect to the 27 remaining EU member-states, for the enforcement of any judgment in a civil or commercial matter given by a court of tribunal of a EU member-state, whatever it is called by the original court. For example, article 2(a) of the Recast Brussels regulation provides for the enforcement of any ‟decree, order, decision or writ of execution, as well as a decision on the determination of costs or expenses by an officer of the court”.

The Original Brussels regulation also extends to interim, provisional or protective relief (including injunctions), when ordered by a court which has jurisdiction by virtue of this regulation.

c. Competent courts

Before the Transition date, proceedings seeking recognition and enforcement of EU foreign judgments in the UK should be brought before the high court in England and Wales, the court of session in Scotland and the high court of Northern Ireland.

Article 32 of the Brussels convention provides that the proceedings seeking recognition and enforcement of EU foreign judgments in France should be brought before the president of the ‟tribunal judiciaire”. Therefore, before the Transition date, a UK judgment had to be brought before such president, in order to be recognised and enforced in France.

d. Separation of recognition and enforcement

Before the Transition date, and for judgments that fell within the EU instruments other than the Recast Brussels regulation, the process for obtaining recognition of a EU judgment was set out in detail in Part 74 of the UK civil procedure rules (‟CPR”). The process involved applying to a high court master with the support of written evidence. The application should include, among other things, a verified or certified copy of the EU judgment and a certified translation (if necessary). The judgment debtor then had an opportunity to oppose appeal registration on certain limited grounds. Assuming the judgment debtor did not successfully oppose appeal registration, the judgment creditor could then take steps to enforce the judgment.

Before the Transition date, and for judgments that fell within the Recast Brussels regulation, the position was different. Under article 36 of the Recast Brussels regulation, judgments from EU member-states are automatically recognised as if they were a judgment of a court in the state in which the judgment is being enforced; no special procedure is required for the judgment to be recognised. Therefore, prior to Brexit, all EU judgments that fell within the Recast Brussels regulation were automatically recognised as if they were UK judgments, by the high court in England and Wales, the court of session in Scotland and the high court of Northern Ireland. Similarly, all UK judgments that fell within the Recast Brussels regulation were automatically recognised as if they were French judgments, by the presidents of the French ‟tribunal judiciaires”.

Under the EU instruments, any judgment handed down by a court or tribunal from a EU member-state can be recognised. There is no requirement that the judgment must be final and conclusive, and both monetary and non-monetary judgments are eligible to be recognised. Therefore, neither the UK courts, nor the French courts, are entitled to investigate the jurisdiction of the originating EU court. Such foreign judgments shall be recognised without any special procedures, subject to the grounds for non-recognition set out in article 45 of the Recast Brussels regulation, article 34 of the Original Brussels regulation and article 34 of the Lugano convention, as discussed in paragraph e. (Defences) below.

For the EU judgment to be enforced in the UK, prior to the Transition date, and pursuant to article 42 of the Recast Brussels regulation and Part 74.4A of the CPR, the applicant had to provide the documents set out in above-mentioned article 42 to the UK court, i.e.

• a copy of the judgment which satisfies the conditions necessary to establish its authenticity;

• the certificate issued pursuant to article 53 of the Recast Brussels regulation, certifying that the above-mentioned judgment is enforceable and containing an extract of the judgment as well as, where appropriate, relevant information on the recoverable costs of the proceedings and the calculation of interest, and

• if required by the court, a translation of the certificate and judgment.

It was incumbent on the party resisting enforcement to apply for refusal of recognition of the EU judgment, pursuant to article 45 of the Recast Brussels regulation.

Similarly, for UK judgments to be enforced in France, prior to the Transition date, the applicant had to provide the documents set out in above-mentioned article 42 to the French court, which would trigger the automatic enforcement of the UK judgment, in compliance with the principle of direct enforcement.

e. Defences

While a UK defendant may have raised merits-based defences to liability or to the scope of the award entered in the EU jurisdiction, the EU instruments contain express prohibitions on the review of the merits of a judgment from another EU member-state. Consequently, while a judgment debtor may have objected to the registration of a judgment under the EU instruments (or, in the case of the Recast Brussels regulation, which does not require such registration, appeal the recognition or enforcement of the foreign judgment), he or she could have done so only on strictly limited grounds.

In the case of the Recast Brussels regulation, there are set out in above-mentioned article 45 and include:

• if recognition of the judgment would be manifestly contrary to public policy;

• if the judgment debtor was not served with proceedings in time to enable the preparation of a proper defence, or

• if conflicting judgments exist in the UK or other EU member-states.

Equivalent defences are set out in articles 34 to 35 of the Original Brussels regulation and the 2007 Lugano convention, respectively. The court may not have refused a declaration of enforceability on any other grounds.

Another ground for challenging the recognition and enforcement of EU judgments is the breach of article 6 of the European Convention on Human Rights (‟ECHR”), which is the right to a fair trial. However, since a fundamental objective underlying the EU regime is to facilitate the free movement of judgments by providing a simple and rapid procedure, and since it was established in Maronier v Larmer [2003] QB 620 that this objective would be frustrated if EU courts of an enforcing EU member-state could be required to carry out a detailed review of whether the procedures that resulted in the judgment had complied with article 6 of the ECHR, there is a strong presumption that the EU court procedures of other signatories of the ECHR are compliant with article 6. Nonetheless, the presumption can be rebutted, in which case it would be contrary to public policy to enforce the judgment.

To conclude, pre-Brexit, the EU regime (and, predominantly, the Recast Brussels regulation) was an integral part of the system of recognition and enforcement of judgments in the UK. However, after the Transition date, the UK left the EU regime as found in the Recast Brussels regulation, the Original Brussels regulation and the Brussels convention, since these instruments are only available to EU member-states.

So what happens now?

2. How things work after Brexit, with respect to the enforcement of civil and commercial judgments between the EU and the UK

In an attempt to prepare the inevitable, the EU commission published on 27 August 2020 a revised notice setting out its views on how various conflicts of laws issues will be determined post-Brexit, including jurisdiction and the enforcement of judgments (the ‟EU notice”), while the UK ministry of justice published on 30 September 2020 ‟Cross-border civil and commercial legal cases: guidance for legal professionals from 1 January 2021” (the ‟MoJ guidance”).

a. The UK accessing the 2007 Lugano convention

As mentioned above, the UK applied to join the 2007 Lugano convention on 8 April 2020, as this is the UK’s preferred regime for governing questions of jurisdiction and enforcement of judgments with the 27 remaining EU member-states, after the Transition date.

However, accessing the 2007 Lugano convention is a four-step process and the UK has not executed those four stages in full yet.

While step one was accomplished on 8 April 2020 when the UK applied to join, step two requires the EU (along with the other contracting parties, ie the EFTA member-states Iceland, Switzerland, Norway and Denmark) to approve the UK’s application to join, followed in step three by the UK depositing the instrument of accession. Step four is a three-month period, during which the EU (or any other contracting state) may object, in which case the 2007 Lugano convention will not enter into force between the UK and that party. Only after that three-month period has expired, does the 2007 Lugano convention enter into force in the UK.

Therefore, in order for the 2007 Lugano convention to have entered into force by the Transition date, the UK had to have received the EU’s approval and deposited its instrument of accession by 1 October 2020. Neither have occurred.

Since the EU’s negotiating position, throughout Brexit, has always been ‟nothing is agreed until everything is agreed”, and in light of the recent collision course between the EU and the UK relating to trade in Northern Ireland, it is unlikely that the UK’s request to join the 2007 Lugano convention will be approved by the EU any time soon.

b. The UK accessing the Hague convention

Without the 2007 Lugano convention, the default position after the Transition date is that jurisdiction and enforcement of judgments for new cases issued in the UK will be determined by the domestic law of each UK jurisdiction (i.e. the common law of England and Wales, the common law of Scotland and the common law of Northern Ireland), supplemented by the Hague convention dated 30 June 2005 on choice of court agreements (‟The Hague convention”).

I. At common law rules

The common law relating to recognition and enforcement of judgments applies where the jurisdiction from which the judgment relates does not have an applicable treaty in place with the UK, or in the absence of any applicable UK statute. Prominent examples include judgments of the courts of the United States, China, Russia and Brazil. And now of the EU and its 27 remaining EU member-states.

At common law, a foreign judgment is not directly enforceable in the UK, but instead will be treated as if it creates a contract debt between the parties. The foreign judgment must be final and conclusive, as well as for a specific monetary sum, and on the merits of the action. The creditor will then need to bring an action in the relevant UK jurisdiction for a simple debt, to obtain judicial recognition in accordance with Part 7 CPR, and an English judgment.

Once the judgment creditor has obtained an English judgment in respect of the foreign judgment, that English judgment will be enforceable in the same way as any other judgment of a court in England.

However, courts in the UK will not give judgment on such a debt, where the original court lacked jurisdiction according to the relevant UK conflict of law rules, if it was obtained by fraud, or is contrary to public policy or the requirements of natural justice.

With such blurry and vague contours to the UK common law rules, no wonder that many lawyers and legal academics, on both sides of the Channel, decry the ‟mess” and ‟legal void” left by Brexit, as far as the enforcement and recognition of civil and commercial judgments in the UK are concerned.

II. The Hague convention

As mentioned above, from the Transition date onwards, the jurisdiction and enforcement of judgments for new cases issued in England and Wales will be determined by its common law, supplemented by the Hague convention.

The Hague convention gives effect to exclusive choice of court clauses, and provides for judgments given by courts that are designated by such clauses to be recognised and enforced in other contracting states. The contracting states include the EU, Singapore, Mexico and Montenegro. The USA, China and Ukraine have signed the Hague convention but not ratified or acceded to it, and it therefore does not currently apply in those countries.

Prior to the Transition date, the UK was a contracting party to the Hague convention because it continued to benefit from the EU’s status as a contracting party. The EU acceded on 1 October 2015. By re-depositing the instrument of accession on 28 September 2020, the UK acceded in its own right to the Hague convention on 1 January 2021, thereby ensuring that the Hague convention would continue to apply seamlessly from 1 January 2021.

As far as types of enforceable orders are concerned, under the Hague convention, the convention applies to final decisions on the merits, but not interim, provisional or protective relief (article 7). Under article 8(3) of the Hague convention, if a foreign judgment is enforceable in the country of origin, it may be enforced in England. However, article 8(3) of the Hague convention allows an English court to postpone or refuse recognition if the foreign judgment is subject to appeal in the country of origin.

However, there are two major contentious issues with regards to the material and temporal scope of the Hague convention, and the EU’s and UK’s positions differ on those issues. They are likely to provoke litigation in the near future.

The first area of contention relates to the material scope of the Hague convention: more specifically, what is an ‟exclusive choice of court agreement”?

Article 1 of the Hague convention provides that the convention only applies to exclusive choice of courts agreements, so the issue of whether a choice of court agreement is ‟exclusive” or not is critical as to whether such convention applies.

Exclusive choice of court agreements are defined in article 3(a) of the Hague convention as those that designate ‟for the purpose of deciding disputes which have arisen or may arise in connection with a particular legal relationship, the courts of one Contracting state or one or more specific courts of one Contracting state, to the exclusion of the jurisdiction of any other courts”.

Non-exclusive choice of court agreements are defined in article 22(1) of the The Hague convention as choice of court agreements which designate ‟a court or courts of one or more Contracting states”.

Although this is a fairly clear distinction for ‟simple” choice of court agreements, ‟asymmetric” or ‟unilateral” agreements are not so easily categorised. These types of jurisdiction agreements are a common feature of English law-governed finance documents, such as the Loan Market Association standard forms. They generally give one contracting party (the lender) the choice of a range of courts in which to sue, while limiting the other party (the borrower) to the courts of a single state (usually, the lender’s home state).

There are divergent views as to whether asymmetric choice of court agreements are exclusive or non-exclusive for the purposes of the Hague convention. While two English high court judges have expressed the view that choice of court agreements should be regarded as exclusive, within the scope of the Hague convention, the explanatory report accompanying the Hague convention, case law in EU member-states and academic commentary all suggest the opposite.

This issue will probably be resolved in court, if and when the time comes to decide whether asymmetric or unilateral agreements are deemed to be exclusive choice of court agreements, susceptible to fall within the remit of the Hague convention.

The second area of contention relates to the temporal scope of the Hague convention: more specifically, when did the Hague convention ‟enter into force” in the UK?

Pursuant to article 16 of the Hague convention, such convention only applies to exclusive choice of court agreements concluded ‟after its entry into force, for the State of the chosen court”.

There is a difference of opinion as to the application of the Hague convention to exclusive jurisdiction clauses in favour of UK courts entered into between 1 October 2015 and 1 January 2021, when the UK was a party to the Hague convention by virtue of its EU membership.

Indeed, while the EU notice states that the Hague convention will only apply between the EU and UK to exclusive choice of court agreements ‟concluded after the convention enters into force in the UK as a party in its own right to the convention” – i.e. from the Transition date; the MoJ guidance sets out that the Hague convention ‟will continue to apply to the UK (without interruption) from its original entry into force date of 1 October 2015”, which is when the EU became a signatory to the convention, at which time the convention also entered into force in the UK by virtue of the UK being a EU member-state.

To conclude, the new regime of enforcement and recognition of EU judgments in the UK, and vice versa, is uncertain and fraught with possible litigation with respect to the scope of application of the Hague convention, at best.

Therefore, and since these legal issues relating to how to enforce civil and commercial judgments after Brexit are here to stay for the medium term, it is high time for the creative industries to ensure that any dispute arising out of their new contractual agreements are resolved through arbitration.

Indeed, as explained in our article ‟Alternative dispute resolution in the creative industries”, arbitral awards are recognised and enforced by the Convention on the recognition and enforcement of foreign arbitral awards 1958 (the ‟New York convention”). Such convention is unaffected by Brexit and London, the UK capital, is one of the most popular and trusted arbitral seats in the world.

Until the dust settles, with respect to the recognition and enforcement of EU judgments in the UK, and vice versa, it is wise to resolve any civil or commercial dispute by way of arbitration, to obtain swift, time-effective and cost-effective resolution of matters, while preserving the cross-border relationships, established with your trade partners, between the UK and the European continent.

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In the creative industries, the talent is often represented by middle men, who reach out to end customers, and find avenues whereby, and marketplaces on which, the products and/or services and skillset of the talent they represent are marketed, sold, distributed, licensed, etc. So, in the art world, these middle men are art galleries and auction houses. In the book publishing sector, these middle men are called literary agents, while in the film industry, those representing the above-the-line talent (actors, directors, writers) are called acting agents and agencies. Even music composers have their own composer agents, with a handful of players in this niche, in France and the United Kingdom (‟UK”). So, why do you need an agent, as a creative? How do you find an agent? How will your relationship with the agent work?

1. Why do you need an agent, as a creative?

As a creative, as a talent, you have mostly honed your creative skills, be it your painting skills, your sculpting skills, your acting skills, your writing and literary skills, your fashion design skills, etc.

This is a completely different skill set than the one needed to:

• getting substantial work in your creative field, relying on smooth marketing tactics, social media and public relations skills;

• networking with the major players in your creative field, be it the most bankable film directors, the most skilled film producers, the stalwart book publishers, the most wealthy art collectors, the largest fashion brands who will hire you as a model for their catwalk presentations, etc.;

• negotiating sales, licensing, distribution agreements;

• negotiating service providers agreement to act in a film or write the musical composition and soundtrack to a film;

• negotiating publishing agreements of a literary work with books publishers and online content providers;

• managing, in a strategical and optimal manner, the career of the talent, and

• doing some reputation management work, when and if the career and image of a talent is getting tarnished for some reason.

Well, in a nutshell, you have the required job description of an agent, set out above!

This is why you need an agent: because he or she will do all the things mentioned above, for you, in order to enhance your career as a talent, and get you some jobs, some bookings or some sales, depending on what you have to offer.

Also, there are very low barriers to entry to most creative fields, since everyone can become a player in that field without having to obtain a particular practising license or authorisation from one’s government to become an artist, a book author, a painter, an actor, a film director, etc.

Indeed, unlike regulated industries, such as the legal profession, the medical profession, the accountancy profession, the banking and finance profession, creatives do not need to pass any stringent test or exam to be granted the right to work their creative jobs.

Therefore, the gatekeepers in the creative industries are the agents: since it is in their interest to only work with the best talent, they will pick and choose only the most successful and skilled gamers, designers, artists, painters, actors, film directors, writers, models, music composers, etc. to represent.

So, if you want to be part of the club, in your creative field, and land those big fat contracts, you must find yourself a good agent.

2. How do you find an agent?

Most of the time, it is by word of mouth, or through connections that one finds an agent.

Of course, being an alumni from a prestigious creative school, such as the National Film and Television School (‟NFTS”), in the UK, or the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (‟RADA”) helps tremendously, especially since agents love mingling with young graduates there, attending their final and graduation presentations and reviewing their final graduation projects, to assess the amount of talent such graduates may have.

Think Alexander McQueen, the famed, and now deceased, fashion designer who was immediately spotted as a major player among top fashion designers, by the most elitist fashion press, when he presented his MA graduation collection, at his college Saint Martin’s in 1992.

Having a family member or friend in the business also helps, and there are countless examples of film actors who gave a major push to their offsprings, in France, the UK and the United States (‟US”) by ‟connecting them” to their agents.

If you are not one for nepotism, then you could also approach and cold-call the best agents for your particular creative field, and present them with your portfolio of works and CV, in the hopes that they will retain you as their client. However, this route is the toughest one, and you will probably get a lot of rejections, if and when you get picked by an agent.

The web is an excellent source of information to find the best agents in your creative field, in France, the UK and the US.

For example, on the best articles I have ever read on the highly-secretive agenting business is ‟Le fascinant business des agents de stars”, which dissects the rarefied group of famous acting agents in Paris, France.

3. How will your relationship with the agent work?

The agenting business is mostly an unregulated one, although France, ever the formalistic one, has put in place some rules and regulations relating to the agenting profession in its labour code and a decree on the remuneration of artistic agents, which caps the agents’ earnings at 10 percent of the gross remunerations paid to the talent.

The excellent French streaming series, ‟10 pour cent” (‟Call my agent” on English streaming channels) gives a great example of what acting agents do, for a mere 10 percent of the actors’ earnings.

In the UK and the US, there is way more of a ‟laissez-faire” approach to the agenting business, although the UK has some statutory regulations set out in the Employment Agencies Act 1973 and the Employment Businesses Regulations 2003, which set some standards in terms of:

• providing relevant information and advice to the agents’ clients (i.e. the talent);

• conducting all affairs on behalf of the agents’ clients, and

• keeping records, in particular of the contracts and visa application processes, entered into by the agents’ clients during the course of the creative activities.

UK and US agents usually get 15 percent commissions, although I have seen percentage rates going as high as 50 percent, in the case of art galleries selling consigned art works on behalf of artists they represent.

These discrepancies in the commission rates, and the various obligations owed by the agent to the talent, are caused by the variance in the provisions set out in the representation agreements entered into between the talent and his or her agent. Since the ‟freedom to contract” principle applies, the terms of the contractual agreements entered into between the parties are left mostly to the freedom of those parties, except for the rare statutory points mentioned above.

Very often, at our law firm Crefovi, we get approached by creatives who signed very poorly drafted, and very unbalanced, representation agreements with their agents in the past. Therefore, we support them in terminating such agenting agreements, while attempting to recover any earning unpaid to them by these agents.

Therefore, as a talent, it is always advisable to instruct an entertainment lawyer, in order to review, amend and negotiate the terms of any draft representation agreement sent by the agent, before such talent signs it.

Also, it is useful to become a member of a trade union for creative practitioners, such as Equity, which may provide you with ongoing career, business and legal advice, along the way.

If you want to be successful in the arts, you need a top agent in your creative field to represent you. However, an agent is not your friend, but your future business partner, so you need to establish some clear, transparent and fair working conditions with him or her, from the outset. The best way to achieve this is to instruct a seasoned entertainment lawyer, like us at Crefovi, to negotiate such representation agreement for you. Then, it should be plain sailing, a lot of hard work and, hopefully, success and recognition at the end of the line, in your creative field!

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Cancel culture is upon us. This is what we are currently being told by British and French mass media, who have finally caught up with the content of the latest, and first non-fictional, book ever published by acclaimed, yet heavily criticised, American author Bret Easton Ellis, ‟White”. The polemic rages on both sides of the pond, ignited by more than 150 public figures signing a controversial letter denouncing cancel culture. So, what’s going on? What is ‟cancel culture”? Why should you pay attention to, and be cautious about it, as a creative professional? Is this even a thing in Europe and, in particular, in France and the United Kingdom? If so, how should you position yourself, as a creative, on, and about, cancel culture?

1. What is it? Where does it come from?

Following the 1990s’ culture wars, which sprung up in the United States of America as a way of denouncing and forbidding contemporary art exhibitions and other medium of creative expression judged by those instigating such culture wars as indecent and obscene, ‟cancel culture” has taken off in the early 2000s on social media, and has since become a cultural phenomenon in the USA and Canada – especially in the last five years or so – pervading every aspect of Northern America’s mass media.

‟Cancel culture” refers to the popular desire, and practice, of withdrawing support for (i.e. cancelling) public figures, communities or corporations, after they have done or said something considered objectionable or offensive. ‟Cancel culture” is generally performed on social media, in the form of group online shaming.

Therefore, as a result of something said or done, which triggered negative reactions and emotions such as anger, disgust, annoyance and hate from some members of the public, a natural person or legal entity or group of natural persons ends up being publicly shamed and humiliated, on internet, via social media platforms (such as Twitter, Facebook and Instagram) and/or more localised media (such as email groups). Online shaming takes many forms, including call-outs, cancellation or cancel culture, doxing, negative reviews, and revenge porn.

While the culture wars of the 1990s were driven by right-wing religious and conservative individuals in the US (triggered by ‟hot-button” defining issues such as abortion, gun politics, separation of church and state, privacy, recreational drug use, homosexuality), the cancel culture of our 21st century is actually a left-leaning supposedly ‟progressive” identity movement which has taken hold in recent years due to the conversations prompted by #MeToo and other movements that demand greater accountability from public figures. According to the website Merriam-Webster, ‟the term has been credited to black users of Twitter, where it has been used as a hashtag. As troubling information comes to light regarding celebrities who were once popular, such as Bill Cosby, Michael Jackson, Roseanne Barr and Louis C.K. – so come calls to cancel such figures”.

Yep. Check out your Twitter feed by typing in the search bar the hashtags #cancelled, #cancel or #cancel[then name of the individual, company, organisation you think might be cancelled], and you will be able to review the top current cancellation campaigns and movements launched against Netflix, British actress Millie Bobby Brown, twitter user @GoatPancakes_, etc.

So under the guise of defending laudable causes such as the recognition of the LGBTQ community and fighting against racism, sexism, sexual assault, homophobia, transphobia, etc., some communities of online ‟righteous” vigilante use violent methods, such as cancellation, in order to administer a virtual punishment to those who are on their radar.

This call-out and cancel culture is becoming so pervasive and effective that people lose their jobs over a tweet, some upsetting jokes or inappropriate remarks.

The Roseanne Barr’s story is the ultimate cancellation example, since her ABC show, ‟Roseanne”, was terminated with immediate effect, after Ms Barr posted a tweet about Valerie Jarrett, an African-American woman who was a senior advisor to Barack Obama throughout his presidency and considered one of his most influential aides. R. Barr wrote, in her litigious tweet, if the ‟muslim brotherhood & planet of the apes had a baby = vj”. Whilst Ms Barr’s remark was undoubtedly in extreme bad taste, it is fair to ask whether her tweet – which could have easily been deleted from Twitter to remove such kick well below the belt dealt to Ms Jarrett – justified wrecking Ms Barr’s long-lasting entertainment and broadcasting career in one instant, permanently and for eternity.

To conclude, social media channels have become the platforms of virtual trials, where justice (i.e. cancellation) is administered in an expeditious manner, with no possibility of dialogue, forgiveness and/or statute of limitation. This arbitrary mass justice movement is not only cruel, but tends to put everything under the same umbrella, indiscriminately: so a person who cracked a sexist joke on Twitter would become vilified and even ‟cancelled”, in the same manner than an individual effectively sentenced for sexual assault by an actual court of justice.

How did we get to this point? Why does a growing number of Northern Americans feel the uncontrollable need to call-out, cancel and violently pillory some of their public figures, corporations and communities?

A pertinent analysis, although skewed by a European perspective, is that made by French sociologist Nathalie Heinich in French newspaper Le Monde and explained on the podcast ‟Histoire d’Amériques”, dedicated to Bret Easton Ellis’ ‟White”.

According to Ms Heinich, there is no legal limitation to freedom of speech – a personal liberty which is enshrined in the first amendment to the US constitution, in the USA. As a consequence, the US congress cannot adopt laws which may limit or curb freedom of expression, as is set out in this first amendment. Therefore, according to N. Heinich, since the US authorities cannot forbid speech and freedom of expression, it is down to US citizens to take on the role of vigilante and organise spectacular information and public campaigns, in order to request the prohibition of such expression and such speech.

This analysis made by this French sociologist needs to be nuanced: whilst it is true that no US statute or law may curtail freedom of speech in the USA, there is consistent and ample body of case law and common law, which rule on the categories of speech that are given lesser or no protection by the first amendment of the Bill of rights. Those exceptions include:

• incitement (i.e. the advocacy of the use of force when it is directed to inciting or producing imminent lawless action, Brandenburg v Ohio (1969));

• incitement to suicide (in 2017, a juvenile court in Massachusetts, USA, ruled that repeatedly encouraging someone to complete suicide was not protected by the first amendment);

• false statement of fact and defamation (Gertz v Robert Welch, Inc. (1974));

• obscenity (Miller v California (1973) established the Miller test whereby speech is unprotected if ‟the average person, applying contemporary community standards, would find that the subject or work in question, taken as a whole, appeals to the prurient interest”, and ‟the work depicts or describes, in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct or excretory functions specifically defined by applicable state law”, and ‟the work, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political or scientific value”), and

• child pornography (New York v. Ferber (1982) which ruled that if speech or expression is classified under the child pornography exception at all, it becomes unprotected).

Therefore, there are some common law exceptions to the first amendment consecrating freedom of speech in the USA, but they are few and far between, and they need to be hotly, and expensively, debated in court, probably months or years after the triggering content was made available in the public space in the first instance, before being found, by a court, unprotected by freedom of speech, in favour of higher public policy interests.

As a result, many American and Canadian citizens resort to violent tactics, in order to request the immediate, swiftly-enforced and free of legal fees and court fees, prohibition of controversial art exhibitions, entertainment shows, movies, jokes, remarks, etc. first through the 1990s culture wars, and now through the 21st century’s cancel culture.

This is paradoxical since cancel culture and call-out culture are some of the tools used to advocate for worthy causes such as fighting against racism, sexism, sexual predation and aggression, promoting LGBTQ rights. However, the methods used, through cancel culture and online shaming, to achieve those laudable goals, are very violent and totalitarian, all taking place in the virtual realm of social media, but with very serious and long-lasting ‟real-life” consequences such as loss of employment, loss of reputation, self-harm and sometimes, suicide.

2. Can cancel culture enter through our European borders, in particular in France and the United Kingdom?

I hate to break it to you, but cancel culture is already upon us in France and the United Kingdom. We are in a globalised world, all of us are online and check the media and social media from all over the world, thanks to the internet. So this Northern American trend has, of course, reached our European shores.

It is worth noting that the recognition of ‟cancel culture”, and the realisation that is has become a sizable part of online culture, took place in the United Kingdom (‟UK”) at the beginning of the year 2020, when British television presenter and socialite Caroline Flack committed suicide allegedly because she was vilified on social media and by British tabloids, further to being sacked from British reality show ‟Love Island”. This UK epiphany about ‟cancel culture” arrived earlier than elsewhere in Europe, probably due to the shared language, and culture, that the British have with Americans and Canadians.

France is only now getting familiar with this new concept of ‟cancel culture”, further to hearing about the ‟letter on justice and open debate”, drafted, and signed, in July 2020, by more than 150 global intellectuals and authors (among whom Margaret Atwood, Wynton Marsalis, Noam Chomsky, J.K. Rowling and Salman Rushdie), and denouncing the excesses of online shaming and cancel culture. France is currently going through a phase of introspection, asking itself whether ‟la culture de l’annulation” could take off on its Gallic shores. And it is.

Proof is, I was interviewed for the 8.00pm TV News of France TV on Sunday 20 September 2020, to discuss the attempts made by no less than the new very controversial French minister of the interior, Gerald Darmanin – who was himself under criminal investigation for sexual coercion, harassment and misconduct in 2009, and then again between 2014 and 2017 – to eradicate from all SVoD services platforms such as YouTube, Spotify, Deezer, Dailymotion, the release of the first music album created by Franco-Senegalese 28 years’ old rapper, Freeze Corleone, ‟La Menace Fantôme” (‟LMF”). On which grounds is such cancellation requested? Provoking racial hatred and racial slander, no less.

Artist Freeze Corleone is an uncompromising rapper, abundantly peppering his raps with the French translations of ‟nigger” (‟négro”) and ‟bitches” (‟pétasses”) in the purest Northern American rap tradition (F. Corleone lived in Montreal, Canada, before settling down in Dakar, Senegal). He also obscurely refers to ‟Adolf”, ‟Goebbels”, ‟Ben Laden” and ‟Sion” in his rather enigmatic LMF lyrics. However, qualifying his body of work in LMF as racial slander and/or provoking racial hatred is a stretch. If you do not like it, because this content triggers you, just move on and don’t listen to it.

Freedom of speech is enshrined in the French declaration of rights of the human being and citizen, dated 1789. Article 11 of such declaration provides that the ‟free communication of thoughts and opinions is one of the most precious rights of the human being: any Citizen may therefore speak, write, print freely, except where he or she has to answer for the abuse of such freedom in specific cases provided by law”.

And such specific cases where freedom of speech may be curtailed, under French statutory law, include:

• Law dated 1881 on the freedom of the press which, while recognising freedom of speech in all publication formats, provides for four criminally-reprehensible exceptions, which are insults, defamation and slander, incentivising the perpetration of criminal offences, if it is followed by acts, as well as gross indecency;

• Law dated 1972 against opinions provoking racial hatred, which – like the four above-mentioned exceptions, is a criminal offense provided for in the French criminal code;

• Law dated 1990 against revisionist opinions, which is also a criminal offense in order to penalise those who contest the materiality and factuality of the atrocities committed by the Nazis on minorities, such as Jews, homosexuals and gypsies before and during world war two, and

• Law dated July 2019 against hateful content on internet, which provisions (requiring to remove all terrorist, pedopornographic, hateful and pornographic content from any website within 24 hours) were almost completely censored by the French constitutional council as a disproportionate infringement to freedom of speech, before entering into force in its expurgated finalised version later on in 2019.

Therefore, according to French sociologist Nathalie Heinich, France does not need ‟cancel culture” because freedom of speech is already strictly corseted by French statutory laws. By this, she means that French individuals won’t have to take to social media platforms, in order to ‟cancel” whoever is misbehaving, since the all-pervading French nanny state will strike the first blow to the ‟offender”, in the same manner than French minister of justice G. Darmanin unilaterally requested all cultural streaming and video platforms, from YouTube to Spotify and Deezer, as well as all French radio and TV channels, to immediately and permanently remove the songs of Freeze Corleone’s LMF, further to opening a criminal inquiry against the latter, for allegedly committing racial slander and/or provoking racial hatred through his lyrics.

Is this above-mentioned French regal method a better tool than having the populace publicly decrying and shaming an individual who ‟steps out of line”, by using ‟cancel culture”? By no means, because, at the end of the day, it’s our collective freedom of speech which is being breached and infringed, on a whim. And that is unacceptable, in a democracy.

On the other side of the Channel, the legal framework around freedom of speech is no panacea either. Freedom of expression is usually ruled through common law, in the UK. However, in 1998, the UK transposed the provisions of the European Convention on human rights – which article 10 provides for the guarantee of freedom of expression – into domestic law, by way of its Human rights act 1998.

Not only is freedom of expression tightly delineated, in article 12 (Freedom of expression) of the Human rights act 1998, but there is a broad sweep of exceptions to it, under UK common and statutory law. In particular, the following common law and statutory offences, narrowly limit freedom of speech in the UK:

• threatening, abusive or insulting words or behaviour intending or likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress, or cause a breach of the peace (which has been used to prohibit racist speech targeted at individuals);

• sending any letter or article which is indecent or grossly offensive with an intent to cause distress or anxiety (which has been used to prohibit speech of a racist or anti-religious nature, as well as some posts on social networks), governed by the Malicious communications act 1988 and the Communications act 2003;

• incitement (i.e. the encouragement to another person to commit a crime);

• incitement to racial hatred;

• incitement to religious hatred;

• incitement to terrorism, including encouragement of terrorism and dissemination of terrorist publications;

• glorifying terrorism;

• collection or possession of a document or record containing information likely to be of use to a terrorist;

• treason including advocating for the abolition of the monarchy or compassing or imagining the death of the monarch;

• obscenity;

• indecency including corruption of public morals and outraging public decency;

• defamation and loss of reputation, which legal framework is set out in the Defamation act 2013;

• restrictions on court reporting including names of victims and evidence and prejudicing or interfering with court proceedings;

• prohibition of post-trial interviews with jurors, and

• harassment.

In Europe, and in particular in France and the UK, there is already a tight leash on freedom of speech, whether at common law or statutory law. However, ‟cancel culture” is nonetheless permeating our European online shores, following the trend started in Northern America. As a result, it is a tough time to be a free and creative European citizen, let alone a public figure or corporation, in this 21st century Europe. Indeed, not only could you have trouble with the law, if you were to make triggering or contentious comments or jokes or lyrics in the public domain, but you could also be shot down in flames by the online community, on social media, for your speech and expression.

3. How to ride the storm of ‟cancel culture”, while remaining consistently creative and productive?

In the above-mentioned cultural and legal context, it is crucial for creative professionals to think long and hard before posting, broadcasting, speaking, and even behaving.

As a result, book publishers use the services of ‟sensitivity readers”, before releasing a new work, whereby such consultants read books to be published, in order to look for, and find out, any clichés, stereotypes, scenes, formulations that may offend a part of the readership. This use of sensitivity readers is becoming more and more systematic, especially when the author speaks about themes which he, or she, does not personally master.

For example, an heterosexual author who describes a gay character, or a white author who describes Mexicans, in his or her new book, will most definitely have a sensitivity consultant review his or her output before publication. Almost inevitably, such sensitivity reader will request that some changes be made to the written content, so as to avoid a boycott of the published book, or cancellation of the author and book, altogether.

Whilst some of the classics of global literature were perceived as very shocking when they were first released (think ‟Lolita” from Vladimir Nabokov about the obsession of a middle-aged literature professor with a 12 year’s old girl, which today would probably be described as a glorification of pedophilia), they would probably never see the light of day, if they were to be published in our era.

Therefore, today’s cultural sensitivities push towards the publication and broadcasting, of written, audio and visual creative content which is bland, right-thinking, watered-down, in which the author only refers to what he or she knows, in the most neutral way possible.

This need to use ‟auto-censorship” in any content a creator wishes to publish is compounded by the fact that today, consumers of creative content do not differentiate between the author of the work, and his or her creative output. There is no separation between the author and content creator, and his or her body of work and/or fictional characters. With Millenials and US universities becoming obsessed with identity questions (i.e. the identity or feeling of belonging to a group, such as the gay community, the black community, etc.), it is the person who writes the book, or song, or writes or directs a film, who is now also important, maybe even more important than the work itself.

As a result, any content creator who writes or sings or produces an audiovisual work about a community other than his or her own, may be accused of cultural appropriation (i.e. the adoption of an element or elements of one culture or identity by members of another culture or identity) and even become the object of victimhood culture (i.e. a term coined by sociologists Bradley Campbell and Jason Manning, in their 2018 book ‟The rise of victimhood culture: microaggressions, safe spaces and the new culture wars”, to describe the attitude whereby the victims publicize microaggressions to call attention to what they see as the deviant behaviour of the offenders, thereby calling attention to their own victimization, lowering the offender’s moral status and raising their own moral status).

In this climate, it is therefore easier to publish or broadcast creative content if you belong to a minority (by being, for example, homosexual, black, brown, or a female), while white heterosexual male creators have definitely become disadvantaged, and more susceptible to being targets of ‟cancel culture”.

To conclude, a lot of prior thoughts and research and preparation and planning need to be put into the creation, and then broadcasting and publication, of any creative content today, not only with respect to such output, but also in relation to the identity, and positioning, of his or her author. If this conscious effort of adhering to right-thinking and bland ideologies is appropriately and astutely done, you and your creative output may successfully ride the storm of, not only French and UK legal limitations to your freedom of expression, but also the nasty impact of cancel culture and online shaming, hence maximising your chances that your creative work generates a commercial success.

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It is high time France and the UK up their game in terms of accounting for, reporting and leveraging the intangible assets owned by their national businesses and companies, while Asia and the US currently lead the race, here. European lenders need to do their bit, too, to empower creative and innovative SMEs, and provide them with adequate financing to sustain their growth and ambitions, by way of intangible assets backed-lending. 

Our economy has changed in fundamental ways, as business is now mainly ‟knowledge based”, rather than industrial, and ‟intangibles” are the new drivers of economic activity, the Financial Reporting Council (‟FRC”) set out in its paper ‟Business reporting of intangibles: realistic proposals”, back in February 2019.

However, while such intangibles are becoming the driving force of our businesses and economies worldwide, they are consistently ignored by chartered accountants, bankers and financiers alike. As a result, most companies – in particular, Small and Medium Enterprises (‟SMEs”)- cannot secure any financing with money men because their intangibles are still deemed to … well, in a nutshell … lack physical substance! This limits the scope of growth of many creative businesses; to their detriment of course, but also to the detriment of the UK and French economies in which SMEs account for an astounding 99 percent of private sector business, 59 percent of private sector employment and 48 percent of private sector turnover.

How could this oversight happen and materialise, in the last 20 years? Where did it all go wrong? Why do we need to very swiftly address this lack of visionary thinking, in terms of pragmatically adapting double-entry book keeping and accounting rules to the realities of companies operating in the 21st century?

How could such adjustments in, and updates to, our old ways of thinking about the worth of our businesses, be best implemented, in order to balance the need for realistic valuations of companies operating in the “knowledge economy” and the concern expressed by some stakeholders that intangible assets might peter out at the first reputation blow dealt to any business?

There is a specific reference to intellectual property rights (‟IPRs”), in the definition of ‟intangible assets” set out in paragraph 9 of IAS 38, as follows: ‟entities frequently expend resources, or incur liabilities, on the acquisition, development, maintenance or enhancement of intangible resources such as scientific or technical knowledge, design and implementation of new processes or systems, licenses, intellectual property, market knowledge and trademarks (including brand names and publishing titles). Common examples of items encompassed by these broad headings are computer software, patents, copyrights, motion picture films, customer lists, mortgage servicing rights, fishing licences, import quotas, franchises, customer or supplier relationships, customer loyalty, market share and marketing rights”.

However, it is later clarified in IAS 38, that in order to recognise an intangible asset on the face of balance sheet, it must be identifiable and controlled, as well as generate future economic benefits flowing to the company that owns it.

The recognition criterion of ‟identifiability” is described in paragraph 12 of IAS 38 as follows.

‟An asset is identifiable if it either:

a. is separable, i.e. capable of being separated or divided from the entity and sold, transferred, licensed, rented or exchanged, either individually or together with a related contract, identifiable asset or liability, regardless of whether the entity intends to do so; or

b. arises from contractual or other legal rights, regardless of whether those rights are transferable or separable from the entity or from other rights and obligations”.

‟Control” is an essential feature in accounting and is described in paragraph 13 of IAS 38.

‟An entity controls an asset if the entity has the power to obtain the future economic benefits flowing from the underlying resource and to restrict the access of others to those benefits. The capacity of an entity to control the future economic benefits from an intangible asset would normally stem from legal rights that are enforceable in a court of law. In the absence of legal rights, it is more difficult to demonstrate control. However, legal enforceability of a right is not a necessary condition for control because an entity may be able to control the future economic benefits in some other way”.

In order to have an intangible asset recognised as an asset on company balance sheet, such intangible has to satisfy also some specific accounting recognition criteria, which are set out in paragraph 21 of IAS 38.

‟An intangible asset shall be recognised if, and only if:

a. it is probable that the expected future economic benefits that are attributable to the asset will flow to the entity; and 

b. the cost of the asset can be measured reliably”.

The recognition criteria illustrated above are deemed to be always satisfied when an intangible asset is acquired by a company from an external party at a price. Therefore, there are no particular problems to record an acquired intangible asset on the balance sheet of the acquiring company, at the consideration paid (i.e. historical cost).

1.2. Goodwill v. other intangible assets

Here, before we develop any further, we must draw a distinction between goodwill and other intangible assets, for clarification purposes.

Goodwill is an intangible asset that is associated with the purchase of one company by another. Specifically, goodwill is the portion of the purchase price that is higher than the sum of the net fair value of all of the assets purchased in the acquisition and the liabilities assumed in the process (= purchase price of the acquired company – (net fair market value of identifiable assets – net fair value of identifiable liabilities)).

The value of a company’s brand name, solid customer base, good customer relations, good employee relations, as well as proprietary technology, represent some examples of goodwill, in this context.

The value of goodwill arises in an acquisition, i.e. when an acquirer purchases a target company. Goodwill is then recorded as an intangible asset on the acquiring company’s balance sheet under the long-term assets’ account.

Under Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (‟GAAP”) and IFRS, these companies which acquired targets in the past and therefore recorded those targets’ goodwill on their balance sheet, are then required to evaluate the value of goodwill on their financial statements at least once a year, and record any impairments.

Impairment of an asset occurs when its market value drops below historical cost, due to adverse events such as declining cash flows, a reputation backlash, increased competitive environment, etc. Companies assess whether an impairment is needed by performing an impairment test on the intangible asset. If the company’s acquired net assets fall below the book value, or if the company overstated the amount of goodwill, then it must impair or do a write-down on the value of the asset on the balance sheet, after it has assessed that the goodwill is impaired. The impairment expense is calculated as the difference between the current market value and the purchase price of the intangible asset. The impairment results in a decrease in the goodwill account on the balance sheet.

This expense is also recognised as a loss on the income statement, which directly reduces net income for the year. In turn, earnings per share (‟EPS”) and the company’s stock price are also negatively affected.

The Financial Accounting Standards Board (‟FASB”), which sets standards for GAAP rules, and the IASB, which sets standards for IFRS rules, are considering a change to how goodwill impairment is calculated. Because of the subjectivity of goodwill impairment, and the cost of testing impairment, FASB and IASB are considering reverting to an older method called ‟goodwill amortisation” in which the value of goodwill is slowly reduced annually over a number of years.

As set out above, goodwill is not the same as other intangible assets because it is a premium paid over fair value during a transaction, and cannot be bought or sold independently. Meanwhile, other intangible assets can be bought and sold independently.

Also, goodwill has an indefinite life, while other intangibles have a definite useful life (i.e. an accounting estimate of the number of years an asset is likely to remain in service for the purpose of cost-effective revenue generation).

1.3. Amortisation, impairment and subsequent measure of intangible assets other than goodwill

That distinction between goodwill and other intangible assets being clearly drawn, let’s get back to the issues revolving around recording intangible assets (other than goodwill) on the balance sheet of a company.

As set out above, if some intangible assets are acquired as a consequence of a business purchase or combination, the acquiring company recognises all these intangible assets, provided that they meet the definition of an intangible asset. This results in the recognition of intangibles – including brand names, IPRs, customer relationships – that would not have been recognised by the acquired company that developed them in the first place. Indeed, paragraph 34 of IAS 38 provides that ‟in accordance with this Standard and IFRS 3 (as revised in 2008), an acquirer recognises at the acquisition date, separately from goodwill, an intangible asset of the acquiree, irrespective of whether the asset had been recognised by the acquiree before the business combination. This means that the acquirer recognises as an asset separately from goodwill an in-process research and development project of the acquiree, if the project meets the definition of an intangible asset. An acquiree’s in-process research and development project meets the definition of an intangible asset when it:

a. meets the definition of an asset, and 

b. is identifiable, i.e. separable or arises from contractual or other legal rights.”

Therefore, in a business acquisition or combination, the intangible assets that are ‟identifiable” (either separable or arising from legal rights) can be recognised and capitalised in the balance sheet of the acquiring company.

After initial recognition, the accounting value in the balance sheet of intangible assets with definite useful lives (e.g. IPRs, licenses) has to be amortised over the intangible asset’s expected useful life, and is subject to impairment tests when needed. As explained above, intangible assets with indefinite useful lives (such as goodwill or brands) will not be amortised, but only subject at least annually to an impairment test to verify whether the impairment indicators (‟triggers”) are met. 

Alternatively, after initial recognition (at cost or at fair value in the case of business acquisitions or mergers), intangible assets with definite useful lives may be revalued at fair value less amortisation, provided there is an active market for the asset to be referred to, as can be inferred from paragraph 75 of IAS 38:

‟After initial recognition, an intangible asset shall be carried at a revalued amount, being its fair value at the date of the revaluation less any subsequent accumulated amortisation and any subsequent accumulated impairment losses. For the purpose of revaluations under this Standard, fair value shall be measured by reference to an active market. Revaluations shall be made with such regularity that at the end of the reporting period the carrying amount of the asset does not differ materially from its fair value.”

However, this standard indicates that the revaluation model can only be used in rare situations, where there is an active market for these intangible assets.

1.4. The elephant in the room: a lack of recognition and measurement of internally generated intangible assets

All the above about the treatment of intangible assets other than goodwill cannot be said for internally generated intangible assets. Indeed, IAS 38 sets out important differences in the treatment of those internally generated intangibles, which is currently – and rightfully – the subject of much debate among regulators and other stakeholders.

Internally generated intangible assets are prevented from being recognised, from an accounting standpoint, as they are being developed (while a business would normally account for internally generated tangible assets). Therefore, a significant proportion of internally generated intangible assets is not recognised in the balance sheet of a company. As a consequence, stakeholders such as investors, regulators, shareholders, financiers, are not receiving some very relevant information about this enterprise, and its accurate worth.

Why such a standoffish attitude towards internally generated intangible assets? In practice, when the expenditure to develop intangible asset is incurred, it is often very unclear whether that expenditure is going to generate future economic benefits. It is this uncertainty that prevents many intangible assets from being recognised as they are being developed. This perceived lack of reliability of the linkage between expenditures and future benefits pushes towards the treatment of such expenditures as ‟period cost”. It is not until much later, when the uncertainty is resolved (e.g. granting of a patent), that an intangible asset may be capable of recognition. As current accounting requirements primarily focus on transactions, an event such as the resolution of uncertainty surrounding an internally developed IPR is generally not captured in company financial statements.

Let’s take the example of research and development costs (‟R&D”), which is one process of internally creating certain types of intangible assets, to illustrate the accounting treatment of intangible assets created in this way. 

Among accounting standard setters, such as IASB with its IAS 38, the most frequent practice is to require the immediate expensing of all R&D. However, France, Italy and Australia are examples of countries where national accounting rule makers allow the capitalisation of R&D, subject to conditions being satisfied. 

Therefore, in some circumstances, internally generated intangible assets can be recognised when the relevant set of recognition criteria is met, in particular the existence of a clear linkage of the expenditure to future benefits accruing to the company. This is called condition-based capitalisation. In these cases, the cost that a company has incurred in that financial year, can be capitalised as an asset; the previous costs having already been expensed in earlier income statements. For example, when a patent is finally granted by the relevant intellectual property office, only the expenses incurred during that financial year can be capitalised and disclosed on the face of balance sheet among intangible fixed assets.

To conclude, under the current IFRS and GAAP regimes, internally generated intangible assets, such as IPRs, can only be recognised on balance sheet in very rare instances.

2.1. Improving the accurateness and reliability of financial communication

Existing accounting standards should be advanced, updated and modernised to take greater account of intangible assets and consequently improve the relevance, objectivity and reliability of financial statements.

Not only that, but informing stakeholders (i.e. management, employees, shareholders, regulators, financiers, investors) appropriately and reliably is paramount today, in a corporate world where companies are expected to accurately, regularly and expertly manage and broadcast their financial communication to medias and regulators.

As highlighted by Janice Denoncourt in her blog post ‟intellectual property, finance and corporate governance”, no stakeholder wants an iteration of the Theranos’ fiasco, during which inventor and managing director Elizabeth Holmes was indicted for fraud in excess of USD700 million, by the United States Securities and Exchange Commission (‟SEC”), for having repeatedly, yet inaccurately, said that Theranos’ patented blood testing technology was both revolutionary and at the last stages of its development. Elizabeth Holmes made those assertions on the basis of the more than 270 patents that her and her team filed with the United States patent and trademark office (‟USPTO”), while making some material omissions and misleading disclosures to the SEC, via Theranos’ financial statements, on the lame justification that ‟Theranos needed to protect its intellectual property” (sic).

Indeed, the stakes of financial communication are so high, in particular for the branding and reputation of any ‟knowledge economy” company, that, back in 2002, LVMH did not hesitate to sue Morgan Stanley, the investment bank advising its nemesis, Kering (at the time, named ‟PPR”), in order to obtain 100 million Euros of damages resulting from Morgan Stanley’s alleged breach of conflicts of interests between its investment banking arm (which advised PPR’s top-selling brand, Gucci) and Morgan Stanley’s financial research division. According to LVMH, Clare Kent, Morgan Stanley’s luxury sector-focused analyst, systematically drafted and then published negative and biased research against LVMH share and financial results, in order to favor Gucci, the top-selling brand of the PPR luxury conglomerate and Morgan Stanley’s top client. While this lawsuit – the first of its kind in relation to alleged biased conduct in a bank’s financial analysis – looked far-fetched when it was lodged in 2002, LVMH actually won, both in first instance and on appeal.

Having more streamlined and accurate accounting, reporting and valuation of intangible assets – which are, today, the main and most valuable assets of any 21st century corporation – is therefore paramount for efficient and reliable financial communication.

2.2. Improving and diversifying access to finance

Not only that, but recognising the worth and inherent value of intangible assets, on balance sheet, would greatly improve the chances of any company – in particular, SMEs – to successfully apply for financing.

Debt finance is notoriously famous for shying away from using intangible assets as main collateral against lending because it is too risky.

For example, taking appropriate security controls over a company’s registered IPRs in a lending scenario would involve taking a fixed charge, and recording it properly on the Companies Registry at Companies House (in the UK) and on the appropriate IPRs’ registers. However, this hardly ever happens. Typically, at best, lenders are reliant on a floating charge over IPRs, which will crystallise in case of an event of default being triggered – by which time, important IPRs may have disappeared into thin air, or been disposed of; hence limiting the lender’s recovery prospects.

Alternatively, it is now possible for a lender to take an assignment of an IPR by way of security (generally with a licence back to the assignor to permit his or her continued use of the IPR) by an assignment in writing signed by the assignor[1]. However, this is rarely done in practice. The reason is to avoid ‟maintenance”, i.e. to prevent the multiplicity of actions. Indeed, because intangibles are incapable of being possessed, and rights over them are therefore ultimately enforced by action, it has been considered that the ability to assign such rights would increase the number of actions[2].

Whilst there are improvements needed to the practicalities and easiness of registering a security interest over intangible assets, the basic step that is missing is a clear inventory of IPRs and other intangible assets, on balance sheet and/or on yearly financial statements, without which lenders can never be certain that these assets are in fact to hand.

Cases of intangible asset- backed lending (‟IABL”) have occurred, whereby a bank provided a loan to a pension fund against tangible assets, and the pension fund then provided a sale and leaseback arrangement against intangible assets. Therefore, IABL from pension funds (on a sale and leaseback arrangement), rather than banks, provides a route for SMEs to obtain loans.

There have also been instances where specialist lenders have entered into sale and licence-back agreements, or sale and leaseback agreements, secured against intangible assets, including trademarks and software copyright. 

Some other types of funders than lenders, however, are already making the ‟intangible assets” link, such as equity investors (business angels, venture capital companies and private equity funds). They know that IPRs and other intangibles represent part of the ‟skin in the game” for SMEs owners and managers, who have often expended significant time and money in their creation, development and protection. Therefore, when equity investors assess the quality and attractiveness of investment opportunities, they invariably include consideration of the underlying intangible assets, and IPRs in particular. They want to understand the extent to which intangible assets owned by one of the companies they are potentially interested investing in, represent a barrier to entry, create freedom to operate and meet a real market need.

Accordingly, many private equity funds, in particular, have delved into investing in luxury companies, attracted by their high gross margins and net profit rates, as I explained in my 2013 article ‟Financing luxury companies: the quest of the Holy Grail (not!)”. Today, some of the most active venture capital firms investing in the European creative industries are Accel, Advent Venture Partners, Index Ventures, Experienced Capital, to name a few.

2.3. Adopting a systematic, consistent and streamlined approach to the valuation of intangible assets, which levels the playing field

If intangible assets are to be recognised in financial statements, in order to adopt a systematic and streamlined approach to their valuation, then fair value is the most obvious alternative to cost, as explained in paragraph 1.3. above.

How could we use fair value more widely, in order to capitalise intangible assets in financial statements?

IFRS 13 ‟Fair Value Measurements” identifies three widely-used valuation techniques: the market approach, the cost approach and the income approach.

The market approach ‟uses prices and other relevant information generated by market transactions involving identical or comparable” assets. However, this approach is difficult in practice, since when transactions in intangibles occur, the prices are rarely made public. Publicly traded data usually represents a market capitalisation of the enterprise, not singular intangible assets. Market data from market participants is often used in income based models such as determining reasonable royalty rates and discount rates. Direct market evidence is usually available in the valuation of internet domain names, carbon emission rights and national licences (for radio stations, for example). Other relevant market data include sale/licence transactional data, price multiples and royalty rates.

The cost approach ‟reflects the amount that would be required currently to replace the service capacity of an asset”. Deriving fair value under this approach therefore requires estimating the costs of developing an equivalent intangible asset. In practice, it is often difficult to estimate in advance the costs of developing an intangible. In most cases, replacement cost new is the most direct and meaningful cost based means of estimating the value of an intangible asset. Once replacement cost new is estimated, various forms of obsolescence must be considered, such as functional, technological and economic. Cost based models are best used for valuing an assembled workforce, engineering drawings or designs and internally developed software where no direct cash flow is generated.

The income approach essentially converts future cash flows (or income and expenses) to a single, discounted present value, usually as a result of increased turnover of cost savings. Income based models are best used when the intangible asset is income producing or when it allows an asset to generate cash flow. The calculation may be similar to that of value in use. However, to arrive at fair value, the future income must be estimated from the perspective of market participants rather than that of the entity. Therefore, applying the income approach requires an insight into how market participants would assess the benefits (cash flows) that will be obtained uniquely from an intangible asset (where such cash flows are different from the cash flows related to the whole company). Income based methods are usually employed to value customer related intangibles, trade names, patents, technology, copyrights, and covenants not to compete.

An example of IPRs’ valuation by way of fair value, using the cost and income approaches in particular, is given in the excellent presentation by Austin Jacobs, made during ialci’s latest law of luxury goods and fashion seminar on intellectual property rights in the fashion and luxury sectors.

In order to make these three above-mentioned valuation techniques more effective, with regards to intangible assets, and because many intangibles will not be recognised in financial statements as they fail to meet the definition of an asset or the recognition criteria, a reconsideration to the ‟Conceptual Framework to Financial Reporting” needs being implemented by the IASB.

These amendments to the Conceptual Framework would permit more intangibles to be recognised within financial statements, in a systematic, consistent, uniform and streamlined manner, therefore levelling the playing field among companies from the knowledge economy.

Let’s not forget that one of the reasons WeWork co founder, Adam Neumann, was violently criticised, during WeWork’s failed IPO attempt, and then finally ousted, in 2019, was the fact that he was paid nearly USD6 million for granting the right to use his registered word trademark ‟We”, to his own company WeWork. In its IPO filing prospectus, which provided the first in-depth look at WeWork’s financial results, WeWork characterised the nearly USD6 million payment as ‟fair market value”. Many analysts, among which Scott Galloway, begged to differ, outraged by the lack of rigour and realism in the valuation of the WeWork brand, and the clearly opportunistic attitude adopted by Adam Neumann to get even richer, faster.

2.4. Creating a liquid, established and free secondary market of intangible assets

IAS 38 currently permits intangible assets to be recognised at fair value, as discussed above in paragraphs 1.3. and 2.3., measured by reference to an active market.

While acknowledging that such markets may exist for assets such as ‟freely transferable taxi licences, fishing licences or production quotas”, IAS 38 states that ‟it is uncommon for an active market to exist for an intangible asset”. It is even set out, in paragraph 78 of IAS 38 that ‟an active market cannot exist for brands, newspaper mastheads, music and film publishing rights, patents or trademarks, because each such asset is unique”.

Markets for resale of intangible assets and IPRs do exist, but are presently less formalised and offer less certainty on realisable values. There is no firmly established secondary transaction market for intangible assets (even though some assets are being sold out of insolvency) where value can be realised. In addition, in the case of forced liquidation, intangible assets’ value can be eroded, as highlighted in paragraph 2.2. above.

Therefore, markets for intangible assets are currently imperfect, in particular because there is an absence of mature marketplaces in which intangible assets may be sold in the event of default, insolvency or liquidation. There is not yet the same tradition of disposal, or the same volume of transaction data, as that which has historically existed with tangible fixed assets.

Be that as it may, the rise of liquid secondary markets of intangible assets is unstoppable. In the last 15 years, the USA have been at the forefront of IPRs auctions, mainly with patent auctions managed by specialist auctioneers such as ICAP Ocean Tomo and Racebrook. For example, in 2006, ICAP Ocean Tomo sold 78 patent lots at auction for USD8.5 million, while 6,000 patents were sold at auction by Canadian company Nortel Networks for USD4.5 billion in 2011.

However, auctions are not limited to patents, as demonstrated by the New York auction, successfully organised by ICAP Ocean Tomo in 2006, on lots composed of patents, trademarks, copyrights, musical rights and domain names, where the sellers were IBM, Motorola, Siemens AG, Kimberly Clark, etc. In 2010, Racebrook auctioned 150 American famous brands from the retail and consumer goods’ sectors.

In Europe, in 2012, Vogica successfully sold its trademarks and domain names at auction to competitor Parisot Group, upon its liquidation.

In addition, global licensing activity leaves not doubt that intangible assets, in particular IPRs, are, in fact, very valuable, highly tradable and a very portable asset class.

It is high time to remove all market’s imperfections, make trading more transparent and offer options to the demand side, to get properly tested.

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While collecting art works is becoming an increasingly popular & sexy hobby for affluent individuals, the financial & legal risks involved in such activities are very high, especially when such art pieces are bought at auction. Indeed, it is in the interest of auction houses to depict a rosy & partial portrait of any artwork on sale, which often does not reflect the exact provenance and/or condition of such work of art. How can a collector prevent such partial disclosures and inaccurate embellishments relating to the condition or provenance of a coveted artwork on sale, at auction?

1. A real risk

Our art law firm Crefovi currently advises several individuals – all art collectors – who have fallen into the following trap: they all based themselves on the (proven, later, to be incorrect) information provided by the auction house responsible for the sale of an artwork, to enthusiastically and successfully bid at auction for such work of art. When, or shortly after, they went to collect the artwork, deception ensued, as they found out that they had been the subject of deceit, as far as the condition and/or provenance of the artwork were concerned. Therefore, the artwork you bought at auction does not match its pre-sale description.

For example, one of our clients is a keen collector of Chinese antics who resides in the United Kingdom, on his Chinese passport and work visa. In an auction sale organised by the French auction house Tajan, he mostly relied on the condition report provided by such auctioneer, which set out that the Chinese vase was in ‟good aged-related condition (and had) normal age-related traces of wear”, to successfully bid for that lot. When he came to Tajan’s offices in Paris to view this Chinese vase for which he was now the successful bidder, further to obtaining a travel visa to France, he was floored to discover that this vase was not as described in the condition report. The state of the vase is, indeed, poor, since it is damaged by several marks and traces of wear and tear, in many places; there is a large crack at the base of such vase, which means that no water stays in the vase because it escapes from that crack; several enamel parts are missing; certains parts, such as the panels on the inferior part of the vase and the enamels on the neck of the vase, seem to have been added after the manufacturing stage of the vase, etc.

Another example is the successful bid made by another client of our firm, for a painting ‟attributed to Alighiero e Boetti” as per the catalogue and website of the auction house Bellmans. While our client took the time to view and inspect the painting prior to its auction at Bellmans’ Sussex Room, he was in great turmoil when he was turned down by the Archivio Alighiero Boetti (a cultural association based in Rome, founded by the heirs of the artist Alighiero Boetti, in order to authenticate works of art which are alleged to have been made by Alighiero Boetti) to which he had asked for a certificate of authenticity for that art work. Indeed, when he spoke to Matteo Boetti, son of Alighiero Boetti and president of Archivio Alighiero Boetti, he was told that this painting had already been unsuccessfully submitted to the authentication committee three times before, in order to obtain a certificate of authenticity! Archivio Alighiero Boetti declined to provide such certificate of authenticity to the previous owners of the artwork because, according to Matteo Boetti, it was a fake, a forgery, a counterfeit, and therefore not of the hand of Alighiero Boetti.

This risk of falling prey to the deceit of auction houses (and of their anonymous sellers of such flawed artworks) is definitely not mitigated by the terms and conditions of sale of such auction houses. Indeed, these T&Cs are riddled with liability waivers, such as this one extracted from Bellmans’ T&Cs: ‟Please note that Lots (in particular second-hand Lots) are unlikely to be in perfect condition. Lots are sold ‟as is” (i.e. as you see them at the time of the auction). Neither we nor the Seller accept any liability for the condition of second-hand Lots or for any condition issues affecting a Lot if such issues are included in the description of a Lot in the auction catalogue (or in any saleroom notice) and/ or which the inspection of a Lot by the Buyer ought to have revealed” or these gems set out in Tajan’s T&Cs: ‟If no information on restoration, an accident, retouching or any other incident is provided in the catalogue, the condition reports or labels or during a verbal announcement, this does not mean that the item is void of defects. The condition of the frames is not guaranteed” and ‟Buyers may obtain a condition report on items included in the catalogue that are estimated at more than €1 000 upon request. Information contained in such reports is provided free of charge and solely to serve as an indication. It shall by no means incur the liability of Tajan”. Of course it is very likely that such liability waivers, which remove any liability from the shoulders of a deceitful auctioneer, are unlawful. But it will take a protracted, expensive and painful lawsuit to demonstrate that such liability waivers are in severe breach of English or French contractual law. Which art collector has the time or appetite for that?

2. To pay or not to pay the hammer price?

In the two above-mentioned examples, our clients faced several scenarios: our fervent Chinese art collector refused to pay for the price of the Chinese vase, immediately rescinding his successful bid by way of a formal email to Tajan, sent on the same day that he discovered that the Chinese vase was not as per the description made of it in the condition report and Tajan’s catalogue. However, our Italian modern art enthusiast client dutifully paid the price of GBP25,912 by credit card to Bellmans, on the day of his successful bid for the painting ‟attributed to Alighiero e Boetti” (sic).

While not settling the price and not collecting the deceitful lot was the right move to make, for the Chinese art collector who immediately spotted the fraud upon close inspection of the Chinese vase post-auction, it opened the way to court litigation since Tajan and its anonymous seller contested, of course, that their condition report and catalogue had hidden the truth about the poor condition of such lot. Indeed, further to an unsuccessful attempt to mediate this dispute with the (rather useless) ‟commissaire du gouvernement près le Conseil des ventes volontaires de meubles aux enchères” (i.e. the statutory body which role is to regulate French auction houses), Tajan lodged a lawsuit against our client with the Paris Tribunal de grande instance in early 2017 which is still ongoing, to this day.

Meanwhile, our UK-based collector also did the right thing, by settling the hammer price and buyer’s premium including VAT, and by collecting the painting ‟attributed to Alighiero e Boetti” since he was still convinced that this was a genuine painting made by the hand of Alighiero Boetti; until he was proved otherwise by the authentication committee of Archivio Alighiero Boetti, a few weeks later.

To conclude on this point, the logical rule is that, as soon as you discover the deceit or forgery, you should let the auction house know that you rescind the successful bid by way of a formal communication with them; be it before you have paid the hammer price and buyer’s premium, or after. Ideally, you want to make such formal disclosure of the deceit or counterfeit to the auction house as soon as possible, since most auctioneers set out, in their T&Cs, that they will not consider claims of forgery by the successful bidder, if these claims are made after a short period following the successful bid. Here is, for example, Bellmans’ liability waiver on this topic: ‟You may return any Lot which is found to be a Deliberate Forgery to us within 21 days of the auction provided that you return the Lot to us in the same condition as when it was released to you, accompanied by a written statement identifying the Lot from the relevant catalogue description and a written statement of defects”.

3. Preemptive measures to avoid being the unhappy successful bidder of a deceitful lot

Buyers of art works have no mandatory obligations to conduct any due diligence, under French or English law or case law.

However, the principle of caveat emptor (i.e. ‟buyer beware”, in Latin) applies, by which the onus is on the buyer to investigate the property or object he is acquiring. Since such burden of due diligence rests with buyers, they typically search the stolen art database of the Art Loss Register and conduct enquiries on ownership, authenticity, condition, provenance and lawful export of art. Due diligence depends on the type of asset, its value, and the information volunteered by the seller.

As a rule of thumb, any buyer should, at the minimum, conduct the following searches:

• attend the auction’s location in person and inspect the coveted art work before taking part into a bid for it;
• research the coveted art work on price databases, such as ArtNet, in order to find some historical data about past sales of such art work;
• research lost or stolen art databases, such as the Art Loss Register and Interpol, since such databases include data about art works which authenticity is challenged, and therefore report authenticity issues. The database of the Art Loss Register is not publicly available but it can be searched on request. Some data on the Interpol database can be searched by members of the public, and
• if in existence, read the ‟catalogue raisonné” of the artist who the artwork is attributed to, in order to assess whether such artwork has been indeed recognised by the field as being of the hand of such artist. 

If you, buyer, conduct such above-mentioned searches and due diligence steps, and provided that you are a consumer (and not acting as a professional, such as an art dealer or trader), the courts would probably find that you have complied with the principle of caveat emptor (buyer beware).

4. What are your options, after the successful bid and unhappy discovery that the artwork is unlike its description set out in the auctioneer’s documents?

As set out above in paragraph 2. above, you should send an official letter to the auction house, denouncing the forgery and/or poor condition (or any other undisclosed defect) of the art work, very soon after you have discovered it, rescinding the successful bid and requesting to return the disputed lot to the auctioneer, against the full refund of the hammer price, the buyer’s premium including VAT, any other costs associated with the bid (such as transport costs) and the costs relating to the authentication and/or inspection of the artwork.

While it is unlikely that the auction house, recipient of such formal letter of complaint, will accept to cover the authentication and/or inspection costs, any auctioneer who wants to keep his reputation intact would accept to take back the litigious lot and refund the rests of the requested costs; especially if you sent your official communication as close as possible to the date of the successful bid, and if you have gathered much strong evidence that the artwork is indisputably a forgery or not at all like it was described in the condition report and/or the catalogue.

If the French auction house and you, unhappy bidder, cannot see eye to eye, you can lodge a formal complaint and request for mediation with the ‟commissaire du gouvernement près le Conseil des ventes volontaires de meubles aux enchères” (i.e. the statutory body which role is to regulate French auction houses), bearing in mind, though, that the ‟Conseil des ventes volontaires de meubles aux enchères” may come across as biased, since it is not in its best interest to annoy its members, the French auction houses.

In the UK, there is no regulatory body in charge of watching and regulating UK auction houses. However, most UK auction houses belong to trade federations, such as the Society of Fine Art Auctioneers and Valuers, which have issued some guidance notes for good practice and often have complaint handling schemes in place, and even mediation services, when one of their members is the subject of a dispute with one of its buyers. Indeed, the strategy of ‟naming and shaming” is particularly effective in the UK, much less so in France where French auction houses act as if they were in contempt of any regulations or complaints handling schemes that may limit their ability to waive their liability vis-a-vis their buyers.

If the dispute between the auction house and the buyer escalates into a fully-fledged lawsuit, your defense, as a buyer, should be based around proving that the work of art was deceitfully sold at auction, because of gross misrepresentation and negligence committed by the auctioneer and, accessorily, the seller. As much evidence of the forgery, counterfeit and/or poor condition, as possible, should be provided to the court, even by way of requesting an expertise of the deceitful artwork, executed by an art expert, under supervision of the court. 

Meanwhile, you, as a buyer and defendant in the lawsuit, should request and attempt mediation all the way, during the lawsuit, in order to demonstrate that you are ready to compromise and find a constructive, time-efficient and cost-effective resolution to this dispute. The other side, however, may not agree to such alternative dispute resolution, out of cheer stupidity or because their legal fees may not be covered by their legal insurance policy, should a mediation or any other alternative dispute resolution process be put in place between the parties.

To conclude, you really want to avoid finding yourself in the situation of an unhappy successful bidder who discovers, post-auction, that he has overpaid for an artwork which is not at all what it seemed, or was presented to be, by the auctioneer and its anonymous seller. Our guidelines, above, should save you from that headache and situation. However, if that is not the case, don’t worry and call us, since we are here, at Crefovi, to service you to find a solution to your bad auction experience and deceitful transaction, in the most cost-efficient and time-efficient way.

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There is much room for improvement in securing art sales and transactions, and arbitration can do a lot to make this change happen. What is the state of play? What improvements do art buyers want to see in the future, to adequately resolve art disputes?

As an art lawyer practising in the art law field since 2012, I have drawn the following observations from my experience in art and arbitration:

1. litigation is not the most time-efficient and cost-efficient approach to adequately resolving disputes in the art sector;
2. the absence of secrecy in court proceedings is a major issue for the buy side of the art market, i.e. art collectors, art foundations and museums, deterring them from suing even bad players in the field, and
3. lawsuits can drag on forever, especially if court-imposed mediation measures are taken, against the parties’ will, or if a party appeals the first-degree judgment handed down by the courts.

Consequently, a better option than litigation is needed in the art sector, such as arbitration. However, there is a lack of effective arbitration services offered to stakeholders operating in this industry. What can be done about it, to increase the trustworthiness of this opaque yet dynamic market?

1. What users want to see in the art world, as far as alternative dispute resolution is concerned

Having advised many buyers of art works and artefacts, I witnessed their deep annoyance at the lack of proper, often any, terms and conditions of sale (‟T&Cs”), provided by dealers, when they made art purchases. While this unlawful practice is reprehensible in itself, in particular for sales made outside the dealers’ premises (such as at art fairs or online via ecommerce), it becomes a major problem when a dispute arises out of a sale. However, such occurrence of a ‟deal gone wrong” happens on a regular basis in art sale transactions, because of provenance claims, hidden defects issues, lack of resemblance between the description of an art work set out in an auctioneer’s catalogue and the real artwork released to the buyer on delivery, or complete destruction of the art work during storage and/or transport to its new owner. If there are no T&Cs, or if they are badly drafted or incomplete, buyers cannot rely on them to find a way out of the dispute. Moreover, most arbitration bodies can only be instructed by the parties involved in an art sale, if an appropriate arbitration clause had firstly been set out in the T&Cs. Therefore, buyers want dealers and auction houses to provide clear, well-drafted and exhaustive T&Cs, at the time of sale, which set out that any dispute between the parties will be settled under the rules of a clearly defined reputable art-specialised arbitration body, instead of court-led litigation.

Secondly, all good faith stakeholders in the art sector want impartial and seasoned arbitrators, with an inner knowledge of the workings of art transactions, to get involved in resolving disputes in the most time-efficient and cost-efficient manner. Hence, there is a need for reputable and established arbitration bodies in the art sector, which will support the parties in finding the right arbitrator and arbitration setup, in a systematic manner, while operating economies of scale to keep arbitration costs down.

Thirdly, and since nobody has any time to waste, the arbitral award reached by the arbitrator must be fully enforceable, in particular through the New York Convention on the Recognition and Enforcement of Foreign Arbitral Awards 1958, by the party whose obtained such award. This is especially important to art work buyers, since, while an arbitral award is final and binding on the parties, it is incapable of direct enforcement. As a result, it is necessary to reach out to the competent court of the country in which the award is to be enforced, which is usually the country where the art dealer or auction house has its assets located.

Fourthly, and this wish is especially close to the heart of art buyers, as mentioned above, such enforceable arbitral award must remain confidential, as arbitration proceedings should be too.

2. What currently exists, as far as alternative dispute resolution is concerned in the art world

The current state of play in the art world is despicable: most dealers see themselves as being above the law and do not provide any T&Cs to their customers, be it buyers or sellers. They merely send invoices out and hope for the best. If some T&Cs exist, in particular in deals brokered through auction houses, they usually set out that the courts of their jurisdiction will have exclusive competence, thereby forcing the parties into court-led litigation.

Consequently, and due to such opacity, regular art world scandals making newspapers’ headlines, and a lack of barriers to entry for dealers in the art market, many potential buyers – especially high net worth individuals – refuse to invest in this asset class and stay away. Whenever they take the plunge, they are often faced with disputes arising out of their purchases or sales, especially with dealers and auction houses.

Finally becoming aware that it is in their interest to add security to transactions being made in their industry, art dealers and auction houses are reluctantly reaching the conclusion that arbitration services are a must-have service.

The following art arbitration bodies have therefore been set up, in the last twenty years.

Internationally, the World Intellectual Property Office’s (‟WIPO”) Alternative Dispute Resolution for Art and Cultural Heritage service, located in Geneva, provides dispute resolution advice and case administration services to support parties in resolving disputes without the need for court litigation. Since WIPO does not want to disclose any information about the number of disputes being looked at, and hopefully resolved, by its body on a yearly basis, even to neutrals who are on the arbitrators’ and mediators’ panel like myself, its usefulness and relevance are a question mark.

More recently, the Court of Arbitration for Art (‟CAfA”) in the Netherlands was set up as a specialised arbitration and mediation tribunal exclusively dedicated to resolving art law disputes. Having applied to be on its arbitrators’ and mediators’ pool, I know that CAfA is not fully operational yet and it will be interesting to watch what added value it can bring, compared to WIPO’s similar services.

Aside from these two art-focused arbitration bodies, the usual suspects of the arbitration sphere may deal with an art law dispute, such as ICC Paris or London, JAMS in California, USA, l’Association française d’Arbitrage (‟AFA”) in Paris or the London Court of International Arbitration in London. However, these arbitration bodies will not have any art-sector expertise, and their arbitrators won’t have any either, therefore heavily relying on the reports and views made by “art experts” respectively appointed by the parties.

Having looked hard and wide for any precedents in art law arbitration, I came back empty-ended, not having found one mentioned in the public domain. It may well be that this is because a strong confidentiality undertaking has been imposed on all parties, and arbitrators involved. My hunch is that this is more due to the fact that arbitration is still unchartered territory, for the art sector and its stakeholders.

To conclude, and taking the standpoint of buyers of art works, the arbitration services on offer in the art sector seem to be disconnected from the market, such as WIPO’s ADR for Art and Cultural Heritage service. While CAfA may potentially be a viable alternative, it remains to be seen whether its ADR services will focus more on arbitration than on mediation, as inferred by its title. There is therefore much room for improvement, for arbitration services in the art sector. Dealers and auction houses should understand that it is in their best interest to pool together and finance adequate arbitration services for their respective clients, if they want the art market to exponentially grow and expand on the demand side.

Dealers and auction houses should also pull together and draft some template terms and conditions of sale and consignment, setting out some standard alternative dispute resolution clauses, which would become the gold standard in the art market. These streamlining and enhanced security efforts are common practice in other industries, such as the banking and finance sector which Loan Market Association and International Swaps and Derivatives Association provide plenty of standard commercial contracts, to trade in securities and capital market products within established practices.

The ball is firmly in the court of art dealers and auction houses, who will keep on shooting themselves in the foot if they ignore the call to action launched by buyers and potential clients, who do not want to bear the risk of lax habits and improvisation in their art assets’ purchases. Growing and expanding the art market will come at the cost of paying for the instauration of appropriate, systemised and impartial alternative dispute resolution services, in particular arbitration services.

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