There is an aura about the courtroom artist.  A throwback to olden days, before cameras were allowed inside to show warts and scowls, sloppy benches and the wayward hands of bailiffs.  They are romantic and artistic, a hands-on depiction of the majesty of the law.  And, more importantly, the lawyer.

Adam Liptak, in his Sidebar column, writes about Todd Crespi, an artist who carved out a niche at the United States Supreme Court.

Lawyers who argue cases in the Supreme Court often want a memento of the experience, and Todd Crespi, a courtroom artist, is eager to help.

Mr. Crespi markets his work with flair and flattery. In March, for instance, he wrote to Florida’s solicitor general, Scott D. Makar, after an argument in a death penalty case.

“It was very interesting today, hearing your argument in Holland v. Florida,” Mr. Crespi wrote. “Once more, I started an impressive painting of the historic occasion.”

The only problem, it seems, is that Crespi isn’t there.  Other artists are present, and do their pen and ink drawings, or pastels, for the evening news, but they can’t remember the last time they saw Crespi in the room.

No doubt anyone who has watched the news has seen the work of a courtroom artist, capturing the drama of the law in a quickly drawn image.  For those unaware, after the image appears on television, the artists try to sell it to the lawyers in the room.  Courtroom art looks great on a law office wall, and it’s a huge ego thing for the lawyers involved.  Liptak calls it a memento, and as mementos go, it doesn’t get any better. 

I remember well the first time a courtroom artist drew me.  It was Joe Papin of The Daily News, and I bought it for $300.  When he offered it to me, I was thrilled.  How cool was that, I thought.  He could have gotten a whole lot more out of me for his drawing, I was so eager to buy it.  It really didn’t look much like me, to be honest, but there was no way I was going to pass it up.

Since then, I’ve declined offers from better artists, including the “enhanced” versions, meaning that they’ll redraw/paint them afterward to improve upon the image and make it more “special”.  Let’s face it, putting courtroom art on the office wall has a great impact on clients and is a wonderful marketing tool.  But there’s only so much wall, and all the various papers with fancy writing, a colorful seal and your name can take up a lot of space.  Even egos have size limits.

Liptak’s column smells of some hard feelings about his having become involved with Crespi.

I first met Mr. Crespi two years ago, when he called me with a curious request. He wanted to come take my picture. He said it would help in his work as an artist specializing in the Supreme Court.

I had just started covering the court, replacing Linda Greenhouse, who had appeared in many of Mr. Crespi’s earlier works. I sat for Mr. Crespi and gave it no more thought.

But I see now that the back of my sad bald head appears in a 2009 image on Mr. Crespi’s Web site, in the same spot where Linda used to be. The perspective suggests that Mr. Crespi was sitting behind me in the artists’ alcove.

Liptak doesn’t mention whether he bought one of Crespi’s images, or just contributed to his bona fides as a legitimate courtroom artist, but his point seems clear.  There’s something wrong with creating and marketing an image under the impression that it’s contemporaneous with an actual appearance before the Supreme Court, when it’s little more than a stock background with a lawyer’s likeness thrust in the middle, prepared in some studio. 

It would be acceptable if the lawyers who purchased the courtroom art understood that it was, well, just an image of them in the courtroom, done elsewhere by someone who wasn’t present.  After all, our nation is rich with images of things that the artist never saw, many of which never actually happened.  But, as Liptak points out, Crespi clearly suggests that he’s there and the image is real.  He denies, on the other hand, that there is any stock background, though I fail to see the relevance unless the Supreme Court decides to redecorate the courtroom.

The point is one of honesty and integrity, that if a courtroom artist sells you the image of so momentous an occasion as your argument before the Supreme Court, that it should be what he says it is.  That there should be any question about this is a stark reminder that honesty and integrity are becoming increasingly scarce commodities, but that the mere understanding of what these words mean in our facile, virtual, redefinition of ideas to accommodate the overarching imperative to market, is at risk.

When I argue before the Supreme Court of the United States (I’m a perpetual optimist), you can bet I’ll want a memento of the occasion.  My preference would be a big, unanimous “W” in United States Reports, with some kind words from Justice Scalia about how my argument brought all factions of the court to the same conclusion.  Of course, a picture would be nice too.