Eppo Doeve & Max Tailleur: A Search with a Twist
- Bob Scholte
- Jul 7
- 3 min read
Eppo Doeve & Max Tailleur: A Search with a Twist
For an art dealer, having a large stock is both a blessing and a curse. The more works you have on hand, the greater the chance that a collector will find that one piece they've been looking for. But at the same time, your capital is tied up in canvases, frames and bubble wrap, making it difficult to turn your investment into cash quickly. As the saying goes: art doesn't eat bread, but it does hold a substantial part of your funds hostage - while time quietly ticks on.
That’s why I often work the other way around. Rather than just building a collection for sale, I collect wishlists. Collectors send me their requests - usually a name, a subject, or a certain mood. I search until I find the right match, browsing auctions, art fairs, and private collections. This way, I minimise risk and start with a potential buyer already in place. At the moment, I’m searching for works by Jan Mankes, Harmen Meurs, M. C. Escher and Anneke van der Feer. So when I received a request last summer for Eppo Doeve, I was mildly surprised. Not the first name you’d expect on a collector’s list.
In Search of Doeve
Eppo Doeve (1907–1981) was born in the Dutch East Indies and moved from Bandung to Wageningen at the age of twenty. Although he initially dreamed of becoming a tea planter, he found his true calling in the Netherlands: drawing. With a sure hand, a knack for expressive faces, and peculiar talents—like drawing with both hands simultaneously or even upside down - he became a well-known illustrator. Already during his lifetime, he was called a "devil’s artist." He created countless (political) illustrations, including for Elsevier, and worked on free pieces as well. His work appears regularly at auction, though it is mainly appreciated by a niche group of collectors.
The request was clear: high-quality drawings by Eppo Doeve. Through various contacts, I was led to a retired Belgian industrialist who had acquired part of Doeve’s estate. A rare bullseye. He emailed me a few snapshots: a handful of paintings, thirty school notebooks filled with doodles (caricatures of teachers nestled between Dutch essays and tedious maths problems), a few loose sheets - and one large portfolio titled Max Tailleur by Doeve. I decided to purchase part of the collection ‘blind.’
Max Tailleur
Max Tailleur (1909–1990) was what one might call a humorist - a man who lived by humour as a worldview. He became famous for his Sam and Moos jokes - witty Jewish dialogues that struck a chord with a wide audience. In his day, Tailleur was what comedian André van Duin would later become: a Dutch media personality who made millions laugh. But where Van Duin excelled in absurdist characters, Tailleur’s jokes were closer to real life. His sharp, often Jewish humour offered relief to the post-war generation. With De Geinlijn, which he founded in 1971, he delivered a daily joke accessible by telephone. His joke booklets were found on many a coffee table; his voice regularly heard on radio and television.
Doeve, who became Tailleur’s regular illustrator, created a signature caricature: an elongated head, large nose, moustache and crossed eyes. This figure would become a fixture in all his joke books - bundles of which 1.6 million copies were sold between 1953 and 1988. The drawings in the portfolio showed this caricature of Tailleur in all sorts of scenes: in a hot tub with Japanese ladies, reclining beside a Buddha, as a snake charmer, and many more. There were thirteen drawings in total, still preserved in the original binder.
Just Too Late
A few days later, the works arrived in perfect condition. Portfolio under arm, I visited the collector who had initiated the search. To my surprise, his focus had shifted in the meantime. His collecting interests had moved on, and Eppo Doeve no longer fit the bill. It’s part of the trade: tastes evolve, collecting areas shift - and sometimes, an offer arrives just a little too late.
After the collector backed out, I contacted the Jewish Museum in Amsterdam. Their collection already includes a monumental painting of Max Tailleur by Doeve, along with joke books and other memorabilia. But the original caricatures - so central to Tailleur’s public image - were missing. The portfolio turned out to be the missing puzzle piece. A week later, it was added to the museum’s collection.
You search for one person, find something for another - and in the process, you learn that sometimes it’s the artwork itself that decides where it belongs.
