What is a fake or copy?
Fake:
- Noun: An imitation of something intended to deceive or defraud.
Example: The painting was a fake designed to look like a Van Gogh. - Adjective: Not genuine; counterfeit.
Example: She wore fake pearls to the gala. - Verb: To forge or counterfeit something.
Example: He faked his signature on the document.
Copy:
- Noun:
- A thing made to be similar or identical to another.
Example: The statue was a copy of the original. - An imitation or reproduction of an original work.
Example: The book was a copy of an earlier edition.
- A thing made to be similar or identical to another.
Above are the dictionary definitions of a fake and a copy – I am not sure that these apply to the item that I currently have sitting in front of me.
Let me explain further. I bought these little figurines and I rather like them. However, when I researched them online it gave me lots of details about how they were fact Bing & Grondahl from Denmark. The factual details are below:
Carl Schneider’s porcelain factory, established in 1859 in Gräfenthal, Germany, was renowned for producing high-quality porcelain figurines. During the period of the German Democratic Republic (GDR), the factory continued its operations under Soviet administration. It is noted that some of their figurines from this era were inspired by or replicated designs from other esteemed porcelain manufacturers, including Bing & Grøndahl (B&G) of Denmark.
These reproductions often bore marks resembling those of the original creators, sometimes leading to confusion among collectors. For instance, figurines from Carl Schneider’s factory have been found with crossed swords marks, which can be mistaken for those of other manufacturers. Additionally, some pieces are marked with the year “1859,” corresponding to the establishment date of the original Unger, Schneider & Cie factory.
It’s important to note that while these GDR-era pieces aimed to emulate the artistry of manufacturers like B&G, there are discernible differences in craftsmanship and detail. Collectors often observe that the sculpting and painting of the Carl Schneider reproductions lack the refinement and precision characteristic of original B&G figurines. This distinction is particularly evident in the detailing of features such as facial expressions and clothing folds.
In summary, during the GDR period, Carl Schneider’s porcelain factory produced figurines that replicated or were inspired by designs from manufacturers like B&G. While these pieces contribute to the historical narrative of porcelain production under Soviet administration, they are generally considered less refined compared to the originals they sought to imitate.
I feel that in this situation the internet has let me down. Not because the information is wrong, but because a creation is inspired by another does it make it a fake. It clearly says that the pieces are different and distinguishable so why are they still considered a fake? I fake is something pretending to be something else. These are not that, they are clearly marked with a unique individual mark of swords with the date of the Schneider factory opening on them – I do not believe them to be fakes, but just under appreciated creations.
We are a family of talkers and have spent a meal discussing the situation in factories during this time, wondering what it was like. These people were still craftsmen, who probably didn’t like their current project. These people still have a story.
Our imagined story of a worker in the factory under Soviet direction.
Carl Schneider: The Porcelain Dreamer of Gräfenthal
In the shadowed years of the Soviet-controlled GDR, Carl Schneider’s porcelain factory stood like a relic of a bygone age in the sleepy town of Gräfenthal. Though Carl himself had passed decades before, his name remained etched into the very heart of the factory’s stone walls. It was now a place of muted creativity, where skilled artisans shaped their dreams amidst the constraints of state-mandated production quotas.
The Whisper of Legacy
Johann, the factory’s master designer, often found himself alone in the storeroom, where sunlight pierced through dusty windows, illuminating rows of unfinished porcelain figurines. He would stare at the faded portraits of Carl Schneider on the wall, feeling as though the man’s gaze followed him. Johann imagined what Carl would have thought of their current predicament—producing replicas of Bing & Grøndahl’s iconic works instead of their own original creations. Yet, the whispers of Carl’s legacy seemed to echo in Johann’s mind.
“He would want us to keep the soul of artistry alive,” Johann murmured as he touched the delicate porcelain face of a shepherdess figurine they were replicating that day.
One evening, after the workers had left and silence enveloped the factory, Johann sat at his workbench. With a flickering candle lighting the room, he began to draft an imaginary letter to Carl Schneider.
“Herr Schneider,” it began,
“We walk a tightrope here in Gräfenthal, balancing between the demands of the state and the aching need to create something truly ours. They tell us to copy—to replicate designs from the West like the B&G pieces—but I wonder: could this too be a form of rebellion? By perfecting their art, could we imbue it with our own touch, a signature unseen but felt? If so, would you forgive us for this borrowed beauty?”
Johann didn’t just stop at copying. In his quiet rebellion, he began infusing subtle details into the figurines—tiny expressions, minute folds in clothing, a tilt of the head—that weren’t part of the original designs. These changes were his homage to Carl Schneider, a way of keeping alive the spirit of the factory’s founder.
For Johann, each figurine was more than a product. It was a question to the world: Can we truly stifle beauty? Even under the weight of quotas and copies, can art still sing?
In secret, Johann and his fellow artisans began experimenting. They collected scraps of broken porcelain and crafted entirely new designs after hours. These were not for sale but for their own souls—a collective act of hope. Johann often wondered if, one day, the Iron Curtain would lift, and the world would see not just the copies, but the beating heart of Carl Schneider’s dream: a belief that art could transcend borders, politics, and time.
Years later, when the factory closed its doors, many of the figurines were scattered across Europe. Collectors would find themselves captivated by certain pieces—not for their precision, but for the inexplicable warmth and individuality in their forms. Unbeknownst to them, these were Johann’s secret homages to Carl Schneider.
And in a sense, Carl’s dream lived on—not as a perfect copy, but as a quiet defiance, a whisper of creativity persevering in the face of adversity.
Yvette Mayorga is a contemporary artist who has recreated Francois Boucher’s Madame de Pompadour from 1756, shows King Louis XV’s mistress reclining in a decadent room. Her version is not seen as a fake, but art – so why do we persecute the craftmen of the Schneider factory and sully their creations with the label of a copy?