Even I Got Scammed

[Dmitry-Afremov]

# Even I Got Scammed

People often criticize me when I write about artists.

They say:

"Dmitry, you're not an artist. You're an art dealer."

And honestly, that's fair criticism.

But here's the thing.

In our family there was never a separation between "the artist" and "the dealer."

My father painted.

I sold.

My mother helped.

Everything went into one pot.

Nobody took a percentage.

Nobody calculated commissions.

Nobody sat there saying, "This dollar belongs to me and that dollar belongs to you."

Maybe that's not how business schools teach it.

Maybe it's not even the smartest way to do things.

But when there's very little money, there isn't much to divide anyway.

You survive together.

You succeed together.

Or you fail together.

Today, however, something happened that reminded me that no amount of experience protects you from making mistakes.

And trust me, I've been doing this for a very long time.

Thirty-six years in the art business.

Millions of paintings sold.

Thousands upon thousands of customer interactions.

You start believing you've seen everything.

Apparently, you haven't.

A customer contacted me.

At least, someone claiming to be a customer.

He said he had purchased several paintings years ago.

Original Leonid Afremov paintings.

Real originals.

Not reproductions.

Not studio works.

Originals.

He wrote:

"Dmitry, I want to return them. I don't like them anymore. I think I was misled."

Naturally, my first question was simple:

"Why do you feel you were misled?"

His answer didn't make much sense.

He didn't like the certificates.

He didn't like our marketing.

He didn't like the promotions we run.

To be fair, he had a point about the promotions.

We do run a lot of promotions.

But let's be honest.

If you don't market, you don't sell.

That's how business works.

Then came the threats.

Trustpilot.

Review sites.

Social media.

Reputation destruction.

The usual package.

Anyone who runs an online business knows exactly what I'm talking about.

Today it is surprisingly easy for one angry person—or one scammer—to cause damage.

A few fake accounts.

A few negative reviews.

A few posts.

And suddenly you're spending weeks cleaning up the mess.

Still, I remained calm.

I asked him how I could help.

He demanded a full refund.

I thought about it.

The paintings were original works by my father.

The amount wasn't huge.

A few thousand dollars.

And honestly?

A part of me saw an opportunity.

If he really returned those paintings, I could resell them for significantly more today than what he originally paid.

It seemed like a perfectly reasonable deal.

I told him:

"No problem. Return the paintings and I'll refund you."

That wasn't good enough.

He wanted the refund first.

Immediately.

Then he would send the paintings.

Of course, alarm bells started ringing.

So I suggested a compromise.

I would send part of the money upfront.

The rest once the paintings were in transit.

He agreed.

I asked for photographs.

He sent photographs.

The paintings looked real.

Everything seemed legitimate.

Then came another small detail.

I offered to send the money through the usual channels.

PayPal.

Card.

Something normal.

"No," he said.

"Send it to this account."

It wasn't my favorite arrangement, but by that point I believed the deal was real.

So I sent the money.

A couple thousand dollars.

And then...

Silence.

The phone stopped working.

Messages went unanswered.

I called.

Blocked.

I tried again.

Blocked.

Gone.

Just like that.

The paintings never existed.

Or at least they never belonged to the person I was talking to.

The photographs were enough to convince me.

And I got scammed.

Me.

A guy who's spent decades warning people about scams.

A guy who's been in business for thirty-six years.

A guy who thought he had seen every trick in the book.

Apparently there was still one more chapter.

What's funny is that my first reaction wasn't anger.

It was disbelief.

I actually sat there thinking:

"Wait. That's it? That's the scam?"

It was so simple.

No sophisticated hacking.

No forged documents.

No elaborate schemes.

Just a person who understood exactly how to exploit trust.

And it worked.

Do I feel stupid?

A little.

Do I feel angry?

Not really.

Mostly annoyed.

Mostly disappointed in myself.

But there's also something oddly comforting about it.

Because it reminds me that we're all human.

No matter how much experience you have.

No matter how many years you've spent in business.

No matter how many scams you've seen.

Sometimes you still make a mistake.

As the old saying goes, even the wisest person slips occasionally.

The money is gone.

The lesson remains.

And maybe that's why I'm writing this.

Not because losing a few thousand dollars is the end of the world.

It isn't.

But because I know there are artists out there reading this who blame themselves for every bad deal they've ever made.

Don't.

Sometimes you trusted the wrong person.

Sometimes you wanted to believe.

Sometimes you saw an opportunity.

Sometimes you made a mistake.

Welcome to being human.

Today it was my turn.

June 3, 2026.

After thirty-six years in business, I discovered that apparently I can still be fooled.

I didn't enjoy learning that lesson.

But I learned it anyway.

[AmberFields]

Interesting story that highlights how even experienced people can make costly mistakes when trust is involved. The broader point seems less about the money and more about the fact that scams often succeed because they exploit normal human assumptions rather than technical weaknesses.

[LakeHouseTom]

Harmonious art

[SundayDriver]

The story feels a bit too conveniently self-framing, as if the main takeaway is emotional reflection rather than accountability for very basic due diligence in a financial transaction. It’s also hard to separate the lesson from the way the narrative positions the author as both experienced and somehow still “surprised,” which makes the conclusion feel somewhat constructed rather than genuinely revealing.

[OldTownWalker]

The text describes a personal experience of being deceived in a transaction despite extensive professional experience in the art business, highlighting how trust can still be exploited through simple but effective tactics. It reflects on the emotional reaction, the process of the deal, and the broader lesson about human vulnerability in business. Overall, it presents the incident as a reminder that even experienced professionals are not immune to mistakes and scams.