Almost
since Art was first considered Art, there had been art thefts. The
lastest media echo was that the painting of Mondrian & Picasso of
the National Gallery of Athens were stolen last week.
It
was generally believed that the majority of such robbery is the work
of highly organised gangs, specialised in stealing famous works by
renowned artists. These are usually great paintings and art objects
from museums, collections and burial grounds, amounting to more than 6
billions of dollars a year.
In
1961 the Museum Metropolitan of NY bought in an auction the oil
painting 'Aristoteles contemplating the bust of Homero, of Rembrandt,
for 2.3 million dollars (1,79 million €), with that marked an inflexion
point of operational ways of crimes of art. The sale, of an unheard
record then, put art onto the front pages worldwide, and the crime
organisations behind art thefts. From then on, the figures alone tell
all. Art trafficking of 6 billions $ is only behind drugs and arms.
About 50,000 pieces are the figure of stolen art objects annually.
On
the 18th of March, 1990, 2 thieves disguised as police entered
Isabella Stewart Gardner of Boston, US, disabled the security guards,
and got away with 12 art pieces valued at 250 million €; amongst them
Storm in the Sea of Galilea, the only marina painting by Rembrandt. It
was speculated as connected to the IRA.
According
to Marc Balcells, one of the few criminologist specialised in crime of
art, didn't deny such possibility but remarked that the only sure
connection between terrorists and art was the series of thefts IRA had
executed, in the British castles through Rose Dagdale. Whatever
and however, crimes of art are often with the objective to finance
some form of illicit ideals or purposes, and the sale of which are
always in black markets.
These thieves are never collectors. How do they sell them, even in black markets, such well known art? Simple, they use art as money, to exchange for drugs and arms.
Not
always. The most surprising and outstanding case is that of Kempton
Bunton who, in 1961, entered The National Gallery of London, took down
from the wall the portrait of the Duke of Wellington, by Goya, and just
sauntered off with it. Afterwards, he demanded a ransom, to donate it
to charity.
Modern
day Robin-hood? Philanthropist with a sense of humour? Not exactly a
thief was he, since he didn't keep it to benefit himself? Or was he just
a dare-devil who enjoyed playing pranks?
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