Art Theft

Below is an article I wrote a few years back about the fascinating world of Art Theft:


The year was 1911, the setting – Paris. A man walks out of The Louvre with a woman hidden under his overcoat. A very famous woman, in fact, The Mona Lisa herself. Over the next two years she would remain missing, and doubts of her recovery mounted every day. Many people would fall under the eye of suspicion, including Pablo Picasso who was brought in for questioning and later released (I would love to read a transcript of that one, wouldn’t you?). During her absence, she became more famous than ever. In fact, it was her theft that catapulted her to her current place as the most famous painting in the world.

Did the man who smuggled her away under his overcoat know that his act would lead to her rise in fame? Probably not. His intentions were purely patriotic. See, he was an employee of the museum, Vincenzo Peruggia, an Italian, who believed that The Mona Lisa belonged back in Italy, not in France. He was captured when he tried to sell her to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. His punishment? Only a few months in jail. As a matter of fact he was hailed as a patriot in Italy. As a result of her temporary absence and resulting rise to fame, the Mona Lisa now resides under bullet proof glass in her permanent home, The Louvre, appreciated by thousands of art lovers who gaze upon her haunting smile each year.

Not every story of art theft has a happy ending, and many pieces will never be seen again. Art theft is big business, big enough that the FBI has a special task force assigned to manage it, the Art Crime Team. Their website lists current art theft news, as well as tips on how to secure your own collection. They maintain a National Stolen Art File, which tracks and catalogues art and artifacts reported missing in the United States. The agency also works closely with Interpol in the recovery of international art and artifacts. Most recently the agency has been working to recover items that were looted form the Iraq Museum at the onset of Operation Iraqi Freedom, and a good amount of pieces have been successfully located and returned.

Why is there a problem with art theft? There are many different reasons. Art is sometimes used as collateral for drugs and weapons by more unsavory individuals and groups. Art is stolen as a political statement, such as the case with Mona Lisa. Art is also stolen as a statement towards the art itself, or about it, as was the case with the Iraq Museum. Art thieves can be brilliant masterminds, deadly criminals, or acivists for a cause. Each case is as individual and diverse as the piece that was stolen.

There is no question that art theft will continue as long as there is art in the world.

Time for another poem...

Split Personality

Dreams that I hold dear
Of moving forward, without fear,
Are extinguished by the light of day
Something has obviously gone astray.

Where is the person that I used to be?
Who is this stranger that is now me?
I cannot pinpoint the day or the hour,
But the old me's been killed by a higher power.

Driving down the freeway in the middle of the night

Sometimes a song captures exactly how you are feeling at a certain point in time, almost as if by magic. Music is nourishment to the heart and soul.

Timely lyrics to a song (by Papa Roach) that came on the radio as I was driving tonight...

"I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And my scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
I'm pissed cause you came around
Why don't you just go home
Cause you channel all your pain
And I can't help you fix yourself
You're making me insane
All I can say is

I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

I tried to help you once
Against my own advice
I saw you going down
But you never realized
That you're drowning in the water
So I offered you my hand
Compassion is in my nature
Tonight is our last stand

I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

I'm drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
You shouldn't ever come around
Why don't you just go home?
Cause you're drowning in the water
And I tried to grab your hand
And I left my heart open
But you didn't understand
But you didn't understand
Go fix yourself

I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life
I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life

I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel"

The Woods

No light but the moon
Illuminating my way.
Trees embrace me
There is nothing to say.

A rustle to my left
Should cause alarm
But my breath is steady
There’s nothing to harm.

A moment of peace
When everything is known.
Mysteries unveiled
Destinies shown.

Orion guards the scene
From his post in the sky.
Fragile human and demi-God
Alone, him and I.

There’s no better classroom
Than the woods at night.
Only when fear is conquered
Comes the gift of sight.

A Sad Obituary

On a recent vacation I came across an obituary in the local newspaper of a small agricultural town between point a and point b. It was for a 98 year old woman who stared back at me, smiling through glasses in a neat and tidy flower print shirt. But, as I read her story, I read between the lines and it made me incredibly sad.

She had been born in a town only 15 miles or so from the same one in which she died. She had six children who also lived in the same town, along with ten grandchildren in the same town, and great-grandchildren.

I realize that my reaction was filtered through my own experiences and therfore may or may not have been a fair assumption of her life. But, I still couldn't help but think...

What made her stay rooted?

Was she truly happy, or had she convinced herself that she was?

Why had her children never left, or her grandchildren?