by Noah Charney
“Disguised symbolism allows paintings to be read, like books, but first you must understand the code. Every painting in every museum in the world is in code. It is a riddle waiting to be unlocked. Some are more complicated than others. Paintings of the Northern Renaissance are the deepest encoded. They require specialized knowledge equating objects with ideas, and identifying saints with implements and stories. Some, like the beloved Impressionists, require almost no specialized knowledge to appreciate. They are merely objects of beauty. Others, like the Abstract Expressionists, require nothing. They are simply projections and provocateurs of emotion. But learn to read art, and it’s like learning a new language spoken across the Western world. A dog may mean loyalty, but that is not self-evident. It is a specialized piece of knowledge. A guy with arrows in him is Saint Sebastian, so what does that imply? An old man with a beard and wings and an hourglass is Time. Personifications take the gender of the word they represent. ‘Time,’ tempus, is masculine, so the personification of Time is as a man.
“There are stranger examples. A parrot refers to an odd explanation of how Mary can be pregnant and still be a virgin. The rationale, if you can call it that, of some medieval priest. If a parrot can be taught to say ‘Ave Maria,’ then Mary can be a pregnant virgin. And people seriously believed this, folks, just like you believe that smoking doobies and listening to Pink Floyd is the zenith of your vapid existences.”
One of the men at the back of the room was on his mobile again and was looking directly at Barrow, nodding.
“Why is this painting called The Marriage Contract? I’ll tell you why, because otherwise we’ll be here all week. First of all, back in 1434, you did not go down to the mayor’s office to sign a marriage license. All that was needed to get hitched was for you to hold hands with your girlfriend and recite a vow in front of two witnesses. We can see that the Arnolfinis are holding hands. They are also barefoot. What does this mean? Disguised symbolism? It means that they are on holy ground. But it’s a bedroom. Yes, but they are in the midst of the ceremony of holy matrimony.
“Now, where are the witnesses? In turn, you should each look very closely. There is a convex round mirror in the center of the room. Convex mirrors have always been a staple of the artist’s workshop since the Middle Ages. But what do we see in the mirror? Two figures. One with a blue turban, and one…with a red turban. Look to your left. Jan van Eyck is wearing a red turban in his self-portrait. Yes! Hallelujah! The curators of this museum are very helpful people. There are two witnesses shown in the mirror, meaning that they are standing where we are standing now, observing the scene. We, then, become the witnesses. Van Eyck’s subtlety and skill are astounding.
“And, just in case you’re not totally convinced, right in the center of the painting is a signature that reads ‘Johannes van Eyck was here, 1434.’ He has signed this painting as a witness. The painting literally is the marriage contract! Now, to the next room!”
On the way out of the room, Barrow walked in the midst of the crowd of students, who pushed past the three suited men. But in the doorway, Barrow felt his arm clutched.
“Professor Barrow. If we could speak with you a moment, please.”
“I’m in the middle of class, gentlemen. I’d be happy to meet with you during office hours…”
“Now.” Barrow felt his arm viced in the hand of one of the suited men, and something firm and metallic pressed against his back.
“Um, all right.” He looked around for a security guard. Of course there was none.
“Class,” he said nervously. “Class, we are going to break early today. We’ll resume the National Gallery tour next time. You may go.”
The students breathed a collective sigh of relief and dispersed. The three men surrounded Barrow and walked him toward the exit of the museum.
“Don’t make any sound. You are coming with us.”
CHAPTER 6
It is my pleasure to present the first annual Giovanni Pastore Conference on Art Crime here at the Villa I Tatti, in Florence. This lecture series was endowed jointly on the part of Italian and American art detection institutions, to honor the current head of the Carabinieri Unit for the Protection of Cultural Heritage, who has served with dedication and success throughout his career.
“I am particularly pleased to introduce today’s first speaker. He is known to many of you who may have read his scholarly articles, but he is best known for his fieldwork in the recovery of stolen art. It is in that capacity that we welcome him today, to give a few introductory words to kick off the conference.
“Dr. Gabriel Coffin’s resume is impressive. Grew up in Scotland, BA/BS Yale University, where he studied art history, engineering, mathematics, and also won a fine arts prize. MA at the Courtauld Institute in conservation of art, PhD Cambridge University in the history of art theft, then an MSc, this time at University of Edinburgh, in criminal forensics. Dr. Coffin worked for Scotland Yard in their Arts and Antiquities Division, before he worked as a special agent for the Carabinieri Unit for the Protection of Cultural Heritage.
“Dr. Coffin is the son of celebrated parents, who need no introduction. In addition to innumerable popular books on art history, including the international bestselling survey Art of the Western World, the work of Gabriel’s father, Jacob Coffin, on the recovery and preservation of looted art during World War Two, was the subject of a recent feature film. His mother, Katie Williams, was one of the only female code-breakers to work on the Nazi enigma code during the Second World War. Both of his parents were remembered in a recent testimonial publication.
“Gabriel Coffin has lectured throughout Europe and North America, always in the language of the host country. He lives in Rome and now works as an art insurance investigator and freelance consultant on art crimes to police worldwide, in addition to his continued scholarly work and satisfying the constant demand for his entertaining and educational lectures. After these opening remarks, he will present a paper later in the conference on his contribution to the recent recovery of a stolen Michelangelo drawing. He is a man with many stories to tell, and we are honored to have him join us this evening. Please welcome Dr. Gabriel Coffin.”
The wood-paneled hall erupted in applause. Coffin approached the podium.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m pleased to announce that everything that Dr. Plesch said about me in her lovely introduction is true. However, she neglected to mention my Nobel Prize in chemistry and my fantastic collection of humorous corkscrews. But I digress. Already. This does not bode well. Perhaps I should begin.
“I thought that, by way of introduction, we might examine one case in particular that has plagued law enforcement officials. It provides a good subject to demonstrate the techniques that I use in investigation, techniques which are available to all but implemented by few. I speak of observation, looking in order to gather information, rather than merely looking. Look deeper. Observation followed by logical deduction leads to solution. You shall see.
“Let me paint you a portrait of the most successful unsolved art crime of the century. Then, together, we will solve it.”
“Might I inquire as to where I am being taken?”
Barrow was seated between two of the suited gentlemen, while the third was driving a dark Land Rover through the now rain-swept London streets, until so recently sunny.
“Our employer would like to speak with you.”
Barrow sputtered like a faltering motor engine. “Well, he has a royally…cocked-up way of going about business. I have office hours for a reason, you know. There’s a sign-up sheet posted outside my door…”
“Our employer is used to getting his way, on his schedule. I suggest that you indulge him.” The man looked straight ahead as he spoke, as did his colleagues.
Barrow did not recognize the route through London. They had left the center of town, out of Trafalgar Square and south, across the river, beyond Vauxhall, serpentine through an uncharted vacuum of industrial structures.
&
nbsp; “You should all consider yourselves lucky that I am not one easily offended. I’ve decided not to press charges, nor to pummel you senseless, although I’m well within my rights to do both.”
“Stop being funny.”
“All right, then.”
Barrow crossed his arms over his chest and sat quietly until the car slowed to a halt outside a vast, anonymous warehouse.
“You’re going in there,” said one of the men, as another locked onto Barrow’s arm.
A sea of faces, like ripple-topped waves, stared up at Gabriel Coffin. “Boston, Massachusetts. 1990. At one twenty-four AM, the morning after the St. Patrick’s Day revels, two men in police uniforms knocked on the side door of the Venetian-style mansion that houses the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. They said that they were investigating a disturbance in the grounds.
“Against museum regulations, the two guards on duty let them in. The guards were handcuffed, duct-taped, and locked in separate areas of the dark cellar. No weapons were seen or used during the heist. The two thieves were described as follows:
“Thief One: white male, late twenties to midthirties, five-seven to five-ten, medium build, dark eyes, black short-cut hair, wearing a dark shiny mustache that appeared to be false and square-shaped, gold-framed glasses, also probably false.
“Thief Two: white male, early to midthirties, six feet to six-one, one eighty to two hundred pounds, dark eyes and black medium-length hair, a black shiny mustache that appeared to be false, no glasses.
“You’d think false mustaches and glasses might be obvious, but perhaps not. The thieves stole carefully chosen paintings, ignoring many of high value, such as the Fra Angelico, Titian, and Raphael, but making off with Vermeer’s Concert, Manet’s Chez Tortoni, and Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee, as well as five pieces by Degas, and a Chinese bronze beaker. They tried and failed to open a vitrine that contained a Napoleonic battle flag, and instead took the eagle-shaped fitment to the flag. Titian’s Rape of Europa, arguably the most valuable painting in any museum in the United States, was untouched.
“Other than a panic button on the guard’s desk, the museum alarm was not rigged to trigger from the inside, only from external breaches. The thieves on their departure seized electronic video surveillance.
“The thieves were in the museum from one twenty-four to two forty-five AM. Current estimates list the stolen works at a total value of three hundred million dollars, but as with any estimation of price, it’s fairly arbitrary, and could be much less, or much more, depending on the buyer, and the market in general.
“By 1997, the investigation had not progressed, and the museum raised the reward for the return of the paintings from one to five million dollars. Many false tips emerged, but one that sounded promising came from Boston antiques dealer William P. Youngworth III, then in prison. He had gained attention when he told a newspaper reporter, Tom Mashberg, that he and a colorful character, an imprisoned art thief named Myles Connor, would locate the stolen works in exchange for the reward, Youngworth’s immunity, and his and Connor’s release from prison.
“Youngworth’s credibility was questioned, and so he arranged for Mashberg to be driven blind to a warehouse in which he was shown, by flashlight, what may or may not have been Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Mashberg was later also given paint chips, supposedly from the Rembrandt. Tests showed that they were not from the Rembrandt, but may have been from the Vermeer.
“The U.S. Attorney’s office demanded that one of the paintings be returned as proof that the other works were on hand. When this did not happen, negotiations ended. Connor is now out of jail. All of the works are still missing.
“Now, what can we infer from the situation? A handful of basic things are clear, without any deeper involvement in the case. Imagine that we are fresh consultants working on the case for the first time. Trails have grown cold. But what can we say, based on the skeleton of facts with which I’ve just presented you?
“To begin with, the crime took place late into St. Patrick’s Day. For any of you in the audience who are unfamiliar, Boston is a city on the East Coast of the United States, in the heart of New England, which boasts a very large population of Irish descent. St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated with unusual vigor there, and that means that copious amounts of beer are consumed. If there is any day of the year during which the fewest people in the city of Boston have their best faculties functioning, it is St. Patrick’s Day.
“This suggests a knowledge on the part of either the patron of the crime, or the thieves themselves, of the area. I say that the patron and thieves are different parties because almost every art crime is perpetrated on behalf of someone else, and every successful art thief steals on commission, as famous works of art cannot be sold on any open market, black or otherwise. Art crime patrons have vast wealth and do not need to steal for themselves. It’s much like a clogged drain in the bathroom. Sure, you could perhaps fix it yourself, but why get dirty if you can afford to hire a plumber?
“I should make, now, a distinction which, too often, movies and fiction confuse. It is a rare occurrence that there should ever be a privately commissioned art theft. About eighty percent of all art crimes since 1961 have been perpetrated by, or on behalf of, international organized crime syndicates. In 1961 the Corsican Mafia began to raid the Riviera, stealing Cézanne and Picasso paintings in particular. This culminated in 1976, with the single largest art theft in peacetime history, when one hundred eighty Picassos were stolen from the Papal Palace at Avignon. This was also the first time of which we are aware that violence was used during an art theft. Organized crime’s interest in art at this time seems to have been prompted by the television media’s new-found love affair with announcing the prices for which artworks were selling at auction. And with organized crime comes the methods they traditionally employ, such as violence. Before this time, peacetime art theft had been nonviolent, gentlemanly, and dexterous. Almost admirable, as a feat of skill. But no longer.
“That is not to say that there are not still some private art crimes, and some collectors out there who wish to own a work of art, even through illicit means. And these instances must not go unstudied. But it is important to realize that they are the exceptions, rather than the rule.
“With organized crime now heavily involved in art crime, we should make a further distinction between the patron of a crime, as in the individual who orders the crime to be committed, in order to reap the stolen work or money from it, and an administrator—the individual who plans the crime and hires the thieves. Think of the administrator as the show-runner for a television program, while the patron would receive the ‘created by’ credit—the former does all the work to make sure it runs smoothly and the job is done, the latter comes up with the concept and sets the ball rolling. When organized crime is involved, the administrator is part of the syndicate, and he hires thieves for a specific job. There usually is no patron, because for organized crime, an artwork is a commodity, like drugs or arms, so the selection of what to steal is based on feasibility of converting it into cash or using it for barter. There is no passion, only business.
“We can profile a patron. For the patron there is some element of self-completion in the acquisition of specific works of art. But for an administrator in a crime syndicate, art is an object equated with a certain value. The most important first step in investigation is trying to determine whether a specific art crime is instigated by a syndicate, for business, or by a patron, as a crime of passion. It is because I firmly believe that the Gardner case is a crime of passion, due to the selectivity of the thieves, that I suggest we apply this profiling analysis. But the thieves themselves, and indeed a middleman administrator were, I believe, members of a criminal syndicate hired by a patron to carry out his desire. Let us continue…
“The patron of the crime must have been a regular visitor to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. People do not commission the theft of works of art they have never seen, or see
n only once. They fall in love with specific works and wish to own them. It is a love affair. As you might pursue a beautiful woman whom you’ve seen on the street, art theft is the equivalent of seduction and conquest. Beautiful art, like beautiful women, provokes desire. A desire to possess and be possessed, a yearning to have created, a sense of peace and majesty, to hold this sublime proof of the existence of God, who must be great indeed to have created a thing of such beauty. In this manner, if you’ll forgive the analogy, the patron is soliciting a prostitute; the beautiful whore is the work of art, and the thieves who provide her, the pimps. If you think of the art in terms of beauty bought-and-sold to the highest bidder, this analogy seems less ludicrous.
“So, I would suggest that the patron is familiar with the Boston area, and with the museum. The patron has visited the museum countless times. But it is dangerous to steal in your own backyard. I would bet against the patron still living in the Boston area. But perhaps someone who grew up, or attended university, in the area…
“I’ve never been asked to consult on this case, but if I were, there are some things that the police may, or may not, have already done, but that I would certainly put into action. One is a search for auction records of art buyers who grew up in the Boston area. This may sound like it would cast too wide a net, but the art world is small. I’d hazard a guess that there are fewer than twenty serious art collectors of considerable wealth who grew up in Boston and are still alive. This statistic is based on no research on my part, but the art thief is easy to profile.
“More than ninety percent of all criminal collectors are people of wealth and society, usually men, almost always Caucasian, who often have a hand in the art world at a legitimate level, and who have collected art legitimately, through galleries and auctions. They also feel some connection to the art that they steal, and it is the job of the good investigator to root out what that connection might be.