My earlier foray into the murky underbelly world of art crime, Art Thieves, Fakers & Fraudsters: The New Zealand Story (2016), surveyed historical and contemporary art crimes committed in New Zealand. Men committed all but one of the crimes presented in my book. The exception was an unnamed British tourist in her mid-seventies, visiting New Zealand in 2013, who brazenly helped herself to a piece of fibre art on exhibition at the Lakes District Museum and Gallery, in the small South Island town of Arrowtown. Captured by the galleryâs security cameras, the culprit was picked up the next day by the police, but allegedly she had already disposed of the stolen artwork (or in my opinion, posted it home to Britain).1 The crime was motivated by personal greed and carried out with aplomb. Other women featured in my book, but as victims or in the form of those who helped curb and mitigate crimes, or who restored damaged works after a crime had occurredâin other words, on the receiving end of art crimes. It was being confronted with my own research that made me question more closely the subject of women, art, and crime. Was the New Zealand situation representative of the Western art world or was it that women were actively involved in committing art crimes, but were never caught? Or was it simply that their stories had not been told?
In 2015 Dr. Noah Charney, an art historian and authority on art crime, threw down the gauntlet for me. He noted in his book, The Art of Forgery: The Minds, Motives and Methods of Master Forgers:
There is a decided lack of female forgers in this book; there are female accomplices and con men, but I know of no notable female forgers in the history of forgery.2
I picked up on his comment, taking it as an invitation for further investigation and presentation of art crimes committed by women. Women are very much underrepresented in the texts about art crime to date. Charneyâs observation was a challenge (and his gendered use of con men raised my antennae). It made me think and want to cast the net wider than just art forgery, asking the question: is there a history of women and art crime and, if so, what is it? Certainly in the last few decades more women have been actively involved in researching, writing, and educating about art crime, but what of the actual committing of art crimes? If there is such a history, why havenât women made it into the literature? Could it be that Charney was right, that there arenât any female forgers out there (or ones that we know about)? Or perhaps it is that the female art forger has been too clever and escaped capture. Whatever the answers were, Charneyâs provocation set me on a journey, for which I am grateful. This book is not exhaustiveâfew books about art crime can be, given the suspected large numbers of art crimes that go unreported or have inconclusive back-storiesâbut rather a beginning point in trying to present a more well-rounded balanced history for us to look to in the future.
Art crime falls into three main categories: forgery , vandalism , and theft . These are broad areas and the study of art crime, including how and why it is carried out, are complex. This book presents case studies of those women who destroyed art (The Lady Destroyers), mothered art criminals (The Mothers of All Art Crimes), vandalised art (She Vandals), conned artists and clients (The Art of the Con[wo]man), stole art (The Light Fingered), forged art (Naming Rights), and those who used their professional positions to commit white-collar crimes in galleries, libraries, and museums (The Professionals). Afterword: Making a Noise About the Silence draws my conclusions together about gender and art crime as well as scoping how art crimes are written about and how there is room for opportunity to make change going forward. It also considers conditioning about how we perceive art crime, gendered language associated with how art crimes are documented, and how looking specifically at womenâa first of its kindâprovides for a greater balance to the ongoing discourse.
This study, as suggested by its title, takes a broad approach rather than just lining up hardened art criminals. Since the 1970s, female art historians have made significant inroads into the documentation of womenâs art history. The exhibition and accompanying standalone catalogue, Women Artists: 1550â1950 (1977) by Ann Sutherland Harris and Linda Nochlin, was trailblazing in terms of breaking the silence about the long history of unrecognised women artists.3 Nochlinâs 1988 Women, Art, and Power and Other Essays was both insightful and provocative. Whitney Chadwickâs 1990 book Women, Art, and Society, provided a detailed survey of women artists from the Middle Ages up to the early 1980s. But it was the objective behind Rozsika Parker and Griselda Pollockâs 1981 text Old Mistresses: Women, Art, and Ideologyâs thesis that inspired me:
we are not concerned to prove that women have been great artists or to provide yet another indictment of art historyâs neglect of women artists. Instead we want to know how, and more significantly, why womenâs art has been misrepresented and what this treatment of women in art reveals about the ideological basis of the writing and teaching of art history.4
As a budding young art historian I found these texts a revelation, adding greatly to the âstory of artâ as it had been taught to us according to the male-dominated discipline (both in content and those who delivered it). In many ways, my objective here is similar to those female art historians who went out on an exciting limb.
We know women have committed art crimes, just as there were always women artists at work. The problem is that their stories have been underrepresented and silenced by men. Recently published, Dame Mary Beardâs Women & Power: A Manifesto is one of the smallest yet most empowering books I have ever read. It strikes a chord, discussing female silence, though fortunately Beard is far from silent. Beardâs sentiment encouraged me to tell the story of women, art, and crime. Feminist art historians and writers have provided exemplary role models; their commitment to telling under-appreciated art histories has been crucial in challenging the traditional male art history recorded and taught to generations. The ânew art historyâ as it was called in the 1980s was both refreshing and exciting, but we still have a long way to traverse. I maintain that where there is, and as long as there is, an art history there has been a history of art crime. Art crime is very much part of any art history and, as we know, up until the 1970s art history was not very welcoming of the inclusion of women artists. We are still making up for lost time, and writing about women, art, and crime is hopefully part of redressing some of the imbalance, and providing the back-stories to our art histories.
Sourcing information about art crime is heavily reliant upon what the media feeds us. Many art crimes are reported in a way that prioritises entertainment value before specific details and due to the length in time cases take in the legal system we donât always receive the complete story. Not specific to gender is the difficulty in obtaining information about art crimes; so often stakeholders, and in particular institutions, avoid answering queries. This can be frustrating, preventing the writer from exploring and offering every possible angle to the reader but from their perspective the reopening of old wounds isnât good publicity. And sometimes the information just isnât available, having been lost over time. For instance, many times I tried unsuccessfully to obtain from the Louvre the title of the Nicolaes Berchem painting that was damaged by Valentine Contrel in 1907. Perhaps they just donât know or donât want to open up old cases. Historically, records kept by institutions arenât as accurate as they are in our digital age. For others, getting asked about art crimes comes as a complete surprise. When I enquired about a portrait of Winston Churchill that was disposed of by President Roosevelt (or by someone else at his request) in 1944, the collections manager of the Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library confirmed it had been disposed of, though she exclaimed surprise, having never heard the story before.
Art crimes have been committed for as long as art has existed, yet the study of art crime is relatively new. Early scholarship soon identified patterns, establishing that thieves and forgers, for instance, fitted a particular âtypeâ. But this type, criminal profiling, was based on a male construct. To achieve a better understanding of female art criminals we therefore have to look at them within the context of their male counterparts, as there is no model (yet) for the female art criminal. But there are definite characteristics and patterns that have clearly emerged that can be attributed to male art criminalsâfor they have been studied in more depth. This could be due in part because men have been caught committing crimes or that their art crime activities have involved the Old Masters, of which we are conditioned to believe are more valuable. Generally the art criminals that have been written aboutâand profiledâare male, of European ethnicity, middle-aged, could be a failed artist or have a modicum of technical artistic skills, and in some cases have experienced a trauma in their life whether it be a broken marriage or a rough upbringing. This could of course say more about who reports crimes, the criminals that are caught, the priorities of police, and how their stories are told. The art criminals themselves and their biographers have endorsed the profile over time. And though this particular model does not fit the female art criminal, from the case studies presented in this book there are definite similarities when analysing the motivations, specifically for art thieves and art dealers.
Various scholars have tried to justify the âgentleman thiefââthe variety seen in the moviesâbut in reality they are just thieves with ulterior motives, taking what does not belong to them. Some live in a fantasy world believing that stealing art is a better class of crime, but as art crime expert and Hong Kong senior police inspector Toby Bull comments:
A specialised fine art thief (if one such even exists) is an uncommon type and, like with the mediaâs portrayal of a Mr Big, is also given something of a top billing in both film and fable. Somehow, these criminals are seen in a different and more empathetic light, loveable rogues or dandy foppish gentleman. The reality could not be further from the truth. Most art thieves are no different to those who partake in the most base and villainous crimes of society.5
As more people analyse and write about art crime, a clearer picture of the art criminal has evolved; romantic mythologising has begun to retreat. By adding the female art criminal into the mix, perhaps the myth will be further displaced.
In comparison with other areas of art crime, there is a host of non-fiction accounts about the male art forger. Many art forgers view themselves as clever and talented, delighting in telling of their own journey to the dark side of the art world. Such forgers who have come out and told their story include: Stéphane Breitwieser, Shaun Greenhalgh, Eric Hebborn, Tom Keating, Ken Perenyi, John Myatt, and Han van Meegeren to name but a few. They want to be recognised, trying to claim celebrity status, and make mo...