In the midst of an unbearable summer heatwave, on one of the loudest days of the year,15 August, the unthinkable happened at the Interdisciplinary Museum of Messina (MuMe): four works by Antonello da Messina were stolen. Among them were three panels from the famous Polyptych of San Gregorio and a rare double-sided tablet depicting the Madonna and Child on one side and the Dead Christ on the other. In fact, six panels were initially taken, but two were abandoned on the street during the escape after bystanders stopped to examine them, intrigued by their presence in a corner.
Following the Louvre heist, art thefts have multiplied—likely driven by a mix of imitation and the realization that museum security systems are often inadequate. It has become alarmingly easy to pull off multimillion-dollar heists with minimal risk.
To date, no suspects have been identified in the Messina theft, just as in the Louvre case or the TEFAF heist from a few years ago (we reported on it here). The thieves, like the stolen works, simply vanish.
In the hours after the theft, many theories emerged about the motive. After all, such famous paintings are effectively unsellable. Unlike jewelry, which can be dismantled and whose value lies in its materials, stolen artworks—even the most recognizable—continue to be targeted. Clearly, these pieces won’t appear at auction. So why steal them? The leading theories involve the black market or their use as bargaining chips in illicit trades, such as arms or drug trafficking. Art, as we know, is a prime tool for money laundering.
Take the case of Caravaggio’s Saint Jerome, stolen in Malta in 1984. The painting remained in the hands of criminals for two years as they unsuccessfully attempted to sell it to the Maltese government and private collectors, even demanding a ransom of half a million Maltese lira and threatening to burn the work if unpaid. In this case, the painting was recovered—and sometimes, stolen art resurfaces. But most, the majority, remain missing. So we must consider other explanations.
One angle that hasn’t received enough attention is the sheer “thrill of possession”—a morbid fascination that drives many thefts and clandestine excavations.
Art-Test, alongside research institutions and diagnostic colleagues, has been involved in a study—later consolidated into an exhibition and publication titled “Possession, Theft, and Forgeries of Antiquities in Paestum”—that explores these themes. For years, they have collaborated with educational institutions on issues related to antiquity theft and forgeries, aiming for a deeper understanding of the phenomenon. In our view, this is an aspect we should examine more closely if we hope to recover these lost works.
