My wife seems to have a keen eye for art – paintings in particular. I do not, nor do I have much interest in that particular medium.
As an adult I’ve never enjoyed painting or crafting of any kind, and attending an art gallery would not fall amongst the ‘Top 100 Things Dan Enjoys To Do.’ But I’ve often commented to my missus that while I have no interest in the visual arts, I respect artists’ abilities to create such amazing works out of often seemingly simple supplies. Maybe it’s because I recognize the difficulty in doing so, because anything I’ve ever attempted to paint mirrors the ability of a kindergartner. My kids are already light years ahead of their old man in ye olde arts department.
But one of those afore-mentioned Top 100 Things Dan Enjoys To Do (probably more like Top 10) would certainly be reading, learning and writing about historical events, as you’ve no doubt gathered from some of my past commentaries here in the op/ed section. And sometimes, very rarely, some of those historical tidbits that catch my eye contain aspects of the art world. I recently came across something written on the theft of the Mona Lisa, and I endeavoured to learn more about the world’s most famous painting.
Many may be surprised to learn that the Mona Lisa wasn’t in fact the world’s most famous painting prior to its theft from the Louvre in August 1911 – I certainly was. But crime often brings notoriety, and evidently the heist of Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece created in the early 16th century was no exception. The media attention of the time reached frenzied international levels, and the speculation of its whereabouts continued to grow over the next two years before it was finally recovered.
According to the somewhat limited online information about the culprit, Vincenzo Peruggia was born in Italy in 1881 and later moved to France in 1908. He had been previously arrested for other petty crimes, although his exact criminal record is also spotty at best. He had taken a job at the Louvre as a handyman of sorts, installing protective glass cases onto the valuable works of art throughout the museum. Through this gig he quickly learned the inner workings of the Louvre’s security procedures, or relative lack thereof at this point in the early 20th century.
Apparently Peruggia entered the Louvre clad in the white uniform smock worn by the other museum workers, and went virtually unnoticed despite having left his former job sometime before. Later that morning he took advantage of a completely empty hall where the Mona Lisa was hung, and simply lifted it off its iron peg moorings. He removed its protective case and frame in a service staircase, and smuggled the canvas out of the building in his smock. Not exactly a master stroke of ingenious thievery, but the simplicity of the act did the trick.
I came across other references to Peruggia having accomplices in the theft – most notably a pair of sympathetic Italian brothers – but it’s tough to verify. I find that theory doubtful, simply based on the fact that the painting’s whereabouts was kept a complete secret for the next two years amidst the daily press scrutiny on the subject. The more people in on the caper, the more likely someone is going to spill the proverbial beans at some point.
Peruggia was long gone with his prize when it was finally discovered that the Mona Lisa was missing hours later. He kept it locked in a trunk for the better part of the next two years before returning to Florence, Italy and attempting to sell it to an art gallery owner in the city. The gallery owner was immediately suspicious and contacted the authorities, who ultimately arrested Peruggia. The coppers in Paris were no doubt relieved to have this one resolved, even though they weren’t the ones to actually put the collar on the culprit. Previous arrests by the Parisian police included none other than Pablo Picasso, evidently a decent artist in his own right. I had never heard of him…
The Mona Lisa received worldwide attention when it was returned to the Louvre. Tourists began flocking to the museum over the next century to gaze upon her lovely features, although any subsequent attempts to pull off a repeat performance of the theft would be next to impossible given modern security. You’d have a better chance of breaking into the White House and making off with Joe Biden’s Epsom salts from the presidential lavatory.
Today, the Mona Lisa is housed behind temperature-controlled, bulletproof glass and under constant video surveillance. Tourists must be shuffled in using carefully-queued increments, with each group receiving a whole 30 seconds to look at her – from a very safe distance, of course. It’s estimated that 10 million people view the Mona Lisa every year, and around 30,000 every day. It’s also estimated that 80 per cent of all visitors to the Louvre are just there to see that particular painting.
As for Peruggia, he claimed that he stole the Mona Lisa for patriotic means, namely for returning her to her native Italy after becoming just another spoil of war during Napoleon’s conquest of Europe 100 years prior. In actuality, it was da Vinci himself who presented French king Francis I with the Mona Lisa as a gift 300 years before that. Whether it was ignorance or otherwise, the court went easy on him, and he only spent a mere seven months in jail for perpetrating the world’s most notorious art crime.
Thanks for reading and I’ll see you back here in a fortnight.
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This is a bi-weekly opinion column; for question or comment contact Dan McNee at dmcnee@midwesternnewspapers.com.
