I understand stealing food when you’re hungry. I understand stealing money when you are desperate. I understand stealing a pretty bauble when you are young and thoughtless.
I do not understand stealing art.
A couple of Sundays ago I walked up to my art fair booth. The wall was unzipped. Damn. Somebody’s been in there. It happens, but rarely. Nothing ever has been touched.
Before then. Work was off the wall and leaning against it. It hadn’t fallen, but placed. Two pieces. After examining for damage and finding none, I replaced them. Whew! Glad they liked the work and glad they left it… I thought.
A few hours later a patron asked if I had something similar to one hanging on the wall — one that was off the wall that morning — but unframed. I did… I thought.
Nope gone. I guess the thief thought it was too much trouble to steal work in a frames.
Art enriches us. Art make us think, brings us joy, inspires, questions, enlivens. My work isn’t valuable enough to resell for a profit. The thief wanted two specific pieces… both boats, strangely enough.
How can someone find joy and inspiration and peace from a piece of work that was stolen?
And no, I’m not flattered that someone wanted my art so much as to pinch it. I’m pissed. And confused. I am not gratified.
I don’t understand stealing art. I don’t think I want to.