How Love Turns People into Art Thieves: The Psychology Behind Infamous Heists

Adam and Eve by Georg Petel (1627) 

My first memory of stealing an object of beauty happened when I was about 5 years old. I was with my mother in our friend Frank’s beauty parlor. Yes, we called them parlors back in those days in the uncool Chicago suburbs. While Mom was getting her hair done, I sat in the waiting room, my gaze fixed on the sparkling necklace in the glass cabinet across from me.

Transfixed was more like it. I imagined the winking, ice-colored jewels were diamonds and belonged to a beautiful princess. A magnet seemed to pull me up and over to the cabinet, the glittering jewels beckoning. I reached out to touch the necklace, but the glass was in the way, so I hurried on tiptoe behind the cabinet.

To my surprise it was open in the back. I froze, What now? Then, impelled by a force beyond my control and holding my breath, I reached in and grabbed the handful of beauty. I couldn’t wait to try it on. Then I would be beautiful.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps and voices. Without another thought, I shoved the handful of precious jewels into my pants pocket, my body tingling with excitement and triumph. It’s mine, all mine! and I flew back to my seat.

I didn’t get caught until we got home, and what happened then is now a blur in my mind. I believe my parents—Mom a dutiful social worker and Dad a super-smart college professor—were kind but firm about the wrongness of what I’d done. My punishment was way worse than any kind of harsh discipline I’d ever heard about.

I had to face up to my crime. That meant I must take the necklace back and apologize to Frank. I’d rather die. How could I face him with what I had done? I adored Frank. That the jewels were only cheap rhinestones didn’t help. Even though Frank assured me of his continued affection, I couldn’t believe it. I was traumatized, and the memory of my fear, shame, and humiliation still haunts me, perhaps keeping me on the straight and narrow.

But what about those who do continue stealing? Since I became a psychologist and an artist who still loves beautiful things, I was particularly drawn to investigating those who steal some kind of art. Why do they do it? What drives them? One motive or many? Is it anything like what drove me to steal the pretty bauble as a child? I wanted to know.

Here is what I discovered:

There is no one profile of an art thief. If so, thieves might be easier to catch. People steal art for many reasons, most commonly for profit. Having studied the psychology of art crime over the past several years, I’ve been most taken with a unique breed of art thief, those rare birds who steal for the love of art and expect no profit other than personal satisfaction.

Fewer than one in a thousand thieves are driven to steal simply because of falling in love with an artwork. Their passion sometimes appears more intense than if the art were a person.

In my search for why people steal art, I found two intriguing couples and two men who appeared to fit the stealing-for-love criterion. But in these cases, the “pure love motive” was colored by one or more of the following additional motives: Obsessive Need, Protection, Prestige, and Thrill-Seeking.

These motives added depth to my understanding, much like the sparkling facets that give a diamond its depth. In four subsequent parts, I will share the stories of some fascinating, successful, and crafty art thieves, starting with the notorious French couple driven by love and obsessive need.

Part I: Obsessive Need—The Couple Who Lives for Art and Each Other

Stéphane Breitwieser and Anne-Catherine Kleinklaus were the most infamous and astonishingly successful pair of art thieves in history. In his terrific biography, The Art Thief, Michael Finkel focuses on Stéphane, the young Frenchman, as the primary thief, but Stéphane could not have carried out multiple successful thefts (300+) over 6 years in Europe (1994-2001) without the crucial aid of Anne-Catherine.

While doing my research, I became quite irritated when men—authors, police, doctors—described pairs of male and female thieves (or art forgers) and designated the man as the “real” or “more important” thief and the woman as a mere assistant, a passive follower. Give me a break.

Even the astute, psychologically savvy Finkel was guilty of this gender stereotyping. It’s a fact that each of them was equally stellar at playing his/her part of the audacious heists and deserve to be recognized as equals. (In future blogs, I plan to rant on about the continued discrediting of women in the art world. Stay tuned.)

Love, Theft, and the Symbiotic Bond Between Stéphane and Anne-Catherine

But I digress. So, Anne-Catherine worked as a nurse, the only one who provided a steady

income. Stéphane occasionally worked as a waiter, planned the crimes, and chose the art to steal. They lived rent-free in the cramped attic of his daffy, unknowing mother’s house in the Alsace region of France. Together, they amassed art worth over two billion dollars, with which they surrounded themselves in their tiny, secret museum.

He favored Renaissance art, hoarding priceless paintings like Sybille Princess of Cleves by Lucas Cranach (1526), along with small sculptures and gold and silver artifacts. Only ten inches tall, the ivory sculpture Adam and Eve by Georg Petel (1627) (see sculpture above) was among the first spellbinding artworks to set off the couple’s 6 years stealing spree. Stéphane was transfixed by the sculpture’s dazzling beauty, by “the first humans gazing at each other as they move to embrace…”

Since the couple cuddled and slept with their treasures, Stéphane frequently stroked the loving Adam and Eve in his attic bedroom. (Sounds kinky, but also seems touching.) Maybe he imagined saving them (along with himself) from Satan, who was coiled in the tree next to them.

The couple had no social life. In psychological terms, their relationship was symbiotic, bound by a fantasy of oneness and nurtured by their loving family of stolen art. I couldn’t help but think about how sad their lives must have been being so isolated and surrounded by nothing but beautiful but cold-blooded objects, a nutty mother, and each other.

The Psychology of Obsession: From Stendhal Syndrome to Childhood Wounds

Now, there is a psychology behind an obsession like this, with many contributing factors. Stéphane was a bit of a poster child for some of these. Beginning at age 24, after his authoritarian, art-collector father abandoned the family, Stéphane began stealing art. In interviews, he revealed the insight that his collecting was driven in part by hatred and competition with his abusive father, who rejected him.

He needed more and better art. He felt entitled to it, driven by a need to fill the gaping hole inside himself. In Finkel’s words, he described Stéphane “standing stunned and amazed” in front of a certain artwork and feeling “a shock of recognition, a coup de coeur.” His reaction resembled the psychiatric condition known as the Stendhal Syndrome, described by Italian psychiatrist Fraziella Magherini.

Widely reported, this syndrome is the state of being overwhelmed by beautiful art, and anyone can be affected. I’ve had a mild case or two as an adult, and this syndrome reminds me of my enraptured childhood experience with the necklace.

Bold and overly self-confident, Stéphane developed a magician’s skill at making the coveted art seem to disappear from museum walls or display cases. Heedless of the risk, he needed Ann-Catherine to judge whether and when to steal and to divert the attention of any observers. An attractive couple, dressed in classy outfits, they only robbed small museums with few people and lax guards.

When alone in the gallery or unobserved, Stéphane had learned how to quickly and silently remove artifacts from cases and walls. One technique was to copy a museum practice of putting a notice in the case, designating that an art piece had been removed for cleaning. The stolen artwork now stashed beneath Stéphane’s overcoat (or, if too large, lowered from a backroom window), the “cute couple” then strolled out of the museum’s front door, smiling and triumphant. They were never suspected.

The High Cost of Desire: Betrayal, Loss, and the Allure of Stolen Beauty

Ann-Catherine’s motivation for the thefts seemed more of a thrill-seeking addiction than a true passion for art. Her need for romantic, exciting adventure is reminiscent of Bonnie Parker, the smart partner of criminal Clyde Barrow. But as the couple aged, Ann-Catherine wanted a more conventional life with real children and friends. Stéphane, not at all.

So, Ann-Catherine bid him adieu. As soon as she withdrew from the relationship and Stéphane was left to steal on impulse without the reins of her better judgment, he was caught.

Despite losing everything and spending long periods in jail, Stéphane was never able to give up stealing art. Once freed and on his own, this addictive passion was his only remaining reason to live. To save herself from jail, Ann-Catherine denied any part in the thefts, abandoned Stéphane, and retreated to live with her parents and out-of-wedlock baby, father unknown. Loyal Stéphane refused to expose her. His vindictive, infantile mother destroyed much of her son’s treasured collection out of her fury that he loved his art more than her.

No one would risk hiring the former art thief, and Stéphane had to resort to selling pieces of his stolen art to survive. Being forced to sell the last of his art might well have been the worst loss and humiliation he endured in his tragic life, possibly worse than his lover’s and mother’s betrayal.

Due to be released from house arrest in 2031, I predict Stéphane will find his way back to his illicit love affair with art. Otherwise, he will wither away and die. Having become oddly attached to this uniquely obsessed art thief, I don’t wish to witness either outcome.

The strange case of Stéphane Brietwiser’s unusual passion for art raises the questions of the factors that make the rest of us particularly susceptible to loving art. And not just loving art in an abstract way, but what causes countless ordinary people to be so attracted to art they will spend gobs of time physically gawking at it in museums and fortunes on acquiring it? Considering my own reactions, why do I look endlessly at certain paintings, glazed-eyed with my mouth slightly agape? An observer would think me besotted or hypnotized or both.

Perhaps I am momentarily taken over by Stendahl’s Syndrome. I can relate to the desire to steal, since I felt it age 5 when I stole the necklace, and recently I’ve had the urge to grab Matisse’s Open Window and run off with it. I didn’t succumb to the urge, but my fictional hero does in my novel Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief.

A psychologist would say that this kind of “acting out” of an unacceptable wish in a culturally accepted form is called sublimation, which is considered a “high-level” defense or coping device. I’ve got that defense now. Yahoo!

But why did I resist the temptation? Is it just because I believe stealing is wrong? Or are there other reasons, like fearing being caught, fined, jailed, shamed, and forever being an outcast as Stéphane became? In my case, the stealing trauma of my childhood hovers in the background, keeping me on the straight and narrow. Or maybe I care about robbing a museum and depriving others of the uplifting experience of viewing beautiful, meaningful art?

I cling to the hope that caring about others' wishes and needs played a significant role. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be a therapist, right?

That’s our first look into the heart and soul of art thieves. Check back very soon when I post Part II of How Love Turns People into Art Thieves: The Psychology Behind Infamous Heists, where I’ll tell you all about a strikingly unusual American college professor who became known as the Robin Hood of art thievery.

Don’t forget to check out Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief, the first book in my Kate O’Dade Art Crime Series. You can find it here on Amazon and other retailers.

I’d really like to hear from you! Let me know what you think about the story of Stéphane and Ann-Catherine!

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Find out more about my novel, Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief!

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