Random
“…so thieves, sirs, you are imbeciles, now return them.”
This, from the AP, via NPR:
A lone thief stole five paintings possibly worth more than half a billion dollars, including major works by Picasso and Matisse, in a brazen overnight heist at a Paris modern art museum, police and prosecutors said Thursday.
[…]
The director of the neighboring modern art museum Palais de Tokyo, Pierre Cornette de Saint-Cyr, called the thief or thieves “fools.”
“You cannot do anything with these paintings. All countries in the world are aware, and no collector is stupid enough to buy a painting that, one, he can’t show to other collectors, and two, risks sending him to prison,” he said on LCI television.
“In general, you find these paintings,” he said. “These five paintings are unsellable, so thieves, sirs, you are imbeciles, now return them.”
The assumption here, of course, is that the thieves would want to sell the work. Maybe they just wanted the paintings for their living room? Maybe they just wanted to steal them, to see if they could? Such an act of daring, commodified. Shame.
What’s your fantasy heist?
I sincerly doubt these paintings were stolen for reasons other than financial gain. Of course they can be sold. Nothing of value is unsellable.
I would like to steal a quantity of food so ridiculous I could never burrow through it. In high school a friend and I fulfilled a weekly social studies requirement to summarize news articles from major papers by serializing the adventures of a lone masked thief who would enter the pizza shops of the Midwest with a demand for “all the roni.” I wouldn’t mind if life circumstances conspired to turn me into that very thief.
I might also enjoy traveling back in time and snagging all these Atari cartridges (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atari_video_game_burial) before they were buried to that I could pave a street downtown with them overnight, or create a fort in the hall of my apartment.
i have always fantasized about stealing walt disney’s cryogenic head after i learned it was locked away in an ice jar.
or at least write a book or make a movie about stealing it.
it would look really good in my bathroom.
This is nuts. I have this image of art thieves huddling in a tiny apartment somewhere, handling their stolen goods very delicately so as to not destroy the art (and thus its value).
Seems like paintings of such value would be more heavily guarded.
I would buy that book.
I would graverob the stilleto spiked in Bertolt Brecht’s heart, give it to the woman with the baby Leg in Baby Leg to make her hop-clopping about an easier and classier affair, then chase her around with a hard spraying pressure blast fire hose until she put down the axe and showed me where the brandy was in this damn dry dream.
I sincerly doubt these paintings were stolen for reasons other than financial gain. Of course they can be sold. Nothing of value is unsellable.
I would like to steal a quantity of food so ridiculous I could never burrow through it. In high school a friend and I fulfilled a weekly social studies requirement to summarize news articles from major papers by serializing the adventures of a lone masked thief who would enter the pizza shops of the Midwest with a demand for “all the roni.” I wouldn’t mind if life circumstances conspired to turn me into that very thief.
I might also enjoy traveling back in time and snagging all these Atari cartridges (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atari_video_game_burial) before they were buried to that I could pave a street downtown with them overnight, or create a fort in the hall of my apartment.
i have always fantasized about stealing walt disney’s cryogenic head after i learned it was locked away in an ice jar.
or at least write a book or make a movie about stealing it.
it would look really good in my bathroom.
The Pynchon archive in Texas?
This is nuts. I have this image of art thieves huddling in a tiny apartment somewhere, handling their stolen goods very delicately so as to not destroy the art (and thus its value).
Seems like paintings of such value would be more heavily guarded.
I would buy that book.
I would graverob the stilleto spiked in Bertolt Brecht’s heart, give it to the woman with the baby Leg in Baby Leg to make her hop-clopping about an easier and classier affair, then chase her around with a hard spraying pressure blast fire hose until she put down the axe and showed me where the brandy was in this damn dry dream.
The Pynchon archive in Texas?