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Authors: Adrian D'Hagé
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Museum in Boston. On 18 March 1990, thieves stole thirteen priceless works that had never been recovered. In addition to the
Storm on the Sea of Galilee
and Vermeer’s
The Concert
, they made off with three other Rembrandts, including a self-portrait housed in the Dutch Room on the second floor, as well as Manet’s
Chez Tortoni
and five other masters. The FBI, Crowley knew, had spent countless hours on the case, and despite the Gardner Museum offering a reward of US $5 million for information leading to the recovery of the works, their whereabouts remained a mystery.
Crowley smiled to himself. It gave him deep satisfaction that he and he alone was able to view the only seascape Rembrandt had ever painted. Crowley never ceased to be moved by Rembrandt’s
chiaroscuro
– the artist’s use of both light and dark to create the extraordinary tension in the seventeenth-century oil on canvas. The small sailing boat, with Christ in the stern, was about to be engulfed by a huge wave, and Rembrandt had used the boat’s wind-torn mast to effectively divide the painting in two. To the left, he had captured a dramatic yellow light that shafted through the storm clouds, drenching the torn sail; but below the mast, where Christ was admonishing the disciples who were bailing desperately, Rembrandt had rendered the stern in semi-darkness, a darkness that was devoid of hope. Crowley nodded approvingly. Rembrandt had added an extra crew member, with a face bearing a striking resemblance to the artist himself, something Rembrandt occasionally included in his paintings, almost as an additional signature.
He paused at Vermeer’s masterpiece,
The Concert,
showing three figures around a piano. Valued at US $300 million, the stolen painting was the most valuable ever to disappear from public view. The paintings of Jan Vermeer, of which there were only thirty-five known to exist in the world, invited interpretation, and Crowley had sometimes wondered whether Vermeer was depicting an illicit love affair between two of the three figures by the piano. Alongside it hung JMW Turner’s 1813 work,
Landscape in Devonshire.
Oil sketches on paper by the great artist were very rare, and this was part of the proceeds of a robbery at the Leeds City Art Gallery in 1998. Turner was known as ‘the painter of light’, and Crowley never tired of studying the wonderful contrasts in the landscape. Climate change researchers from the Academy of Athens had started to examine the old masters to give them clues as to what the skies looked like before records were kept, and Turner’s work, with his astounding sunsets and use of natural light, was being used to provide an estimate of aerosol optical depth – the amount of dust, smoke, volcanic ash and sea salts in the atmosphere. This was one Turner that would not be available to them, he mused, as he moved to admire yet another of his stolen acquisitions, Vincent van Gogh’s
Poppy Flowers.
It had been painted in 1897, shortly after Van Gogh had moved to Paris from the Netherlands, and it was in Paris that Van Gogh experimented with Impressionist styles, influenced by the likes of Toulouse-Lautrec, Pissarro and Gauguin. Van Gogh began to introduce vibrant colours into his work, of which
Poppy Flowers
was one of the finest examples. Valued at US $50 million, it had been stolen from the Mohammed Mahmoud Khalil Museum in Cairo in June of 1997. Ten years later, it was recovered in Kuwait, only to be stolen again from the same museum. Now it was Crowley’s, and the authorities didn’t have a clue. Crowley allowed himself another rare smile. General Khan, he knew, wanted the painting desperately, but when Crowley had discovered it was on the black market, he had immediately offered US $5 million more and gazumped the Pakistani. Rubinstein had always been amenable to the highest bidder, although Crowley had been furious when he discovered the dealer had inadvertently given Khan a clue as to where
Poppy Flowers
might
Storm on the Sea of Galilee
and Vermeer’s
The Concert
, they made off with three other Rembrandts, including a self-portrait housed in the Dutch Room on the second floor, as well as Manet’s
Chez Tortoni
and five other masters. The FBI, Crowley knew, had spent countless hours on the case, and despite the Gardner Museum offering a reward of US $5 million for information leading to the recovery of the works, their whereabouts remained a mystery.
Crowley smiled to himself. It gave him deep satisfaction that he and he alone was able to view the only seascape Rembrandt had ever painted. Crowley never ceased to be moved by Rembrandt’s
chiaroscuro
– the artist’s use of both light and dark to create the extraordinary tension in the seventeenth-century oil on canvas. The small sailing boat, with Christ in the stern, was about to be engulfed by a huge wave, and Rembrandt had used the boat’s wind-torn mast to effectively divide the painting in two. To the left, he had captured a dramatic yellow light that shafted through the storm clouds, drenching the torn sail; but below the mast, where Christ was admonishing the disciples who were bailing desperately, Rembrandt had rendered the stern in semi-darkness, a darkness that was devoid of hope. Crowley nodded approvingly. Rembrandt had added an extra crew member, with a face bearing a striking resemblance to the artist himself, something Rembrandt occasionally included in his paintings, almost as an additional signature.
He paused at Vermeer’s masterpiece,
The Concert,
showing three figures around a piano. Valued at US $300 million, the stolen painting was the most valuable ever to disappear from public view. The paintings of Jan Vermeer, of which there were only thirty-five known to exist in the world, invited interpretation, and Crowley had sometimes wondered whether Vermeer was depicting an illicit love affair between two of the three figures by the piano. Alongside it hung JMW Turner’s 1813 work,
Landscape in Devonshire.
Oil sketches on paper by the great artist were very rare, and this was part of the proceeds of a robbery at the Leeds City Art Gallery in 1998. Turner was known as ‘the painter of light’, and Crowley never tired of studying the wonderful contrasts in the landscape. Climate change researchers from the Academy of Athens had started to examine the old masters to give them clues as to what the skies looked like before records were kept, and Turner’s work, with his astounding sunsets and use of natural light, was being used to provide an estimate of aerosol optical depth – the amount of dust, smoke, volcanic ash and sea salts in the atmosphere. This was one Turner that would not be available to them, he mused, as he moved to admire yet another of his stolen acquisitions, Vincent van Gogh’s
Poppy Flowers.
It had been painted in 1897, shortly after Van Gogh had moved to Paris from the Netherlands, and it was in Paris that Van Gogh experimented with Impressionist styles, influenced by the likes of Toulouse-Lautrec, Pissarro and Gauguin. Van Gogh began to introduce vibrant colours into his work, of which
Poppy Flowers
was one of the finest examples. Valued at US $50 million, it had been stolen from the Mohammed Mahmoud Khalil Museum in Cairo in June of 1997. Ten years later, it was recovered in Kuwait, only to be stolen again from the same museum. Now it was Crowley’s, and the authorities didn’t have a clue. Crowley allowed himself another rare smile. General Khan, he knew, wanted the painting desperately, but when Crowley had discovered it was on the black market, he had immediately offered US $5 million more and gazumped the Pakistani. Rubinstein had always been amenable to the highest bidder, although Crowley had been furious when he discovered the dealer had inadvertently given Khan a clue as to where
Poppy Flowers
might
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