I Was Captivated: A Guest Post by Michael Finkel
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to follow your deepest, wildest obsessions, even to the point of danger? Author Michael Finkel’s account of infamous criminal Stéphane Breitweiser in The Art Thief is a gripping true-crime narrative that follows the story of how Breitweiser allowed his obsessions to consume him, resulting in the theft of priceless art. Read on to hear about Michael’s motivation to write about this peculiar thief in his exclusive essay, down below.
Catch Michael’s conversation with guest host Allie Ludlow on our Poured Over podcast.
Paperback $18.00
The Art Thief: A True Story of Love, Crime, and a Dangerous Obsession (B&N Exclusive Edition)
The Art Thief: A True Story of Love, Crime, and a Dangerous Obsession (B&N Exclusive Edition)
Paperback $18.00
This is the stranger-than-fiction true story of Stéphane Breitweiser’s infamous and incredible career as — you guessed it — one of the world’s most notorious art thieves.
This is the stranger-than-fiction true story of Stéphane Breitweiser’s infamous and incredible career as — you guessed it — one of the world’s most notorious art thieves.
I admit it: almost every time I’m in a museum, standing before an enchanting work, I have an irrepressible thought. How great would it be to hang this in my bedroom? I savor the fantasy for a moment, then move on.
This is why, when I first read about the French art thief Stéphane Breitwieser, in the online edition of a European newspaper back in 2012, I was captivated. Breitwieser seemed to have fulfilled my museum fantasy, hundreds of times over. Starting in the 1990s, he’d stolen some 300 artworks worth an estimated total of $2 billion. And rather than trying to sell the art, Breitwieser displayed them in the attic rooms of his mother’s house, a secret treasure trove where he also lived with his girlfriend and accomplice, Anne-Catherine Kleinklaus.
The flip side of such a fantasy is that it’s completely illegal. Breitwieser was imprisoned at the time, so I mailed him a letter, via the jail, explaining that I was a long-time journalist who was deeply curious about his life story.
More than two years passed before Breitwieser, no longer jailed, sent me a brief reply. In the time between our letters, I had moved, along with my wife and three children, from the United States to France, an adventure that had nothing to do with art crime and everything to do with immersing ourselves in another culture and language. Breitwieser’s response, which he mailed to the U.S., was sent back across the Atlantic to our address in France by a friend who was collecting our mail.
We exchanged more letters, and finally, half a decade after my first note, Breitwieser agreed to meet for lunch, though just informally, without my notebook or recorder. I took the train to the Alsace region of France, and we met at a restaurant. Breitwieser was a fascinating storyteller, morally depraved and vainglorious – catnip for a crime reporter. But I was unsure if he’d tolerate my plans for writing about him, including spending a lot of time together, on the record, for which Breitwieser would neither be paid nor have editorial control.
Another year passed before Breitwieser agreed to cooperate. We drove together to a museum from which he had stolen one of his favorite pieces, an ivory sculpture of Adam and Eve. To prevent being spotted and possibly detained by museum officials, he disguised himself with fake glasses and a baseball cap pulled low.
As we approached the museum, I felt a jumble of concern and excitement. Would one of the most prolific art thieves in history really explain his stealing methods? Might he actually steal something? Would I have to call the police on him? I had no idea what to expect, but as we walked in, I did know one thing – no matter what happened, the twisted story of Stéphane Breitwieser was going to be the subject of my next book.
