Last Fall, the French Ministry of Culture took a notable step toward strengthening accountability in the museum sector by preparing a comprehensive provenance research guide for public institutions titled: Handbook for provenance research

This regulatory gap raises a pointed question: why are American taxpayers left exposed to subsidising donations of artworks that may later be shown to have been stolen or illegally exported?

The issue is not hypothetical.  When museums accept donations of art with incomplete or problematic ownership histories, their donors often benefit from substantial tax deductions based on the object's appraised value.  If those same objects are later seized or relinquished due to their problematic origin, the financial risk has already been absorbed by the American public.  In effect, its US taxpayers who have underwritten both the acquisition and the reputational fallout, while the institutions themselves face few standardised federal requirements requiring them to demonstrate that adequate provenance research was conducted prior to accepting a gifted work of art.

In the U.S., the primary federal touchpoint for donated artworks is the Internal Revenue Service, which evaluates donations almost exclusively through the lens of valuation and tax deductibility.  The IRS requires donors to substantiate fair market value and complete appraisal documentation, but it does not meaningfully assess whether an object was lawfully exported, ethically acquired, or free from claims by source countries.  As a result, the legal status of an artwork’s past is often treated as peripheral, so long as its monetary value can be justified.

France’s model suggests a different path, one in which government agencies acknowledge that provenance research is not merely an internal museum matter but a public accountability issue.  By issuing a government-backed guide, the state is taking the first steps of establishing a baseline for responsible stewardship, one which creates clearer expectations for institutions that operate with public support. Such guidance does not eliminate complex provenance questions, but it does reduce ambiguity and by doing so strengthens institutional accountability going forward. 

Advocates of due diligence in US museums can argue that similar federal guidelines in America could help protect cultural heritage, improve public confidence, and help ensure that charitable tax policies are not inadvertently rewarding the circulation of looted or illicit material.

As international scrutiny of museum collections continues to grow, the absence of U.S. federal provenance standards is increasingly difficult to justify.  France has demonstrated that government leadership in this area is both possible and practical. Whether the United States will choose to follow suit, and in doing so safeguard both cultural heritage and public funds, remains an open and increasingly urgent question.

Detail of the altarpiece of the main altar of Santa Eugenia

On the night of 17–18 July 1979, the church was targeted by thieves. Four polychrome wooden sculptures depicting the Evangelists, among them San Lucas, all attributed to Gil de Siloé, were removed from the predella and stolen along with a silver censer. The theft was later linked to René Alphonse Ghislain Van den Berghe, the notorious trafficker of sacred art known as "Erik the Belgian." 

Considered to be the greatest art thief of the 20th century, by his own admission, Van den Berghe is believed to have stolen over 600 works of religious art including altarpieces, capitals, crosses, panel paintings, carvings, tapestries, books, paintings, goldsmiths’ works, and furniture from churches and religious institution across Spain. 

That silence was broken more than forty years later when a photo of the polychrome sculpture depicting Saint Luke was recognised by the directors of Theotokopoulos Gallery María Elizari and Pedro Ramón Jiménez in sales material advertising an upcoming auction at Cambi Casa d'Aste in Genova, Italy.   Misattributed to the 20th century Italian sculptor Angelo Biancini with an unbelievably low estimated sales price. After studying the piece and determining its origins they notified the Historical Heritage Section of Spain's Civil Guard. 

Likewise, the recovery of San Lucas underscores the enduring value of paper, not just digital archival records, which can be critical in ascertaining ownership. It also serves as a reminder that safeguarding religious heritage is not merely a matter of devotion, but of vigilance, without which centuries of cultural history can vanish in a single night.

Stefan Papic on Flor Bressers' luxury yacht.

A Bosnian-Dutch national, accused of playing a key role in a major European cocaine trafficking network and suspected of laundering drug proceeds through the art world, has (finally) been extradited from Dubai to the Netherlands. 

Stefan Papić, 30, the owner of Puro Arte, an art gallery registered in both the Netherlands and Sarajevo based in Breda, was arrested in Dubai last year, but until recently his extradition appeared unlikely.  He was sought under a Belgian European Arrest Warrant (EAW) in connection with one of the country’s most high-profile organised crime and drug trafficking investigations. Conducted jointly by Belgian and Dutch authorities, that investigation focused on a network accused of importing large quantities of cocaine concealed in manganese ore shipments shipped from South America and routed to Kriva Rochem, an Antwerp-based water purification company.

Dutch and Belgian prosecutors allege that Papić is a close associate and lieutenant of the principal suspect in the Kriva Rochem investigation, Flor "De Lange" Bressers. Bressers is currently on trial with 32 defendants, including Brazilian Sergio Roberto De Carvalho charging them with for participation in a criminal organisation responsible for importing at least 16tonnes of cocaine into Europe. Originally scheduled to begin in October 2024 the complicated case has resulted in multiple delays and heated disagreements between lawyers and the court which has resulted in several motions to recusal.

The Belgian authorities consider Papić, who used the alias 'Max' on Sky ECC, to have been key in the financing, logistics and laundering of money gained from this network's cocaine trade, including via his art gallery in Breda, which is also associated with his family.  A search of said gallery, first in 2019 and later in 2020, led to the discovery of links to Edin "Tito" Gačanin, the leader of the Balkan-based Tito and Dino drug cartel named as part of a “super cartel,” run by Gačanin alongside Irish drug kingpin, Daniel Kinahan, Italian mafia boss Raffaele Imperiale, and Dutch-Moroccan trafficker, Ridouan Taghi.

The Kriva Rochem investigation has attracted intense scrutiny from law enforcement across multiple jurisdictions, with prosecutors linking the network to hundreds of millions of euros in narcotics revenue. The case has also implicated the ringleader Bressers in the alleged black-market acquisition of Two Laughing Boys with a Mug of Beer by Dutch Golden Age master Frans Hals, which was stolen on 26 August 2020 from the Hofje van Mevrouw van Aerden Museum in Leerdam.  

Papić's gallery in Breda, was searched as part of a multinational police operation looking into the alleged illegal activities and affiliates of Bosnian Dutchman Mirza Gačanin, also a member of the Tito and Dino clan, which was led by his nephew Edin "Tito" Gačanin.  Mirza has been cited as having laundering drug profits through the purchase of European real estate, including the commercial property which Papić's gallery occupied in Breda.  He was sentenced in absentia to four years in prison in December 2022 and was lature arrested in the Spanish city of Alcante on an Interpol warrant.

If proven in court, the alleged use of Papić’s art gallery as a laundering vehicle exposes both the infiltration of organised crime into the financial flows of cultural goods and the ease with which the legitimate art market can be manipulated to conceal and launder criminal proceeds.

While art crime is often associated with theft and illicit antiquities trafficking, financial investigations into high-value art transactions sometimes illustrate that money laundering is an important vector by which criminal networks can "clean" profits generated from drugs, fraud, or other predicate offences.  Given the subjective value of art, this case underscores how galleries, auctions, and private sales can provide convenient cover for lucrative transfers that are otherwise difficult to substantiate.

Left and Middle: Restituted from the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek Right: Restitute from the J. Paul Getty Museum

Paolo and Maurizio both shared with me the chillingly coded language used by American dealer Bob Hech when discussing the delivery of "children" by his associate Fritz Bürki in a letter written to Mogens Gjødesen, the Copenhagen museum's director from 1970 to 1978. 

Left:  Antefix recovered from London Right: Antefix found at excavations conducted in 1938-39 at the Campetti di Veio, collection of Villa Giulia

Elsa Bloch-Diener (1922-2012), Bern, 1975 (Antike Kunst, no. 113).

Private Collection, Switzerland, acquired from the above, 1975; 

thence by descent to the current owner.

This week's theft at the Zilvermuseum Doesburg represents a troubling example of how cultural institutions, particularly smaller museums, are increasingly vulnerable to targeted criminal activity. In an early morning burglary, two offenders gained access to the museum, located in a suspended gallery inside the historic 13th-century Martinikerk or Gret Church in the heart of Doesburg since June 2021. 

The burglars gained entry at 4:30 am on Wednesday morning through the church tower entrance. Using a crowbar, they forced open two doors before breaking their way into all fourteen display cases in the gallery.  IN and out in a matter of minutes, they stole the entirety of the museum's displayed antique silver, totalling hree hundred handcrafted objects from more than twenty countries, handcrafted between 1700 and 1920.

From an art crime perspective, the efficiency and scale of the theft strongly suggest planning rather than opportunism. The thematic collection, assembled over decades by Martin de Kleijn, consisted of hundreds of silver objects, many of the mustard pots highlighting the fact that the city has been a producer of the condiment since the 15th century. While individually modest in market value, taken together the collection represented a coherent body of cultural material whose worth far exceeded its melt value.

What makes this case particularly instructive is the likely fate of the stolen objects. Unlike high-profile artworks that can be circulated in illicit but recognisable markets, antique silver presents a different criminal calculus. Rising bullion prices have made silver an increasingly attractive target, and criminal networks are well aware that such objects can be rapidly broken down, melted, or fragmented to facilitate resale. Once reduced to raw material, the cultural, historical, and evidentiary value of the objects is permanently lost.

This pattern has been observed repeatedly in recent years. Thieves targeting museums are often not seeking to traffic identifiable works but to extract material value quickly, eliminating the risk associated with selling recognisable stolen heritage. For collections like that of the Zilvermuseum, this reality makes recovery unlikely once the objects leave the premises, unless sufficient evidence can be gathers to tie the thieves to the crime before deconstruction can occur.

The Doesburg theft is not an isolated incident. As discussed already on ARCA's blog, across Europe museums have experienced a rise in both overnight burglaries and rapid daytime thefts involving items which can be broken down for the sum of their parts. In many cases, offenders exploit predictable security routines, limited visitors and staffing, or historic buildings that were never designed to address violent, and fast acting criminals. Smaller institutions are particularly exposed, as they often lack the resources for advanced surveillance, physical reinforcement, or round-the-clock monitoring.

Recent cases demonstrate that speed is central to contemporary museum crime. Criminals frequently remain on site for only minutes, focusing on specific objects that can be removed quickly. The objective is not long-term concealment but rapid conversion into cash through illicit channels.

The theft from Zilvermuseum Doesburg underscores a growing gap between the responsibilities placed on museums and the financial resources available to protect collections. While large institutions face public scrutiny when security fails, smaller museums suffer losses that can be existential. Entire collections, as was this case in the city of Doesburg the were built through personal dedication and community support, can disappear overnight.

From an art crime prevention standpoint, this case reinforces the need for a reassessment of how cultural property risk is evaluated. Material-based collections, particularly those composed of precious metals, now face heightened threat levels. Preventive strategies must account not only for theft intended for resale as art, but for destruction motivated by commodity markets.

The loss in Doesburg is therefore not only a local tragedy. It is a clear signal of how cultural heritage crime continues to adapt, prioritising speed, anonymity, and irreversible loss. Without coordinated investment, intelligence sharing, and tailored security strategies, similar collections elsewhere are likely to face the same fate.

They headed directly to the East Asian gallery, where this exceptional piece, produced in the imperial workshops of Jingdezhen, in southern China stood in a glass display case.  Despite a double alarm system that activated and triggered the standard response from security staff, the intruders were in and out of the building in roughly six minutes, taking only this singular jar from its pedestal and leaving the rest of the collection untouched.  By the time local police, alerted by the guarding team, arrived, the burglars and their prize were already gone. 

For Mariemont, it was the first theft of this kind. For museum security specialists, the modus operandi looked uncomfortably familiar. Since 2010, museums in England, Sweden, Norway, the Netherlands and Germany have suffered targeted thefts of high-value Chinese ceramics, often in fast, well-organised raids against a single masterpiece or a small group of objects. 

Ransom, Roubaix and a police sting

The story might have ended there, with a masterpiece disappearing into a private collection, if the thieves had not tried to cash in on their prize. In the weeks after the burglary, the museum was reported received a ransom demand of 2 million euros in exchange for the safe return of the jar. 

Belgian and French police, already cooperating on the case, used the demand to set up a sting operation. Investigators from the French Brigade de recherche et d'intervention and the brigade de répression du banditisme in Lille worked with their Belgian counterparts to organise a fake handover in Roubaix, in northern France. On 28 May 2024 the undercover officer travelled to a small parking area, apparently alone and carrying a bag that was supposed to contain the ransom money. 

When two young men arrived by car to collect the bag, they found themselves surrounded within seconds by dozens of plain-clothes officers. At almost the same moment, police recovered the wine jar a short distance away and arrested additional suspects from France and Belgium. In total, multiple individuals, several already known to law enforcement, were taken into custody. The jar’s lid had been damaged during the theft, but the object itself had survived. 

For the museum, the recovery was described as an “unbelievable” outcome and a near-miraculous success, given the value, rarity and recognisability of the piece. 

Monday's Charleroi court decision

On 12 January 2026, the Tribunal correctionnel de Charleroi delivered its judgment in the Mariemont case. Nine of the ten defendants prosecuted in connection with the theft and ransom plot were convicted and received prison sentences ranging from 18 months with suspension to 4 years of effective imprisonment. 

The court recognised the organised nature of the operation. The thieves had entered by force in the middle of the night, gone straight to a unique object classed as a cultural treasure, and then attempted to extort a multimillion-euro ransom. The pattern matched the broader trend identified by police and cultural heritage experts: structured criminal groups targeting specific items, in this case Chinese imperial ceramics, in museums. 

The Fédération Wallonie-Bruxelles, as owner of the museum and the jar, joined the proceedings as a civil party. It sought 22 million euros in damages, reflecting both the market value of the Ming masterpiece and the harm caused by the damage to the object during the theft as well as staff costs.  The court, however, granted only a provisional award of one euro, noting that the community would need to provide more detailed expert evidence to quantify the exact extent of the damage to such a rare and almost incomparable work. 

The tribunal did, however, accept that the jar had indeed suffered harm as a result of the crime. In addition, the court awarded compensation for material losses, costs linked to replacement staff during sick leave, and moral damages suffered by two guards and the museum director, whose professional and personal lives were directly affected by the burglary. 

The Fédération now has the option to develop a fuller damages case, supported by conservation assessments and comparative valuation, if it wishes to return to court.

A case that resonates beyond one museum

The Mariemont burglary is more than a spectacular “vase heist” with a satisfying police sting at the end. It sits within a troubling pattern in which museums holding Asian ceramics, especially Ming and Qing dynasty wares, have become targets by organised groups who know exactly what to take and how quickly to get out. 

Other recent museum thefts with similar modus operandi have been recorded, including at the Keramiekmuseum Princessehof in Leeuwarden in February 2023, the Museum für Ostasiatische Kunst Köln in Cologne in September 2023, and the Musée National Adrien Dubouché in September 2025. 

The case also underlines the vulnerability of small and medium-sized institutions that hold objects of global importance. Mariemont’s Ming jar is not just a Belgian treasure, but one of a handful of such imperial pieces in Western collections. Its theft and partial damage show how much is at stake in a matter of minutes when a museum is treated as a soft target for high-value crime. 

Finally, the Charleroi judgment illustrates an unresolved tension in cultural heritage crime: courts can and do punish the perpetrators, but calculating meaningful compensation for damage to unique works remains extremely difficult. No insurance payment or civil award can fully restore a sixteenth century imperial jar to its pre-theft condition. That difficulty does not reduce the responsibility of criminals who treat cultural property as a commodity, but it complicates how legal systems adjudicate the true cost of their actions.

In Mariemont, the jar will eventually return to display, accompanied by a new chapter in its history: five centuries of imperial banquets, a century in a Belgian collection, six minutes in the hands of thieves and, thanks to careful police work and a recent court decision, a second life as a case study in how fragile and how resilient cultural heritage can be.

 By Lynda Albertson

Today, two extraordinary Roman bronze genre statues, each depicting a young toddler leaning forward with open arms pursuing a partridge were formally presented at the Museo Arqueológico Nacional having been relinquished voluntarily back to Spain by the collector who purchased them and voluntarily return to Spain.  The little girls, leaning forward with open arms and splayed fingers, stretching toward a bird that is just out of reach were forged somewhere between the1st century BCE and the early 1st century CE.  

In 2012, Christie’s had announced their sale, estimating a purchase price of between $3-5 Million USD, and listing the artefacts as coming from a "private collection, the owner’s family having acquired them from renowned Swiss collector Giovanni Züst in the 1960s, whose collection formed the nucleus of Basel’s famed Antikensammlung."  

Züst, (Basel 1887 - Rancate 1976) was an important collector not only of paintings but also of ancient objects and is most well known for having donated 600 objects of Etruscan and Greek art to the Swiss museum.   

That ownership narrative however proved to be categorically false. 

Christie's purchased the bronzes in a private transaction for $3 million and then sold them on to a collector. Two years after the initial Christie's publicity, the striking pair were loaned to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and given temporary accession number: L.2014.38.3a, b.  

But by 2023 the truth about the pair's murky origins began to publically unravel in published reports regarding an acquittal in Lugano, Switzerland on charges of fraud, and subsequently embezzlement, for a suspicious transaction.  

At the centre of that dispute were the two ancient bronze figures, whose origins were hotly contested by a then 51-year-old Swiss man from Mendrisiotto and an 80-year-old Italian already noted for crimes related to the illicit trafficking of cultural property, as well as looting and smuggling. 

The Swiss defendant claimed the bronzes had belonged to his family for generations, while the private prosecutor, alleged that the bronzes were found by his grandfather on land in Spain with prosecutors suggesting the most likely scenario was that the pair of bronzes came from an archaeological site in Spain near the accuser’s residence and were then transported abroad without authorisation.

Between 2006 and 2007, photos taken at the accuser’s house in Spain documented the poor condition of the two bronzes, showing them in need of conservation.  This  negates the credibility of the 1960s Swiss collector Giovanni Züst ownership narrative which was presented to the auction house. The artefacts were subsequently handed over to the Italian for restoration and later circulated through London as well as Ticino, Switzerland, before ultimately making their way into the hands of Christie's collector who loaned them to the New York museum.

The private accuser in the Swiss case claimed false documents were prepared asserting that the bronzes were family heirlooms and even concocting the fictitious association with the renowned Swiss collector.  When half of the sale proceeds were not paid as agreed, the accuser filed his complaint in the Swiss courts in 2018.

As the case wound its way from the lower court to the Court of Criminal Appeals, the prosecutor in the case voiced his doubts about the origin stories exchanged between the warring parties, stating: "It is hardly credible that there are no family photos (of the 51-year-old, ed.) showing the two bronzes, much less expert opinions if his ancestors were indeed art collectors. Even more unusual, not to say absurd, that two statues worth millions of dollars were exchanged in the parking lots of a shopping center (between the two defendants, ed.)."

All of this ultimately worked to the advantage of investigators. Spain’s Historical Heritage Brigade and the Central UDEV (Specialized Violent Crime Unit) of the Policía Nacional, supported by the Spanish Embassy in Switzerland, the Ministry of Culture’s Subdirectorate of Registers and Documentation of Historical Heritage, the National Archaeological Museum and the Customs department of the AEAT, concluded that the bronzes had been looted from Spain between 2007 and 2008, and were part of a illicit trafficking and money laundering scheme that has impacted Spain for almost two decades.

With collaboration of Homeland Security Investigations, the toddlers were officially announced today during a handover ceremony at the Museo Arqueológico Nacional, attended by members of the National Police, the head of the Central Unit for Specialized and Violent Crime, José Ángel González, and representatives of the Ministry of Culture. The bronzes will now enter the national collection, where they can be studied and appreciated by the public rather than hidden behind false pedigrees. 

Yet their journey also stands as a stark reminder that cultural property crime is far from a relic of the past. Spain’s archaeological heritage continues to face real and persistent threats from looting networks, forged provenances and the international market’s willingness to profit from high-value objects with only cursory due diligence, ignoring thin or implausible histories. Recoveries like this one are true victories, but they also highlight how much work remains to ensure that cultural heritage is protected, not commodified, and that the stories buried beneath the soil of source countries are not erased for private gain.

By:  Lynda Albertson

Author: Penelope Jackson

Publisher: Monash University Publishing, Clayton, Victoria, 2025

Reviewer: Dr Vicki Oliveri, Australian-based Art Crime Researcher

Penelope Jackson's use of the word ‘unseen’ as the main title of her new book is a clever descriptor to employ, as it captures various aspects of art history and art crime in Australia where knowledge gaps exist. Each chapter explores these gaps and provides pertinent details that too often are left out, not only in the backstory of an artwork and art crime, but also in their present status. Jackson further enriches these details by analysing why such gaps exist.

In Chapter One, “An Exhibition of Missing Art”, Jackson presents us with a collection of missing (and still to be recovered) artworks. Included in this “exhibition” is what she dubs the “inaugural ‘known’ theft” [in 1926] from the National Gallery of Victoria (NGV) – The Gentle Shepherd, by Scottish artist Sir David Wilkie (p. 12). In this chapter, Jackson makes the important observation that in Australia, “while some missing artworks are acknowledged, others are not. There’s no right answer, or definitive rule, about how to deal with acknowledging missing artworks” (p. 11). As is her style throughout this book, Jackson explores the backstories of this and the other missing artworks, as well as analysing the many aspects of the term ‘missing’ itself.

In Chapter Two, “Artnapping and Recovering Art”, when recounting well-known art thefts, Jackson goes beyond the usual re-telling and delves a bit deeper. For example, with the 1986 theft of Picasso’s Weeping Woman from the NGV she tries to understand what the fascination is with this particular heist (p. 36). The Weeping Woman was recovered but, as Jackson rightly points out, “so often a work’s theft and recovery are not acknowledged by the gallery” (71). As this chapter highlights, it’s not only the missing works that are “unseen” but also details about them.

Copies of artworks can also fall into the category of ‘unseen” too, as discussed in Chapter Three’s “A Mania for Copies”. In a world of art forgeries, it is refreshing to read about the place of legitimate copies of art and their role in Australian art and cultural history. Here we read about famed copies such as the ubiquitous Portrait of Queen Elizabeth II (1954) by William Dargie, also known as The Wattle Portrait, in reference to the yellow ballgown worn by the Queen. Then there is the Australian public’s obsession with William Holman Hunt’s The Light of the World. The replica that went on tour in Australia was painted in the period 1900 – 1904 and it is estimated that four million people came out to see it (p.85). Many saw the painting “several times” and, as Jackson notes, with a national population of five million at the time, the visitor numbers were indicative of “an incredible event and achievement, demonstrating the popular taste for the subject matter and style of art” (p. 85). Copies have since fallen out of favour with few remaining on display and, over time, copies “can be passed off as authentic artworks” (pp 103-104). This is why provenance research is vital, to help distinguish authentic works from any replicas or intentional fraudulent art.

Chapter Four’s “In Verso” tackles cases of fraudulent art through the lens of the artwork’s verso. It is, in a sense, the backstory of the back-of-a-painting’s story. The details noted on the back of an artwork, and those that aren’t, can provide evidence to “help establish and confirm a work’s provenance” (p. 106). Focusing on the verso is a creative and intriguing method of exploring these cases of art crime.

When it comes to art crime Jackson notes that “Every country has a Dobell” (p.138). She is, of course, referring to the famed Australian artist William Dobell, known (amongst other things) for his Archibald Prize winning portraits of Margaret Olley and Joshua Smith. In her research, Jackson has noted that Dobell’s works have “regularly been at the forefront of illegal behaviour” (p.138), so much so that she devotes the whole of Chapter Five to him – “Stealing Dobell”. In this chapter, Jackson chronicles twenty cases (!) involving Dobell, many not well-known, if at all.

With so many art crimes remaining unsolved, it’s not surprising that the available data on the extent of this criminal activity is hard to come by. Jackson addresses the challenges of data collection, such as the way art crime is classified by Australian criminal law, but she takes the topics of ‘numbers’ a lot further in Chapter Six – “Painting by Numbers”. Money talks so yes, the chapter does begin with monetary value of artworks which so often dominates the headlines (such as the National Gallery of Australia purchasing Jackson Pollack’s Blue Poles in 1973 for a record $1.3M) but, as Jackson notes, “Art historians have traditionally shied away from including monetary information in their narratives” (p. 179). This chapter covers a variety of areas, from the ‘numbers’ provided by art sales, to what is meant by the term “prolific” (a word artists are often tagged with), to acknowledging the role data and statistics can make in “redressing the imbalances of individual artists, and group of artists, as the subject of exhibitions or being represented in collections” (p.199) – trying to make the unseen, seen.

Finally, in Chapter Seven, “Damaged Goods”, Jackson profiles a number of artworks that have been damaged by accident, vandalism, theft, fires, and natural disasters, and how an “object’s status can change irrevocably when damaged, regardless of how good its restoration is” (p. 218). Cases include the devastating destruction caused by the unprecedented level of flooding in Lismore in 2022. Despite staff following their Disaster Plan, Lismore Regional Art Gallery suffered terrible losses, where the “final tally saw 60% of the collection deemed unsalvageable” (p.226). This has understandably led to questions being asked about the efficacy of Disaster Plans and the locations of cultural institutions (p. 227). The chapter also looks at the rise of activism which garners attention through vandalising art.

By adopting a holistic narrative approach, that goes beyond the typical finish line of other historical accounts of art crime, this book becomes an exemplar on how to write a full history of an art crime, and the life of an artwork itself. And for those new to art crime Jackson provides definitions throughout the book of the different types of crimes committed against art, including unpacking the tricky terms 'fraud'; and 'forgery'; and their application in Australian criminal law. There is also a handy glossary.

Overall, this book is such a good read because, along with the themes and backstories developed in this book, Jackson rewards the reader with lots of art-historical gems scattered throughout the text. For example, the serendipitous way in which she came across an unfamiliar colonial artist, Eliza Blyth, who created beautiful botanical artworks but who has all but been forgotten (pp.25-26). Then there is poignant case of a stolen Albert Namatjira painting, Areyonga Paddock, James Range (1957) which he had gifted to the girls at the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls. A plaque had been attached to the painting’s frame noting that it had been presented to the girls there. Sadly, although the painting was recovered, the plaque was missing, which caused the former residents significant hurt (pp 70-71). Then you have the curious case of the nineteenth century painting Chloé, by Jules Joseph Lefebvre, which suffered numerous attacks and eventually became a “landmark of Melbourne’s urban history” (pp. 223).

In the book’s “Afterword” Jackson writes that by discussing the backstories of artworks she hopes “to have opened up new ways of looking at Australian art” (p. 254). She has more than succeeded in doing just that. Unseen: Art and Crime in Australia is an important and welcomed addition to the growing canon of Art Crime texts.