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The Stolen Picasso

When the director of the National Art Gallery of Victoria, Patrick McGaughey, received a phone call from a newspaper reporter on 4 August 1986 telling him that the gallery’s jewel in the crown, Picasso’s Weeping Woman had been ‘kidnapped’, he could have been forgiven for thinking that it was a hoax. After all, his $2 million treasure was under safe guard in the gallery. Or was it?

Mr McGaughey most likely had a chuckle to himself when the journalist told him that he had also received a ransom note from a group calling themselves the Australian Cultural Terrorists.

But Mr McGaughey wasn’t giggling after an inspection of the gallery: the Picasso wasn’t where it should be hanging on the wall in pride of place. A search of the entire premises by staff revealed nothing.

The Picasso, which was about the same size as a newspaper, had disappeared as if by magic.

Police were called in immediately and their investigations revealed that the Picasso had gone missing sometime on the Saturday. A senior attendant of the gallery noticed on Sunday morning that the painting was missing and in its place was a sticker saying ‘Removed to ACT’. Assuming that the painting had been taken away and loaned to the National Art Gallery in Canberra, the official thought nothing of it. He would find out later the ACT stood for ‘Australian Cultural Terrorists’.

A thorough search of the gallery’s premises revealed the painting’s empty frame in the costume gallery. It seemed as though the thief had simply plucked the painting from the wall, somehow taken it to the nearby costume gallery – most likely under a coat and with the help of an accomplice – removed the painting, rolled it up and carried it out through the front door.

The fact that anyone could so simply steal such a valuable work of art made headlines around the world and the National Gallery of Victoria and its director came under savage attack from critics all over the globe, mystified as to how such a treasure could be exhibited without any apparent security.

When the contents of the ransom note were made public it made an even bigger mockery of the museum’s security. The note demanded that the Victorian Minister for the Arts, Mr Race Matthews, to whom they referred as a ‘tiresome old bag of swamp gas’, give an additional 10 per cent per annum to funding the arts and to allocate an annual $25,000 as a prize in a painting contest for budding artists under the age of 30. The annual contest and prize would become known as ‘The Picasso Ransom’.

Four days later another ransom note arrived at The Age newspaper. This one was a little more serious. ‘If our demands have not been met,’ it said in part, ‘you will begin the long process of carrying about you the smell of kerosene and burning canvas. You are gambling the state’s $2 million investment in the Picasso industry against our 20 cent investment in a box of matches.’

The note finished with uncomplimentary remarks about the Minister for the Arts and referred in part to Mr Matthews as being a ‘pompous fathead’. The following day a third letter arrived containing a burned match and more rude remarks about the minister and the director of the gallery, Mr McGaughey.

Although a prominent piece of art had been stolen, no one except the police and gallery officials seemed to be taking it seriously. The whole of Victoria and the rest of the art world thought it was a joke that the Picasso could be stolen out from under the nose of the gallery director and that such fun could be directed at the Minister of the Arts.

The Victorian police offered a $50,000 reward, and identikits of three men seen lurking near the Picasso about the time it went missing were displayed in the newspapers. Given the men in the identikits looked more like Middle Eastern terrorists than a group of art thieves, it is little wonder that no one came forward and claimed the reward.

But the fun had to end somewhere and on the night of 20 August, a little more than two weeks after the Picasso had been stolen, The Age newspaper received an anonymous call giving them a tip off as to where they may locate the painting.

On their way to Spencer Street Station police collected Patrick McGaughey and together they proceeded to the luggage room where in locker number 227 they found the missing painting wrapped in brown paper and string.

An accompanying note described the Minister for the Arts as ‘an incompetent political blimp’ and said in part ‘The people of Australia should rejoice that a theft involving less risk than shoplifting cotton hankies from David Jones was performed by a group whose first desire is to return the painting. Not that we would really expect such a sensible reaction from someone so determined to have others shoulder the blame. The responsibility is entirely yours. Good luck with your huffing and puffing, Minister, you pompous fathead. We remain your humble servants, the Australian Cultural Terrorists.’

The Picasso was proved to be the genuine article and went back on display at the National Gallery of Victoria. Only this time it was behind a thick glass barrier.

The Australian Cultural Terrorists were never caught and apparently have never re-offended.