What do you do with a stolen painting worth millions when you cannot actually sell it?
By Ama H. Vanniarachchy, Times of Lanka
It sounds like the beginning of a crime film. Yet, this is exactly the strange world of art theft. In recent months, museums in Europe have once again found themselves at the centre of this question. Four Renaissance paintings were stolen from a museum in Messina, Italy. Then came another theft in France, where two paintings by Pierre-Auguste Renoir were taken from a museum in Cagnes-sur-Mer.
The paintings are worth millions.
But their real value is far greater than their price tags. And that is what makes the theft of cultural heritage so disturbing. A famous painting is not like a diamond that can simply disappear into a jewellery box. A work by Renoir is photographed, documented, catalogued and known to museums, researchers, collectors and law-enforcement agencies around the world. The more famous the work, the more difficult it becomes to sell it openly.
So why steal it?
That is one of the great mysteries of the illegal art market.
Stolen works may be hidden away, passed through criminal networks or used for other purposes. Sometimes the thieves are not interested in displaying the work at all. They are interested in its value as an object that can be used, traded or held outside the legitimate art market.
But there is something even more important to remember. A museum does not simply contain expensive objects. It contains memory. A painting carries the hand of an artist who lived centuries ago. An ancient sword carries the story of a kingdom. A coin can tell us about a ruler, an economy or a period of history. A sculpture may preserve an artistic tradition that no longer exists. Once such an object disappears, its loss cannot always be measured in money.
Sri Lanka knows this rather well.
In 2012, 221 artefacts were stolen from the Colombo National Museum. The objects included coins, swords and other historical pieces. It was reported in the media that their estimated value was around Rs. 4.44 million. Some were recovered, some in damaged condition, while others had been destroyed. More than a decade later, the case was still unresolved, with the 2024 audit report noting that charges had not yet been filed against the accused.
But perhaps one of the most painful stories of heritage theft in Sri Lanka is much older. In 1961, the golden crown of King Rajasinghe II was stolen from the Kandy National Museum. The crown was not merely a piece of jewellery. It had a history. It was associated with the Kandyan king and had been preserved at Dodanwela Devale for centuries before being moved to the museum. After the theft, the crown was broken apart. Its gold and precious stones were removed and sold. The object itself was gone. Today, visitors to the Kandy National Museum see a replica. The original cannot be brought back. This is the cruelest thing about heritage theft.
A stolen television can be replaced. A stolen diamond can perhaps be recovered or its monetary value compensated. But how do you replace an object that has survived hundreds of years? How do you recreate the original hand of an artist? How do you replace an inscription carved by people who lived more than a thousand years ago? How do you put history back into an object once it has been destroyed?
These questions become particularly important for a country like Sri Lanka.
We live among our heritage. Ancient temples, inscriptions, sculptures, paintings, manuscripts, coins and ritual objects are not locked away in museums alone. They exist in temples, archaeological sites, private collections and communities across the country. Some are protected carefully. Others may not be. And that is why the recent European museum thefts should not be seen simply as stories about France or Italy.
They are reminders. Heritage is vulnerable. It can be stolen. It can be damaged. It can be sold. It can disappear quietly. And sometimes, we only understand what we have lost after it is gone. Perhaps that is the real lesson behind the stolen Renoirs and the Renaissance paintings.
The value of heritage is not determined by what a buyer is willing to pay.
Some things are priceless precisely because there will never be another original.