The Theft of Art's Heart

Yes, it was perfect after all – the wall was complete. It wasn’t just any wall, but a canvas of reflection, dotted with 15 mirrors, each a portal to another time, another soul, each swathed in its own tale. And at the heart of this constellation was a mesmerising gold and black painting. It had filled the void that had been there for many years and now silently commanded the room as if it had been there all along. It was finally in its place. It wasn’t what Maxine had expected it would be; it was even better. 

***

From the moment Maxine laid eyes on the painting, an inexplicable pull compelled her; she knew it had to be hers. She first saw it during one of the gallery’s monthly night openings a few months ago. She noticed it from afar and walked to it slowly, entranced. It was bathed in hues of gold and black, an intricate dance of juxtaposed materials: leaves intertwined with paint, the vibrant red of sindoor pigment clashing artfully with the subtle shimmer of silicon carbide, all held together by the warmth of beeswax and the unmistakable texture of repurposed silk screen. 

The painting had a profound and inexplicable impact on Maxine. It made her feel like she was floating, suspended in a space where time converged; her past mingled with her present while visions of her future flickered like distant stars. The experience made her heart ache and yet soothed her at the same time. Without realising it, her fingers were tracing the lines of the painting, until she got a stern talking-to from the elderly lady keeping watch. 

Maxine struggled making decisions at the best of times. It wasn’t that she was indecisive, it was just that considering all the options took a lot of time. And if you didn’t consider all the options, how could you know you’ve chosen the best one? This was why, at the age of 38, she was going through her third career change and was still sure whether she really wanted to be a software developer. But when she saw the painting, she immediately knew that she had finally found the missing piece. There was only ever a question of how to acquire it, rather than if – one of the rare times she was able to make a quick and unchanging decision. 

“I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s Wellington, after all. We can probably just grab it and greet the staff as we walk out with it. Easy as,” Irma proclaimed, lounging on the eclectic yellow couch that dominated Maxine’s small city centre apartment. “They might even offer to help us with it.”

Irma and Maxine had met on a dating app a few years ago, but there wasn’t any chemistry between them, at least not from Maxine’s side. They had, however, become close friends. 

“Lol, Wellington is chill, but not that chill,” Maxine replied. She always said ‘lol’ as if it were a real word, gentle sarcasm in her tone. “No, what we need,” she continued, her eyes locked onto Irma’s, her tone suddenly serious, “is the ultimate plan to pull this off.”

Irma decided to play along. “Okay, Ms Evil. Then we could go at night, break in and grab it, robber-style?”

“And you don’t think that the City Gallery will have at least some security?”

“I guess… why don’t you just buy it?” Irma asked. She had started wondering whether Maxine was actually serious. 

“You think I didn’t consider that? You know I couldn’t afford it. But anyway, it doesn’t matter; it isn’t for sale for some reason.”

“Okay, but the artist… doesn’t it feel wrong?”

“Yes, but I have no choice. I’ll find a way to repay the artist one day. But for now, I just have to get my hands on it! It needs to go on my wall.” 

“Okay,” Irma said tentatively, “So what’s the plan then?”

“Well, I know someone who works at the Archives building and he said he could help me get the plans for the gallery. Then we can study all the entrances and exits, identify the weak points. In the meantime, we have to visit the gallery a few more times to check out the security and so on. Let’s go separately. And remember, don’t be suspicious!”

“No kidding!”

“Just saying. Anyway. We’re doing this? You’re with me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. You know I’ve always got your back, M,” Irma said, her tone softer, more earnest than before. There was a vulnerability and a yearning in her gaze that Maxine had gotten used to and learned to ignore for the sake of them both. She didn’t want to hurt Irma, nor did she want to end the friendship.  

“Then we need to figure out how to get in,” Maxine mused. “So, we’d need to break the lock and deal with alarms…. Could get complicated.”

“Hmm, actually, my cousin’s a tradie. Quite good with such things. He’s a bit of a snitch though, so we’ll need to be careful,” Irma said. 

“But you know, maybe your earlier idea wasn’t so bad after all. What if we go during the day, create a distraction, and then take the painting and walk out. It’s not that big after all.”

“Yeah, to be honest, somehow I think that would be better than involving my cousin and having to break in and all that. Less conspicuous and risky.” 

“Okay… making progress. So we need a distraction. Any ideas?”

“I could fake some kind of medical emergency?”

“Yeah, that could work! Maybe like a seizure or something?”

Irma nodded. 

“You know what else,” Maxine continued. “We need a forged painting to replace mine, so that it’s not as noticeable. It will buy us time.”

“Already yours, huh? Okay, why don’t you work on that, as you’re more artistically inclined, and I’ll get the emergency sorted. Do you think you’d be able to get close enough to the original?”

“Well, probably not… but I think we just need something of similar size and colour. It’s just so they don’t immediately notice the gap in the wall. Oh, something else, until when is the exhibition?”

“Oh, I checked – don’t worry, we have plenty of time.”

***

For the next few weeks, while Irma researched ways to make it look like she was having a seizure and sorting other logistics, Maxine worked tirelessly on the replica painting. First, she sourced all the necessary materials. Then she went to the gallery every day, sitting on the bench facing the painting to copy it down, made notes, and took pictures. She kept working until she deemed it as close to the original as possible.  

Maxine found the process of copying the painting more enjoyable than she had expected. As she mixed colours and experimented with different materials, long buried memories began to resurface. She remembered endless late nights during her teens, canvas sprawled in front of her, the world dead to her as she lost herself in her art. Back then, painting was her refuge, a way to express emotions she otherwise couldn’t. She was coming to grips with her identity, faced bullying at school, and had a challenging relationship with her parents. But after her brother’s suicide, the joy she found in painting vanished overnight. The grief was too heavy, the colours too dull, and her inspiration lost in the shadow of his absence. She never picked up a brush again, until the day she started copying this painting.  

***

After weeks of preparation, scouting, and worrying over every possible scenario, the day had finally come. They had chosen a busy time and day to maximise the impact of the diversion and provide cover for escape. Maxine walked into the gallery wearing a hat that would ensure her face wasn’t visible on any security cameras. 

She felt a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach as they approached the gallery, and it seemed as if the giant hand on the roof was beckoning them. The piece would finally be hers and her wall would be complete. 

“You ready? You know what to do, right?” Maxine asked Irma. 

“Yup. I go into the other exhibition room, do my thing, and when you hear the commotion, you’ll replace the painting and slowly head for the exit. I’ll meet you at your place later.”

“Yes, and they won’t think it’s weird that I’m walking out with the painting, as I’ve been carrying this black suitcase in here for the past few weeks every day. We’ve got this!”

But when Maxine walked into the exhibition room, she could immediately sense that something was amiss. As she turned to the wall where the painting should have hung, her heart sank. There was nothing there except a small notice: “Exhibition ended. We thank our visitors for their patronage.” She stood frozen in disbelief. All this work, the preparation, was for nothing. But Irma had checked the date; they still had time! How had she allowed her obsession to blind her to something so fundamental? Why hadn’t she double checked it? 

Maxine grabbed Irma and they quickly walked out of the building before conferring. 

“What happened, M?”

“It’s gone, Irma, it’s over. The exhibition ended. I thought you checked?” she asked with tears in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I did check. I, uh, lied. I didn’t want you to get in trouble! Sorry! Please don’t be angry.”

“What? Why would you do that! We wasted all this time.”

“I’m sorry, Max, it’s just… it was so much fun spending all this time with you, and you seemed to enjoy making the replica so much… I was just afraid something will go wrong. Maybe… it’s for the best, you know? Do you think you would have actually gone through with it? 

“I don’t know. Not sure I had it in me, to be honest. But now I just feel so empty… I really needed that painting.”

“I get it, but everything will be okay, really.” Irma enveloped her in a tight embrace, tracing comforting circles on her back. 

“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this,” Maxine said. “You probably did the right thing.”

“We had fun though, right? Can you believe it, we were almost art thieves! Let’s go back to yours and drink some tea, okay?”

***

Back at her apartment, Maxine sank into her couch. She gazed at the replica, a mirror not of form but of essence. 

“Wow,” Irma said. “It’s quite something. It actually looks quite different to the original but like in a good way.”

“Thanks. I know it’s not perfect and nobody will ever want to put it in a gallery, but it’s... mine, you know? Perhaps that makes it even better? I worked on this for weeks, I know what went into it.”

“What is perfect, though?” Irma asked. 

It dawned on Maxine then that perhaps this was the piece that truly belonged in the void on her living room wall. It was not just a copy; it was her own masterpiece. 

Hanging the painting in its destined spot, Maxine stepped back, a sense of peace settling over her. It was in this moment of reflection that she discovered not the artist on the wall, but the one within. The true journey was not one of possession but of creation, the realisation that in seeking to capture beauty, she had unwittingly birthed it, and that was a far greater treasure than she had ever hoped to steal. Her painting, imperfect as it was in its mimicry, was however perfect in its truth – a testament not to the art of theft, but to the theft of art’s heart. In this revelation, Maxine found not just peace, but herself.