You have to give it to these thieves for guts. Even if the idea of selling this Henry Moore sculpture for scrap is a travesty (and the bronze alone can't possibly be worth 5.3 million dollars, can it?), and I truly hope the authorities find it before it gets melted down (who the hell is going to take that risk?), I am impressed by the chutzpah it takes to drive a flatbed lorry into a sculpture garden and make off with a two-ton whatsis.
I mean, can you imagine the original conversation at the pub about this? A few guys, one of them in a baseball cap, having a Guiness and trying to think of ways to make some quick cash? Let's just nip down to Perry Green and nick one of those Moore sculptures, one says. My brother's mate knows a guy with a crane we could borrow, says another. I've always been struck by how Moore's work reflects post-war uncertainty while speaking to the deep human need for abstraction, says the one in the baseball cap. Although these are balanced reassuringly against those organic feminine masses. Guy number one: get us another round, you big wanker.
The police say it was probably stolen for scrap. What an absurd idea. Although stealing it for a private collector suggests a private collector who's not too worried about someone seeing it gracing their manicured lawn from the air.
Perhaps it's an act of dada?
I want to see the xeroxed signs stuck to telephone poles around Hertfordshire. If found please call. No questions asked. May be disoriented, needs its medicine. Sentimental importance.
