By NICK SMITH
It is an unguarded work of art at the Auckland War Memorial Museum, a potentially priceless painting there for the taking.
The artwork, adjacent to the Scars of the Heart show, is part of the exhibition honouring war hero Captain Charles Upham.
I reach up and lift it off its hook - no one is looking or within cooee - and although it is a trifle large, the work will fit easily inside a generous-sized cloth backpack concealed underneath a jacket.
It is my mission to test the security of the museum and the Auckland City Art Gallery, and the war painting is my first and last heist.
Sure, it is not a $65,000 Goldie; in fact, it is hard to tell what it is - a watercolour depicting war, probably the German landing at Crete, and worth something for its historical value alone.
At least it lifts easily off the wall, unlike the paintings at the gallery in an earlier attempt at uplifting art.
The gallery is crawling with attendants, who keep a beady eye particularly on patrons perusing the work of New Zealand artists such as Goldie and Lindauer.
It houses 31 Goldies, including several similar in size to the 230mm by 180mm portrait stolen from Auckland Museum during a daylight robbery on Tuesday.
The theft apparently prompted a flurry of activity at the gallery earlier in the day as security was stepped up. I am not given the opportunity to test the new measures, given the steely scrutiny of staff.
At last, when schoolchildren distract this guardian of the fine arts, there is a moment to stretch out a hand and caress the frame housing Goldie's Sophia, the heroine of Tarawera, a 203mm by 153mm portrait probably worth $60,000.
But the treasure truly worth filching, in my biased aesthetic view, is The Idiot: Self-Portrait by French sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska.
Gazing into its vacant eyes, it is easy to imagine reaching out my hand, lifting up and absconding with the small bust before this idiot realises the exquisite sculpture is firmly screwed to its shelf.
It is so different at the museum, which encourages a more hands-on attitude from its adherents.
Carvings galore entice my admiring fingers to test the amount of force needed to prise the priceless from the less-than-secure housing.
Apart from the Maori Treasures gallery, where police security tape prevents the curious from viewing the remaining Goldies, attendants are strangely absent.
Having removed and replaced the Upham painting, it is time to go. On leaving, I am accosted for the first time by a woman practised in PR. She notices the shorthand in a notebook and inquires if I am a journalist needing help. I demur. My work here is done.
There for the taking at museum
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