How did thieves pull off robbery of Antonello da Messina’s 15th-century masterpiece – and why did they leave part of it behind?

At about 8.47pm on the evening of 15 August, while tens of thousands of worshippers filled the streets of central Messina for a religious festival, at least two men cut through the fencing surrounding the regional museum, located a few miles to the north on the outskirts of the Sicilian harbour city.

Capitalising on the fact that the streets around the museum were unusually quiet, the men forced open a side door with a crowbar, gaining direct access to a display case containing the five surviving panels of the Renaissance master Antonello da Messina’s polyptych Polittico di San Gregorio, his most important work, and a small double-sided painting. Undisturbed, they removed the works from the building and fled.

Stavroula Adameitis, AKA Frida Las Vegas, is an Adelaide-based artist and designer known for her camp, pop art aesthetic. A typical work might feature palm trees, poodles, Greek pillars or bin chickens (Australian white ibises), sometimes all at once. Does it veer into kitsch? ‘I hope so,’ she says. ‘Nostalgia, colour and fun can be very energising, and the feeling we get from these objects in popular culture binds us together.’

The term kitsch comes from the German verkitschen, meaning ‘to cheapen’. In the 19th century it was deployed by elites to look down on the supposedly trashy vulgarity of art for the masses. ‘The idea still carries negative connotations,’ says Adameitis. In her new book, she invites us to stop sneering and start relishing Australia’s unparalleled genius for kitsch: ‘Good kitsch laughs with you not at you. It brings people along for the ride.’