Stéphane Breitwieser insists he is not truly an art thief, despite a prolific record, and detests thieves who use violence or damage art. He cites the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist as a moral offense, contrasting his own approach of carefully removing frames and abandoning any attempt that risks harming a work.

He argues that museums are prisons for art—crowded, restrictive, and antithetical to intimate contemplation. Breitwieser seeks private, tactile proximity to works, even describing erotic responses, and maintains museum-like care at home. He claims aesthetic passion as his sole motive, even revisiting crime scenes in disguise to recount details for interviews.

Sources beyond him are limited: Anne-Catherine Kleinklaus does not speak publicly, though legal records, security images, and acquaintances help fill gaps. Accounts suggest she is pragmatic and grounded, viewing the loot as both beautiful and tainted, balancing Breitwieser’s idealism.

Financially, the couple is perpetually broke. He refuses to sell anything, takes odd jobs and welfare, and avoids tolls; she works as a nurse’s assistant. Their secret gallery exists in attic rooms at his mother’s home, where he claims the items are flea-market finds, enabling him to keep everything without monetizing.

Breitwieser prefers to be seen as a collector or “art liberator,” convinced that beauty is the only true wealth. Anne-Catherine’s caution and ambivalence anchor his fantasies, while their hidden arrangement allows the collection to grow despite poverty.