A Self-Described Art Thief: How Wayne Thiebaud Made Stealing Look Like Art

Wayne Thiebaud – A Sunday on La Grande Jatte (after Georges Seurat), 2000.

"Good artists copy, great artists steal."

Probably the most famous thing Picasso never actually said—but it doesn’t make the idea any less intriguing, especially in the hands of someone like Wayne Thiebaud.

Thiebaud, known for his richly textured paintings of pies, cakes, and candy-colored Americana, has a new show that places his own original works right alongside painted versions he’s done of other artists’ pieces.

The show doesn’t hide the influences—it highlights them. The implicit argument is that placing Thiebaud into a personal canon of artistic mentors and references doesn’t diminish his originality. It actually enhances it. He’s not pretending these influences don’t exist. Instead, he’s saying: *Here’s who shaped me—and here’s how I made it mine.*

As someone who’s wrestled with impostor syndrome in creative work, this hit me hard. Artists are often encouraged to hide their inspirations, like revealing them somehow makes your work less valid. There’s this hush-hush attitude, as if the moment someone knows your reference point, they’ll steal your secret sauce.

But Thiebaud flips that script. To see someone so established fearlessly display his personal work next to adapted, "copied" pieces—and still have it all speak with one unmistakable voice—was something I haven’t really seen before. It’s surprisingly refreshing. And honestly, it’s a brilliant marketing strategy.

Historically, copying the masters was *the* way to learn. That was standard in art schools. Now, there's this pressure to always be “original,” like pulling work out of thin air is the only path to credibility. But maybe there’s just as much value in interpretation as there is in invention.

It made me reflect on my own view of originality versus reinterpretation. If I were standing in front of an original painting and its faithful recreation, which would I value more? Instinctively, the original seems more precious—something from nothing, the first spark. But a copy, especially one with subtle changes or a new context, can tell a whole different story. It raises questions: *Why is this different? What is it trying to say?* And maybe most importantly: *What does this version add that the original didn’t?*

Thiebaud’s show reminds us that art doesn’t live in a vacuum. Creativity is a conversation—sometimes whispered, sometimes shouted—between generations of makers. And maybe the most powerful thing an artist can do is stop pretending otherwise.

Photograph: Photograph by Gary Sexton. Image courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco

Wayne Thiebaud – Three Machines, 1963.