The Perfect Landscape

by Ragna Sigurðardóttir

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2009 by Ragna Sigurdardottir

  English translation copyright © 2012 by Sarah Bowen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  The Perfect Landscape was first published in 2009 by Forlagid as Hið Fullkomna landslag. Translated from Icelandic by Sarah Bowen. Published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2012.

  Published by AmazonCrossing

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781612184319

  ISBN-10: 1612184316

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012911053

  Contents

  1. A LANDSCAPE WITH BIRCH TREES

  2. IMAGES OF A PAINTING

  3. INTERNATIONAL BUSINESS CONFERENCE MOSCOW, 2004

  4. A WALK IN THE ALPS REYKJAVIK, CURRENT DAY

  5. IN THE FOREGROUND

  6. ARTIST IN THE MAKING

  7. EXHIBITION OPENING COPENHAGEN, SPRING 2005

  8. GOLDSMITH FROM BRUGES REYKJAVIK, CURRENT DAY

  9. LIGHT AND SHADE

  10. WORKSHOP FOR YOUNG OFFENDERS

  11. MY FRIEND BANKSY

  12. SEJA MARGINAL, SEJA HEROI

  13. UNDER THE BIRCH TREES

  14. AN UNEXPECTED MOUNTAIN VIEW, SPRING 2005

  15. OPENINGS REYKJAVIK, CURRENT DAY

  16. IN THE ARTIST’S STUDIO, SPRING 2005

  17. CHOCOLATE REYKJAVIK, CURRENT DAY

  18. A CLAUDE GLASS

  19. AN ARTIST PAYS HIS RENT COPENHAGEN, 1943

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  1

  A LANDSCAPE WITH BIRCH TREES

  Hanna steps onto the street. Inhaling the cold, damp, dismal darkness makes her gasp for breath. The dark air smells of rain, wet tarmac, and car exhaust with a hint of saltwater and seaweed. Even when she closes her eyes there’s no doubt she’s back home. Tucking her head down, she wraps her scarf tightly around her neck, pulls her woolly hat down to her eyes, and walks toward the town center. She hurries along, looking down at the sidewalk, ignoring the street scene around her, which is so very familiar. Seeing a pinkish light from a fast-food outlet reflected in the puddles on the wet asphalt, she peers through the rain and the ugliness of the square takes her by surprise—she had forgotten how bleak downtown Reykjavik can be.

  She heads for the Annexe, the city’s art gallery. In her head Hanna is still in Holland, where it’s cold but calm, like in the painting she’s fond of—Winter Landscape with Skaters and Bird Trap. It depicts a still and frosty day, roofs laden with snow, skaters all muffled up on a frozen canal, and a bird trap on the bank. For a moment the painting is vividly before her, and then she sees Heba’s face, pale in the faint morning light at the railway station in Amsterdam, an auburn curl trailing down the dark blue woolen coat she got for Christmas. Hanna raises an imaginary foil to keep at bay how much she is missing her daughter and walks briskly across the pavement in front of the gallery, where the gusts of wind are sharpest. She tries not to think about Frederico, her Italian husband and father of Heba. They have been married for nearly twenty years, and now their relationship is going through a rough patch.

  The Annexe extends from the main building out onto the square; the architect didn’t have displaying works of art in mind when he designed this exhibition space for contemporary art. Transparency and flow may currently be all the rage, but it’s hardly prudent to put up a glass building in a city that witnesses weekend binge drinking. One pane sports the illegible orange initials of its graffitist; another is covered by a piece of plywood, probably broken over the weekend. Monday morning, Hanna muses. Should the Annexe’s funds really be spent on such repairs? Half running the last few feet to the entrance, she attempts to decipher the scribble on the glass without success.

  ———

  Baldur is standing by the window in the meeting room on the second floor, looking out. The gallery’s acquisitions committee is meeting, and everyone is present apart from Hanna and Kristin. He glances across at Thor, the lawyer, and, detecting his impatience, looks back to see Hanna running across. Baldur rushes out into the corridor, down the stairs toward the entrance, his keys jangling in his pocket. When he gets to the lobby he presses a button on the reception desk and the door opens. Hanna walks in and greets him—they know each other from their art college days. They look at one another for a moment, and Baldur unconsciously runs his hand through his thick red hair, which is just beginning to fade; the backs of his hands are more freckled than they used to be too.

  “I saw you from the window,” he says. “Recognized your gait immediately.”

  Hanna’s eyes crinkle when she smiles. When she laughs they almost disappear, but nothing else about her gives the impression of an Asian origin. Her smooth brown hair is totally European, her face is only memorable when she smiles or laughs, and her movements are unremarkable except when she’s fencing on the piste.

  “It’s good to meet an old acquaintance on your first day in a new job,” she says, taking off her soaking wet hat and flicking raindrops off her coat as they walk up the stairs, her leather boots resounding on the tiled steps.

  “We’re just about to begin. Kristin, the director of the gallery, is on the way,” explains Baldur as he shows Hanna into the meeting room. Hanna smiles nervously at the three faces turned to greet her. She hasn’t been in a management position before and doesn’t know which of the three will be working for her, but the job description mentioned two staff.

  Baldur introduces her. “This is Agusta, assistant head of exhibitions. She was quite the asset to Bjorn, your predecessor.” Agusta nods at Hanna. “Steinn is in charge of conservation and looks after the premises,” adds Baldur.

  Steinn’s age is hard to gauge; he could be five years older or younger than Hanna. He stands up and greets her with a firm handshake; his hand is big and bony. His eyes remind Hanna of blue-gray basalt, smooth, hard, but genial as if warmed by the sun. Hanna is still holding his hand when he quickly drops his eyes and lets go, as if she were being too intimate.

  Baldur continues the introductions. “This is Thor, our legal expert,” he says. “He has special knowledge of copyright law.” Thor rises halfway out of his seat and greets Hanna politely. He is short with graying hair and steel-rimmed spectacles and that rounded face that comes from too many three-course meals in good restaurants, but muscular nonetheless. A lawyer who frequents the gym, thinks Hanna, who has herself practiced fencing for many years, which is enough physical exercise for her.

  Taking a seat opposite Steinn and Agusta, Hanna notices an oil painting standing on an easel at the end of the table. It’s a landscape painting remarkably like the work of Gudrun Johannsdottir, one of the country’s foremost twentieth-century painters. The painting could well be from the series that Hanna knows well, painted before the war, before Gudrun went to Paris, where she carried on her studies, having finished at the Royal Academy in Copenhagen.

  The painting is small—a grove of birch trees in the foreground, a mountain on the right, which looks like Mount Baula, and a whitish-blue sky in the distance. The style is realist but has romantic undertones, and there is a hint of Cezanne in the way the canvas is divided up. The brushstrokes have that firm rhythm that Hanna is so familiar with from Gudrun’s work.

  She leans back in her chair to take in the picture and catches
Steinn’s eye. He gives her an almost imperceptible grin and she responds with a glimmer of a smile before looking away. She’s not going to start her new role exchanging looks when she doesn’t know their significance.

  There is an aura of politeness around the meeting table; no one refers to the painting.

  Puffing and panting, Kristin eventually arrives and shakes Hanna’s hand. She exudes a love of her work and total commitment; her dark, speckled-gray eyes look straight into Hanna’s as she welcomes her to the group. Kristin has an agitated manner, but that’s misleading because when she talks she’s clear and concise and comes straight to the point. She sits down at the head of the table next to the painting and launches in.

  “How do you like it?” she asks. No one responds; they haven’t been told anything about the painting or the meeting’s real agenda.

  “Elisabet Valsdottir has given us this work of art,” Kristin continues proudly. “As you can see, it’s clearly by Gudrun Johannsdottir. Elisabet bought it at auction in Copenhagen recently for eight million kronur.”

  Hanna remembers reading that Gudrun held exhibitions of her work in Copenhagen sometime before the war. Those paintings have not all found their way home to Iceland; some of the sales were not recorded and other works have yet to be uncovered. This one turned up by chance, through some secondhand dealer or from up in an attic somewhere, and then came up for auction. This is one of Gudrun’s most appealing pictures, she muses, contemplating the birches, the interplay of colors, their twisted trunks and vibrant foliage. The painting displays a regularity, indicating the direction Gudrun would later take; she has given the twisted birches, which are really no more than shrubs, the true air of a forest tree.

  “Elisabet Valsdottir?” asks Hanna.

  Kristin gives her a look of surprise. “Don’t you know who she is?” she asks brusquely, to which Hanna shakes her head. New faces have become prominent in society since she’s been away, and she hasn’t kept up-to-date. “She owns a chain of coffee shops that have sprung up all over the place. Elisabet has a keen interest in art and runs her own gallery. She’s married to one of the richest men in the country,” she adds and mentions a name Hanna has seen in the papers.

  “This painting came to light when the estate of a Danish butcher and wealthy storekeeper, Christian Holst, was put up for auction after his widow died last year. The couple owned a large collection of paintings. He bought the majority from the well-known Danish collector, Elisabeth Hansen. She collected abstract works, most of which she bought from artists who later became part of the CoBrA avant-garde movement. But the old guy was partial to landscapes. There was a lyrical side to him. I met him once. He knew his art and may well have bought this painting by Gudrun himself,” Kristin explains.

  Kristin takes off her glasses to wipe them. “Of course, we’ll need to examine the painting before we exhibit it,” she says. “I don’t want the papers getting wind of it before we’ve done that. We’ll do this as we normally would. This is a real bonus for us. Of course, as you know, our funds don’t stretch to a work of art like this one.” She smiles, and under the surface Hanna senses her determination and single-mindedness. This is a woman not to be argued with.

  “Well then, what d’you say?” Kristin asks without waiting for an answer. Glancing occasionally at the painting, Baldur and Thor talk in undertones. Kristin is chatting about coffee with a short woman who just tapped on the door and strode straight in.

  “Edda dear,” she says. “This is Hanna. She’s taking over the Annexe from Bjorn. She’s just come across from Amsterdam. You just arrived yesterday, didn’t you, Hanna?” Hanna nods in response and says hello to Edda.

  “Edda fixes everything around here,” says Kristin, laughing. “She’s worked here at the gallery since it started. She’s a real treasure. I don’t suppose there are any Danish pastries today, are there?” Kristin asks, and Edda is already on it; on her way out she smiles at Hanna, who immediately takes to her.

  Hanna contemplates the painting. Whose responsibility will it be to examine it? What is the gallery’s organization; how is it structured? As conservator, it must be Steinn’s job to see to this sort of thing. From this one brief meeting she has the impression that the gallery is a small closed world and the staff function like a family. They have all worked here for a long time—Edda from the outset, Baldur for at least ten years. Steinn looks very much at home here, and Hanna knows that Kristin has been the director for about five years. Even the young woman, Agusta, seems to be one of the family.

  Kristin interrupts her thoughts. “Hanna, you and Steinn look into this. Bjorn was damn good at writing reports. I hope you’re going to follow in his footsteps,” she says.

  “Hanna wrote her dissertation on Gudrun,” Baldur interjects, as if coming to her defense. Hanna looks at him in surprise; she doesn’t need someone to defend her and doesn’t appreciate being put in that position unbidden. As director of the Annexe, she is also surprised to be asked to take this task on. Her area of expertise is managing exhibitions and the history of landscape painting. But it is true, she did write a dissertation on Gudrun and knows her work well. In her mind she slips into the en garde position, ready for anything.

  “Yes, that’s right, I did. In fact, with particular reference to this period of Gudrun’s career,” she says calmly, imagining herself pressing the tip of her foil against Baldur’s chest, pinning him to the wall while she talks. She is here on her own merits; this is her job and she doesn’t need anyone meddling.

  Baldur doesn’t say anything further; it’s the lawyer, Thor, who cuts in. “Didn’t Gudrun hold an auction of her paintings in Copenhagen before the war?” he asks, looking to Hanna for confirmation.

  “Indeed she did,” Hanna replies. “And in all likelihood this was painted either in her student days or the summer before she left for Paris. It looks like one of her woodscapes. It’s possible that Gudrun sold it at an exhibition held in the Larsen Gallery on Hojbroplads, or maybe at the auction you mentioned—which she held to fund further training in Paris.”

  After a moment’s silence Hanna adds, “It looks to me like this painting is a really valuable acquisition.” She looks at the painting and particularly at the mountain in the background. It can only be Mount Baula, actually painted as a straightforward triangle and typical of Gudrun’s style. This is undoubtedly a boost for the gallery. The Annexe and the gallery are clearly not such separate entities as Hanna had thought; the gallery is simply too small for that. Everyone has to pull together here, and Hanna’s role needn’t necessarily be limited to the Annexe. That may not be a bad thing. Straightaway on her first day she’s been given a very responsible project, which shows that she is trusted and that her knowledge in a particular field is known within the gallery.

  Hanna gets up from the table to look at the picture more carefully. Kristin joins her, and they discuss the aesthetics of the painting; they talk about Gudrun’s career and her other works the gallery owns. Kristin is easy to talk to, but Hanna senses that she would stand her ground. She is clearly the sort of woman who gets her way. Her dappled neck scarf may be like a matador’s muleta, but Kristin lets the bull charge where it will—she has her own strategy in play. Hanna will be on her guard.

  Behind her she can hear Baldur and Thor talking about a new golf course on the outskirts of the city and the door closing. When she looks around, Steinn has left. Edda returns shortly after with a tray, and the meeting dissolves into drinking coffee and eating Danish pastries. Kristin does most of the talking, telling the others about a dinner she was invited to in Copenhagen not long ago with the former Icelandic president. Aha, thinks Hanna. Snob. Maybe the neck scarf is a sign of vanity, a desire for glitz—a chasing after the wind. But perhaps being a snob is in some ways a positive attribute for the director of an art gallery. If you must give up some of your time to various social duties, such as openings, you might as well enjoy it. Kristin doesn’t refer to Elisabet Valsdottir again, but Hanna would like t
o learn more.

  “Has Elisabet donated to the gallery in the past?” she asks cautiously and is careful not to indicate that she thinks anything out of the ordinary about the gift.

  “Elisabet and I are old friends,” Kristin replies, “but she hasn’t given the gallery anything until now. This was just so ideal and she told me she couldn’t help but think of me when she saw this at the auction.” Kristin positively glows as she divulges this information, and Hanna is careful to smile in response, but she is surprised. In Holland a gallery director would have kept such details to herself, made light of her connection to the donor.

  In and of itself there’s nothing significant about the gallery accepting such a superb gift. Why should Kristin refuse a present from a good friend who also happens to be one of the richest women in the country? But it does make Hanna wonder what Elisabet might take upon herself to give the gallery next and how they would react if the gift wasn’t up to the gallery’s standards. Kristin would surely refuse such a gift, wouldn’t she? And if it became a habit among wealthy businessmen to give the gallery gifts in order to bathe their reputation in the art world’s limelight, then wouldn’t the gallery’s artworks become a motley collection? Hanna looks back at the picture. It speaks for itself, and she stops worrying and quietly admires the painting.

  The meeting is over. Before she leaves, Kristin reminds them of the staff meeting later in the week. “We need to go over the program,” she says, “so we’re all singing from the same song sheet.”

  Hanna sits quietly for a moment, looking at the painting while the others leave. Baldur is on the phone, talking in hushed tones. She wishes Steinn had not slipped out so soon. Something about his calm manner intrigues her. His job is not clear. Is he really conservator and caretaker combined? Perhaps that’s feasible in such a small gallery.