The Perfect Landscape

by Ragna Sigurðardóttir

  Exhaustion washes over her, a combination of jet lag and lack of sleep. To summon the energy to get up and tackle all that lies ahead, a new job and new colleagues, she gazes at the scene in the painting—drawing strength from the vitality in the colors of the foliage, the uncompromising mountain, and the white light of the sky.

  Gudrun didn’t paint many woodscapes during her career; for obvious reasons this has never been a common motif for Icelandic artists. They have tended to focus on mountains. And Icelandic landscape painting didn’t come into being until late in the nineteenth century. Up until that point the landscape had been perceived as nothing but rugged pathways and rough trackless terrain. Hanna observes the colors on the ground and the light on the tree trunks. It’s as if Gudrun has bent nature to her own will, given it a balance that it doesn’t possess, a tranquility that is not real, an immutability that Hanna knows nature does not have but that she longs to find, and she forgets herself for a moment.

  When Steinn comes in with a roll of polyethylene, Hanna hurriedly gets to her feet because she wants to have a chat. But neither his manner nor the way he sets about the task invites interaction or interruption. He silently rolls the polyethylene out on the floor; takes the painting down from the easel; cuts the plastic with a penknife; and, wrapping the painting up very carefully, goes out with the knife and the roll of polyethylene under one arm and the painting under the other.

  Hanna senses Baldur looking over to her as he finishes his phone call. He looks like he is hoping she will wait for him; maybe he wants to show her around the premises and the offices himself. What Hanna wants is to slip out into the corridor and follow Steinn, but that would look odd so she turns and waits for Baldur instead. He puts the phone in his pocket and smiles at her.

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” he says in a friendly tone when it’s just the two of them. Hanna isn’t prepared for this. He talks as if they know each other better than she remembers, or like a supervisor to his junior. Maybe it’s just the Icelandic way. Has she forgotten how people talk over here? She doesn’t respond, and he carries on. “So you’re just taking over. You’ve done extremely well for yourself.”

  As if he hadn’t really expected her to. But perhaps he’s only trying to be friendly. Hanna isn’t sure, and despite their old acquaintance she finds herself on her guard with him as she was with Kristin.

  They go out into the corridor and walk down the stairs. Baldur gives Hanna a general outline of his role at the gallery. He is head of exhibitions, deals more with actually executing projects than generating ideas. He is responsible for producing the gallery’s publications and has been from the outset, from way before the Annexe came into being. It’s evidently very important to maintain good relations with Baldur, even though Hanna hasn’t quite worked out which reins of power he really holds. A little gallery in a small country, she thinks. Maybe the responsibilities of the employees are not as delineated as Hanna is accustomed to, the rules aren’t as inflexible, and perhaps everything happens more smoothly here than she has experienced before, but that doesn’t necessarily simplify matters.

  While they’re walking around the premises, Hanna recalls what she knows about Baldur’s career after they graduated. Things went tolerably well for him; he even exhibited in the National Gallery, was a bit of a star for a while. He also had a contract with another gallery to exhibit his work, but that ended long ago. Hanna can’t remember reading about any exhibition of his work in recent years. Baldur’s zenith was around the time of neo-Expressionism; the style suited him well. She can picture the exhibitions becoming fewer and farther between as the years went by, how he didn’t succeed in forging relations abroad and had sated the limited market at home. In the end a regular monthly salary and a less demanding relationship with art than that involved in creating from scratch had given him more satisfaction in life than relentlessly carrying on painting pictures in a style that had gone out of fashion. Baldur was only one of many she knew who had taken this path.

  Now drawings, craftwork, and the personal approach are back in vogue and painting is in a state of flux, Hanna muses. Surely Baldur wouldn’t consider going back to painting, would he? Can an artist who has put his art on the back burner for years on end get the chance to come back?

  At least Baldur was once up with the times. As a youngster Hanna had only had eyes for landscapes, which weren’t in fashion even then. In their different ways Hanna’s parents had each encouraged her to go on and study art. Most of the people back home thought she would become a painter because she drew so well. It wasn’t until she got to art college that she realized there was more to art than being a draftsman. Gradually she had also realized that she was more interested in reading, looking, and interpreting. She didn’t have that edge that was needed to paint convincing landscapes when they were no longer the in thing. She painted the same motifs over and over but was always dissatisfied, couldn’t quite achieve what she was aiming for, and didn’t even really know what that was. History of art lectures were her favorite, when she sat in the semidarkness and watched the color slides being projected onto the screen—even then it was the landscape paintings that moved her. Portrait paintings with landscapes in the background or fifteenth- and sixteenth-century paintings depicting landscapes through a window; the confined world of peasants in the paintings of Brueghel the Elder and the Younger in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; the expansive cloudscapes of the Dutch Golden Age; the emotional response to nature in Romanticism of the nineteenth century, when man stood alone in the face of forces greater than himself; the glorious use of color in Impressionism.

  Following her course at art college, Hanna went on to study art at the university and then to Amsterdam to complete her master’s, where she concentrated on the history of landscape paintings in Europe in the seventeenth century. Curating came later, somewhat unexpectedly, just as fencing had. Heba had wanted to learn fencing, but in the end it was Hanna who became hooked on it.

  Hanna and Baldur don’t stop on their tour around the gallery, nor do they talk about the current exhibit on display until Hanna pauses at a painting on the second-floor landing.

  “Ah yes,” she says. “Composition in Blue, isn’t it? By Sigfus? I’ve only ever seen a photo of it.”

  “There was a great hullabaloo about it,” Baldur comments. “But the painting’s not bad.”

  “It’s smaller than I thought,” says Hanna. “And the blue color isn’t as piercing as I remember.” They stand there for a moment, looking at an abstract painting by Sigfus Gunnarsson, one of the nation’s most celebrated artists, which had been exciting news when it was donated to the gallery the year before.

  Baldur shows Hanna all the nooks and crannies. The gallery’s artworks are stored in cellars and storage rooms all over the city, and their exhibition spaces are designed so displays can easily be changed. Once or twice a year the gallery focuses on the history of Icelandic painting, putting on exhibitions from their own collection, but otherwise the story of the nation’s art isn’t available to the general public. Their collection is limited, as are their funds for investing in works of art. If they buy the work of younger artists, then there will be gaps in the collection of older works; if they try to plug the missing gaps of history, then a whole generation of contemporary artists will be lost to the gallery.

  Baldur seems very much at home here and has the power to open and close doors. Hanna wonders how well he and Kristin get along. Sometimes men find it difficult to have a female boss. And won’t she herself be his boss to some extent? The Annexe is an avant-garde exhibition space, the gallery’s trump card in international terms, and in recent years it has exhibited famous foreign artists alongside Icelandic ones. Now she is the new director. Her position is undoubtedly more important than his; despite everything, he is her subordinate.

  Eventually Baldur opens a door at ground level leading to a large office with enormous windows along the full length of one wall. In the middle of the room is a
large partitioned workstation, where Hanna spots Agusta and Edda at their computers. Under the window wall is a long table covered in papers, cans, and containers, with a computer at the far end. This office space has a modern feel to it—as with the Annexe, the idea is that natural daylight should flood unhindered into the room; even the concrete floor has a trendy clear varnish. Outside, dawn hasn’t yet broken, and fluorescent bulbs light up the space.

  “Kristin and I have offices on the second floor, where the education department and management, marketing, and publicity sections are,” says Baldur. “The rest of the staff is here, but Steinn also has a workshop in the basement. This is Bjorn’s desk,” he adds, stopping at a desk in the middle of the cluster of cubicles and looking at Hanna, who stares at him blankly.

  Who is Bjorn? Then it registers. She is taking over from Bjorn and this is her desk. Hanna assumed she would have her own office and two assistants. That was how the job description read. This is not quite what she’d envisaged, and for a second she feels like a fool. She’d forgotten how Iceland operates on a small scale. Obviously the gallery has no money. The Annexe exists more in theory than in reality when there’s no funding. She concentrates on hiding her thoughts. The job doesn’t revolve around having your own office. The work doesn’t get done by sitting alone within four walls. This can only work out better. In a flash, as if she’s back on the fencing piste, she turns the situation to her advantage. In her head she moves into the en garde position, running her fingers lightly along the grip. Then she smiles her most winning smile at Baldur.

  “Excellent!” she says. “This is great—I really like it.”

  Carefully maintaining the gleam in her eyes, Hanna observes Baldur closely. He fiddles nervously with the ring on his finger. That worked, she thinks to herself. He knew this would take me by surprise. He was watching me. But I knocked him off guard.

  Hanna smiles at Edda and Agusta, who are sitting on either side of Bjorn’s desk, her desk. Thoughts flash across her mind. Baldur’s role is not what she had thought. Now an unexpected divide has formed between them. A whole floor, in fact. She thought she was taking on a more responsible role than his but was probably mistaken, at least if the structure of the office space is anything to go by.

  “Maybe you’d rather not sit here? Right in the middle of the chaos?” Baldur asks as if he’s read her thoughts. “Of course, it’s often hectic here, not exactly peaceful. I could maybe find you a quiet corner if you’d prefer?”

  But Hanna has no intention of being stuck in a corner somewhere. In her head she holds her position on the piste, her foil raised and maintaining priority of attack. She doesn’t shift her gaze from the desk and replies without hesitation, “No, this is absolutely ideal. I much prefer to be at the hub. That’s how I’ve always envisaged the Annexe. I like to be around people, where it’s all happening.” Hanna smiles inwardly because nothing could be further from the truth when it comes to her work style. She has always needed peace and quiet, and she struggles with the hustle and bustle of people coming and going around her. Now she is being put to the test and she is in battle mode.

  Hanna looks over at Agusta, who flashes her a quick smile as she clicks on her e-mails and answers the phone. She is young. Maybe twenty-five, Hanna guesses. The roots of her dyed blonde hair show through her asymmetrical bob, and she’s wearing dark eye makeup. She looks as if she makes an effort to dress fashionably. Hanna recognizes the dress label and the brand of shoe; her clothes are a tasteful mix of secondhand and new, of the flea market and designer labels. Agusta is evidently at pains to show how capable and how busy she is in her job. Hanna recognizes the type. This is the diligent student. The girl who is so bright and together. Very alert, always willing and able, finishes all her assignments before the deadline and is not afraid to tell someone else that something could be done better.

  Recognizing a little of herself in Agusta, both in the conscientious student and her underlying ambition, Hanna tries to contain her irrational hostility. It’s unlikely Agusta knows that Hanna has an ally in Baldur, an old acquaintance who might come in handy. And Agusta is young. I know better, Hanna thinks to herself. Ought to know better. She simply smiles politely to Agusta while Baldur carries on talking. Hanna realizes that he likes the sound of his own voice and it’s best to let him go on.

  “Agusta has taken on the task of keeping track of the reports about the state of artworks in public places,” he says, patting a pile of reports on her desk. “It had become a pressing task, so it’s good that you’re here to oversee it. This has been on the back burner since Bjorn left, and the Annexe deals with this, as you know.”

  Hanna doesn’t reply immediately. Silence is going to be her main weapon on her first day. Best not to let anything get to you and to show no reaction. Yes, she’s truly back home again—dealing with what’s thrown at you is all part of the game. Having charge of outdoor artworks owned by the city is obviously a large part of the job. In all probability the largest part, so it’s not surprising that no one mentioned it when she was asked to come on board. She can see plainly that this aspect of the work will be time-consuming, complex, and a drain on resources. How many artworks in public spaces does the city own? And what sort of a state are they likely to be in, given the broken pane and graffiti she saw on the Annexe on her way in? Maybe it’s no wonder that her predecessor, Bjorn, escaped to Denmark.

  “Yes, of course I’m aware of this,” says Hanna. She gives it no further thought for the moment because Baldur is introducing her to her colleagues on the other side of the partition.

  “This is Margret, she deals with the accounts. Vala looks after the archives and registry, and over there is Steinn’s desk,” he says, pointing to a long table under the window. Hanna shakes hands with the two women and is relieved when Baldur finally goes to get on with his own work.

  Sitting down at Bjorn’s desk, now hers, she sighs with relief and opens her briefcase—a large, soft leather case of indeterminate color that has been her companion for years and was a present from Frederico, her Italian husband of nearly twenty years. In it is a box of assorted chocolates that she’s brought from Amsterdam to offer around on her first day in her new job. The lid has a picture from one of the most famous illuminated manuscripts in the history of Europe from the Middle Ages, Les Tres Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. In the Middle Ages it was the custom to have a book of hours, handwritten with prayers for each hour of the day and a calendar showing the hours of the day and the months of the year. The month of January adorns the chocolate box and shows the Duke of Berry dressed in rich blue robes patterned like a peacock’s tail. He is sitting at a table piled high with food, surrounded by his courtiers and precious possessions.

  Holding the box in her hands, Hanna hesitates for a moment, then opens it and hands it to Edda. It’s difficult to determine how old Edda is; she’s cheerful but looks careworn, and her voice is slightly gruff. Maybe she’s a smoker or drinks too much. Or maybe it’s just weariness? Icelandic winters, lots of children, low salary, and high inflation? For a second Hanna becomes aware of her own appearance, smooth brown hair brushed neatly in a ponytail, a high-quality designer sweater in unassuming lilac-gray tones, a well-tailored skirt, and Italian leather boots. She’s had a good life.

  “We must have some coffee with this,” says Edda instead of taking a chocolate from the box. Shortly after, all six of them, Hanna, Agusta, Edda, Vala, Margret, and Steinn, who has just come back in, are sitting in the corner drinking coffee.

  “This is the Duke of Berry,” explains Hanna, taking off the lid and handing the box around. “He was a powerful, wealthy man at the turn of the fifteenth century. And an art connoisseur. He employed the Limbourg brothers to illuminate a book of hours and an almanac. This is January, the month for giving New Year’s gifts. A long time ago in Europe, New Year’s gifts were really just like Christmas presents.”

  Steinn gently runs his finger over the shiny paper on the lid as if to get the feel of its q
uality. His touch is light. Hanna momentarily watches his fingertips gliding over the surface of the picture, over the duke’s blue robe, before looking away as though she’d witnessed something she shouldn’t have. “The duke had seventeen castles and stately homes in France,” she says.

  “Look, there are some animals on the table as well,” Agusta points out. “I know these pictures. We talked about them in art history, but I’ve never examined them in such detail.”

  “He also collected exotic animals,” replies Hanna. “Peacocks, camels, and dromedaries, to name but a few. The dogs you see on the table are a special breed of dog that can be traced back to the Arctic hounds used for pulling sleds. I once wrote an essay on this illuminated manuscript,” she adds as if defending her specialist knowledge about the breed of dog depicted on the banquet table of a five-hundred-year-old picture. “Animals were part of his collection, and they had special keepers to look after them. He owned jewels as well and had a large collection of rubies. And books, illuminated vellum manuscripts in expensive colors, like lapis lazuli imported from the East.”

  Steinn looks at her a moment, like he knows what she is talking about. “The rich and powerful of today cannot display such treasures,” he says, and his voice is reminiscent of his eyes, firm and resolute.

  “And when he died there wasn’t any money to pay for the funeral,” Hanna says in response. “He’d spent it all on costly items.”

  “He was dead anyway by then,” says Steinn. “You can’t take your money with you.” He gives a wry smile, as if the thought that we’re all equal on our deathbeds pleases him.

  “He’s a communist and antimaterialist,” says Agusta by way of explanation or maybe to tease Steinn, but he doesn’t rise to it or even deign to look her way.

  “Kids might just do something other than deface walls if this society had some gumption,” he says, gazing out of the window as if he were alone. Hanna knows she will get on well with him. He doesn’t seem the sort to make a mountain out of a molehill. “Well, I’ve got plenty to do,” says Steinn a moment later, and they all get up from the table. Sitting back down at Bjorn’s desk, Hanna looks through some papers and turns on the computer.