The Perfect Landscape

by Ragna Sigurðardóttir

  “Are you sure this is the right painting?” she asks.

  “I hoped you’d ask. This is an infrared image. You’re maybe familiar with the technique,” he adds. “Under the oil paints is a charcoal sketch. Well, that’s usually how it is. Of course, you know that in those days artists typically used charcoal to sketch out the picture before they painted it. Even pencil drawings show up on this type of image. You see, the infrared light only reflects the charcoal, not the colors or any other substances on the canvas.”

  Hanna looks at the image on the screen. The sharpest lines show the half-moon Steinn talked about. A half-moon drawn with straight lines, but there are a number of other less distinct lines on the surface of the picture that are difficult to make out, let alone perceive a flawless picture in them.

  “There’s no clear sketch of the wood here, as you can see,” says Steinn. “But if you look carefully you can see lines here, look, where the birches are thickest.” Steinn slides the cursor over the screen; there, with a bit of effort, lots of faint lines that could be tree trunks are just about visible.

  “Do you mind if I fetch the painting? I’d like it for comparison.”

  Steinn gets up. “I’ll go.”

  He pulls on the gloves lying beside the keyboard and rushes through to the storage room. He stands it up on an easel next to the computer to compare with the image on the screen and then sits back down next to Hanna. She looks hard at the real painting but can’t make out any hint of the curved or diagonal lines that are so clear on the image Steinn showed her when he shone the light from one side.

  She never expected the painting to be a forgery, and she’s still not ready to believe it yet. The fact that there could be two paintings on the same canvas is not incredible. Artists regularly use the same canvas again if they aren’t satisfied with the first attempt, and the artist’s final painting is built up from many attempts. They paint over part of the picture, move one element slightly on the canvas, give the colors a different tone. Sometimes, perhaps more often in the past when colors and canvases were harder to come by, they resorted to painting over old pictures bought cheaply at flea markets or in secondhand shops. But, as Steinn pointed out, it’s odd for that time for a landscape painting to be painted over an abstract painting. Abstract art was beginning to flourish in Denmark in the thirties and forties, whereas traditional landscape painting was viewed as conservative. It’s virtually out of the question that Gudrun would have painted The Birches over an abstract work.

  Steinn is a trained conservator, isn’t he? With a recognized qualification in analyzing and restoring works of art. Hanna has never inquired about his background or his education; she just assumed he was qualified. Surely the art gallery wouldn’t entertain employing a conservator who wasn’t trained? Obviously she can’t ask Steinn straight-out; she’ll have to have a quiet word with Edda at an appropriate moment. Hanna isn’t a trained conservator; she doesn’t have the specialist, technical knowledge necessary to interpret the information these images reveal. And she is probably the only person at the gallery who knows there’s something amiss with Steinn, but she’s not sure what. Something seems to be up with his eyesight, but maybe Edda’s right and he’s just a bit absentminded.

  Steinn’s hand is resting on the table, curled around the mouse; his index finger is steady, poised to click if necessary. Hanna glances down at his hand, then back at the screen.

  “It could be a yacht,” she suggests. “A harbor scene. That fits the time frame. Harbors were popular subject matter around 1930. Or a street scene, maybe even a bridge? It’s quite difficult to decipher, don’t you think?”

  Steinn doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t want to be the first to voice the idea it’s a forgery either. A painting that was bought from a reputable auction house in Copenhagen, a painting that in every way resembles Gudrun’s work so closely and matches a painting on her auction list from that time, both in size and subject matter. How could it be a forgery? But as the UV image showed, there’s undeniably something fishy about the surface painting—as though it has been altered. And if there’s an abstract painting underneath, that’s a strong indication something’s amiss. Hanna continues to look questioningly at Steinn but is careful not to say anything. She imagines herself on the fencing piste, in the en garde stance. She can wait; she knows how to be patient.

  “You’re familiar with that forgery case, I suppose?” Steinn asks eventually, pulling up the UV image again while he talks. Hanna knows what he’s referring to. He’s going to keep on going, like a cat around a saucer of hot milk. But she’s relaxed; she’s got plenty of time. Steinn is referring to an extensive art forgery case investigated in Reykjavik a few years back when it came to light that there could be hundreds of forgeries in circulation.

  “I found it a bit difficult to grasp the ins and outs of it. I was abroad at the time,” she replies. “Did they consult the gallery or you personally?”

  “No, they didn’t,” says Steinn dryly.

  “I particularly remember one photo of a painting that was attributed to Kjarval,” says Hanna, referring to Iceland’s most beloved painter of the twentieth century. She’s quite relieved to delay saying what’s on her mind. “The sky was full of fluffy orange clouds. Nothing like Kjarval. I was really surprised.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how amateurish some of this was,” says Steinn, smiling and pulling a face. “It was a lengthy case. Extensive. The investigation took a long time. And then it all fell apart, on a formality!”

  Steinn clicks the mouse sharply to enlarge part of the image on the screen. There are dark patches on a large part of the tree trunks, but they are hard to make out. Hanna looks at the painting on the easel, sees the raised brushstrokes—the ones that don’t match up with the top layer of the painting. This is what put him on the scent, she thinks, picturing Steinn’s fingertips running slowly and delicately across the surface of the painting.

  “Of course, there are lots of ways to forge a painting,” she ventures. “I didn’t really follow the case very closely. Were the paintings forged from the outset?”

  Steinn doesn’t answer immediately but looks pensive. “Well, it kind of varied,” he says at length. “Some were marginally tampered with, and others were totally repainted.”

  Jumping to his feet, he suddenly goes to a rack farthest back in the workroom and picks up a painting wrapped in polyethylene off the shelf. Removing the plastic, he shows her a still life painting of flowers in a vase.

  “See this. Look at how the painting is structured!” Hanna senses the tension in his voice. “Who would put the vase here, right at the bottom of the picture?” he asks without waiting for an answer, and Hanna sees straightaway that there’s something odd about this still life. “This was attributed to Kristin Jonsdottir.”

  Hanna looks at the painting. It could be, but then again maybe not. At any rate it’s not typical of Kristin’s dramatic flower paintings, with their dark colors and powerfully rhythmical brushstrokes. But she can’t be sure. Maybe this was a painting from early in her career. Before she found her stride. It’s hard to say.

  “What do you think?” asks Hanna.

  “It’s hard to say,” Steinn replies, “but look at this.” He shows her Kristin Jonsdottir’s signature in the bottom left-hand corner of the painting. “The original signature could have been scratched out and this one put in its place.”

  Hanna looks in surprise at the painting, which is oddly structured on the canvas. Suddenly it all becomes clear. A painting from an obscure artist has been taken off the canvas stretcher and cut, removing the original signature. Obviously it’s not good enough to paint over the signature, which would show up on the UV image, Hanna thinks.

  “Then the forger puts the painting on another canvas stretcher. It’s no big deal to get a hold of an old one and paint whatever signature on it he chooses,” says Steinn. “Or leave it without a signature.”

  “That’s a bit crude,” says Hanna. “Isn’t t
hat rather obvious?”

  “Did you notice it before I mentioned it?” Steinn asks. She doesn’t reply. Steinn is right. At first glance she didn’t notice anything untoward. Steinn shrugs and wraps the painting back up.

  “Don’t forget that some folks who buy paintings have a limited knowledge of art. Many of them, but not all, of course. People also have faith in galleries. Who would imagine that a reputable gallery would sell a forgery? And some people simply have so much money. Owning an old master has long been a status symbol. D’you know what I saw advertised in the paper the other day?” Steinn asks in an irritated tone. “Wanted: a Kjarval painting, in beautiful colors.”

  “They actually specified ‘in beautiful colors’?” laughs Hanna. “I wonder what colors those are.”

  Steinn lightens up and laughs back; their eyes meet in mutual understanding.

  “That shows what the market’s like, how these things can happen,” he adds. “But in this forgery case, you know, this major one we were talking about, lots of paintings were forged from scratch there. Sometimes they painted on old paper or canvas. Some paintings were done on colored paper. Sometimes they used old paintings, usually by some Danish artist, and just changed the signature. The original signature was removed with sandpaper and then painted over and a new one put in its place.”

  While Steinn talks, Hanna wonders what they should do next, since the painting is evidently a forgery. The possibility is not so far-fetched. In the light of history, it’s really rather likely. She looks at the painting on the easel and sees Steinn is watching her. This is the moment he has been waiting for, her assurance. It’s so typical of Steinn to go to enormous lengths to get her to see it for herself. She realizes that her newfound conviction wouldn’t be as strong if Steinn had just said it straight-out. She would have protested, thought it far-fetched.

  “I still don’t understand why that court case collapsed. I mean, they were all acquitted, weren’t they?” says Hanna, looking at the painting. It’s far from amateurish. If it’s a forgery, whoever did it is no fool. She’s been admiring and relishing the painting herself, and she’s a qualified art historian with specialist knowledge of Gudrun’s work. She finds it hard to even look at the painting now, knowing that Gudrun probably had nothing to do with it. Steinn is pensively contemplating the painting, his expression betraying his curiosity. He intends to get to the bottom of this, Hanna thinks, now realizing why he didn’t bother looking at all the sketches with her. He knew it was simply a waste of time.

  “Initially one man was sentenced for three of the paintings, which were attributed to Jon Stefansson. They were clearly forgeries,” Steinn replies. “Then two men were charged with embezzlement and found guilty in the district court, but they took the case to a higher court and were finally sentenced by the High Court to something like two years. But the case as a whole took much longer. Over a hundred paintings were investigated, some watercolors and some oil paintings. The investigation revealed that the majority were probably forged.”

  “Were they charged with embezzlement?” asks Hanna. “Not just fraud?”

  “Amazingly enough,” says Steinn, looking at the painting, “it turned out it wasn’t possible to charge them with breach of copyright just for selling fraudulent goods. They were found guilty in the district court on up to fifty counts. But then this was overturned in the High Court.”

  “How come?”

  “Yes, well, the High Court.” Steinn rubs his right eye. “They really went to town with it. The conclusion was that specialist opinions were not relevant in this case because the specialists were also the ones bringing the charges. Which wasn’t even true.”

  Thinking like a fencer, Hanna immediately sees the next move. “So wasn’t the district court verdict also dismissed and other specialists brought in? Wasn’t the case reopened?”

  “No,” Steinn answers, and they fall silent.

  Hanna is disturbed. She followed the case at the time, but being abroad meant she soon forgot about it. Now she reproaches herself for her indifference.

  “It was one of the most costly and lengthy cases in Icelandic legal history, and it was a complete fiasco,” Steinn adds, frowning. “Just petered out. And the paintings went straight back into circulation.” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, yet Steinn generally doesn’t get annoyed at anything.

  “Back in circulation!” Hanna doesn’t believe him. “That can’t be right.”

  Steinn nods emphatically. “The law doesn’t prevent it.”

  Hanna looks back at The Birches. Steinn is keen to uncover the truth about this painting. He has been living here and working in the arts, and over recent years he has witnessed justice not being done. Of course it’s intolerable. Steinn is a man who never gives in. Hanna can see herself getting involved in this with him; although the task is far from what she imagined when she took the job as director of the Annexe.

  “We need to take a closer look at the ownership history,” Steinn says. “Kristin mentioned that Elisabet bought the painting at an auction of Holst’s estate, but that doesn’t ring true. I’ve asked around.”

  Hanna looks at him thoughtfully. “Is that so? Did she say that?” Frowning, she tries to remember what Kristin said at that meeting. Steinn doesn’t wait while she’s thinking.

  “It doesn’t matter what she said. The point is that Elisabet bought the painting at a different auction house from the one who auctioned the slaughterer’s estate. That means that someone else bought the painting from his estate and then put it back up for auction. A few months later. With a different auction house.”

  “Oh,” says Hanna.

  “We need to find the missing link—whoever bought the painting at the first auction. Maybe it was a totally different price then. It’s a pain that auction houses don’t give out that kind of information.”

  “Don’t they? Why not?”

  Steinn is lost in thought and doesn’t respond, so she doesn’t push it for now. She must be able to find a way forward now that he’s so pessimistic.

  The silence between them deepens. Hanna senses his eyes resting on her as though he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to. Not knowing what he is thinking, she starts to feel uncomfortable but can’t ask him straight-out. It’s just the way he is. They’ve only worked together for three weeks, and their private lives have never come up in conversation. Their friendship is purely professional, although it’s also genuine. They don’t know one another well enough for her to ask what’s the matter, what he wants. She will have to work that out for herself, like she worked out that the painting is likely to be a forgery, even though neither of them has said as much out loud.

  She looks at the painting on the easel, at the image on the computer screen, at Steinn’s hand on the mouse. Thinking about how Steinn bumped into the doorpost just now, how he leaned forward over the computer screen, how he knocked her knee, it finally dawns on her what this is all about. She suddenly sees his helpfulness in a new light, his friendliness and kindness and the encouragement he’s given her on a daily basis since she joined.

  Now it’s her turn. Steinn needs her support. He can’t do this on his own, and he’s also frightened about something, maybe losing his sight or not being able to do his job properly any longer.

  Of course, Hanna’s specialist knowledge of Gudrun’s paintings will play a big part in this. Right from the first day, Steinn realized that they would be ideal brothers in arms. Of course I’ll help you, she thinks. We’re in this together. And what you fear, whatever that is, I’ll be there for you. Nodding her head, she sees his relief. He turns back to the computer.

  “Here, look at this. Do you remember? The UV image here shows best of all that something has clearly been tampered with.”

  Hanna sits next to him, and now she doesn’t worry about sitting close; in this moment they are comrades. All we need now is to swear an oath, she says to herself, to slice our palms and mingle our blood. She smiles to herself. Steinn
would look good with a sword.

  “I need to get an X-ray,” he says. “An X-ray might show more clearly what’s underneath, but it’s time-consuming. To do this sort of thing properly, we’d really need to send it abroad. Maybe I can sort something out over here. I’ll look into it. If it becomes apparent that there’s an abstract painting underneath this landscape, then it’s almost certainly a forgery.”

  For a moment Steinn hesitates; then, taking a deep breath, he begins talking uncharacteristically fast.

  “Then we might just consider whether we should simply wash off the whole of the upper layer.” He breathes out again as if he’d been holding his breath for some time, and Hanna is startled. There it is. What he’d been thinking about all the while. This is what he wants.

  “Wash off the entire top layer? But what about Gudrun’s landscape? What will happen to that?” Steinn looks at Hanna and then it dawns on her. The likelihood is there is no landscape of Gudrun’s on this canvas.

  Steinn is sure of his case. Now that they’ve started on this journey there’s no turning back. They have to go the whole way, to see it through. In her head she draws her foil out of its sheath, lifts it up, and holds it there at the ready against an unseen enemy.

  It’s her job to confirm his conclusions, to examine the images on the screen more carefully, alongside the painting on the easel. It’s up to her to write the report—she’s worried about the response it will trigger, she’s scared to hear something she doesn’t want to hear. Is that why she doesn’t ask Steinn about his eyesight? She sits still. She wasn’t expecting this.

  Steinn turns the computer off. Hanna forces herself to move, to stand up. Walking over to the painting, Hanna gazes at the birch grove, as if she’s trying to reach out through time and space and make contact with Gudrun. With the person who painted this landscape. The painting hasn’t changed. The mountain is immovable, the birch trees are finely nuanced, the trunks are light and bright, and colors dance on the forest floor. Unchanged, yet not the same as it was. With a deep sense of disappointment, Hanna breathes in quickly and turns around, to Steinn. He’s standing there, waiting.