The Perfect Landscape (13 page)

Standing with an exhibition program in one hand and a soda water in the other, Hrafn Arnason looks around the room. Hrafn is a regular visitor to Copenhagen because the company has its factories here. In previous years the company produced frozen prawns and smoked salmon, but now it produces fresh sushi and sashimi, which it sells in gourmet delicatessens in Denmark and Sweden. Business is going well; sushi bars are trendy. Hrafn is hoping to meet an acquaintance here who has recently bought up a hotel. The idea is to get him to open a sushi bar inside and Hrafn will offer him a discount on his products. Hrafn is always on the lookout for new business opportunities; he wants to expand, and he needs more regular customers. He likes best to see to everything himself—just like his father before him. He knows most of his staff and prefers to employ Icelanders, even here in Copenhagen, and he regularly visits the site at Norrebro where the packing is done and watches the work being carried out.

Hrafn is standing so stock-still he is nearly invisible, alone with his thoughts in the crowd. Someone suddenly attracts his attention, fair hair, brown eyes, a slender body; then Masha’s face fills his line of vision and she kisses him three times. Hrafn hasn’t seen Masha and Larisa since the previous year, at the business conference in Moscow. As soon as he sees Masha, he
wonders how many restaurants she owns in Moscow. Until now he has stuck to Copenhagen and Malmo in Sweden, but there is no reason why he shouldn’t sell sushi to Moscow. He catches Larisa’s eye. He has not forgotten her, despite his efforts to, and he slides his hands up into his sleeves, feeling embarrassed.

“Call me Masha, Mr. Arnason. How lovely to see you again!” Mariya says loudly. Her English is as stiff as before, and she lets her Russian accent show through. Mariya is a powerful woman from a powerful country; she does not need to submit to other nations’ rules of pronunciation.

“I didn’t know there were artists in Iceland,” continues Masha with a smile. “Larisa told me there were only a handful.” Larisa smiles politely at Hrafn, her eyes constantly wandering to the paintings on the walls. She clearly has more interest in them than in Hrafn, and he is relieved and disappointed at the same time. He follows her gaze, and, because he does not know what they want of him, to break the ice he begins talking about Icelandic art.

When he talks about the first Icelandic painters, their innovative work, how they had to go abroad to study, and how most of them came to Copenhagen, Larisa is all ears, which surprises him. She looks intently at the paintings as Hrafn explains how they went all out in the fight for independence at the turn of the century and painted the beauty of the Icelandic countryside, rural prosperity, and bright, clear nights. He also mentions their value and supply and demand and talks about the careers of Sigfus Gunnarsson and Svavar Gudnasonar, who were both connected to the CoBrA movement. “The works of Sigfus and Svavar are amongst those that fetch the highest prices,” he says and mentions a sum. He is careful what he says because he is
not an expert like Larisa and he doesn’t care to reveal his lack of knowledge.

“I bought a painting not long ago that could be by this woman,” he says a moment later, pointing to a painting by Gudrun Johannsdottir. Masha nods, taking in what he says, but her mind is clearly elsewhere. Larisa has moved to the other side of the room, where she is looking at Sigfus Gunnarsson’s sketchbooks in a display cabinet.

By chance, the director of the cultural association suddenly appears and greets Hrafn with open arms; she used to know his parents. Hrafn introduces her to Masha, not quite knowing what to say.

“We met at a business conference in Moscow last year,” he says finally.

The director introduces Hrafn to a woman standing at her side. “This is Hanna Jonsdottir; she’s an art historian. She wrote a piece in the exhibition program for us and helped us with Gudrun’s paintings.”

Courteously, Hrafn offers her a firm handshake, briefly taking in her delicate features and gray eyes, her smooth brown hair drawn back in a ponytail. Mousy, he thinks, glancing quickly at her dark gray cotton dress.

Not unattractive for an entrepreneur, thinks Hanna. From the corner of her eye she notices how he draws his hands up into his sleeves so they are less conspicuous. She smiles politely.

“Hrafn has a good collection of paintings,” the director is saying to Hanna.

“Perhaps you have something by Gudrun? They’re still searching for paintings by her,” Hanna asks, but Hrafn shakes his head. Excusing himself, he turns back to Masha and casts
his eye around for Larisa. He still does not know what these Russian women want of him and that bothers him. He wants to get to the bottom of it; he wants to have things under control.

A camera flashes on the other side of the room, and Hrafn thinks he sees Larisa slipping her camera back into her bag; she is standing by the cabinet where Sigfus Gunnarsson’s sketchbooks are displayed. She walks toward him smiling. Her eyes are no longer scanning the paintings; instead they rest a good while on Hrafn. He suddenly feels very warm, but just then he spots the acquaintance he was looking for. The hotel owner. And prospective sushi bar owner, though he doesn’t know it yet. Let off the hook, Hrafn greets him with delight. He is not sure he could resist Larisa’s beauty again. Hrafn introduces his colleague to Masha, and she greets him with great interest. Is this what she’s after, he wonders as he introduces them and sees the mutual business interest in their eyes, a mixture of curiosity, greed, and cunning. They briefly exchange courtesies and then Masha suddenly excuses herself. Larisa follows her like a shadow. They are some paces away when Masha turns around.

“Send me a photo of the painting.”

Hrafn is surprised at this request. So she did hear what he said about the painting that might be by Gudrun. But he agrees—why not indeed? They are both collectors, though Masha is on a totally different scale than him. Hrafn wants to sell sushi to Moscow and therefore needs Masha’s friendship. He is relieved to see Larisa go; the day is too hot and her skin too silky smooth to bear. He pushes away all thoughts of her body and, with business in mind, turns to his colleague.

Kristin, the gallery director, seems to love staff meetings. “Just so we’re all singing from the same song sheet,” she says when she calls Baldur asking him to call another meeting. Items on the agenda can be wide-ranging. They need to resolve issues around the coat check, the cafe is not up to scratch, and they need to buy new chairs for the events room. And, of course, they regularly need to discuss exhibits and other things that are going on in the gallery.

In the beginning, these meetings irritated Hanna. She did not appreciate getting a phone call and being required to attend a meeting with half an hour’s notice. In the Netherlands she grew accustomed to being organized, but that does not necessarily work well here. On Fridays, before the day is out, she likes to plan the week ahead, but she has often seen her plans fall by the wayside and finds she has to take the week as it comes. They are now sitting in the meeting room choosing among three
styles of IKEA coffee mugs for the cafeteria; the cafe manager wants their opinions.

Steinn is still in the hospital; he has been off work for over a week. Hanna sorely misses him; she sees now how much he has helped her. She wants to get back to her work as quickly as possible and, without further ado, points at the mug she likes best. Edda chooses the same one, Agusta goes for the bigger one, and Baldur wants the third option.

“The majority rules,” says Kristin with a smile, handing Edda the sheet of paper. “We’ll order this one with the saucer and the matching side plate.”

Hanna continues to compose the letter in her head, her first letter to the new mayor about the extra work involved to get back on track with the outdoor artworks in need of repair, and also about possible funding for a weekend workshop for youngsters. The vandalism seems to be on the rise, if anything. The statue she and Steinn went to examine is not the only one that has suffered. Steinn had written a report and had begun to clean the statue before he ended up in the hospital, but already there are more repair jobs waiting.

Hanna is also impatiently waiting to hear from Steinn about his discovery; they need to examine the infrared image of
The Birches
painting again, with
Composition in Blue
for comparison. She has not gotten any further in her investigations. Steinn has all the information about
Composition in Blue
and its ownership history, and Hanna cannot work out how a painting that matches it could be hidden under
The Birches
painting. Gudrun would not have painted over a work by Sigfus Gunnarsson, that’s for sure. Hanna’s thoughts buzz around in circles when she tries to get a grip on it. She heard from Edda
that Steinn is doing well and should be coming back to work soon, but she hasn’t talked to him herself. Their friendship is not that close; they only know each other through work and have no connection outside of that. It wouldn’t be appropriate to trouble him with work matters in the hospital, and she is even less inclined to call him at home and maybe get Helga on the line.

She listens absentmindedly to Kristin talk about the cafeteria and drags her thoughts back to her work, to the unfinished letter on her computer. She suspects there will be more such letters. The mayor will soon discover that Hanna is an expert at this sort of letter writing and it is not worth sidestepping the issues she raises. Years of dealing with bureaucracy in Europe, funding applications, and raising money have made Hanna almost unbeatable when it comes to this sort of thing. Letters like this one are her forte; she manages to appeal to the reader’s pretension, patriotism, pride, and professional conscience in such an affable manner that her request is almost always well received. If this doesn’t happen the first time around, she writes more letters, and then even more. She gets her way in the end. The new mayor is an art lover, and, besides, it is impossible to refuse necessary maintenance to artworks owned by the city—that would not sit well with public opinion. Hanna can just imagine the headlines in the papers: “New Mayor Leaves
The Water-Bearer
to the Vandals.” The locals know their city’s statues; they are landmarks that many have known since childhood.

Edda passes a carrot cake around. Hanna smiles at her. Sugar is exactly what is needed to make this meeting bearable, and she helps herself to a generous slice before handing it to Agusta. Baldur and Kristin are discussing something in
undertones. Baldur fishes some papers out of a plastic folder, but Hanna barely pays attention. She is just finishing her cake and assumes that the meeting is over. She has the next sentence of the letter formed in her head and then Kristin announces another item on the agenda.

“Do you mean the exhibition with the Austrian twins?” Hanna asks, but Kristin shakes her head.

“No, no, no, that’s all sorted. I want to talk about another exhibition. Admittedly it’s only in the early stages, and I really want you all to keep up to speed from the beginning because it’s very short notice. Baldur has been working on this for the last few weeks and now it’s all falling into place.” Kristin takes a bite of cake. “Baldur, you tell them about it,” she adds with a smug look.

Baldur runs his fingers through his thick hair as if he doesn’t know how to begin and puts the papers down on the table. Hanna notices the letterhead is from a well-known gallery in Cologne. The letter is in German and addressed to Baldur personally.

“Well, I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now,” says Baldur, looking at Agusta and Edda but not Hanna.

“Liaising with a German curator who approached me with an idea.” He clears his throat. “You know how the Germans are thrilled with Icelandic landscape painting, Icelandic romanticism, and so forth. Well, it’s Herbert Grunewald who wants to put on an exhibition with Icelandic and German artists, a large exhibition that will also travel to Cologne and be shown in his gallery there, and maybe in other places, possibly London. Our plan is to put together romantic and contemporary landscape painting, and even those from earlier periods. Herbert could
potentially get a hold of paintings by big names that have never been shown here, even classics like Caspar David Friedrich.”

Baldur pauses for a moment to let this news have the intended effect. He is talking about one of the most famous romantic painters. That such a small gallery as theirs, in the back of beyond, should have one of his paintings on loan is virtually unheard of in the art world. It would smash all their box office records to date.

Hanna gives him a look of questioning disbelief, and he adds, “Well, maybe not his best-known works, but probably oil paintings nonetheless. This will obviously be the biggest exhibition of the year, and Kristin and I have already begun to sound out Icelandic artists. Ruri, Georg Gudni, Eggert Petursson, and Ragna Robertsdottir will all be included and maybe some others too. The idea is to follow this with a stylish book and have articles about landscape painting in it. The opening will coincide with the Arts Festival this spring.”

Hanna does not utter a word but stares dumbfounded at Baldur, who avoids her gaze and begins to hand out copies of the letter from Herbert Grunewald in which he talks about the exhibition and possibly loaning them paintings.

“He also mentions watercolors by Durer,” Baldur adds. Then he looks at Hanna, with an unflinching look that says: I dare you. Hanna stares stiffly back at him; she is beside herself with anger. She would love to throw her coffee in his face, and in her head she jumps up onto the table and, drawing her foil from its sheath, aims it at his rib cage, getting the better of him. How dare you, she says silently. How dare you steal my idea!

At one of the first staff meetings after Hanna took over as director of the Annexe she presented her plan in outline and
specifically mentioned a landscape exhibition she intended to open in July. She remembers precisely how she worded her plan at the time, and now she repeats the same words again, calmly and questioningly, with a hint of challenge.