The Perfect Landscape (21 page)

Haraldur’s paintings show no traces of sentimentality, but they possess a poetic quality that appeals to Hanna. His paintings and Leifur’s sculpture installation are polar opposites, which is what the exhibition is all about. At first sight Leifur’s installation appeared too obtrusive in the room, but he has a keen sense of the overall balance required in the exhibition and was careful not to take over the space. Like most artists of his generation, collaborative working is uppermost in his mind. Moreover, the colors blend with Haraldur’s paintings. The rusty-red and iron-gray tones, colorful household paint on the roofing sheets, and discarded wood all reflecting in the panes of glass don’t go at all badly with the grassy slopes of Haraldur’s paintings.

Jon is showing black-and-white photos of Dutch landscapes, and Anselma has produced an audio piece that can be heard outside the building. The day before, Leifur had told Hanna that he intended to have a display at the opening, but he was reluctant to say what he was going to do. Hanna was doubtful; she would rather he didn’t do anything she didn’t know about. On the other hand, she didn’t want to censor his art. Having made him formally promise that his performance wouldn’t harm anyone or any work of art or the building, she gave him her consent, with reservations.

“After the formal opening,” was all Leifur said when she asked him when he intended to put on this spectacle. “Won’t there be a speech and all that nonsense?”

He smiled slightly as he said this, and Hanna knew he was winding her up. Playing the rebel. She smiled back. Yes, there would be a speech.

Now she can only cross her fingers and trust him. She is waiting for the clock to turn four and is doing one final round of the Annexe when Steinn comes up to her.

“We’re about to open.” She looks him straight in the eye; he shows no sign of stress. Hanna doesn’t understand how he can be so calm. She looks at her folder for the hundredth time; yes, it’s all there. She is ready, and, glancing over at Haraldur’s paintings as if to draw courage from them, she mentally straps on her mask and primes her foil.

They go into the gallery together, where Kristin and the others are frantically making last-minute preparations for the opening. Edda rushes around with a mop, wiping the floor dry where a minute ago a trayful of sparkling wine went flying over the tiles. She dries it thoroughly because the tiles can be slippery when they’re wet. Finally she gives the thumbs-up and the doors are opened. People stream in, hundreds of them filling the airy entrance hall and lower level, but the stairs to the second floor and the painting
The Solitary Tree
is roped off. Everyone who is anyone in cultural and artistic circles in Iceland is there; politicians, bankers, and entrepreneurs all raise their glasses to cultural endeavor.

Hrafn Arnason is chatting to a business colleague when Thor suddenly appears and greets him cheerily. Hanna walks past them, and Thor catches her arm.

“Hanna! I’d like to introduce you to Hrafn here. Hrafn, this is Hanna Jonsdottir,” says Thor. “She is director of the Annexe. Hanna, this is Hrafn Arnason.”

Hrafn looks at Hanna. They haven’t met since they were introduced at the exhibition in Copenhagen. Hrafn doesn’t forget a face and immediately remembers her. The mousy one who’s an expert in Gudrun Johannsdottir.

Hanna holds out her hand.

“Well, hello, nice to see you again.” She is going to say something further, but Hrafn shakes his head imperceptibly. Hanna nods; she understands that he wants to keep the announcement under wraps.

Kristin has already told Hanna about Hrafn. For years she has regularly asked him for money because she knows he collects paintings. An art lover is bound to support the gallery. She finally got an answer out of him, but not the one she expected. In fact, it took her totally by surprise, but now is the moment. Hrafn is going to give the gallery a significant gift, and Kristin is going to announce it publicly at the opening. Hanna immediately realizes that he doesn’t want to talk about it in advance.

“Excuse me,” she says and continues to thread her way through the crowd.

Hrafn falls silent when she’s gone; he is clearly nervous, and Thor tries to change the subject. Hrafn nods absentmindedly. Up to now he hasn’t made his hobby public knowledge, and what Kristin is about to say will come as a surprise to many.

Kristin is standing at the mic, which has been set up on the stairs leading to the second floor. To make herself more visible she steps up onto the bottom stair and delivers a short speech.

Hrafn pushes his way through the crowd toward Kristin and stands near the front where he can be seen. He looks somewhat agitated and slides his hands up into his sleeves. At the end of the speech he modestly acknowledges Kristin’s thanks
with a nod for the magnificent gift that he has donated to the gallery.

Hrafn has decided to stop collecting paintings. The collection he already owns is a reasonable size and is stored in his basement, and the paintings have maintained their value. Of course, he’s fortunate the paintings haven’t dropped in value, but they haven’t increased much either, not compared to the shares in some of the companies he has invested, which have a habit of shooting up overnight. Compared with the stock market there’s not much excitement in the art market, and having seen Mariya Kovaleva’s collection in Moscow his interest diminished still further. Hrafn realized he was just a small-time collector; he owned nothing really significant by international standards. No Shishkin valued at tens of millions. No Picasso, Matisse, or Rothko. He owned works by Jon Stefansson, Asgrimur Jonsson, and Kjarval. Of the contemporary painters he only has three works by Eggert Petursson.

He decided to let his collection go. Keep the Kjarvals and Eggerts but other than that to turn to his other interest, his horses. Initially, he was going to put all the paintings up for auction, but then he changed his mind. Instead of giving the gallery the funding that Kristin, the director, had harped on him about for a number of years and would enable the gallery to drop the entrance fee, he decided to give them his art collection. This way he would kill two birds with one stone. He would free himself of one aspect of his life that was linked to his father—he is still incapable of looking at a painting without imagining his father’s comments or picturing him in his mind’s eye, puffing on his cigar. And he will be remembered as an aficionado of art and culture.

Kristin mentions that in America extensions to galleries are often named after their patron, and she promises an exhibition of Hrafn’s collection toward the autumn. “Who knows, maybe we’ll even get a Hrafn’s wing here,” she says, smiling broadly at this prospect. Hrafn’s mouth puckers slightly at the corners, and he downs his glass of water.

When Kristin has finished her speech, Herbert Grunewald takes over and gives a long talk about his passion for the Icelandic landscape in his rather German-accented English. Then Baldur talks about how the exhibition came about and speaks at length about the value and rarity of
The Solitary Tree
; about the generosity and energy of Herbert Grunewald, who managed to bring the work here; and, not least, he thanks the wealthy benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous and who paid a vast insurance premium for the painting.

“Without him, this would not have been possible,” says Baldur, pausing to allow a round of applause.

People are beginning to get restless as he draws his speech to a close, and just at the end Baldur reminds the visitors that there is also an exhibition opening here today in the Annexe under the same theme,
Landscapes: Past and Present
, curated by Hanna Jonsdottir. Finally, Kristin ceremoniously opens the stairs to the second floor. The crowd heads straight up with members of the press and photographers in the lead although no shots of the painting are allowed.

Now the opening of the exhibition in the Annexe begins, and even there it is packed with people. Hanna calls for quiet as she begins her own speech. She isn’t accustomed to public speaking and keeps it brief; she thanks the artists who are displaying their work and the gallery for its support of the Annexe.
Just as she finishes her speech and there is a round of applause, a crashing sound reverberates around the room, and Hanna gives a start. Everyone looks around uneasily.

Leifur has carried out his display; he has taken a brick and thrown it at the glass pane separating the internal and external halves of his art installation and smashed the pane into pieces, leaving an opening out onto the street. Three police officers are already standing out on the street in front of the glass wall. Steinn appears at the same time, and Hanna turns to him for advice.

“It’s time,” he says slowly, calmly. Hanna nods. This wasn’t how she’d imagined this moment, but she’s ready. The pane can wait, and the broken glass is now part of Leifur’s artwork, which extends out onto the sidewalk.

Hanna and Steinn have been preparing for the past few weeks. The press are all here and this is the ideal opportunity to draw attention to what has been going on. This is the course they’ve agreed to take. Neither of them is willing to wait until Kristin gives the green light to go public about the forgeries, nor does she know what they’ve done. As things stand, neither Steinn nor Hanna expects charges to be brought. The experience of the big forgery case showed that it’s not worth it. And who would bring charges? It’s better than nothing then to make the matter public.

Agusta is on the landing of the staircase, where Steinn has put up both the paintings. They now hang side by side, similar but not entirely the same.

The forged version of
Composition in Blue
, false from the outset. The painting the bank bought for fifteen million.

And the painting that lay hidden under
The Birches
. The original work by Sigfus Gunnarsson, the painting that the
forger had not expected would be found after all these years,
Composition in Blue
.

There is no painting by Gudrun Johannsdottir; that forgery has entirely disappeared from the surface of Sigfus Gunnarsson’s painting.

Agusta has strict instructions from Steinn to ensure that neither painting is removed while he is fetching Hanna.

Hanna looks out over a sea of faces; Steinn touches her arm with his hand. She feels a sense of peace and assurance emanating from him.

“I’ll send someone to see to the room and take care of the people. We’ll leave this be for the moment. We’ll sort it out this evening,” Steinn says, meaning the broken glass. Steinn looks taller than usual in his white shirt and dark gray suit. Hanna relies on him. She knows it’s reciprocated, and together they edge their way slowly through the crowd toward the stairs where the paintings are waiting. A throng is gathering, and people are flocking to the staircase; many have realized that there’s something unexpected going on. Hanna and Steinn make their way up to the landing, where Kristin looks agitated and Baldur is trying to calm her down. Hanna takes the plunge.

“In the end there was no alternative,” she says calmly and decisively to Kristin. “It’ll serve to draw more visitors anyway.”

The press have arrived behind Kristin, and they all fall silent. Steinn makes a brief introduction for the television cameras and points to Hanna. She positions herself in front of the two paintings and waits for silence and a mic. When calm has descended, she opens the third exhibition, an unexpected display of two paintings.

“Thank you for your attention,” she reads from the sheet she had secreted in her folder like a most treasured possession. She is careful not to look at either Kristin or Baldur; she knows Kristin is furious.

“About a year ago a large gift was donated to the gallery, one of these paintings that you see here behind me. I expect many of you remember the press coverage of this event and how well attended the opening was when the painting was first shown in public. The painting, which was attributed to Sigfus Gunnarsson, came to us from Denmark. The national bank purchased the painting and donated
Composition in Blue
to the gallery and thereby to the whole nation.

“Some months ago the gallery was also given another painting, attributed to the artist Gudrun Johannsdottir, bought for eight million Icelandic kronur at an auction in Copenhagen.”

She pulls a photograph out from under the sheet she is reading and holds it up for all to see and the press to photograph. A picture that shows
The Birches
.

“But before this gift could be made public knowledge, it came to light that everything was not as it should be.”

Hanna sees the director, Kristin, edge down the steps and disappear into the crowd with Grunewald’s head of silver hair following her. Hanna falls silent. Then she feels Steinn’s gaze on her; she must keep going.

“Certain things indicated the painting could be a forgery.”

The newswoman who is holding the mic is beginning to get restless, but Steinn puts his hand firmly on her shoulder. “You need to hear the whole story,” he says quietly. She gives him an irritated look, but Steinn is undeterred; she relaxes and does as she’s told.

“We were considerably surprised when our investigations revealed that underneath the painting attributed to Gudrun was a painting that resembled
Composition in Blue
, no less.” Hanna points to the forged painting behind her. “We were faced with a choice, and neither option was inviting. We could leave the painting attributed to Gudrun as it stood, just leave it be. That would have troubled no one but our conscience.”

She raises her hand to stop the newswoman, who wants to interrupt again.

“We investigated both paintings thoroughly and then came to the conclusion that
The Birches
attributed to Gudrun would have to be removed from the painting that lay underneath, because that was where the original painting by Sigfus was.”

Hanna holds up the photo of
The Birches
again. A loud hubbub ensues as the press all shout out their questions and everyone is talking at once, but Hanna turns around and points to
Composition in Blue
, which the National Bank bought for fifteen million.