The Perfect Landscape by Ragna Sigurðardóttir Page A

the week.”
    Hanging up, Hanna senses nothing will come of it. She has to admit that Steinn is right; information of this sort is not handed out on a plate. But now she must get her brain in gear for the next project. She has invited four artists to take part in her landscape exhibition in the spring and has asked them to meet here in the Annexe. She is curious to see how they get along.
    Creating works of art is addictive, something well known to artists who have not had the opportunity to produce any art for some time. They see their creative urge, find some other outlet, in the kitchen, the garden, in DIY around the house, having another baby, or in being generally surly. This urge is like a disability, Hanna thinks to herself as she stands welcoming the artists in the Annexe’s exhibition room. They all have it, no matter what their age or what form it takes. They all simply want to see their art come into being. To feel an idea taking shape, see it develop and then emerge into the world. There is fulfillment in seeing your ideas coming to fruition. Luxury. Maybe this is why artists repeatedly reconcile themselves to working unpaid, working on their art in their spare time and all for this: to see their art come alive.
    The painter, Haraldur, keeps some distance from the others, his expression at once proud and embittered. He stands erect, still in his overcoat and woolen hat, shuffling his feet as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Jon Egilsson is relaxed, his soft features have success written all over them, and he has the good-natured appearance of a man who lives a comfortable life. His overcoat is casually draped over his arm, andsomething about his manner says that he has lived abroad for many years.
    They were born the same year but belong to different generations of artists. Both were fascinated by schools of art around the middle of the previous century, and both attracted attention early on. Haraldur for his huge abstract paintings, which are on show in banks, public buildings, and companies around the country. Jon for his sculptures, performances, and conceptual art. He has never painted a picture. He has lived in Belgium for almost his entire career. Haraldur stuck with abstract art right up to the seventies and then began to lean toward landscape painting. Now he paints lyrical landscapes almost exclusively. As an artist he portrays tenderness and gentleness, those sides of Icelandic nature that are often overshadowed by the magnificent and awe-inspiringly beautiful, and yet are so important to us. Beneath his gruff exterior lies a genuine artist, a passionate painter who has fallen foul of the present day, and that’s a shame, Hanna thinks to herself. But she is fed up with his continual mistrust. The hardest part will be getting Haraldur to work with the others; Jon will not be a problem.
    Leifur Finnson is from the youngest generation of artists, consumed with burning ambition, passion, and joy at creating his art. He only recently graduated from the Icelandic Academy of Arts and so is rather excited to be asked to take part in an exhibition at the municipal gallery. Anselma is a young German artist whose career she has followed over recent years, and Hanna is pleased to be able to give her this opportunity here. Anselma is calm, experienced, and does not have the expectations that Leifur has. She has seen competition onthe international stage and produces her own brand of art and takes the consequences with equanimity.
    Agusta told Hanna about Leifur’s background and his battle to become an artist; it sounded like a tale from the old days, of an unworldly romantic who walks alone, without a care for wealth or security. “He’s the son of a master carpenter and a primary school teacher, and his parents are very ordinary middle-class people,” said Agusta. “But they were totally against him going to the Arts Academy. His father wanted him to take over the family business because Leifur