Toronto, February 23, 1990
THE GALLERY WAS FULL of people by the time Theo entered. It was the opening of a new exhibit – a collection of paintings by an emerging Canadian artist who, like Theo, had also originally come from Czechoslovakia. This young man’s roots were much more humble than Theo’s, his journey out from under the Communist thumb much more complicated. He was a skilled and multifaceted artist, crafting whimsical and mythical creatures that emerged on the canvas amidst thunderous storms and whirlpools of light. Theo had been drawn to his work and had been eager to coordinate this launch at the gallery. This was the part of his job that Theo enjoyed most, discovering the work of emerging artists and introducing them to a public eager to buy.
True, it was somewhat burdensome that this opening was taking place just a few weeks before his trip to Prague. Coordinating that excursion meant that there was already a lot on his plate. But his upcoming trip couldn’t interfere with the work he had here in Toronto. Theo’s eyes traveled the room. There was the artist in one corner, pacing with the proud but anxious look of an expectant father. Theo knew he would have to go talk to him, calm him down, and remind him about how good his paintings really were. But first he needed to work the crowd.
Fresh-faced young waiters wearing starched white shirts and pressed dark pants were serving wine from silver trays. Theo grabbed a glass and made his way through the gallery, stopping to welcome people he knew and introducing himself to the new faces. He was particularly interested in greeting those with an air of wealth – entrepreneurs and businessmen – the regulars who had come not only to look, but also to buy. He worked the crowd like a celebrity moving through his adoring fans. He shook hands warmly with men in dark suits, and kissed the cheeks of women in furs.
A group of people had gathered in front of a large canvas in which a fierce-looking helmeted head emerged from the top of a jeweled metallic shell. “I don’t really understand it,” an attractive woman was saying as she gazed at the painting. “It just looks menacing to me.” She was younger than most of the other women in the room, and dressed in a tight skirt that exposed her endlessly long legs.
Theo moved to stand beside her. The scent of an expensive cologne drifted up toward him. “Allow me to explain,” he said, leaning in to lightly touch her arm. He began to talk about the artist’s upbringing in Czechoslovakia under a harsh Communist regime, briefly describing the politics of the country and the tyranny under which its population lived and worked. He maneuvered the woman directly in front of the canvas, pointing out the deep reds, peacock blues, and emerald greens that emerged from a dark and shadowy background. “Many of this artist’s paintings reflect his personal journey from oppression to freedom, from suffering to joy. He is purging himself of fear – a catharsis of sorts – and moving toward renewal.” While he spoke his arm moved to rest ever so slightly on the small of her back.
The woman smiled, leaning her body into his. “Thank you,” she said. “How do you know so much about this?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. Theo Král. I’m the coordinator of the gallery. It’s a pleasure to have you here. I’m always delighted to welcome a new face, particularly one as lovely as yours.”
“I’ll tell my father about the painting,” she said, pointing to a balding gentleman on the other side of the gallery. “He’s the one who comes to buy. I usually just come to look.” She scanned Theo’s face suggestively.
They spoke for a few minutes more and then Theo moved on, wondering briefly if she was available and whether or not he should pursue her. He had certainly had plenty of women over the years. Back in Czechoslovakia, his personal life had been one of the few areas where no one could interfere. For him women were not about politics or philosophy. They were simply about pleasure, like the art he acquired. He knew what to look for and what attracted him – and, when he saw one he liked, possessing her could become an all-encompassing enterprise.
He would come back to this one later, he promised himself. But for now, he needed to be host for the evening, to divide his time fairly among all of his guests, and to not let his fascination with this woman get the better of him. She had talked about the painting being menacing and she had been correct. There was something sinister and mysterious about these works that had also attracted Theo, touching a darker side of him, a side that only a few close to him knew about, and fewer still understood.
Theo had been drawn for years to an exploration of the occult – what he often referred to as the hidden and deeper truth about life that existed beneath the surface. He often wondered about the spirit that guided his life and the lives of all human beings. Was it a benign God that breathed life into the world and provided meaning, or did the spirit live in a world inhabited by demons? And how did these two forces exist in Theo himself? These were the questions that preoccupied his thinking. On the one hand, he was a dreamer, living life with an infectious, light-hearted carelessness, making friends with ease, maneuvering himself into the focal point of any situation, commanding attention with his charm and charisma. He made people happy. On the other hand, his zest for life teetered on the reckless. While he made friends easily, he lost them just as quickly. He used people for what he had to gain from them. It was as if he possessed an alter ego, a secondary though equally powerful personality. Theo was both charmer and conniver, entertainer and manipulator.
The woman smiled at him from across the room and Theo acknowledged her with a nod of his head and a slight bow. He knew he had charmed this one and was already thinking about how he would convince her to go back to his apartment later that evening. From the looks of things, not too much persuasion would be needed.
His fascination with the hidden meaning of life had all begun years earlier when a close friend had first introduced him to Hieronymus Bosch. This fifteenth-century Dutch surrealist was known for his use of fantasy – dreams and nightmares – to produce religious imagery in his oil paintings. From Theo’s perspective, Bosch demonstrated a moral and spiritual truth in his work that was hundreds of years ahead of his time. Bosch’s paintings were sometimes erotic, often darkly gruesome, even occasionally amusing. Some thought his paintings were created merely to arouse his audience. Others believed his work was inspired by medieval heresies. It was perhaps both sides of this artistic coin that fascinated Theo.
Years earlier, Theo had visited the Prado Museum in Madrid, specifically to see an exhibit of paintings by Bosch. The entrance to the museum held one of Bosch’s more grand and magnificent canvases, the three-panel work known as The Garden of Earthly Delights. Each panel portrayed a unique aspect of the origin of man. The panel on the left depicted Adam and Eve in paradise with wondrous animals, calm reflecting ponds, and a God-like figure in the forefront. The middle panel was a portrait of earthly delights, with its nude figures, giant and mutating fruit, and life-sized sparrows and eagles. Hell was depicted in the panel on the right, where sinners were represented in their descent into damnation. Theo had stepped as close to the giant panels as he could, fascinated by the high level of detail, the countless figures, and the great skill and craftsmanship of the artist. The painting was intellectually and spiritually challenging. It was as if the meaning of life, both the origin of humanity and the evil in the world, was there in front of him, hidden from complete understanding. The painting was marvelous and terrifying at the same time, and it had touched a place in Theo that both inspired and confused him.
While gazing at this spectacular work of art, Theo noticed the terrible condition of the canvases, particularly the center panel. It was worn in many places, and the colors had faded and yellowed over time. There were nicks and cracks throughout. It appeared as if the entire image was wasting away, fading before Theo’s eyes. He could not believe this degree of decay had occurred in a work of art as exceptional and irreplaceable as this one. Theo turned on his heel and made his way to the administrative offices of the museum. There he demanded to meet with the director. The startled assistant motioned Theo into a large office where he confronted the man in charge.
“That masterpiece has to be restored,” Theo declared.
“Of course, you are right,” the startled director replied. “But we have a limited budget here, and our Spanish painters like Goya and Diego Velázquez are more important to us.”
Theo was undaunted. “What if I help you to secure the funds and organize the restoration?”
He immediately abandoned his work and plans, and for the next year, focused all of his energy and attention on the restoration of the Bosch painting. He begged money from friends and acquaintances, he smooth-talked funds out of European arts organizations, he demanded support from the city of Madrid. He even approached a major automobile company and convinced them to support the project. And, ultimately, he raised the tens of thousands of dollars necessary for a complete refurbishment of The Garden of Earthly Delights. There was nothing in it for him – not money, or even notoriety – just an intense desire to right an artistic wrong, and to save the work of the painter he admired so intensely.
“It looks like your opening is a success.” The young woman had made her way across the gallery and now stood directly in front of Theo. He gazed around the room and at the crowd that was beginning to thin. The evening had gone well. Several paintings had sold and many of those in attendance had commented favorably on the gallery itself, promising to return for future exhibits. The featured artist of the evening looked dazed and relieved, and was slumped in a chair off to one side, surrounded by a few remaining admirers. Theo could now turn his attention to the woman in front of him.
“I have a few things left to do before I can leave,” he said, reaching out to stroke her arm.
“My father’s already gone,” she replied. “I’ll wait for you.”