“Aren’t they beautiful?” Zelda gushed as she and Friedrich maneuvered through the throngs of visitors slowly moving from one vibrant painting to the next. Thanks to the strange color combinations, thick streaks of paint and funky perspectives Vincent Van Gogh favored, he was one of her favorite artists. It was sheer luck that she now lived within walking distance from the world’s most comprehensive collection of his work. For the millionth time since she’d moved to Amsterdam she had to pinch herself, sure she was dreaming that she lived in such a wonderful city.
“Looks like he needed lessons in painting perspective,” Friedrich frowned. He turned his head this way and that, trying to understand the canvas hanging before him.
“He was self-taught, but only because no academies would have him. He didn’t paint traditionally enough.”
“There you have it.”
“He was ahead of his time, that’s all,” she sniffed, reminding herself not to get riled up by his remarks. Friedrich had kept their date, even after everything that happened at the Amstel Hotel yesterday; she had to give him kudos for that.
“So, where’s this mysterious exhibition; the one you say explains why Karen O’Neil wants Irises so badly?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
“I am sorry – so very, very sorry – about your quadrocopter. How many more times do I have to say it before you believe me?”
Friedrich gazed at her sternly for a moment before holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”
“Are you sure I can’t buy you a new one?”
“I told you before, a new one costs around five hundred euros. I’ll let you know how much the replacement parts are once I’ve sorted through all the pieces I managed to salvage. At least the camera still works, that would have really cost you. The video we shot looks good. Oh yeah,” he said, fumbling through his shoulder bag, “here’s your copy.”
“Thanks. It went better than I expected – well, except for crashing your drone at the end,” she said, flushing slightly as she clutched the DVD tight. “I can’t wait to show this to Bernice Dijkstra. Let’s see Karen and her lawyer try and wriggle their way out of this mess.”
“Okay, so which way do we go?”
Zelda had purposefully taken him through the museum’s permanent collection on their way to the temporary exhibition she actually wanted him to see. As this was his first time inside the Van Gogh Museum, she figured he should see it all. She opened her mouth to tell him that but quickly bit her tongue. He was doing her a big favor by even coming here today; the least she could do was accept he might not love Vincent van Gogh’s artwork as much as she did.
“This way.” She guided him through the many visitors jostling for the best viewing positions, towards the nearest stairwell. As they trudged upwards, she said, “We’re headed to the Print Room. Usually a selection of the Japanese prints Vincent Van Gogh collected are displayed there, hence the name.”
“Oh yeah?” Friedrich perked up for the first time since they’d set foot inside the museum. “I like Japanese prints a lot better than the paintings we just saw,” he said, referring to the many priceless masterpieces they had walked past.
“They also organize smaller, temporary exhibitions up there, like the one we’re going to today,” she quickly added.
“Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed.
At the top of the staircase was a small windowless room, softly lit by carefully placed spotlights. Large metal workbenches were set up in three corners, each covered with a variety of microscopes, test tubes, Petri dishes and small metal tools that belonged more in a medical laboratory than a museum’s restoration department. Spread about the room were several reproductions of Van Gogh paintings displayed on large wooden easels.
Friedrich stopped inside the entrance. He turned to Zelda without even bothering to look around first. “Well?”
“Remember how Karen’s lawyer said Irises was the key to finding the rest? This exhibition shows how several Van Gogh’s have been painted over in an effort to temporarily disguise them as another painting.” She gestured towards the easels. “Those are reproductions of all of the Van Gogh paintings the museum is certain were once covered up for one reason or another. Some were painted over by smugglers, thieves and tax evaders for the more obvious reasons. But others were saved from being destroyed by the Nazis because their owners hid them under a type of painting more suited to Hitler’s tastes.”
Zelda stepped over to a wall of text and small photographs, which explained the purpose of the exhibition in more detail. When Friedrich sidled up alongside her, she pointed to a paragraph in the middle. “See those photos? At least three Van Gogh’s were saved during the Second World War because they had been painted over.”
“Interesting, but why exactly am I here?”
“This exhibition illustrates some of the techniques conservators and art restorers use to examine paintings. With the right tools and machinery they can find traces of paint that have faded or even come loose from the canvas, as well as drawings or other paintings hidden underneath the visible composition.”
“Okay,” Friedrich said, clearly still not getting her point.
“We haven’t been able to figure out why Karen O’Neil wanted Irises so badly, right? What if it’s not Irises by Lex Wederstein she wants, but a map hidden somewhere on the canvas or frame? Someone could have added a diagram or text to the back, but now it’s too faint to see or the paint has rubbed off since. Whatever clue is hidden on Irises, it must not be visible to the naked eye, at least not anymore. Otherwise Karen O’Neil would have already seen it when she manhandled the painting during her first meeting with the exhibition’s project team. And she’s been pushing hard to have her own conservator examine it under the guise of wanting to have it taxed.”
Friedrich stared at her as if she was crazy. Her cheeks began to burn. “It’s the key to finding a treasure trove of artwork.” she reminded him.
“This is your big revelation, the reason I had to come to the Van Gogh Museum with you?”
“Well, yeah. I figured if you saw for yourself how easy it would be for a conservator to find any text or diagrams hidden on Irises or the frame, then you might take me seriously.”
Friedrich started to say something nasty, but instead pursed his lips together when it finally sunk in that she wasn’t joking. Exhaling loudly through his nose, he calmly replied, “Okay, show me.”
Zelda lead him towards the first display describing four different methods art restorers and researchers employed to see ‘underneath’ a painting, enabling them to identify any changes the artist made to either the scene depicted or the color used while he or she was working on it. A video camera was suspended over the large workbench before them, aimed down towards a rectangular painting of a man and a woman walking through a cornfield. Florescent neon tubes were positioned around the edges of the canvas, casting a purplish glow over its surface. Via a monitor positioned to their left, they could see the lens was zoomed in on the center of the painting. Thanks to the shimmering ultraviolet light, she could make out another design underneath the cornfield, one not normally visible to the naked eye. Traces of a man’s portrait seemed to hover just below the painting’s surface.
Hanging on the wall behind the worktable were three poster-sized prints. Blocks of text explained that these images were the results of using different types of x-ray scans to examine the same painting.
The first of the three posters was the result of a standard x-ray, the same sort of imaging technique hospitals used to identify breaks in bones. The image was a confusing muddle of grey; the man’s portrait was visible if she squinted her eyes just right, but almost indiscernible from the cornfield above.
The second print showed the results of infrared reflection, a technique used by art restorers since the 1970s. The man’s portrait was somewhat sharper and more distinguishable than in the x-ray, but she still had to use her imagination to fill in the details.
The third print, created by an x-ray florescence analyzer, was a revelation. The machine could detect and analyze even the most miniscule remnant of pigment used to create every line and stroke still present on the canvas. In the poster hanging behind the workbench, the lines forming the man’s head and upper body were bright and crisp, even the coloring and shading of the hidden portrait were clearly visible. Thanks to the scanner’s ability to distinguish between the composition’s many layers, the image of the cornfield had been completely removed from the results. Looking at this digital printout, one would never suspect this portrait had been painted over. Zelda studied the third poster, then the painting on the workbench, amazed at how much information could be gained when using the right technology, and without damaging the visible painting above.
She tried to gauge Friedrich’s thoughts as he gazed up at the three poster prints.
“Do you really think there’s a map hidden under Iris’s portrait?” Friedrich finally asked.
“Not underneath. It was painted before the war started. But Arjan van Heemsvliet could have easily added a drawing or text pointing to the location of the rest of his collection somewhere on the back of the painting or frame. It must have faded over the years, which is why it can’t be seen with the naked eye anymore. If Irises is a sort of treasure map then we have to assume Arjan would have wanted someone to be able to find the rest of his artwork.”
“I don’t know, Zelda. You don’t really have any proof do you?”
“It makes perfect sense. Why else would Karen O’Neil push so hard to get her hands on Irises and not want to wait for the claims process to run its course? She can’t risk having the experts running tests and possibly finding the hidden map before she does.” Zelda knew she shouldn’t shout in a museum, but they were alone in a gallery full of replicas. Any security guards eyeing them through the electronic surveillance probably wouldn’t intervene unless she knocked one of the fake Van Gogh’s off its easel.
“Wouldn’t someone working at the Amsterdam Museum have already noticed that something was amiss? Irises has been sitting in their depots for more than sixty years now, who knows how many times it’s been cleaned or studied since then. If there is a description or diagram on the back, wouldn’t somebody have spotted it by now?”
“Why would they have? Why would the museum waste their precious man-hours and research dollars running expensive tests on it? Irises is an insignificant painting created by an unknown artist. It’s not the sort of piece that would get lent out for exhibitions or be studied by art history students. Think about it Friedrich, it would have been the perfect painting to hide a clue to the whereabouts of Arjan’s collection.” She began pacing back and forth in front of the display, excited to share her theory.
“Van Heemsvliet must have left a letter or other document behind in his study which explained what he’d done. Karen O’Neil’s grandmother took all of his business records with her to America, the same documents Karen O’Neil eventually inherited. That’s why she’s been so unbelievably keen to get her hands on Irises,” Zelda finished smugly, sure she was right.
“I suppose if Karen knew it would lead her to the rest of Arjan’s collection, it could explain her persistence. But if that were true, wouldn’t that explain why Rita was so interested in it, too?”
“No,” she replied doggedly, “think about it. Rita and her sisters want Irises back so badly because of its sentimental value. It’s a portrait of Iris painted by the girl’s first love. Besides, their father gave or sold his entire collection to Arjan after they’d all left for Venlo. How could Rita or her sisters have known what he’d done?”
“Arjan must have decided to make that painting the key to finding the rest because it was the least valuable piece in his collection of masterpieces,” Zelda continued, convinced she’d figured out the secret Karen O’Neil was trying so hard to keep from the exhibition’s project team. “If he was being blackmailed, you’d think he would have tried to hide his more valuable paintings from that Nazi. Maybe the clue added to Irises was meant for his brother Gerard, so he could find the rest, even if Arjan was arrested or killed.”
Friedrich folded his skinny arms across his chest and rocked on his heels, mulling over her theory.
A few moments later he patted her roughly on the back, smiling as he said, “Zelda Richardson, you might be on to something.”
To her great delight, his smile and tone were genuine.
“But how are you going to prove it?”