Chapter 21 Senior Project
It was now my fourth spring in Vienna. I adored the city and all that it had to offer and took advantage of everything I could in the city when I could. But my heart was at school. Two years ago, Dr. Alphonse Breguet had allowed me into the restoration program at the Academy, beginning the happiest time of my life. It would be another semester before I'd have everything ready for my Master of Fine Arts degree, but Dr. Breguet was confident my thesis work would be accepted. I loved painting and always would; studying with Mirella Augliari had done so much to restore balance to my life. I had become a more confident and daring artist under her tutelage, and we had become friends as well. After hearing Dr. Breguet give a lecture on restoration, I knew I wanted to do as my life's work. I wanted to bring "dead" paintings back to life. I pleaded with and dogged him until he finally gave in allowing me to join his program. I had used the same approach with the Chief to investigate my father's death so many years ago. He was so much like the Chief. Sometimes I even called him that by accident when we met to discuss my thesis. He pushed, challenged and inspired me just like Robert Ironside had when I was a cop. I would always be grateful to the intensive language lessons and the Whitfield's insistence that I speak German every chance I could. I had arrived in Austria with a hard-earned Level B Certificate from the Goethe Institute that allowed me entrance into the Conservation program. Some days I almost forgot I spoke English.
I put on my smock and cotton gloves and brought the painting the professor had given me to work on out of its crate. It was from a private collector who had loaned several of his prized works to the Kapic' Museum in Sarajevo. The museum had been badly damaged in the Bosnian Civil War. The collector had managed to get most of his paintings out after the conflict, but they needed restoration, including this gorgeous picture of a sunset by Camille Pissarro. Because there had been so much damage, and the expense to restore all of them was prohibitive, the collector had asked his friend, Alphonse Breguet, to see if he could help. The professor had asked if he could put some of his more promising students to work on the paintings as a post-thesis project. The collector agreed. A week ago, Dr. Breguet invited several of us to a dinner at his home. At each person's place was an envelope containing a photo of a painting. This was our project, he explained. This would be evidence to prospective schools and employers that we were fully capable of the demanding work of restoration. We would have the summer break plus the fall semester to work on the assignment. The paintings would be in the lab tomorrow.
I began by taking notes on its appearance. There were holes where some of the tacks used to attach it to the wooden stretcher had popped. A three-inch rip in the canvas would require serious attention. There must have been a fire in the museum. There were thick black streaks on the canvas and some of the paint had chipped. Taking a damp swab, I made a dabbing motion on the black. I took a slide and moved the swab on it. Hopefully, I'd be able to get a quick chemical analysis of the smear, to decide what to use on it. I made measurements and took pictures. I noted the wooden stretcher, on which the canvas was affixed, was cracked in several places and would need stabilization or rebuilding. The canvas would have to be taken off as well to do the majority of the restoration, so I could work on the stretcher. Carefully I took a sliver of wood and made a slide of that so I could examine it under the electron microscope tomorrow. Then I followed with even more pictures of the stretcher with the Nikon. Michaela Petersen looked over from her table next to me.
"Hey Francesca, machst du ein Sammelalbum?"
Smiling, I saw that she was doing the same thing with her Molly Cramer, a German Impressionist.
"Yes, a scrapbook."
Michaela switched to English. She was from a small town outside Innsbruck and had asked to work with me so she could improve her English and was probably my best friend at the Academy.
"It is not fair, you know. You have einen Vorteil. How do you say it?"
I thought for a moment. "The advantage".
"Yes, having been a policewoman. You treat this like a crime scene."
I hadn't thought about it that way as I made sure there was a clean surface under the Pissarro, then passed an oblique light slowly over the back of the painting then the front with equal care, taking pictures at each stop. It was ironic that one of the tools I used in restoration was from my police days. The oblique was a low angle light that allowed one to take photographs of details by creating shadows. But Michaela was right; restoring paintings was like conducting a crime scene investigation. While the photos I'd taken with the Nikon were developing, I began considering what to do with this small gem. Part of me wanted to begin the restoring immediately, to make the Pissarro all better. I remembered my training as an artist and a cop. One needed a plan first and a great deal of patience to collect the evidence. I would definitely be relying on all my experience to complete this project. I continued looking at the front of the canvas, then examined the back of the canvas. Using a magnifying glass, I could see that the canvas was most likely linen. I took a scraping to examine under the scope. By the time I'd done that, Andreas, our photo lab manager, had returned with two sets of 8x10 photos for me. I'd study those later.
I went on to the next stage, looking at the canvas itself. It was worse than I thought. First guess was that the painting would have to be relined. My cell phone rang. I ignored it. I was too engrossed in the picture. Something didn't seem right about it. But what? I decided to take a break and have a cup of coffee, an American sized cup for a change, and ponder. Going back to my desk, I filled my 6 cup Espresso maker with water and Phil'z special blend and put it on a small hot plate to cook. Phil had sent the coffee to me for my birthday. It brought back good memories of San Francisco.
As the coffee brewed, I thought more on what I thought I'd seen or rather not seen. What about the painting bothered me? What about the total assignment bothered me? I should be pleased. It was an honor to have been chosen, that the school had been asked to take a major role in this restoration project. I got up, poured my coffee and sipped it. In the back of my mind, I could hear the Chief saying to me as he so often had.
"So you've got a feeling something's wrong. What facts do you have to back it up, Officer Belding?"
"Nothing Chief. I've got absolutely nothing at all." I replied.
"Sounds like someone needs to do her homework."
"You've got that right Chief", I thought.
Finishing my coffee I went back into the lab. Michaela was putting her Cramer back in the case.
"Staying late?" she asked.
"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow"
"Tschuss"
"Tschuss" I called back as Michaela left the office.
The painting was Sunset at Moret sur Loing. The clouds were just starting to turn color. Some lovely small village buildings, a river, the reflection of trees in the river, a boat house and dock, were the major features. Oil on canvas; definitely from his time as an impressionist. Tomorrow I could go talk to the curator of the Impressionist Gallery at the National Art Museum to find out more about Camille Pissarro and his paintings. I took more pictures and began taking more paint samples. Something still nagged at me. I needed Lukas Schmidt and his x-ray lab to help me figure this out. I took out my cell phone to call him when I remembered the phone call I ignored earlier in the day. It was Ed. I dialed his number. Wanting to talk to him about what I thought I was dealing with; really wanting to talk to him about a lot more.
He answered the phone on the first ring.
"Hi, I missed your call" I began.
"I'm in Milan."
"Italy?"
"I think so. Most everyone's speaking Italian around here."
We both laughed. I knew Ed and the Chief would be in Milan for a conference of the International Association of Police Chiefs. They'd been asked to present.
"How'd your presentation go?"
"You mean the Chief's? How else could it have gone considering he gave it? They loved it. I was just along for the ride. But, I'm going to be heading your way.
I was pleased. We hadn't talked about him coming to Vienna. "When?"
I met a couple of Swiss cops during one of the breaks the other day. I was having coffee and they joined me. First, they wanted to thank me for attending their presentation and they showed up at the Chief's session that afternoon; asked a lot of good questions. I needed to translate some of the Chief's answers for them. That went ok," he laughed.
"But, we found we had interests in common, like using solar energy and sustainable agriculture. I think it was the new copy of Alpinist magazine I was reading that finally won them over. They asked if I liked climbing and we got into a long conversation about the best places and techniques. They've invited me to climb with them this week.
"So who are these new friends of yours?"
"Jann Ambühl's the police Chief of Davos. His friend Christian, is police chief of a nearby town called Schiers. Hitsch, that's Christian's nickname, says it's so small you can't find it on most maps. It's close to Davos though. They did a presentation on mountain rescues and collaboration between departments. Lots of good ideas came out of that. I want to use some of their methods when I get back to Denver.
"Where are you climbing?" I asked "And don't tell me how high you'll be this time. You know how I feel about you and heights".
He laughed. "They're taking me to a mountain called Schesaplana, in the Vorderprättigau. We leave tomorrow. First, we go to Chur where we'll meet Jöri. Jöri's the police chief of Bern. We'll get our equipment and supplies put together and then talk about how we want to go up the mountain. We'll drive to Seewis, look at the mountain, get the weather report and mountain conditions and then decide how we'll go up. We'll get one of those Alpine starts, before dawn. We'll be on the mountain all night because the guys want me to have the experience of overnighting in the Alps, then come down the next day. I'm looking forward to it. And because you really want to know, the mountain is a little over 3,000 meters. After that, I'm taking a train from Chur and straight through to the Westbahnhof, where I hope I'll be met by a very sexy American artist on Sunday afternoon and I'll get to spend a whole week watching her work."
I listened to the excitement in his voice. "The sexy artist doesn't want you to get hurt."
"I'll be careful"
"I'm holding you to that."
"Today, I spent walking around town; went to the Pinacoteca, saw lots of paintings and then the Convent of the Sacred Heart to see the Last Supper. That was impressive. The Chief and Katherine will be heading out Thursday morning. Katherine has seen all of Milan she wants, but the Chief wants a couple more days in the vineyards."
"Of course."
"What have you been up to?"
I explained my project to him. I could tell he was impressed.
"Take good care of the evidence." He said.
"I will and you be careful of that body of yours".
"I'm climbing with good people. It will be fine. See you Sunday night."
I hung up, shaking my head slightly. I was in love with a man who was going to climb a nearly 10,000 ft. mountain for fun, with people he'd just met. I was looking forward to when the Chief came, I'd have more information about the painting and hopefully would know if the painting was a forgery. If it was, I could talk to him about how to proceed. If not, he'd laugh at my eagerness. I packed up the painting and put away everything, locking up my samples and notes. Turning out the light, I went home.
It was late Friday afternoon and I was fussing over the Pissarro when I heard the familiar sound of the Chief's wheelchair in the lab. I turned in shock.
"Oh no, I was supposed to meet your train," I exclaimed.
The Chief gave me an appraising look. "No problem Fran, we had a taxi ride that turned into a tour of the city much to Katherine's pleasure."
"How was your trip?"
"It was wonderful". Katherine said. "We stopped in Salzburg overnight. Lovely city. Robert though doesn't know how much I spent on fashion and books in Milan".
"Kate, on the other hand, doesn't know how many cases of wine are being shipped home".
"What have you been up to?"
I turned to show them the painting, both were appalled by the damage.
"And it's your assignment to restore this?" Katherine asked.
I nodded.
The Chief looked at me. "How many paintings has this collector given to be restored?"
"Ten"
"All impressionists?"
"Yes"
"Fran, doesn't trouble anyone, that students, even extremely qualified ones, are given the task of restoring these small, but important paintings?" He asked.
I smiled as I put the Pissarro in the storage locker and began packing up my laptop and other materials Ed had called "the evidence". It would go home with me as it did every night since I began having doubts about the project.
"Let me finish getting this together, we'll go to the house, have dinner, drink wine that came from the Whitfield's backyard, and talk. I have some questions that maybe you can help me find answers to."