Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“I’m not pouting,” I lied, trying to correct my face, looking back to Sigbjørn who also smiled but not as wide and silly as the rest of his sons. “I don’t understand. Is this a joke? You all want to see if an art nerd would admire a blank canvas as art? If so, you picked the wrong person. I’m not a fan of modern or minimalist art. I stop at the Impressionism era and then go back to the classics.”
“Truly?” Sigbjørn inquired with a fixed gaze. “I find modern art quite pleasant. However, that is a discourse we shall have to have another date. For this is neither modern nor minimalist art.”
“Is it art at all if it is blank?” I asked again. I was expecting lost works of art Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Vermeer, Rembrandt, never before seen sketches from Frida Kahlo. Art recovered from Nazis. There had to be some.
“Patience, young one, you have all of eternity to behold our collections.” Sigbjørn said before looking back to the canvas. “Have you forgotten we seek answers to set you free from your binding?”
Right, properties. “Okay, how is this going to help?”
“This,” he nodded to the canvas, “is a painting I bought in 1831. It is by an all but forgotten Austrian painter named, Elisa-Maria Götze. She studied under the Düsseldorf school of painting. I believe with your occupation, you should be familiar with such a school.”
“Yes, of course. But I have never heard of this woman. And female painters were rare in the Düsseldorf,” I replied.
There weren’t many females accredited to the school back then. It was a “man’s profession,” and it wasn’t always looked upon with great kindness for them, let alone women. To find female artists, I had actively searched them out while studying the different periods. In the Düsseldorf era, I even wrote a paper on the work of Amalia Lindegren and Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann. But I’d never heard of this Elisa-Maria Götze.
“Götze. I’d forgotten about her,” Theseus spoke to himself as he stared at the blank canvas, too.
“That seems to be your creed nowadays, brother,” Ulrik replied, coming around and placing his arm around Theseus’s neck, nearly putting him in a chokehold.
Theseus looked more exhausted by Ulrik’s presence and then concerned. Hinrik came over to stand right beside his father, also staring at this painting of nothing.
“Am I missing something?” I asked all of them. “You bought a painting of nothing from a female artist in 1831.”
“Can’t you see the magic?” Hinrik frowned, looking me over, confused.
“Magic?” As magic, magic, or as in Disney magic, the painting of nothing represented something deep, which made us all gather around it?
Sigbjørn snickered, his gaze shifting to Theseus’s. “Your mate’s humor is very refreshing. It is like listening to the thoughts of a mortal sometimes.”
Ulrik snorted before laughing. “Father, that makes her sound dumb.”
“If he wanted to call her foolish, he would have said her thoughts were similar to yours,” Theseus snapped back, breaking out of Ulrik’s hold. “She is only a year old. Of course, her thoughts would be so.”
“The painting is cursed, Druella,” Sigbjørn cut in before Ulrik could comment.
“Cursed?” I repeated, stunned.
“Elisa-Maria Götze was far more talented than any of that school and era; however, unlike other artists, her works were appreciated while she still lived. Her fame spread across Europe, much to the ire of her husband, who was a Wiccan. When the Queen of Denmark asked Elisa-Maria to do the royal portraits, her husband could not contain his rage and jealous any longer.”
“So, her husband cursed her art because she was famous and talented?” What the hell?
“It was very unusual for a woman not only to be an artist but to be so revered as one. To make matters worse, he was also an artist but could not come to terms with being the lesser of the two of them,” Theseus explained, frowning. “She had the talent and fame he desired.”
I cracked my jaw to the side, trying to contain the rising inner feminist that wanted to break free and curse him out. How could he ruin her art?
“It is not the art he cursed, Druella. It was her,” Sigbjørn went on. “For greed and jealousy go hand in hand.”
“What do you mean?”
“The art was not originally blank,” he answered. “It was only Elisa-Maria Götze who could not see it then. Her husband’s curse was on her eyes only, so no matter how many times she put ink or paint or even dirt on hemp, cotton, or linen, she was unable to see any of it. The moment she would paint, her ability to see it would vanish—such a supernatural thing. You can imagine how a human would react.”
A feeling of dread washed over me. “She went crazy, didn’t she?”
“Worse,” he stated.
But what could have been worse than losing your mind?