She’d mentioned that before, and he hadn’t quite understood why. ‘The back of the painting’s that important?’
‘Yes. There’s a lot of information you can add to catalogue notes.’ She took her laptop out of her bag and flicked into the photo app. ‘Here’s an example of the kind of thing I mean.’ She showed him a photograph of the back of the painting. ‘There’s a label on the back here,’ she said, pointing to it, ‘which tells us that this painting was in an exhibition. I can check that, and find contemporary reviews. I’d add those into the catalogue notes as well. There’s another label there—’ she pointed to it ‘—from the dealer, so I can look at the dealer’s records to confirm when, where and from whom the dealer bought it. And here, this stamp tells us who manufactured the canvas, so we can narrow the dates of the painting down to when that manufacturer was active.’
‘I had no idea you could tell so much from the back,’ Angelo said.
‘You can tell other things, too. A light-coloured canvas could indicate a more modern date than the painting’s meant to be, hinting that it’s a copy. An extra lining might mean restoration work. If you took the frame off completely, you should see that there isn’t a straight edge to the paint on the canvas—if there is, it might be a reproduction or cut down.’
He stored that all away for future reference. ‘So that’s all the physical stuff you need?’
‘No. The front’s important, too. You can use comparative techniques to look at the colours the artist uses and the brush work, plus the composition. There should be similarities to other works by the artist. There may be sketches and studies to help date it. We can evaluate the pigments to make sure they match the age of the painting. X-rays can show if the painting has been altered, and if there are any sketches underneath; and sometimes painters reused canvases, so again that can help to give evidence that the artist has a connection to the piece.’
‘That makes sense,’ Angelo said. And he really liked the way she seemed so systematic and professional rather than vague. She definitely knew what she was talking about, and she put things into layman’s terms without being pompous or patronising. No wonder the producer had snapped her up as a presenter.
‘Then, once you’ve looked at all the physical evidence and your list of things to check, you gather the paper evidence for provenance—which basically traces the movements of a painting from the moment it leaves an artist’s studio to where it is now,’ she explained. ‘Establishing who owned it, when it was sold and how much for, will help to authenticate the painting.’
Angelo blinked. ‘So how do you actually prove all that?’
‘In your grandfather’s case, you can start with when he bought each painting, where and who from, and trace that back through who owned it before him, and the idea is to get back as far as you can,’ Mariana said. ‘If he bought it from a dealer, then the dealer would probably have a lot of that information already. You can check catalogues and exhibition listings, too. If the trail breaks, you start at the other end, from the painter’s studio.’
‘That could take a really long time.’ Time they didn’t have.
Either he’d spoken his thoughts aloud or his dismay showed on his face, because she said gently, ‘If we start with that unsigned picture, that’s the important one. And I can access extra help to look up sources if it’s part of Hidden Treasure.’
He’d just have to hope there was enough evidence to convince her. That she’d fall in love with the painting. And that his grandfather would hold on for long enough for them to get the results.
* * *
Once they’d landed at Pisa, Mariana texted her mother to let her know she’d arrived and they took the train to Florence, enjoying the views of the Tuscan countryside and the River Arno along the way. The sky was a brilliant blue and the sun was warm. It was a perfect day, she thought. And she was surprised by how much she enjoyed Angelo’s company. He was easy to be with, actually listened to her, and asked sensible questions. Though it was more than that. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on—or maybe didn’t quite dare face.