Can we proceed a bit faster?
I don't particularly enjoy interviews.
I understand.
But why?
The interviewers make mistakes so easily.
Whatever you say, you might offend someone.
You've remained outside artistic circles for over ten years.
Don't write too much about me.
I'm very reserved.
I've spoken so much without considering my words.
How would you explain your works?
Why have you painted war and poverty?
Those are not...
...appropriate subjects for a female artist.
When artists work,
they never think about explaining their works.
Inspiration simultaneously stems from within
and beyond the artist.
And I don't like being labelled as a female artist.
I'm an artist.
They didn't accept my work for the Ateneum art raffle.
Not even for a raffle, for 100 marks!
Come meet me as soon as you can, Wester.
I miss your company, my dear friend.
Dear Helene, don't aim to please others.
Work for your own pleasure and you're free to do what you want.
I'll come round next week, and I have a surprise for you.
Your friend, Helena Westermarck.
I look handsome in it, don't I?
The devil himself would be scared of that.
I'd like to buy this.
With the League of Finnish Feminists' money.
Bring me salted herrings and a schnapps.
Where did the idea for silver foil come from?
It's a Japanese invention. I stole it.
- Good. - No need to pretend you like it.
I know. That's why I'm not buying it for myself.
Wait until you see what I brought you.
It's on loan from Ateneum.
It's on its way to Florence.
Overpainting again.
Like a sculpted wolf.
- A very handsome man. - He is.
Very good.
We've run out of coffee and sugar.
But we still have soap.
I stood in the queue for three hours.
How about biscuits? It's my mother's name day.
I can sell you some of my own.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.
I'll let the neighbour's boy queue so I can paint in daylight.
Evening chores.
You sure know how to make me happy.
A self-portrait is always an impossible challenge.
Like painting a boring sky dotted with stars.
Why am I so lousy?
Always painting my own wretched face.
Good day.
Hello. We're looking for the artist Helene Schjerfbeck.
That way.
Gösta Stenman, art dealer. Are the house owners in?
You're Helene Schjerfbeck.
Einar Reuter.
- What do you want? - I came here to buy paintings.
I don't have anything to sell.
All artists do.
Where are the... Oh, here they are.
Right, right.
Don't you have any paintings on the walls?
- We keep our walls clean. - I see.
I have hung some on the walls of my studio.
Charcoal drawings.
Okay, let's have a look.
My son Magnus has already tried selling some of them.
- They were all returned to us. - That's curious.
I've managed to sell all the paintings I've bought.
Einar here owns a few as well.
The Woodcutter, Sisters, and a landscape from Gausdal.
I find them highly impressive.
I haven't sold the ones I've wanted to keep for myself.
Two of Helene's works.
Why are you here?
Maria Wiik recommended you.
And Einar convinced me.
He's your admirer.
You don't embellish things.
You paint people in all their ugliness.
At times your brushwork is almost...
...sketch-like.
When you look at all the details.
Are you going to buy something?
All of them!
Well, the price...
The price is 50 marks per piece.
You'll regret this.
So I'll add in a 10 per cent sales commission.
Yes.
You are...
...an extraordinarily gifted artist.
Einar and I will make sure...
...that other people see that as well.
Good day.
Men have the meat first.
Don't be shy.
Today went well.
We might become rich.
Thanks to you.
300 marks!
300 marks, going once.
300 marks, going twice.
And 300 marks, going three times.
Sold to this gentleman.
It's not too bad.
It would be easier without the paintings.
Just blank walls to imagine something on.
I don't like this light. Could you kindly help me?
Move.
Is it uncomfortable to look at your own works?
They're clumsy.
Especially in this light.
I could stay the night and fix the worst mistakes
before the exhibition opens again.
You're right.
Let's go get the painting tools. I'll keep you company.
Who are you again?
Forester, writer, a self-learned painter.
In fact, the original idea for the exhibition came from him.
Gösta, I'm not happy with the light.
- Can you open them slightly? - Let's start here in an hour.
Stop.
The other side.
Good.
Slightly more.
Would you like a coffee?
Why not.
Have you never been here before?
I haven't been to Helsinki in 15 years.
But I used to practically live in cafes
with Ada, Maria, and Wester.
I was under the impression you enjoy cities.
Paris.
Paris is dirty.
- You loathe Paris? - I love it.
I love Paris precisely because it's so dirty.
The smell is so peculiar. It smells of hot stone,
rotten flowers, and unwashed skin at the same time.
I'm not sure if you're talking about cities or art.
To me, cities are states of emotion.
They're queuing to get there.
The exhibition is a success.
Haven't you read the papers?
No.
And I won't.
My head is heavy with stress as it is.
Colours have a life of their own in my mind.
There are periods when I can't stand certain colours.
- Is that so? - At one point I hated purple.
Now I can accept it.
How about beige? You use it a lot.
True. But it's my stumbling block.
I only use it in backgrounds.
I find it almost impossible to paint a person dressed in beige.
How about ochre, cobalt, and charcoal black?
My favourite colours.
I know.
I saw it in an interview of yours.
Could I come and watch you paint some day?
It would be an honour.
We do have the occasional visitor, so why not.
Bring painting tools with you. We can paint together.
All right.
Thank you.
Soldiers. Forward, march.
- What a surprise. - Magnus has something to tell you.
The 10,000 mark commission from the last exhibition belongs to the heirs.
It will be divided between us family members.
No. I'm the one who painted the pieces.
Not the heirs.
I don't get anything from the houses you draw.
That's just how it is. I don't make the rules.
The heirs own women's works.
Magnus could keep all the money if he wanted to.
It makes us look bad. Understand?
The things they come up with...
I won't allow it.
People are going to talk.
We're in a civil war, everything's being watched.
What are you doing here?
Whatever.
Mostly thinking about what I'd like to paint next.
And what are you doing here?
It's a nice gesture to apologise to your brother this way.
Where did you find that painting?
I can check the shelves, too.
Are you stealing it?
Shit.
Is it lead?
Nothing else will do.
White lead and rabbit-skin glue.
Yes. And silence.
Come here.
Now we'll plant this.
Orchids would look nice next to your paintings.
- So let's plant it. - Let's go.
''If I should needs die with thee, I will in no wise deny thee.''
That's how the Haparanda lay preachers speak.
All right.
My family has a villa in Tammisaari.
Would you like to go with me and paint there?
- To Tammisaari? - Yes.
Thank you.
Can I paint you?
What?
I'd like to paint you.
Just as you are.
Looking like a sailor.
Stay still.
I've been here for six hours.
Good. Only ten left.
Knife.
Couldn't find an axe.
Come.
Take it.
Rub it gently.
Never through the rabbit-skin glue.
- You mustn't break it. - No.
Closer still.
Add some more viridian.
It gives the skin a beautiful glow.
Take the hat off.
It dominates the picture.
Stand still.
Thank you.
I'd like to talk about what happened in Tammisaari.
What about it?
Nothing.
- When are you going to Lapland again? - Tomorrow.
We can talk about Tammisaari.
No need.
How long will you stay?
Three weeks at most.
I have forest-related business in Tornio.
Let's write each other letters.
But only one each.
Why one?
That way they will be unique.
Strange.
I'm guessing you're just a lazy writer.
No, I'm not.
Or, well...
Prove me that you're not.
Write me a long letter.
Fine. But just one.
It better be lengthy.
Are you sad?
What?
You look so sad when you smile.
No... I don't know, maybe.
What's the matter?
All artists are sad.
Even the happy ones.
This profiteering makes me sick.
Helsinki is a madhouse these days.
A constant stream of visitors who discuss nothing but politics.
It's all shit.
The war is over.
But the League of Finnish Feminists is making no progress.
Suffrage and things like that.
I'm growing weary and turning into a stinging nettle.
You've always been a stinging nettle.
Einar still hasn't written me.
Aren't my letters good enough?
Einar is still young.
We all draw strength from our childhood,
no matter what it was like.
Usually it's bleak.
I wonder how many people will attend my funeral.
Aren't you being a bit overdramatic?
Not very many.
I can't stand it when people disappoint me.
Any other subjects?
There's a bloody big lump in the sole of my foot.
Luckily it didn't turn into a boil.
- Want to see it? - No.
My train will depart soon.
See you soon.
I can't find one.
- What kind are you looking for? - A perfect one.
We've been here for three hours.
Good. So we still have time.
Same old jokes.
This is it.
Focus, Einar.
Haven't you bought one of my landscape paintings of Gausdal?
Go there and do your own version.
To Norway?
Why?
Because I want you to.
I'd like to stay here and paint with you.
I have money. Consider it a scholarship.
I want... I demand you to experience what I've already experienced.
You need to experience it alone.
I can't wait to hear what you think of Skei.
It's a beautiful place, Einar.
I don't feel like going right now.
It's a beautiful gesture.
Don't say no.
We'll continue when you return.
I'll think about it.
I'm going to miss you.
- Maybe something's happened to him. - It's only been a week.
Two weeks.
He promised to write every day.
No letters last week either although I sent him eight.
Calm down.
Paid a trip like that from the little you have...
Women in our house don't cry over men.
We're strong and dignified.
Obviously.
Evening chores.
Not today.
Dear Wester,
I find it hard to sleep.
I have painful, colourful dreams, perhaps nightmares.
It's all because I'm worried about Einar.
He's given me strength.
He's given me courage for the last two years.
Now I miss him.
When he returns, I will admit everything.
I shall lay everything bare.
Well?
It's from Einar.
What is it?
- What is it? - Wait.
- Helene, open the door. - Don't come in here.
Stay away!
Open the door, Helene.
Let me in. Helene!
Helene, open this door.
Open the door.
Helene.
Don't come in here.
Stay away.
What a beautiful girl.
It is clear that everyone who's close to being forty
wants a family.
What about me?
What does that make me?
Where is my family?
You didn't really think...
He is so young.
You trust everyone.
Don't interfere with my life again.
Do you believe me when I say that I'll destroy you
if you do that?
Do you believe me?
Do you?
I do.
You do.
The sanatorium is just as unique as you said.
Gausdal is enchanting.
I have met Tyra.
Tyra Arp is 18 years old.
We are engaged.
Helene Schjerfbeck.
The diagnosis is heart symptoms.
Nothing too serious. A shattered or...
...a broken heart.
I...
It's time for me to go.
See you later.
Just rest, sister.
The world will wait for you.
I'll take care of you.
I promise.
I came to read you poems.
Whoever has books, can escape every day
to the dwelling places of great spirits.
Let's start with Eino Leino.
The Book of Liberty.
Young is my land.
Young am I as well.
Early came the morning for us both.
We saw the day dawning over the mountains.
We climbed and rushed towards it.
What are you looking at?
The sea.
Don't you want to paint anymore?
Painting is secondary right now.
I will study you.
Why?
Because of that.
I want to write a book about your art.
On one condition.
What is it?
I want to paint you.
When?
I'll let you know.
...and rushed towards it...
Wester.
No books.
Next time I'll bring Selma Lagerlöf.
No, nothing.
But if you could stay a while.
Good.
Don't look at me.
Why not?
I can't draw you if you look directly at me.
Did she get my letters?
Helene is still sick.
It's hard to evaluate her feelings.
I don't even let Magnus enter her room.
I don't know what to say.
You don't have to say anything.
Come back when she is healthy again.
Enjoy your fiancée.
- Does the doctor visit every day? - No.
You can't just keep her in bed without a doctor.
It's time to go, boy.
I'm sorry.
Is there anything else...
...we could do?
What do you suggest?
I'm not stupid, Einar. I hope neither are you.
Believe me, I do my best.
It's time for you to leave.
There is just so much to say.
Would you give her the flowers at least?
Sometimes the pain feels like an electric needle in my stomach.
Here is a pen and some paper for the night.
Draw when it hurts.
The flowers are beautiful.
Thank you.
Do you think it's time to go home?
Stay as long as you want.
Remember what you wrote to me after I broke up with Jean?
You said ''When you rise again,
be hard and clear like metal.''
Dear Helene.
It's difficult to put my thoughts into words.
I plan to return to Helsinki.
I would like to meet you.
They wouldn't let me see you at the hospital.
It was harrowing.
The book is coming along well.
You'll get the first draft in the summer.
Your friend forever, Einar.
I'm glad you came.
I came because I had to.
I feel much better.
Helsinki Art Society's spring display featured nine of your works.
Gösta markets me as crippled and weak.
It sells, although it is unpleasant.
I'm glad if it works.
Stenman sold the Costume Picture to the Art Society.
Your third work in Ateneum.
Yes, I heard.
I've started painting again.
Good.
Mother will have a beautiful birthday.
- There will be four of us. - Who are coming?
You, I, and two biscuits.
Why do you even paint, Helene?
You could utilise your manual skills
and sell rya rug designs to crafty women.
- There are too many painters. - That's not true.
- Finland's most popular female artist. - But the money goes to other people.
The new tenth rule of bohemianism:
You must end your own life.
Or not.
Stop, mother. Please.
I'm just getting back on my feet.
I already invited him.
Einar comes the day after tomorrow.
It's too soon.
Einar has bought a car.
- He will drive here himself. - No.
I wanted to help.
Sincerely.
Let's make a dress.
Come in!
May I introduce my fiancée, Tyra Arp.
Good day.
This is an honour.
See you soon.
She's your relative.
Yes, but Tyra is not closely related.
She's always been so tiny.
Did you see the picture of Tyra that I sent you?
I'd rather not hear more.
What about the fells of Gausdal?
They'll be forever yours and mine.
They belong to all artists.
Your friendship is very dear to me.
- I don't want to lose it. - Let it rest.
Perhaps I should go.
Thanks for the coffee.
Your kindness makes this quite tolerable.
Trust me, your friendship is very dear to me.
I do not wish to see you again.
What do you want me to do?
End my suffering.
Leave.
Einar.
I apologise. I was unreasonable.
Write to me whenever you can.
I would appreciate it.
For one single moment,
this was mine.
You were mine.
You were sad then, but I think it was my greatest happiness.
The physical love I got,
it was not of the highest kind.
It fades away.
Loneliness towers over me, embraces me.
This is for you, Einar.
I wanted to thank you for everything.
Best regards, Helene Schjerfbeck.
Stop pretending.
The fact is that you don't care about me.
I take care of you.
This is not about you.
Is that how it is now?
You never do chores, and I sit here idly as a model.
You refused to live with Magnus and Betty.
Mother and daughter belong together.
You never loved me like you loved Magnus.
Insufferable.
An unfit mother. A hypocrite.
Very well.
I'll go live with Magnus and Betty.
That's what you've always wanted.
Then you will have more room to paint.
Einar and you.
Leave.
Go.
Helene!
Let's get you away from the cold.
I'll close the windows.
Helene.
I am not a very strong man,
but I can open this door with an axe.
Helene, where's the axe?
There's no need.
I just don't want you to see me.
''It seems strange that a woman in her old days
can still achieve such magnificent things.''
''In her old days?''
Who are they writing about?
I'm sorry, and I disagree with that phrase.
But if we are broad-minded and ignore the indiscretion,
what do you think?
''These achievements,
compared to any artist in the world,
are completely exceptional.''
That sounds better.
Sounds like an exaggeration.
Come help me with the firewood. It's cold in here.
So what do you say?
Next autumn in Stockholm.
- Will anyone be interested? - We'll see.
A new exhibition would be beneficial.
It is quite clear I can't.
It will cheer you up.
Have you even seen my latest work?
Thank you for your help.
You smell sour just like before.
And what is this?
Such an ugly girl.
Who would want to look at this, let alone buy it?
She may be ugly, but she's full of spirit and fire.
''Buy this, buy this. It's ugly but modern.''
- Full of fire... - I abandoned realism ages ago.
Life alters me.
Perhaps makes me stronger.
You paint unsellable pictures out of spite.
- Not even your brother wants them. - Quiet, or you'll end up homeless.
Magnus doesn't want you. I take you out of kindness.
Drink, mother.
- Shirt... - What?
Magnus's shirt.
Almighty, eternal God, the father of our lord, Jesus Christ,
your compassion rests on all your creation.
Have mercy on this poor...
Why isn't the provost here?
Who on earth is that man...
Let's move mother downstairs. There's more room.
Three girls they killed in order to see.
What was hidden inside those hearts so wee.
The first was full of joy.
Blood squirted on the ground, and look.
From the dew, three...
Dear Wester,
I must confess
something about my mother and me.
For decades, we had shouted to each other
as if from separate islands.
There she lies now, voiceless, on her own island.
But was she
merely my valuable tormentor...
...or the ultimate obstacle to my success.
Go say your goodbyes. Mother is clean and in burial clothes.
I wanted to paint a picture that'd force the viewers on their knees.
The mouth is mute, emphasising the silence.
Finally!
I'll see Einar tomorrow.
Really?
Yes.
This is for Gösta.
To thank him for everything.
Helene, I'd like to talk.
Talk.
I've made mistakes.
Mistakes?
Wrong choices.
Everyone makes mistakes.
Perhaps my engagement was a bit hasty.
What I want to say is...
You are the most significant artist...
The most significant person I know.
Thank you.
The Convalescent is being called ''Ateneum's only gem'' again.
Is that so?
They say I'm not genuine.
That my rhythm on canvas is violent and convulsing.
And they are right.
That is who I am.
I could visit you.
It would be kind of you.
I'm very touched by your attention.
Thank you.
I'd like to ask you to join us for dinner.
Would it be possible?
Yes, that's fine.
Go on, Tyra. You can do it.
I always saw Einar's naked back as I was painting him.
Why didn't he understand how to read my emotions?
Or...
Perhaps he misunderstood.
On the other hand... Now I am curious again.
Curious.
I understand it now.
Dreams hold hands with time and run away from us, step by step.
Until they disappear into the horizon.
And we forget.
We forget what we were trying to reach our whole lives.
Finally, all that is left is pure, white paper.
Then we'll find rapture.
THE FINNISH SWEDE HELENE SCHJERFBECK DIED ON 23/1/1946 AT AGE 83.
SHE NEVER MARRIED.
HELENE AND EINAR REUTER REMAINED CLOSE FRIENDS.
THEY WROTE OVER 1,100 LETTERS AND POSTCARDS TO EACH OTHER.
English translation: Samuli Kauppila & Maarit Tulkki.
Saga Vera Oy