This is the world Tove Jansson drew with a dip pen and india ink from 1945: round-nosed trolls and spindly companions floating on huge fields of cool white, the way Nordic light leaves the sky pale and the sea flat. No fill, no shading beyond crosshatch and stipple — the emptiness is the composition.

A few confident black contours share the page with acres of breathing space: a lighthouse, a comet, a tiny figure in the weather. It reads like a Moominvalley comic strip printed on cold-press stock — spidery lines, hatched shadow, pale-blue Baltic air.