Monday, December 20, 2010

The recent works on clay remind me of Pompei, shadows covered in ash, fossilized in their daily occupation. A snapshot. The way they turned out was not entirely predictable. It never stops to fascinate me.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Thursday, December 09, 2010

The gladiators of our time. Screenshots. France versus Australia. France got a beating and a calendar signed by François Rousseau.

Monday, December 06, 2010

Chateau de Versailles, la garde robe de Louis XVI. The ultimate masterpiece of the ancient regime. Hidden within the exquisite carvings, little graffiti referring to the latest scientific discoveries of the time. As The World of Interiors didn't reproduce them (a bit unfortunate I thought), here they are.

Sunday, December 05, 2010

Olivier's story- Part Two. Two years after we had met, Olivier sent us a mysterious message requesting us to come to Saint Maartens for a 5 star cruise. He came to meet us at the airport rather undone and with bloodshot eyes, not quite his old self. He had given up his little yacht "Cesar" and was about to buy half of "Mulde", an old and run down East German cargo ship which belonged to a German skipper named Timo and his wife Suzy and to a third partner always referred to as Fucking Joe. Timo and Suzy where extremely sweet and we all got along beautifully. I instantly fell in love with Mulde of course. At first, it was all very joyful and fun and we sailed around the islands quite happily until the day the money that was supposed to arrive to finalize the deal was found missing. It wasn't long before the situation got nasty. I'll save you the details, but paradise turned into hell. The conclusion of this sad story is that Olivier left the board and was found a year after hanging by the neck at the top mast of a ship wreck he had just acquired and was fixing up. He was a friend but I couldn't help him. I hope he has found peace.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

This is how the story begins. In January 1995, I was in Fort de France. Having just completed my first cruise across the Atlantic, I was wondering about on the island sleeping on the beach or some cheap hotel with no particular plans but not quite ready yet to fly back home. I met Olivier on the market place, attracted by his stellar tramp looks. He was selling black coral figurines on behalf of some native Caribbean fishermen he had befriended with and wanted to help out. Olivier was the proud owner and skipper of the "Cesar", a handsome sailing yacht which I was welcome to board. And so the next day we set sails en route to Saint Vincent in the Grenadines. Living on this totally deserted part of the island is beyond description. There is Richie, the boss, making sure that no one misbehaves, Morris, Robert who graced me with a portrait, Dexter ... These guys don't have a dime and won't stand a chance to leave their island, the government won't give them a passport (which is probably safer for them as all they dream of is to smuggle ganja.) Angels at home, they'd be villains anywhere else but who can blame them ? Only accessible by boat, not a tourist in sight, we spent the day and the day after, and the day after that, carving black coral, drinking strong rum, I mean strong, and smoking our heads off. Olivier is a Belgian and makes his living, running a restaurant during the summer season on the french riviera. A hard working man and a true adventurer. We would meet again, once in Paris, where I was happy to return his hospitality, and then a year after, back in the West Indies, but that is when the story takes an unexpected turn...