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 ...fishing, 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...
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 ...fishing, 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...
Shades of Conrad.Cela m'enchante.Your drawings have as much charm as your photos;can't wait for the next post.
ReplyDeleteSame as Catherine, quel suspense !
ReplyDeleteI'm intrigued by the story ... what happened next?
ReplyDeletewell now this is your great gift for narrative again; this should be printed in your muji book style and offered for sale to readers for christmas gifts, limit one per purchaser.
ReplyDeleteenormous credibility with me; I've holidayed off St Vincent and know the treachery of the coral near the shore of Young Island, swimming that bay before breakfast and sailing to Bequia for lunch. I can also prodigiously well understand the spontaneous formation of the friendship with Olivier and the rapport with the crew.
but the excellence of these pictures, I cannot understand.
:)
One day, I shall compile all these stories into a book, the style you recommend. It will be my capo lavoro, something that only I can do and won't look like anyone else's.Beyond photography, beyond paint, beyond art, just the salt of my own existence. I need to fit my adventurer's boots again (which is mostly bare feet).I haven't finished living the life yet. Hence the van...before the shack. But that's the point.
ReplyDelete:))
I wish some compromise could allow for the elderly, the ailing, the spoiled - not always the same thing, of course. The Pickwick Papers poured 'le sel' compassionately in this way, never diminishing a grain when drawn together. Still, a great project for the unformed, the blasé, and the abstinent to look forward to ...
ReplyDelete:)
I don't wish to miss it.
thanks for taking us aboard !
ReplyDeleteI just spent my morning reading your recent post and admiring your work over coffee.
ReplyDeleteI decided to scroll down further to see what else I may have missed and my jaw dropped.
Thank you so very much for posting my work and your kind words, coming from you this is indeed a compliment.
You have made my day Ivan.
David
... j'ai comme une envie de ti'punch !!!!
ReplyDeleteBravo ! on y est !!!!
Just Brilliant...
ReplyDeleteLife is pure art...
All the best,
"Tavarua"
Sans voix devant les images.
ReplyDeleteAdmiring your watercolors!!!
ReplyDelete