Painted from life by Sir Roland Richardson

Marigot, French St. Martin

Original Oil on Canvas

72” x 30.75”

July 2012

$10,000

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“In the small village of Grand Case where I grew up, you knew everyone.  Certain qualities stand out as if symbolically more so than your actual knowledge or experience of them. Mr. Gilbert Denis was one of these personalities.  You knew him by the ramrod uprightness in the way he walked, aloof and quiet and mysterious.  I always naturally had a deep sense of respect for him, saw him as elegant and handsome and always well-groomed.  I left the island for many years and when I returned, much had changed but some things not.  The houses seemed smaller, my schoolmates like myself had changed and grown up, but Creole Rock was there as it had always been and Gilbert, older, was exactly as I had always remembered him - stately, elegant, quiet.

Many years again went by as I worked hard to have the courage to become the artist of my place and time.  Eventually the time came when I understood that I had painted the rocks, the land, and the sea, the flowers and the trees, but now I should address the most challenging subject, my fellow men and women.  

The tree does not care how you paint it, nor does the rock, or the cloud, but a person does.  People are the only subject that has an opinion to express and therein is the difficulty of portraiture.  That opinion is not limited to the subject only but implicates all of mankind so it took a while before I approached Gilbert. 

 “Mr. Dennis, I would appreciate it if you would agree if you would let me paint a picture of you with your suit on.” 

“Well, that would have to be on a Sunday after mass.  I only wear my suit on Sunday.”

That short exchange was like a huge accomplishment for me.  I had approached this mysterious person from my childhood memory.  Now I was faced with actually doing it - transmitting it onto canvas.   I planned to work in the rectory behind the church, but the light was not good and there were too many people.  This was a private and privileged exchange so we went to my studio gallery in Marigot.  We worked on the porch, him standing with his cane and sunglasses, never saying a word until he was tired and wanted to go home.  I thanked him and he looked at the painting for the first time and pointed to the gray line in his otherwise dark hair and said, 

“Next time, you have to paint that white out.””