In the garden of Henri Matisse

Copyright 2002 Henrik Wigestrand

A whatsthepointillistic song reflecting the progress of Robert McLean's painting course in Henri Matisse's villa Le Rêve in Vence, France, in June/July 2002. The first lines were written in Norway, the rest of the first two verses written in a park in Nice on a Saturday morning, and the rest was written in room 14 in the villa or in the garden, just before the nightly wine, women and song (all right, and men and children) beneath the starry, starry night, while painting our palates blue and gray. This song is also available as an Illustrated Classic and as a PDF document. For Henrik's career as a painter, click here.

Painting by Robert McLeanIn the south of France,
in the town of Vence,
in the garden of Henri Matisse.
We're gathered for some fun
with the scenery and the sun,
to share a week of mere creative bliss.

We are a world away from boredom and frustration,
We are a world, we are a small United Nations.

Blessed are the meek.
We'll be artists in a week.
Others spend a lifetime to succeed.
But first let us be fed!
For in the week ahead
we have brains and hearts and souls to feed.

We are a world away from sticky expectations,
We will return with new techniques and inspiration.

Pam is painting chairs
that aren't really there,
but since she's the psychologist, who knows?
Art can keep you sane,
even with a Dane,
in spite of window panes [pun intended] - and Susan's cold [lack of rhyme intended].

We live in old Matisse's villa, but who'll miss him?
We are the artists who did whatsthepointilism.

What's the point in art?
We need a point to start,
and our point of departure is all right.
It takes away the sting
to hear sweet Nanna sing
Baby, you look wonderful tonight.

And we watch Robert's magic brush cross every mountain,
While mine can hardly tell a toilet from a fountain.

Breakfast at Joelle's,
with re-run chapel bells,
and Robert gently tells us how to paint.
Visitors dropped by.
Our neighbor wondered why.
For the sake of rhyme, his French was quaint.

And we had pizzas (flying saucers?), songs and folly.
(Will we be mentioned in your book, Carol and Holly?)

I'm not one to boast
that I've ever seen a ghost,
but some of us have seen one, and who knows?
Some arrived in cars
to sit underneath the stars,
Some of us arrived in UFOs.

We could be victims of our own imagination.
Or Vence could be an old intergallactic station.

Susan's still (got) her cold,
Henriette's parasol
is still waiting for the final touch.
Sleepy from the heat
we've had a bit to eat,
Though we don't eat food for thought as such

Artistic challenges can make a man a cripple.
Today we studied the location of a nipple.

Everybody knows:
A rose is not a rose (is not a rose is not a rose).
And as you compose, your painting grows.
Roses can be green,
elephants are blue,
apples can be orange for me and you.

So open up your inner fountain of emotion,
and paint a yellow mountain in a purple ocean.

Time to draw the line,
Although we're inclined
to try it one more time, and make the grade.
All mistakes we made
with balance, light and shade,
and put them on parade, will slowly fade.

We have completed this artistic education
without a need for any aural amputation.

If the market yells
for Pamela's pastels,
she'll have enough to sell; a mass production.
When Linda tried to back,
an alien tree attacked,
We luckily evaded an abduction.

And Linda's car keeps speaking messages and beeping;
In fact it probably can drive when she is sleeping.

Susan's minor flu
caused a Blue Ballou,
then the town came through, and sea and trees.
Outlines and refills,
will Linda's misty hills
pay her Avis bills? A masterpiece.

It's just amazing to see what we did last Sunday!
It makes you wonder how far we can make it one day.

From Matisse's leaf
to Georgia O'Keefe -
it all looks so easy for Annette.
My teeth or Matisse -
Tom is painting fish and trees
on both sides of the canvas, and it's wet.

And Henriette needs no reason for elation.
She is a constant mobile source for inspiration.

Susan's sexy voice,
Jeanette's well-trained boys,
we had our choice of joys for interludes.
With the joy of sax
we could all relax
in the company of Jane's and Nanna's nudes.

And when you struggle with the placement of a nipple,
You will appreciate it's double and not triple.

Jane paints with ease;
The nude is on her knees,
begging "Jane, please paint me a floor!"
Finn's hand's getting numb
making the dot come.
Talent is so easily ignored.

And Henrik's found another silly pun, how clever.
But will these verses just go on and on forever?

And Jeanette's fish
would make a sexy dish,
now she's ended up in a lagoon.
And Le Grand Danois
has a je ne sais quoi,
it's a shame that Finn is leaving soon.

In fact, we'll all be sad to leave our art and laughter.
Will we be painting harpists in the everafter?

Now Annette and Bob
will be facing next week's mob,
it's more than a job, it can be fun.
But nothing can compare
to the group we were,
though they'll sweat here in the same old sun.

So let us raise our glasses in pure celebration.
Who needs rhythm and rhyme?

Skål!

 

Postscript:

Morning came with rain.
Pam went to her train.
Others would remain,
and some were gone.
Eze supplied a view
matched by very few,
you should go there, too,
and try the fon-
dant.

A hilltop lunch with Susan, Linda; lovely weather;
To crown a very special week we had together.

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