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As Jean drove south along the Rhone River valley he thought back at the only time he had met the great painter. It was in that same garden at Marcel Butz's Louis Quinze home. He had gone there with his grandmother and while they were having tea in the garden, Picasso arrived with his friend, Dora Maar and his son Paulo. It was a surprise visit and Gertrude fussed over him while Dora talked to Alice and Paulo played with the dogs. There was no way to remember the day. We ate ice cream and little cakes that Alice had made. He did remember that Dora had been kind to him and that she gave him a sketch she had done of Gertrude's dog Basket. Jean smiled at the memory of the white poodle, they called Basket, that everyone fed chocolates. Her other small dog, Pepe, never left her side unless it was to bark at passing cows as the farmer next door led them home for milking. A Drive South through Montelimar The drive took him south through Montelimar, where he stopped and bought Picasso and his Francoise some nougat, for which the region was famous. He slowed down at Orange to visit the Roman Triumphal Arch and stopped for lunch at a restaurant on the Place d' Horloge in old Avignon. He bypassed Aix En -Provence, took the inland road past Brignoles, then back to the coast via St-Raphael, Cannes and Juan Les Pins. It was early evening when he arrived at Antibes. From his hotel, he telephoned Picasso's rented villa at Golf Juan. A woman answered. Jean introduced himself to Francoise who explained that Pablo was at the bullfights at Arles and would return very late, Since Pablo was in the habit of sleeping until noon, she suggested that he call back around treize heures; one PM. "C'est domage,"
Jean sighed. "I just drove through Arles on my way here. Had I
known..." "Au contraire,"
she exclaimed. "I adore the rites, the crowd, the spectacle of
it all with the dust and the sun. Even the music and the blood create
an unbelievable combination. Sometimes, Pablo prefers to go alone or
with Cocteau. Besides, I have children..." Jean Walks through old Antibes at Dusk At dusk, Jean walked through old Antibes. He admired the growing armada of pleasure boats in the harbor then walked along the Mediterranean past the Grimaldi Chateau dating from the XII century, with its massive stone walls open so Jean entered. Workmen were hanging a huge Picasso canvass. It was a whimsical and colorful painting of sirens, fauns and a huge Minotaur. Shopkeepers in the old market and bustling town were closing their doors. Old ladies laden with bags of vegetables lumbered down the narrow lanes while children chased each other screaming. The men in work clothes gathered in and around the zinc bars where they talked, always gesticulating, and smoking foul-smelling Galouises. Jean d'Aiguy Feels Good Dinner alone was not a lonely
event. Jean d'Aiguy had the distinct feeling that he accomplishing something
important. He spent a long time staring at Gertrude's portrait before
he finally fell into a deep sleep. "Stop that, Uzbek!"
Pablo said sharply. "This is a friend." Meeting Francoise Gilot They entered the large villa.
A young woman approached. "Everything can be used
for a sculpture. I throw nothing away. I even make sculptures out of
old fish bones. There is art in everything." Picasso Purses His Lips... Picasso pursed his lips and nodded repeatedly. "The minotaur is symbolic. It is really me. In reality, I am really a Minotaur in a man's body. But there is more... Do you know," he began," if you put a pencil on a map of Europe where I was born, in Malaga, and drew a line following all my travels throughout my life and stopped where I die, the pencil line would create the image of understand it. He was a charlatan, that Hemingway." "Actually, the reason
I wanted to see you has to do with Gertrude. I need your expertise." Jean ignored the remark.
"I saw her just the other day. She has aged. She finds it very
difficult without Gertrude." "Whatever", Pablo continued. "He wanted me to sign the painting to make it authentic. I never do that. If I didn't sign a painting when I did it, I never sign it. I told him if he wanted to prove I did it to just look at it. That's proof. Nobody paints like Picasso." Waiting for Him to Calm Down Jean waited for him to calm
down. "It is because of that painting that I am here. You know
that I am an investigator." Jean measured his words.
Picasso was frowning. "I understand that you knew that Gertrude
had a copy made of the portrait of Gertrude." "Who did the copy?"
Jean asked. "But am I copying them? No..." "Of course." He began to pace and talk. "Look, it is no secret that I get ideas from other painters. But am I copying them? No. I am using their architecture; their structure but the figures are mine. The color is mine. What happens on the canvass comes from me. A copyist, on the other hand does exactly that. She copies. She copies the form, the colors, even the brush stroke if she can. If she sells it as a copy, it is a copy. If she says it's the original, then it's a forgery. Nothing more. Vorobiev was capable but she was not and never will be Picasso. I am Picasso and there was only one original. How can there be more?" Jean reached for the package. "I'd like to show you something. Examine it closely and tell me what you think." Picasso looked puzzled but not enough to argue. Jean uncovered the copy of the portrait and propped it up against a table. Then he sat down and watched Picasso who approached the painting, reached over and picked it up. He walked to the window and looked at it closely. Knowing Your Own Work "This is a copy,"
he said. "It is not without likeness, but it is certainly not mine.
First of all the paint is thin in spots. The colors are not quite right
and, there is something about the face. It does not look like Gertrude." "So you can attest to the fact that the one sent to New York was the original?" Pablo screamed. "AGAIN... you too want me to authenticate. Picasso doesn't authenticate. But I will tell you one thing for certain. This is NOT my work. It is a copy. How many are there? They pop up everywhere. Take it away. I do not wish to see this in my home." To read the next chapter,
click here.
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