I had made new friends, a diverse group comprised of Local Caribbean people, French, English, Australian, Canadian and Americans living in the Grand Case area. They were Musicians, Artists, Chefs, Waiters, Landowners and Landlords, and Business Owners, etc. One of my new friends was Mair Pattersun, a long time resident in Grand Case from England, who had been painting acrylics on Orient and the rest of the island for many years already. We tossed about ideas for finding an outlet or a place to sell our art in Grand Case, especially in the evenings when the tourists were about before and after dinner.
Pierre Bruyer, an Frenchman who was an acrylic on canvas artist, lived on the Boulevard, just down the alley from me with his wife and brood of children. He had invited me the prior year to set up on his porch a few nights and sell. Good laughs, good times. By this time I had also met Gloria and Marty Lynn, big name American artists who lived in the back of their little gallery house next to Bistro Caribes for about 30 years. They too, let me set up on their porch at the gallery entrance. Good conversations, knowledgeable people. I wanted my own art location on the Boulevard and I was looking.
Meanwhile, I spent my days selling on Orient. I dressed for the day in one of my pretty beach sundress, jewelry, makeup, a distinctive hat, and aviator sunglasses, flat-soled leather strap sandals. My backpack contained approximately 30 rolled plastic-wrapped signed and numbered prints with towel, lunch, and a 32 oz. frozen bottle of water. I closed and locked all the windows, and with my display folio of my latest artwork and keys, stepped outside the sliding glass door to the balcony entrance. Closed the door, and put the long bar in place, with a key padlock, reaching from the bottom of the outer door, up in a diagonal, to fit into the lock bolt holes on the opposite side, and click the lock into place. I always parked somewhere in the middle of the Orient Beach back road, in case of rain or need of more prints kept in the car. At first I parked at Kontiki, but later realized that Kakao Restaurant was a closer place to park, right behind their Soka Bar entrance.
Early in December and after the beach, I showered and dressed again, and walked around the corner to the Lolos to get some ribs, plantains, slaw and mac n’ cheese to bring back home for dinner. Between the Lolos and closer to IL Nettuno Restaurant there was a small retail shop in a white wooden shack, with a side window and shelf open to the Lolos, and an open door front. A woman named Corrine was inside, she sold ladies clothing and accessories for the tourists, pareos and polished cotton one size fits all colorful beachy island vacation clothes. We got to talking through the window, I was looking at the bare white wooden wall on the outside of the shack and neighboring one, recessed from the street, and closer to the Lolos, wondering if she could sublet the wall space and the shelf ledge, and run a cord for lights? She did. $50 per week. I shared my find with Mair, and we split the rent.
We sold prints, and got commissions to paint originals. About 10 days later, Corrine surprised me by asking if I would like to sublet the entire shop? She offered to remove everything inside, reasoning that business wasn’t good enough for her. I was surprised, because I had been doing well enough those past few evenings outside her window. I had now purchased a used Shrink Wrap Machine, from Simpson Bay Art Gallery, and was able to display my prints under plastic mounted on cardboard on the walls. Corrine wanted $500 per month to sublet the shack. It seemed that local people on St. Martin traded a good deal in rounded US currency dollars. $20, $50, $100, $500. The dollar was strong then. It was coveted. When I asked her how much she rented it for she was honest that she paid $250 each month, with a year and a half left on her lease with a Marigot realtor. I was ecstatic, Mair not. I decided to give it a go anyway, and worked out a small deal with Mair for her to rent the outside wall and shelf. I agreed to give it to her for $25 per month. I took the shack, and soon found other reasons that Corrine and her husband Gerald did not want it. There was a leaky roof above, and during any rain, as the clouds rushed by, water came in. Corrine informed me that it was up to me to fix it if I wanted it done. A new roof would be necessary according to my workman, Changa. I gave the go ahead.
In the evenings Mair was outside the shop, I was inside dodging the leaks and New Year’s Eve was coming. I planned to be closed, and made party plans to go celebrate. My friend Kevin was going to come get me in his car and planned to go out to see friends around the island, to dine out, and then dance and party all night at Bikini or somewhere on Orient.
At 9:00 pm on New Year’s Eve 2000/2001, the power went out. Phoom. It was gone. All of the restaurants on the Boulevard and elsewhere in French Saint Martin lost power. As tourists and locals were being seated. As entrees were being served. As chefs in the kitchens all over the French Side were working, they went into the dark. What happened? Those establishments who had generators kept their guests. There was great disappointment for the all of the others, people and establishments. A very interesting evening driving around in the dark on the French Side, the Dutch Side however was unaffected and we stayed much to that area until later that evening when we went down to Orient where a few places had generators and music, before a ride home.
The first morning in 2001, I found out through the street grapevine that the 12 workers at the Margot Power Station went on strike in support of their brothers in Guadeloupe who were already on strike for some time. The strike continued for over 3 weeks! Right in the middle of season. As it continued from the first day to the next, any planned visitor tourist who found out from the news or Internet cancelled their reservations through April! Grand Case was dead. The Boulevard was empty, with a few tourists on Orient, and most of the tourists on the Dutch Side. My main concerns were that I was not in my little gallery at night earning money for Corrine.
Maintaining fresh food in my kitchen was a big challenge. I placed everything in the freezer to keep with what was previously frozen. Then I went to my corner grocerette and purchased ice that they had delivered each day. They had a generator for their small selection of produce items so I was able to get some broccoli, onions, 7-day-old mushrooms, what ever they had I used for my meals. I had a gas stove/small oven in the apartment that I had planned to only use in these types of emergencies, preferring otherwise to cook with electricity on a two-burner unit that I had purchased the prior year. I spent a great deal of time on the Dutch Side that month, coming home before dark, and playing guitar on my outside stairs in the evening before sleep. Every few days, in the middle of the night the power would strangely come on again for an hour or so. I learned to have a laundry wash ready to fill in the machine the moment I was awakened by a light coming on. Angry restaurant owners who’s food had spoiled, went to the power station and threw their wasted food garbage over the fence in protest.
During this uncertain month, I flew to Saba from the Dutch Side to spend a few nights at Scouts up in Windwardside. My friend Mair was staying with her friends Scott and Kendall at the Carpenter House below Mt. Scenery just inside of Windwardside, on right side the main road before the Church, coming up from the airstrip. We ate at a wonderful restaurant called Y2K and I thought that was a clever name. The scenery is breathtaking, the higher you go up the volcano, the greener it is. We climbed the 1000 stairs to the top, saw the miniature pre-historic palm trees there and looked down to the sea, and out to Sint Maarten Saint Martin and Saint Barts. I painted my first Saba watercolors that trip, the first of a few longer excursions.
The strike was settled, the power came back, but as many of you know, it was suspect to go off and on as a regular thing anyway. It was the same thing almost with the water system. That was particularly annoying when it happened that you got up in the morning and there was no water, or little pressure. It happened more than once in the years I lived there.
Back to the Boulevard at night, selling prints, getting commissions to paint. Having lots of fun. Dogs roamed the boulevard freely, and ate rib bones from the trash bins and garbage across from the Lolos. Visitors gave them encouragement with tidbits, me being a dog lover, no exception to the rest. One night, three dogs came to my gallery and I called them Brownie, Whitey and Blackie. The Brown one seemed more timid, and took a real liking to me. He was a bit dirty as beach dogs are, with a ratty torn collar and no tags what so ever. He would find me on the Boulevard some mornings when I got breakfast, or a loaf of bread and bar of butter from the French Bakery next to Il Nettuno, and follow me back to my apartment. I’d leave him at the bottom of my stairs with a laugh that he was a good dog, and friend. After a few weeks of this routine of his following, I told him that if he followed me that day, I was going to open the car door and see if he wanted to go for a car ride. He did, and I drove the dog to the Cole Bay Animal Hospital for a bath and dip to rid the many Ticks he had attached to him. He came out all shiny clean, with some white markings that I had not seen before. He was skinnier than I thought he should be and inquired about adopting him. I got a medical exam for him, and all the shots, a new dog collar and leash, dog food bowls and food and treats. I licensed him in my name back on the French Side, and officially named him Brownie.
Everyone seems to be related if they are a local in Grand Case. Cousins abounded. Maybe two months later, walking Brownie back in the morning from the Boulevard, one of the younger nephews of my landlord’s mother Stazie, who lived in the house next to us, saw Brownie and I walking, and asked me about the dog. He thought the dog looked familiar, that it may be one of Stazie’s nephews dogs. Stachie’s dog, Sparky! Stachie had a Grand Case Lolos restaurant facing the water, the one on the left side in the back, as you enter the middle of the group of buildings. I brought Brownie to see Stachie. He said yes, that’s my dog, but he runs away all the time, and he had too many dogs to keep track of them all. Stachie lived further up the Boulevard in the area before the road to the Grand Case Beach Club turns off the main road. He then told me to keep the dog, no problem! Brownie was a pretty good dog, well behaved in the apartment, but liked to pick fights with other dogs while on the leash with me out for a walk. These dogs were all loose and would bait him and taunt him to bark or fight. One day Brownie took to pulling me down the Boulevard frantically after a Bitch in heat. He jumped her and I could not stop him. After dragging him home (I almost had to carry him) I had the dog neutered. I got a lot of flack from the local men for doing it. Dogs are treated in the Caribbean almost the same way that Cows are in India. You don’t mess with them. They are free to do as they please, and to take away his manhood was the ultimate shame to the local men. Stachie heard of it, and was angry with me.
I had a new corrugated roof installed at my Lolo shack gallery by Changa, and a woman named Stephanie from Australia designed a 4 foot round plywood roof sign, and painted it with my new logo for the gallery I had named L’Art Au Lolo.
Spring turned into summer, In July, Corrine asked me if next year when her lease ended, would I like to buy the rights to the lease? What??? Was this legal? Everyone does it, she informed me. Her price would be $10,000 in US dollars. She pressed me about it, and I put her off until my planned return in late fall as season started up again. I had enjoyed that summer, with many off days at Cupecoy, Plum Bay Beach and out to lunch meeting Kevin at Port De Plaissance where our friend Julie was now the Chef at the outdoor restaurant next to the tennis courts. Julie’s cooking is well worth the drive, no matter where she is on the island. Later she went to the Hidden Forest Restaurant at Loterie Farm where she has been now for over 8 years or so. Go there and you will get the best cuisine on the island. I guarantee it, hands down.
Late in the summer, on a dark night my little shack of a gallery was broken into with a crowbar, the wall in the backside of the shop had been pried open on the beachside in the dark. I never left anything of value inside. I carried all of my prints, display racks, and original paintings to and fro each evening. Sometimes Brownie came with me, other times he stayed home to guard there. I always changed my routine, because things do happen on the island and I did not want it to happen to me. Having found nothing inside of my gallery, the thief took what items were there, the broom, hammer, nails, tape dispenser, scissors, sitting stool, and the lights. I called Changa, and he came and fortified my shop walls, and front door with a new system. I paid Corrine for some months ahead, closed the shop for the end of summer and early fall.
By this time I had painted the following watercolor scenes (in alphabetical order): Artist At Cupecoy Self Portrait 2000, View of Anse Marcel 2001, Baie Rouge 1997, Baie de Grand Case 2000, Butterfly Farm 2001, Baie Rouge Hill (commission) 2001, Boulevard de Grand Case 2000, Cupecoy Sunset 1999, Club Orient 1998, Cupecoy Beach 1997, Creole Rock 1998, Cole Bay 2000, Club Orient 2001 (big 18×24” in my home), Colombier 2001, Cupecoy Rock 2001, Cottage Under Mt. Scenery, Saba 2001, Club Orient 2000, Coco Beach 2000, Cupecoy Cliffs 2001, Dawn Beach 1999, Frair’s Bay 2001, Le Flamboyant 2001, French Cul De Sac (commissioned big 18 x 24”) 2001, Green Key and Tintamarre 1998, Port de Gustavia, St. Barts 2000, Great Bay, Philipsburg 2000, Grand Case Beach 2000, Grand Case Sunset 2001, Happy Bay 1999, Isle Pinel 1998, Kontiki 1998, Loterie Farm 2001, L’Escargot Restaurant 2001, Michael’s Café 2000, Marigot Harbor 2001, Orient Beach (acrylic on masonite) 1997, Orient Beach 1999, Oyster Pond 2001, Pinel Island Snorkel Beach 1999, Pedros 2000, Pirate Restaurant 2001, Road to Grand Case 1998, Rendezvous Bay, Anguilla 2001, Simpson Bay Lagoon 1999, Saline D’Orient 1999, Sandy Ground, Anguilla 2001, Uncle Ernie’s at Shoal Bay 2001, Soka Bar 2000, Tintamarre with Pink Lady 2000, Tan Lines 2001, and Windwardside Garden View, Saba 2001.
I now had prints selling in other places on the island. With Zuzu at Le California Restaurant’s gift shop, at Marla’s gift shop at the Grand Case Beach Club where Mair and marla’s son Bart worked, Paradise Restaurant above Orient Beach at the lookout, Karin at the Butterfly Farm’s gift shop, and with Mike and Marilyn at Michael’s Cafe in Grand Case. It was easy to be a one person business if I kept it simple and close by. I was not ready to be driving all over the island, but I was looking for opportunites to branch out. An opportunity came with an art gallery on Anguilla above Sandy Ground, and I was looking into St. Barts and Saba. I stocked up my distributor locations and got ready to go home for a break.
I made plans to fly home on Saturday, September 15 on Continental direct to Newark, NJ. I was taking Brownie with me, in a dog crate that I had purchased to check him in to the flight. I would visit with family until late November.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, Brownie and I went early to Cole Bay for a medical exam to get an okay on traveling papers that was valid for just two weeks. As the doctor was examining the dog, his radio was on playing music from a local station. There was an interruption to the music and an announcement came on that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center and it appeared to be a severe situation there. We finished up with the dog, and I drove straight back to my apartment. When I arrived I put on the TV and got CNN on the screen. I watched in horror footage of the buildings, at the smoke, and was sitting there watching it as the second plane hit. My skin turned to ice; I was numb and sat there trying to absorb it all for the rest of the day and into the next. The airports were closed. No flights in or out. Not in the USA, not in Sint Maarten either. No fresh food came in. There was a scramble at the grocerette and the shelves were emptied. I purchased as much poultry and fish as my freezer could hold and all manner of dry goods and sundries. I simply did not know if I would be going home at all.
But on September 22, the airports had been opened again, and with renewed travel papers for Brownie, and Changa having boarded up my windows and door on my apartment again, Kevin drove me to the airport where I boarded a flight home. Almost empty the flight had seven people aboard. I was given a seat in First Class, complement of the sole stewardess. What did I go home to? Great sadness in the US, Anthrax scares and high anxiety. My mom and I got a big blue bottle of water and kept it in the garage for an emergency situation. I thought to myself, what would the next season bring in Sint Maarten Saint Martin?
Frenchy – Next Segment Part V: 2002 – Holding on for What it’s Worth
L’Art Au Lolo Gallery
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