William, my friend

William my friend cooking in the kitchen, explaining how to make that tasty gravy sauce,

William inventiveness and sense of humour, William smiling laughing and joking,

William with his paintbrushes, pencils, carving tools, inkrollers, wooden spoons, “Look at these hands, I can do anything anywhere”,

William drawing carving woodcutting printing and painting in the Old Library in Cardiff,

William drawing carving woodcutting printing and painting in his Church, St Stephen’s Cathedral in Llangynwyd,

William smiling, teaching to the children in Maesteg Valley,

William quoting Arthur Rimbaud « The drunken boat »

Comme je descendais des Fleuves impassibles,

Je ne me sentis plus guide par les haleurs

Des Peaux-Rouges criards les avaient pris pour cibles,

Les ayant cloués nus aux poteaux de couleurs,

William and his own personal zoo: wolves, puffins, camels, beavers, bears, moose, elephants and kippers,

William working hard, everyday taking the bus from Bridgend to Llangynwyd, William delivering paintings, collecting paintings,

William, hundreds of canvas and watercolours, William red yellow and blue, William black & white, William orange, William brown,

William in junk shops buying red plastic lobsters, green spiders, inflatable sheep, all sorts of plastic bugs,

William in the morning at his desk, left hand writing hundreds, thousands of letters,

William and his rubber stamps collection, playing, drawing and decorating envelopes, sending mail art all around the world,

William in every season, no coat, only his jacket and a shirt “Je n’ai pas froid, je suis canadien” “I’m not cold, I’m Canadian”

William speaking in tongues, English, Welsh and French, quoting Gilles Vignault “Mon pays ce n’est pas un pays, c’est l’hiver”,

William in Vimy, looking at his name, William Brown engraved on the Canadian Monument,

William in Flanders tasting Belgian Beers and eating chips in Bruges under the snow,

William in Flanders and Artois and Picardy visiting British cemeteries haunted by the ghosts of world wars,

William with relentless energy, so prolific so generous, giving everything, interested in every person and every story, William with Tony Goble in a bar planning to create the riffraff society,

William in Cardiff teaching the art of portrait to aged men and women, offering biscuits and sherry,

William in Swansea University talking about the art of Chardin,

William in public houses explaining new projects, working in front of a glass of cider,

William taking care of Carys, taking care of his parents, his family and friends

William not too much taking care of himself,

William happy with his life, faithful and kind, semper fidelis,

William and all his friends, William with Malcolm and Keith, and Gareth and Colin and Anthony and David, and Peter and Hervé and Adrian and Johannes and more and more,

William so sad when Tony died, William now it’s your turn, too soon, too fast,

William walking in the souks of Morocco or Tunisia, staring at fruit  and vegetables, paying attention to the smells and colours, to the silhouettes of people,

William travelling from Scotland to Canada, to England, Wales, Ireland, United States, France, Belgium, Germany, Holland, Greece, pilgrimaging to Galicia, to Santiago, Saint-Jacques de Compostelle, William walking on the earth, to give us joy and beauty,

William as a true celtic boy interested in spirits, Mari Lwyd, loups-garous and haunted houses, giving birth to the Venus of Blaengwynfi, Glamorgan,

William and his admiration for Georges Danton, “Bourreau Montrez ma tête au peuple !”

William reading William Burroughs and James Lee Burke, reading the poets Louis Mc Neice, Hedd Wyn, Edward Thomas, WH Davies, Wilfred Owen, Dylan Thomas, Ronsard et François Villon, Mais où sont les neiges d’antan…

William French speaking on the phone with that typical québécois accent “Christ en calvaire”,

William calling me, saying he had the vision of the small church of Guarbecque, my native place, as a New Jerusalem coming down from the sky over the Transborder Bridge in Newport and painting that vision,

William painting bears on the Newport city busses, William trying to get prints of bear paws by putting liquid plaster in a damp in Toronto,

William playing with his fax machine: “Attention je pousse le bouton”,

William on stage in Lille, “je fais mon cirque”, appearing under a red light douche, masked and disguised as a loup-garou, wolf-man mittens and mask, while the audience can’t help laughing and laughing,

William in London at the East West gallery, talking to everybody with kindness and simplicity,

William at the Eisteddfod, looking like a bard with his red beard,

William eating mussels in Perros-Guirec, Brittany, William tasting French wine in Carcassonne, William at La Taverne Flamande in Hazebrouck, two years ago, so weary...

William, mais où sont les neiges d’antan ?

William, mais ourson les neiges d’antan ?

Here is a short story written by William. He wrote that piece and sent it to me in April 1998. It is a child memory, un souvenir d’enfance, when he was 5 years old.

Ontario

So it’s nearly 40 years ago, and I am at a gas station in Ontario. Maybe not too far from Parry Sound – Pointe au Baril – I can’t remember exactly… anyway it’s dry, hot and August… smell of gas. I noticed a car with American Plates… New York State… and a big dead bear strapped across the hood.

Near the pumps, I tried to feed some Cheezies to a little bear chained up. He was too busy trying to scrape the worms out of his ass. To this day, I remember him scooting around the gravel.

I do think that William is now holding the hand of that little boy he used to be in the fifties. He rejoined this innocent child who has always been a part of himself…

William I miss you. William, we miss you.

Lucien Suel

La Tiremande, 20 juillet 2008.

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