I first met Claude Ponsot in 1957, when I was 17 and he was 30. This was in Jamaica, New York, where Paul Bowles was born and I grew up. At the time Claude was still married to his American poetess wife Marie. Who, as it happens, also grew up in Jamaica. And has since become somewhat famous. Marie Ponsot. I even recall visiting them the day before and the day after their sixth child arrived. Marie looked her same slim self on both occasions. Nor did she know the meaning of the word 'rest.’ Whenever it was she dropped, Claude was probably out in his garage studio painting. A great lover of life, the eternal female, and good food & drink, he has always been first and foremost devoted to his art. That he is not better known, either in America or Europe, is one of the more damning indictments of the contemporary art world. And yet it bothers me much more than it does him. He just keeps on painting. Here is what he has to say about his calling:

"My intent is to stay true to my work, not compromise or shift to more accessible subjects for the sake of a sale.