Last Saturday I had an apparition. Driving through the Mare quarter in Paris, desperately trying to find a parking space, I caught in the corner of my eye, the unmistakable sight of Glen Baxter‘s work staring at me through the front window of the Galerie Martine et Thibault de la Châtre.
Baxter’s influence on me is of immense dimension. His art, for my serves as the ultimate artistic licence for an unruly, nonsensical behaviour as an illustrator.
His subtle british humor draws its juices from the empire’s children books illustrations of the 1930s-1940s, with an intriguing caption at the bottom.
I stopped the car, and stormed in. Looked at his works, through a big smile that covered the better part of my face (we are talking square meters here not square centimeters). then, innocently, I’ve asked the Gallery’s owner if Mr. Baxter happened to be in town. His reply was : “…in fact, he’s right here beside me!” that’s when I got beside myself with joy.
I thanked Mr. Baxter (above, wearing the russian army’s fur hat) for all that I have borrowed from him without his knowledge, and wished him all the best in the world, got out to the street, got into the car and drove through Paris and through that great smile.