God began putting images before my inner eyes rather than whispering in my ear. I began the project at Christmas, and I showed each piece to Jeanne as I finished it.
By early 2010, I was done. I took the eight pieces, laid them all out, and went through the story with Jeanne.
“They’re wonderful,” Jeanne said. “What is the next story you are going to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” I replied.
I had other projects under way, but in late December 2010, I went back to the Genesis suite and finished the last image—the seventh day—my interpretation of God resting. After being worshiped in church in the morning, God is on His boat Sunday fishing for lost souls. The water is full of them.
NEXT CAME ANOTHER God-inspired series of drawings called The Gift in early 2011. Unlike the process I used for Genesis, where I read the story and then created the art, the visions came first and I watched the story—God’s heart tales—unfold before my eyes.
The second piece I did for The Gift—Jesus’ crucifixion—was highly unusual for me because I had never created a sad image before. It also took me longer than usual because as I was creating the image, I was living it. That image of Jesus on the cross with His Father crying for His Son and both of them weeping for all of humanity, became an extremely personal epiphany for me. This helped me understand that Jesus is the key that opens the door to my true identity.
I finally understood that God and Christ had made this sacrifice for me, for my freedom—the gift of grace and the freedom to choose to love Him as He has chosen to love me. I prayed silently to accept Jesus Christ as my Savior and then later, when I was out for a walk, I prayed out loud. I titled the art “The Cost of Freedom.”
The Gift is the story of a father and a son. Evil and death are overcome by the righteous sacrifice of God the Father and Christ, His innocent Son. Now I begin to understand: I have a heavenly Father who has been and will always be there for me, loving me and walking beside me. In my mind, I have gone from believing that I was insignificant and unworthy, to realizing I am a child of the living God who invites me to come into His loving presence.
As His forgiven—and restored—son, God and I now have Father-son conversations. I will never be alone or fatherless again. My heavenly Father is there sharing His insights, teaching and guiding me every day in every way.
I worked on The Gift for about seven months. When an artist is creating, time is irrelevant. You are oblivious to it because while you are creating, time simultaneously stands still and races forward at breakneck speed. You are so absorbed by what you are doing, you can even forget to eat.
Unlike Genesis, I did not show Jeanne any of the ten images until they were complete. This was between God and me. And when I finally finished, I was drained.
Art is an intellectual pursuit because you do a lot of thinking before anything happens. I can’t help but think about God when I am creating because He is my inspiration. In some ways, I would say that creating art is my way of praying to God, something I have been doing all my life without even knowing that the two are connected and He was always there. Now, God has become personal, and my relationship with Jesus Christ has brought me both total freedom and inspiration.
IN SEPTEMBER 2011, Jeanne told me she wasn’t feeling well, but we were scheduled to go on a four-week Mediterranean cruise for art collectors, and I was one of several artists being featured. Jeanne and I didn’t have much time to ourselves on that trip. When we returned, she was feeling much worse. Not only was she experiencing great pain from whatever was going on internally, but she had wrenched her back too. It was impossible for her to find a comfortable position when she would lie in bed. During these months, I prayed all the time—for her and with her.
On January 23, 2012, Jeanne was transported to the hospital by ambulance, and they ran numerous tests, but the doctors could not pinpoint what was wrong. Jeanne returned home, still in agony.
Although we rarely watch television, it became a diversion from the pain for Jeanne. One day she was channel surfing and landed on an episode of Duck Dynasty. The Robertson men were doing something silly that made Jeanne laugh, and she was surprised that at the end of the show the family prayed together around the dinner table.
She told me about the show, and I immediately got all of the episodes available on DVD. The Robertsons’ humor, their love of family, and the godly sentiment displayed were perfect medicine for Jeanne and me. We became big fans, tuning in each week to see what kind of trouble Willie and his brothers were going to get into next.
By mid-June our friend Dr. Sam Marathe learned about Jeanne’s condition and offered to help. He quickly solved the mystery of what was causing the pain and arranged suitable treatment.
In July, Jeanne had major surgery to remove a very large tumor. No wonder she had been suffering all that time.
AT CHRISTMAS WE WERE counting our blessings, the biggest one being that Jeanne was alive! True to her generous nature, she wanted to send thank-you gifts to the Robertsons and to the a cappella group Straight No Chaser, whose music had also kept her spirits high when she was laid up and in so much pain. She wasn’t successful connecting with Straight No Chaser, which made her even more determined to contact the Robertsons.
Jeanne made a call to what she thought was Duck Commander in early 2013, but it turned out to be a different duck call maker. He had worked for Duck Commander before launching his own business so he gave Jeanne the last number he had for them.
“If that doesn’t work,” he said, “you can call the WFR Church, where Alan Robertson is the pastor. They would be able to help you.” After the first number didn’t work, Jeanne called the church and finally got the correct number.
Neither Willie nor Korie Robertson was available at Duck Commander, so Jeanne called Korie’s father, John Howard. John was away for the week, but after hearing the reason for Jeanne’s call, his secretary assured Jeanne that she would make sure John got the message. John called on his first day back, thanks to his secretary sticking a Post-it message to his shirt when he came in and walked past her desk.
When Jeanne asked me to pick up the phone, John kept calling me Mister Matisse, thinking that I wanted to be formally addressed because I was European. But I corrected him.
“No, please, call me Pierre. I am just a redneck from Paris!” (My definition of a redneck is a down-home Southern gentleman, and I think I fit the criteria.) We talked through the logistics of shipping artwork to the family, since I was in thank-you mode for how they had helped Jeanne.
That started our relationships with the entire Robertson and Howard families, which has grown from there. Over the years, there have been lots of conversations, other gifts, and letters between me and Mia, Jase and Missy Robertson’s daughter, when she was going through her surgeries for cleft palate. In 2014, we watched and cheered for Willie and Korie’s daughter, Sadie, during her amazing Dancing with the Stars journey.
Then came 2015, and in one of those interesting arrangements by God, Jeanne and I were invited to Louisiana for a week. I was featured in an episode of the show, giving an art lesson to members of the family and joining in other activities on the set. One night, Jeanne and I were at Willie and Korie’s house for dinner with the extended Robertson family. I felt right at home among them, perhaps because of my own past adventures with colorful characters, combined with the family’s welcoming Southern hospitality.
I enjoyed getting to know the adults, but my favorite part was interacting with all the kids. There wasn’t time to go duck hunting on this trip, but I loved Willie’s home cooking.
After dinner, Willie, John, and I were having a great conversation. Our discussion rolled around to God, Jesus Christ, and the meaning of baptism, and Willie asked me the question.
“Do you believe in Jesus Christ as your Savior?”
“I do,” I replied.
“Have you ever been baptized?” was Willie’s next question. Then, with Willie and John’s encouragement, I too
k this step of faith. I was among fellow rednecks, so it had to be a redneck baptism right then and there. But where should we have it? We first headed to John’s house to use the outdoor pool, but it was late February, and the water was too cold. So we moved the baptism inside to the master bathroom of John and his wife, Chrys.
While the bathtub was filling with water, there were some awkward moments as I was led to a room and given someone else’s clothing to change into. Jeanne couldn’t stop smiling—her prayers for all of our years together were being answered before her eyes.
My heart was racing as I realized that my personal desire to be baptized was about to happen. Soon, I would be a card-carrying Christian.
As I put my foot in the bathtub, I quickly pulled it out, saying, “I thought I was going to get baptized, not boiled!” Everyone burst out laughing, but I wasn’t kidding. The bathwater was scalding hot. Korie and Chrys quickly solved this, and once the water was cooled down, I got into the bathtub. Willie knelt beside it, and he put his hands behind my back to support me.
“I am going to back you down into the water. Okay?” Willie said.
Then he asked, “So you believe in Jesus Christ?”
“Yes, I do,” I confirmed.
“Right now, we are going to symbolize this by baptizing you in this bathtub to show that all your sins have been washed away. You will come up a new Matisse! All right?”
Willie proceeded with the baptism, and at the end he brought me up out of the water and said, “There you go.”
“Fantastique!” I said. “All right!”
I went underneath the water and in that action professed Jesus Christ as my Savior. I came up out of the water, amid lots of hoorays and clapping, already knowing in my heart and soul what Willie was confirming, “Your sins are forgiven. You are a new Matisse!” I’m a new creation.
I understand creations. Et voilà. This is a new beginning.
It took a while for me to realize the actual difference this love, forgiveness, and grace are making in my life. The new acceptance and closeness I experience with God, Jeanne, and other Christians has been amazing. Finally, I was ready to write to Willie to thank him and John for encouraging and facilitating my baptism.
Fall 2015
Dear Willie,
I’m sorry that it took me so long to write and thank you for my baptism. It has taken me all this time to realize the profound meaning that I am a truly baptized, completed Christian.
I agree with you about infant baptism. I always thought that baptizing a baby was a little bit odd. A baby is not aware of what is happening, doesn’t make a conscious choice to do it, or even remember that he has been baptized. In my opinion, it makes perfect sense to wait until you are old enough to make this choice to accept Christ as an acknowledgment of your acceptance of God’s and Christ’s sacrifice and your pledge to love and serve them forever. Infant baptism seems more like a dedication done by the parents, which I totally agree with.
Jeanne and I will never forget this experience as well as the wonderful time we spent with your loving family.
In these last twenty years, I have experienced a growing relationship with God, as He reached out to me and, in His grace, He drew me closer to Him. It has been an amazing journey that I would like to share with you and Korie someday.
Willie, first and foremost, I would like to thank you for your willingness to be used by God in this important, life-changing step of my spiritual union with God.
You see, the key for me is Creation—in every sense of the word.
Through the process, I came to a clear realization of God’s knowledge, His love, and His plan, which is offered to all of us—His desire to have a relationship with His children.
My parents were, if somewhat unconventional, good, loving parents. The duty of parents is to do their best, whatever that best is. All parents do their best, and honestly so did I. Yet still, I wish I would have done better.
Today as I write this, I know what my parents were missing—a personal relationship with God. Knowing that when we confess our sins, we are forgiven and reconciled to God, allows us to try to live as God would have us do. The very knowledge that God your Father is always there and available is the greatest gift any earthly father could give his child.
Willie, if only we could give the gift of this knowledge to every child and lost adult in the entire world.
Now I have THE TRUTH—that I have always had a heavenly Father and a heavenly family: God the Father, my Father, and Christ the Son, my Savior, who paid the price for my freedom from sin. And the Holy Spirit to guide me.
Now as I create, I do so with the knowledge that creating is a part of my spiritual DNA.
My kids are healthy, all working, honest citizens. They are wonderful parents with wonderful kids, some of whom are talented artists and musicians. They are all doing much better than I did. Thank You, God, I am so grateful for that.
I think a lot about these things as I walk on the beach or create a new piece of art.
I know I am a child of the living God. Now I am always in communication with my Creator, both night and day. I am totally sold out to God!
Jeanne and I continue to have big dreams and plans for the future. We would love to see the launch of a museum/school, a place where people would be given opportunities to connect with their Creator as they explore the boundless creativity inside them. Dreams never end, and some come true, according to His perfect will and timing! We live to serve Him and His kingdom. To God be the glory.
New adventures are just beginning.
The best is yet to come . . .
Yours in Christ,
Pierre H. Matisse
I AM THANKFUL for my heavenly Father because as I am getting to know Him more, I can see how God leads by love and teaches by example. These two characteristics were true of Papa as well.
Love is so important; you never can say I love you enough. Papa taught me about love by example. I turned to God after I truly understood a father’s love for his child.
This was who I had really been searching for all along—my eternal Father, who shows His love to me in unique ways that resonate with my creative mind and heart.
A FEW MORNINGS after I write the first draft of the letter to Willie, I take a walk on the beach, reflecting on Mark 16:15-16: “And then [Jesus] told them, ‘Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone. Anyone who believes and is baptized will be saved.’” Et voilà. I have a clear mandate from my Master and my future is assured.
For the last few months, I have been poring over old photos of my mother’s ceramics, the ones my grandfather had sketched and think about my latest art project. I have decided to do my own rendition of those images, paying tribute to Maman and Grandfather in my own artistic way.
Though deep in thought, I hear something. I turn, and there is Grandfather Matisse in his wheelchair, gliding along on the beach. He hasn’t visited me in a dream since I lived in Canada more than fifty years ago.
“Nice morning for a walk on the beach, wouldn’t you say, Pierre?” he says, catching up with me.
I shake my head, attempting to clear my mind of this vision, but he is still there. Why am I finding this so hard to believe? Maybe because I had decided that the long-ago dream was the result of my back pain, my desperation, and my longing for my family.
“Yes,” I reply.
He moves effortlessly beside me. “Well, I totally approve of your new location,” he says, shading his eyes with his hand. “These warm, sunshine-laden skies are a paradise for a painter.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I answer, wondering if I am really talking to myself.
“I am glad to see you kept with it,” he says, smiling, “although we artists really have no choice. Your work is coming along nicely.”
“There is something I’ve always wanted to ask you,” I say. “Remember the color lesson you gave me?”
“What color lesson?” he asks.
“When
Maman sent me to your studio in Nice.”
“Ah, yes. Go ahead.”
“You confiscated all my paints, except for four tubes. What did you do with all those tubes of paint?”
“I sent them to Picasso as a gift,” he says, chuckling.
We stop for a minute and silently gaze at the rolling surf.
“I understand you have a new project planned,” Grandfather says. “Since I created the original sketches, I thought I might give you a few insights.”
Then—poof—he is gone. Maybe this new project is bringing back both good and bad memories for me, and this is my mind’s way of dealing with it, or maybe I’ve gotten too much sun.
Later that morning, I head into my studio. My head, my hand, and my heart are ready to do battle with the charcoal and create the drawings. I put on Gershwin, and the jazz notes, played by my pianist friend Rio Clemente, fill the room.
As the image begins to take shape, I hear, “Bravo! Now you’ve got it. Capture the essence, but make it your own.” Grandfather is back.
A handsome mustached man in a top hat is smiling on the page, with an elegant lady on his arm. They are probably going to a grand ball.
“Very nice.” Grandfather nods in approval.
Next, I draw a distinguished bearded gentleman on his way to the same party with his charming lady, both impeccably dressed. Number two is done.
As I set up for the third drawing, Grandfather comes closer for a better view. A statuesque lady holding two lamps is on her way to welcome her husband at the door as he arrives home. I’ll set them aside and give them some time alone.
Soon three beautiful debutantes, dressed in turn-of-the-century finery, are peeking over their fans. Grandfather takes this drawing from me and gazes at it pensively, then places it with the others.
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