Memories

In the following articles, a few friends and family recount anecdotes and memories of Claude Bibeau's time in their lives. Claude had a gift for making the moments we spent with him magical; it's hardly surprising that he had such an impact on us.

There are many other friends I couldn't reach. If you are one of these and have some memories to share, e-mail me at: cm1625@videotron.ca.

Christian Bédard

"His interest in drawing and anything that required dexterity and finesse was to place him on the fringes of the society of boys his age. A blurred awareness of his difference must certainly have influenced the course of his adolescence and, like many young boys in his situation, he had to endure taunts and ridicule from his classmates. Then, experiments with soft drugs and LSD accentuated the process of marginalisation while helping to assert his personality as an artist, which soon led him to leave school".

Anonymous friend

I was the oldest of a group of young artists from Drummondville, in theatre, visual arts and poetry, and I had just finished my classical studies in Sherbrooke. Claude was also a member. We used to go drinking at the Hôtel 400 bar about five nights a week. He used to talk about creation and painting, especially with Colin Chabot, who ventured to launch the manifesto of the Bonbon Movement. For Claude, this manifesto seemed more like a game, a way of making his mark in the group.

The painters in this group exhibited at the city's Cultural Centre during the “Premier and Deuxième Automne” events. I knew a little of Claude's work. It was figurative painting that already required a lot of application.

It was in Montreal that Claude perfected his work. From time to time I would drop in on him and admire his beautiful collection of metal toys, which inspired him a great deal when he refigured old paintings.

Claude didn't talk much and even seemed embarrassed. I know absolutely nothing about his family. He never talked about them.

Even though my work is closer to art brut, to Indian ink work, I've always admired Claude's determination and application in his work.

Pierre Bellemare

Sitting at my table, I put a Juliette Gréco CD on in the background: we've listened to so much Juliette Gréco! Inherited from his mother who was passionate about French singers.

Claude and I met in 1976 when I came back to Drummondville after a three-year stay in Quebec City. I was hired as an actress in the children's theatre company La Cannerie. I met Claude there and we immediately became accomplices. We'd give each other lines and I'd help him with the sets.

In Quebec City, I'd taken a number of painting workshops and taken an art course at CEGEP. So during our theatre days we'd get together every Sunday and have an afternoon of painting, which always ended with a 'dessert-café'. Claude loved to bake desserts, especially pies.

Later, when we moved to Montreal, we would have a special pie brunch. Each guest had to bring a sweet or savoury tart. I remember the big dining room table filled with pies of every colour. Wonderful!

We were roommates a few times on Henri-Julien, where Claude lived until the end. We shared the same painting studio, and I often modelled for him.

I remember his little courtyard, which started out as nothing, without any vegetation, empty. Claude turned it into a garden of Eden, an oasis. Year after year, the vegetation grew and provided the setting for memorable dinners with friends.

Claude transformed everything into beauty. His everyday life was one of creation! And there was always a theatrical café, of course. There were always costumes! And not just for Halloween! Often, at the last minute, he could make himself a costume. I remember when I was working in my restaurant (Les Belles Sœurs), he dressed up as Hell's Angels, wig on, etc. When he arrived, I was scared, of course I didn't recognise him. He was a master of his trade. I was about to close up, so I told him I didn't want to serve him!  He replied, "Just a coffee".

I served him and asked him to pay. I can still see the images: then he puts his hands in his pockets, which were full of sweets, and starts hanging them on the counter, dozens and dozens of them! I screamed. He'd tricked me again! I recognised Claude, but I was afraid it was a hold-up.

Another time, during a happy hour at his house, I arrived and our Claude in question was absent, supposedly off on an errand. So there were several people already sitting in the lounge. I greeted everyone, but there was one guy with a very special look and language that didn't sound like Plateau. As I shook his hand he said to me, "You're pretty sexy! A bit surprised though, I moved towards a seat that was free, and he grabbed me by the waist and sat me down on top of him. As I tried to free myself, I knew from the laughter of the other guests that once again he'd got me!

On the same theme, the costumes: at the time, guys went out a lot in gay taverns, where women couldn't enter. Claude wanted me to go out with them, so I became 'Den'. He cut off the end of my hair and gave me a moustache, then dressed me in a jeans frock. The instructions were that I shouldn't speak, supposedly because I was so shy. Unforgettable memory: I got 'cruised' anyway!

With Claude, a boring day often turned into a party.

Claude was my great friend. We loved each other very much. We did a lot of crazy things together! We were on the same wavelength, if I can put it that way.

Today, I can still feel his wonderful energy.

Claude was a disciplined person, and he was very rigorous in his painting. I remember a phrase he used to say to me every time I finished a painting. He would ask me "Are you completely satisfied with the final result? If I had the slightest hesitation, he would tell me that I had to continue, that my painting wasn't finished. I still ask myself the same question today. Thank you, Claude!

In everything he did, Claude's ultimate aim, I think, was to touch the beauty of this world, in which Claude had a pessimistic vision. But we knew that he loved life in all its details.

A memory of Claude's that comes back to me often: Bluebeard and his seven wives. We're walking down rue St-Denis, arm in arm. He dyed his black beard blue. It's beautiful and surprising, like everything he does. I can see the looks on the faces of passers-by. We're all smiling, we're becoming characters.

I look at him and say, "People are looking at us and they seem to be wondering which of the seven women I am. He looks at me, "We're cheating, my pitchounette, because you know you're the only one!"

My heart warms at the memory. You too, my dear Claude, will always be the only one, the only one!

Denise Larocque

As a teenager leaving Montreal, I ended up in a small provincial town, Drummondville, in the early 70s. What a mistake I would have made if I'd taken the first bus back to Montreal. How different my life would have been if I hadn't met, at that time, all those artists, painters, actors, directors and writers who were already bubbling over with creativity. Artists in the making who were developing through exhibitions and shows, always with the need to express themselves, surpass themselves and stand out from the crowd. An incredible artistic bubble where everyone knew each other and exchanged ideas. Over the months following my arrival, I began to integrate into this artistic cohort. What friendships I would have made if I'd stayed put. I got to know Pierre Bellemare and Claude Bibeau, with whom I felt a mutual affinity and understanding, despite our differences.

I loved Claude's presence, admired his atypical personality, his boundless creativity, his graceful and slightly exotic physique, his piercing eyes, his mocking smile and the way he was always himself without restriction. I saw him unfold through the Autumn exhibitions and the birth of the Bonbon Movement in 1973. For my part, I turned to acting. That same year, we founded a children's theatre company: Théâtre La Cannerie. Claude joined the team around 1976, but I was no longer there. I returned around 1978, when I helped direct the play "Celui qui le dit c'est celui qui l'est" with Claudette Chapdelaine, and I was won over by his many talents as an improviser, set designer and actor. What a pleasure to be carried away by his artistic élans.

Then I met Claude again in Montreal, at the mythical address of 4444 Henri-Julien, where he lived without the superstition of bad omens associated with these numbers.

Claude is also the memory of a certain weekend in Ogunquit. Back in the early '80s, the reputation of this coastal town and its gay colony had spread far and wide. We were driving to Ogunquit, five of us crammed into my boyfriend's little Rabbit, accompanied by Claude and his Michel, and another friend.  Exhilarated by the sea air and an evening of dancing at the famous Annabelle disco... colourful moments, full of surprises and twists.

For me, Claude will always be linked to Barbara's Black Eagle, which he sang with such intensity. But Claude was more than just good memories, he was an endearing friend, someone you felt good to be with because he didn't impose any constraints. When I look at all his self-portraits, it's in the Self-portrait in the green waistcoat that I most recognise the Claude Bibeau I used to know, his face turned towards the future, which he wanted to sprinkle with stars, perhaps to blur certain apprehensions.

One day when I went into his studio, I was surprised to discover a large canvas on the wall onto which was projected a slide of me sitting in an armchair. He was drawing in pencil the outlines of the clothes I was wearing, against a background of cherry-coloured canvas, as well as the famous green armchair with a tone-on-tone cherry pattern. I was absolutely delighted when he showed it to me when it was finished, and I thought that for the moment of a canvas, I had once been his muse for a day.

Danielle Allie

When I was just 13, Claude and I took off for Montreal to buy shoes because I couldn't find any to my taste in Drummondville. But what an experience at that age! And then after shopping we went for an espresso. That was my first time drinking coffee too. The first sip wasn't very good, but after that you got used to it. I was really impressed that my brother would take time out of his day to spend a whole day with his sister.

In 1997, Claude was going away on a trip. He asked me to come over and water the plants. I agreed straight away because there was a $20 bill and a big joint waiting for me. He trusted me and I really appreciated it.

Summer 1998

Peter and I and the kids had agreed to pick Claude up and go to La Ronde. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw my brother on the rides like a child. And then towards the end of the day Claude had a big ice cream and then we went for one last ride. And when he came off the ride he was almost green: the ice cream must have had something to do with it! We had a great time.

Denise Bibeau

When I think back to my uncle Claude, the first image that comes to mind is a photo of the two of us when I was about three years old.  Claude is holding me in his arms, wearing a blue Montreal Expos batting helmet, and I'm wearing a yellow motorbike helmet.

At that age, my mother would often take me for walks and we'd stop off at Claude's flat. My memories are hazy, but I remember a kitchen full of sunshine and Claude smiling.  In fact, I have no memory of Claude not smiling.

Our family had regular quarrels, and one day Claude stopped visiting us for 10 years. When he got back in touch with us, I was 14 and it was a turning point for me. He invited me to his home in Montreal and showed me his toy collection and introduced me to the 'Le Valet de Coeur' shop on rue St-Denis, near his home. He regularly invited my mother and me to his house and I loved going. The atmosphere was always festive and the discussions interesting. I found his garden magical, with all its greenery and fruit. I remember a hammock hanging by the fence where he had a vine and you could swing around and eat the grapes.

When I was 17, he invited me to room with him while I studied film at college. During that time, he unknowingly became my mentor in many aspects of life. He taught me how to cook and we had dinners in his garden that always lasted until around 10 or 11pm with jugs of wine and desserts to make you dream. I particularly remember his 'Fruit Bomb': a meringue bowl filled with custard and field fruits. What a delight!

He also introduced me to his many friends in the artistic community, all of whom, without exception, made me feel accepted and often helped me with my film work by giving me access to their film collection or giving me gifts of photos.

To celebrate my 18th birthday, Claude offered me a meal in the restaurant of my choice, with one restriction: it had to be non-American food. So we went to an Indian restaurant. It's the only memory I have of Claude drinking beer. As we ordered our meals, the waitress asked us about the spices, whether we wanted mild, medium or strong. Claude replied with a wry smile: "Strong".  The waitress then told him that mild for them was strong for us, so she wanted to be sure of Claude's choice, which he confirmed. When our plates were served, Claude began to eat. We had each ordered a bottle of English brown ale. Suddenly, Claude took his bottle of beer and called it a day, and then took mine and called it a day too!  We ate the whole thing out of pride, but our hair was so wet we were sweating. I'll spare you the details of when we had to go to the toilet afterwards, but it wasn't pretty!

I also have lovely memories of Claude painting in his studio. I loved watching him work. I remember one painting that was a special commission: a reproduction of a romantic painting. Claude hated doing reproductions of paintings but did it out of financial need.  As he was doing something somewhat against his will, he decided to take revenge in such an imaginative way. He camouflaged a nymph being sodomised by a satyr in the foliage of the trees in the painting. The whole thing was practically invisible if you weren't aware of the gag, and the image appeared if you relaxed in front of the painting, a bit like the 3D paintings of the 90s.

He'd done this sort of thing before, out of revenge. He had a plaster crucifix at home where Christ didn't have a loincloth, but a huge penis. He told me that he had worked in a convent for a while and that he hated the "Good Sisters"...  So he took a crucifix, modified it and hung it up on his last day there.

I still sometimes pass in the alley behind his house. Part of me really hopes to see him again.  His beautiful garden has been demolished and replaced by beer crates. It saddens me every time. I miss him so much.

David Major

When I was a child, our house was surrounded by empty fields full of strawberries and other berries. When the warm June weather arrived, Claude invented a ritual that was very interesting to him.

Sitting on the big stump that served as his throne, the great Claudius would ask us, the youngest members of the family, to bring him the first strawberry of the year. They had to be plump, bright red and very tasty.

So we valiant little subjects immediately set off across the fields in search of the strawberry, in order to be the one to satisfy our big brother.

Of course, this little merry-go-round only lasted a few years, but what a pleasure it was to take part in these games, straight out of his overflowing imagination. It was a privilege for us to listen to him tell all sorts of incredible stories, both funny and scary, sitting on that tree trunk, accompanied by incredible costumes that he made himself. Claude really had the soul of an artist.  We miss you very much!

Nathalie Bibeau

I'd like to recount a few memories of Claude. I met him in 1979. He had just moved from Drummondville. We met at the Halloween gay dance at McGill University. Michel Gagnon, Colin Chabot and other friends were there too. One of Claude's friends (Mo, I think) was dressed as a bride and Claude was the groom. On the way to Montreal they scandalised everyone in a restaurant. They pretended to be a couple who didn't want to be married any more. Mo cried and the customers called Claude a bastard. They had a good laugh.

Claude loved traditional festivities like Christmas and he created a party that became an annual event. It was called the pie party. All the guests had to bring a pie and there was a prize for the best one. You were also not allowed to bring a pie you had bought in the patisserie.

I have a lot of happy memories and a few sad ones, especially when Aids came into our lives. We still miss him a lot.

Ron Cawthorn

I met Claude Bibeau in February or March 1980. It was at the Bellevue tavern, a very popular meeting place in the Montreal gay scene at the time. His left-wing intellectual face, with its small round glasses that gave him a vaguely 'Leninian' air, caught my attention immediately. Of Abenaki descent on his father's side and Québécoise on his mother's, Claude's complexion was naturally swarthy and, after a summer in the sun, his face took on the slightly coppery colour of the Amerindians. It seems that I also liked him more with my Champlain face, because this meeting sealed the beginning of a long and deep friendship. We were to experience some heartbreaks and devastating grief together, but above all many moments of happiness, complicity and shared wonder.

Claude had arrived in Montreal the previous summer and enrolled on a graphic design course at the Université du Québec. He had moved into the ground floor of 4444 rue Henri-Julien with his friend Michel Gagnon. It was the only flat he lived in in Montreal until his death in '99. He and Michel had been a couple for some time, and their move to Montreal was the beginning of a new life for them. Claude had decided to devote himself full-time to painting, determined to make his mark, and Michel, gentle Michel, had followed him on this adventure. I remember Michel at that time, his blue eyes and his handsome bearded face framed by long blond hair.

Claude and I saw each other a few times after that first meeting, and a natural bond developed between him, Michel and me. I'd told him about my plans to live in a commune and I was looking for people to share a flat with. He already had a similar idea, to rent the second floor of 4444 and turn it into a single flat. He had already found the fourth person who would live with us, his teenage friend Denise Larocque. And so 4444 Henri-Julien was born, a magical place for a whole host of friends and acquaintances.

For me, it was also the start of a new life. I'd become single again that year and was struggling to get over my separation. Claude and Michel's simple presence gave me the comfort I needed. I gradually resumed my writing and I think this helped to give Claude the discipline to work independently every day.  I would talk to him about what I was writing, go and watch him paint and discuss his projects with him; we had a very pleasant creative interaction. It was a time of discovery, of personal experience at every level. 4444 quickly became the centre of a small, friendly universe where everyone could find warmth, comfort and food when they needed it. Nobody was rich, but we lacked for nothing.

Michel did a bit of craft work and occasionally took on painting and maintenance contracts. He would later take a course as an orderly and work in a hospital for a few years. Claude, unable to support himself through his art, had to take on contracts from a security guard agency. I also took on contracts at that time to make ends meet between writing grants. The meagre wages he earned as a part-time security guard were enough to provide him with the essentials and allow him to devote the rest of his time to painting and drawing. The years 1980 to 1983 were very prolific.

It was around 1983 that he met Uwe von Harpe, his last and most important life partner. As he was still living with Michel, his first friend, he and Uwe initially each lived in their own flat. It was after Michel's death, around 1990, that Uwe and Claude moved in together at 4444 Henri-Julien. They lived there for several happy years until Uwe's death in 1997.

Uwe was of Estonian origin and German culture. His family had fled to Germany at the end of the Second World War to escape the advance of Soviet troops. They immigrated to Ontario in the early 1950s. Uwe then moved to Montreal, where he worked as a whiskey taster at Seagram. I can't remember whether Claude and Uwe met through a mutual friend, the painter Peter Flinsch, also German, or whether they met by chance on the mountain, as was common in those years. In fact, a painting entitled Autumn Scene seems to me to commemorate this meeting. I think Claude and I met Peter Flinsch through Uwe. We had a wonderful friendship that lasted until Peter's death in 2010.

There were many bereavements in our lives in the late 80s and 90s, caused by AIDS of course. During this tragic period, Claude experienced several, following the deaths of very close friends and even one of his brothers. It was in the early 90s that he and Uwe were diagnosed with HIV. He and Claude took advantage of these years to travel and pursue their lives as happily as possible despite the progress of the disease. Around 1996, the arrival of a new drug gave them hope, but its toxicity, while prolonging life by a few months, was undermining their livers. Claude outlived Uwe by almost two years. It was a period of great sadness, despite the fortitude he showed in overcoming his grief and the disease that was eating away at him. Following Uwe's death, Claude wanted to commemorate his life by publishing a collection of short stories that Uwe had written during his retirement. We worked together to produce the book, which was published in around thirty copies for distribution to friends and family. This project helped Claude to deal with his grief in a creative way. But he had stopped painting and drawing around 1997 and couldn't find the energy to get back into it. After several stays in hospital, he died of septicaemia in July 1999.

Throughout the years I knew him, when I was no longer living at 4444, we spoke several times a week if not every day, especially towards the end of his life. During the 90s, I was often with Claude and Uwe for meals, excursions, and even a trip to Europe in 1997, a few months before Uwe died. I remember a trip Claude and I took to the Maritimes in the summer of 1998. I remember the two of us enjoying the warm sun and sea on a beach in Prince Edward Island, laughing our heads off because we were completely frozen on the magic mushroom. Thereafter, until his death, I saw him very often after work to have supper with him and play Chinese checkers. When he wasn't feeling well, or when I was too cold on the husband, I'd sleep at his place and we'd have breakfast together in the morning.

After all these years of friendship and complicity, his departure left a deep mark on my life. I overcame my grief by working to promote his work. In 2002, I published a monograph bringing together several reproductions of his work, accompanied by biographical texts and comments on his creative work. This was followed by a tour of exhibitions in several Quebec towns, including Drummondville, his birthplace, and Chicoutimi, my own birthplace. My family had known Claude before and he had even produced a painting that he had given to my mother depicting the house where my parents lived in the 90s.

Christian Bédard