Roger Etienne: Journey in Search of an Artist

By Dr. Mary Ruggiero

Charismatic actor and artist Roger Etienne worked with movie greats from Humphrey Bogart to Clint Eastwood as well as art legends Pablo Picasso and Marc Chagall. Despite his self-made success, selling thousands of paintings and securing hundreds of movie and television roles over six decades, Roger was a very private man wrought with insecurities. Always looking for adventureand perhaps escape from a past filled with the horrors of war, familial rejection, and loves lostRogers journey led him from his Belgian homeland to Paris during World War II and soon after to the City of Angels. Looking for solace during a particularly low point in her life, Rogers biographer searched for her favorite artist for years before befriending himliterally on his deathbed. Their relationship enabled scarring memories to be faced and long buried secrets to be revealed. The acceptance and forgiveness which followed led to healing for Roger, his family, and his biographer. Illustrated with 170 pieces by the artist himself, Journey in Search of an Artist paints a stunning portrait of a man whose incredible life may be his greatest masterpiece.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504914086

Dr. Mary Ruggiero

Psychologist, writer, teacher, and real estate professional, Dr. Mary Ruggiero is a single mother who thanks God each and every day for having been blessed with the best parents and the best children in the world. A proud “child of the 1960s,” she loves flowers, animals, art, music, theater, and helping others. She lives in Orange County, California with her two daughters and ten cats.

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© 2016 Dr. Mary Ruggiero All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/31/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1407-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1408-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015908880

All pieces of art contained herein are by Roger Etienne Everaert and are part of the personal collection of the author.

« All Roger Etienne or Roger Everaert artwork, life history, and private photos included in the book are the exclusive property and copyright of the Etienne/Everaert Estate of California, All Rights Reserved, and may not be reproduced without the signed permission of the Etienne/Everaert Estate. Licensing of artworks, original artworks, and more information is available on request by contacting directly :

The E/E Estate, care of : Odile Everaert

Los Angeles, CA

email : [e-mail] »

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For Roger

Acknowledgments

I would like to offer my sincere thanks to

Odile Everaert, Janet Thomsen,

Roger Thomsen, and Marc Mastey

for their cooperation at various stages

of the journey. To my daughters,

Amethyst Hope Hethcoat and Liatris Noel Hethcoat,

who shared my dream and helped to

make it a reality, I offer my immeasurable gratitude:

to Amethyst for her editorial insight and

to Liatris for her photographic expertise.

Without them, the creation of Roger’s book

would not have been possible.

Roger Etienne

Journey in Search of an Artist

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Part I: My Journey

Part II: Roger’s Journey

Part III: Our Journey

Notes

Introduction

Roger Etienne: Journey in Search of an Artist is, first and foremost, the story of Roger Etienne Everaert. But, unlike a traditional biography, it also is the story of how I found Mr. Etienne, how I became his biographer, and how Mr. Etienne and I developed and shared a life-changing relationship. The book is divided into three parts: My Journey, Roger’s Journey, and Our Journey.

My Journey. Part one describes my journey in search of the artist known as Roger Etienne. It is the story of how I came to know and love his art, and ultimately, how I came to know and love the man. The journey spans about thirteen years of my life—from the time I first acquired one of Mr. Etienne’s paintings, to my discovery that Mr. Etienne was in fact the artist, through years of trying to learn everything I possibly could about him while, at the same time, collecting his work. Almost immediately, I noticed that there was much confusion surrounding the artist. Other collectors, like me, were clamoring for information but there was very little to be found; often, the information that was available was contradictory with no apparent means of sorting fact from fiction. My commitment to investigate the elusive artist, Roger Etienne, took me on the journey of a lifetime. Little by little—through twists and turns and turmoil—I pieced together a picture of who, I believed, the artist called Roger Etienne likely was. I knew however, that the only way to truly begin to know the artist was to interact with him myself. Remarkably, my journey culminated in my actually seeing Mr. Etienne for the first time on what I always will remember as one of the happiest days of my life.

Roger’s Journey. Part two of the book is the story of Mr. Etienne’s journey—his search for the artist within himself. It is the biography which resulted from the numerous meetings which began several months after our first, during which I extensively interviewed Roger, as he soon insisted I call him. Virtually everything Roger told me about his life is contained here—sprinkled with his own words, whenever possible. Although I did what I could to verify the facts Roger told me, confirmation was seldom possible. When events are concerned, I researched their historical contexts to see that Roger’s accounts fit plausibly into the larger picture—finding virtually without exception that they do. When people are concerned, however, significant obstacles to verification often emerged: The majority of Roger’s associates are dead, or so prominent as to be inaccessible to the average person. Any inaccuracies and uncertainties which remain have been included unknowingly—yet unapologetically—since they emphasize that this is Roger’s story, containing his truth, through the story he wanted to tell.

With Roger’s approval and encouragement, his biography also includes my opinions regarding many facets of his life and character. My analyses are based not only on what Roger said, but how he said it; non-verbal reactions I saw him display to my queries; input from a number of other individuals who played significant roles in his life; and, unavoidably, my own background and biases. Throughout part two, findings about Roger’s life are compared and contrasted with the information which my journey had revealed. Roger’s journey ends just before we meet one another.

Our Journey. Part three picks up where our individual journeys end. Focusing on the relationship which Roger and I developed, it is the story of our journey together. Beginning with a full description of the first of our many meetings, it chronicles over one hundred hours of shared experiences, spanning a nine month period. We comforted and helped one another; we learned and grew from one another. Within a relatively short period of time, we changed each other’s lives. In the last part of the book, personal sketches describing my time with Roger are shared in the hope that they—along with the information which I gathered and reported in part one; and the people, places, and events recounted for me by Roger in part two—will convey who the man and the artist truly was and who, through his legacy, he continues to be.

Literary croquis. Mr. Etienne loved stories—both telling them and hearing them from others. He called his drawings and paintings croquis, a French colloquialism for little sketches. Although often done quickly—some in twenty minutes or less—Mr. Etienne’s croquis succeed in telling their stories without the use of a single word. Whether depicting a little boy selling newspapers on the streets of Paris, a circus clown posing in front of the big top, or a nude girl standing on the beach with the ocean breeze blowing through her hair, they suggest to the viewer some setting, event, or emotion associated with a universal aspect of the human condition. Is the little newspaper boy hungry, working in order to feed himself and his family? Is the clown trying to make others smile while holding back his own tears? Is the young girl frolicking on the beach, content in her solitude—or is she lonely, hoping to be joined by an errant lover? In honor of Mr. Etienne’s love of stories, his story is told here as a series of literary croquis or little sketches; taken together, they comprise a picture of his extraordinary life.

Dr. Mary Ruggiero

December, 2012

Part I: My Journey

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A harbinger of adventure. It was January, 1998, when my eyes first caught sight of an Etienne painting—although at the time, and for quite some time thereafter, I had no idea the painting was by Etienne. It featured a distinctive little girl wearing a tattered dress over a brightly striped camisole, holding a rag doll which resembled its owner. Her pale, ivory complexion accentuated the huge dark eyes beaming out. Orange-red hair framed the delicate face of the young waif. Torn pieces of newspaper adorned her headband, as well as the frock of her little companion. Close inspection revealed that the newsprint was in French. The painting was dated 1963 in the lower right corner. Above the year there appeared perhaps a word or two which, I assumed, included the name of the artist. But, no matter how long and hard I stared, I could not combine the stylized letters into any meaningful grouping which resembled a recognizable word or name.

The tale of Tom and Jack. A tall, thin man by the name of Tom was the owner of the painting. He had applied to rent one of eight little Spanish-style bungalows in Echo Park—a hip blue-collar neighborhood in Los Angeles—owned by my parents which I was then managing for them. Purchased in 1947 so that my mom and dad could earn rental income while living in their own home—but still next door to all four of their parents—the place was the source of countless childhood memories which I cherish. Every Sunday with my mom, dad, and siblings, I visited my grandmas and grandpas there. The sensuous smell of fresh basil leaves in the tomato sauce that smothered the pasta dishes my grandpa prepared, and the savory tastes of red wine, salami, cheese, and peasant bread my grandma served, flooded my senses during each and every visit. Although by 1998 my grandparents were gone, my own parents were in very poor health, and I was raising two beautiful little girls of my own, the day I met Tom still sparked within me the same images of peace and love and family that I had experienced in Echo Park as a child.

Tom told me that he had been living in his car with his dog, Jack. He was not well; he had been suffering from a relatively new immune disorder for quite some time and was unable to work. Even though he had a rent voucher from a local support group to cover his initial move-in costs, none of the property managers in the area would accept it as payment—likely because they did not want to accept Tom as their tenant. When I told him that I had no problem renting to him, but that large dogs were not allowed, he explained that Jack was his life line and that he simply could not live without him. As he and his dog turned and slowly began to walk away, I asked, When would you like to move in? Right away, he responded as a big smile spread across his face. Walking to his car while explaining that everything he owned was contained in its trunk, Tom proceeded to open it. There she was. Staring out at me was the big-eyed French girl.

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Love at first sight. The little girl connected with me immediately. She appeared sad yet at the same time hopeful, a shy smile emanating from her tiny mouth. Somehow she reminded me of my own little girl who also was there—holding my hand, standing beside me. My younger daughter, just three years old at the time, routinely accompanied me on my property management errands in Echo Park. She already had fallen in love with Jack. Once I lifted her so that she could see inside the trunk of Tom’s car, she fell in love with the little girl as well. Tom told us that the painting had been done by a local artist and that he had purchased it several years earlier at a nearby yard sale. Needless to say, the painting must have meant quite a lot to him, since it was literally one of only a trunkful of items that he had in his possession.

Returning home that evening, my daughter and I couldn’t wait to see my parents to tell of our exciting day. We explained to them Tom and Jack’s situation. And we told them about the painting. Without hesitation, my father told me what I already knew: Your mother and I want you to rent the house to Tom. He then summarized for me in words what he had shown me by his actions throughout my lifetime: Mary, if ever there’s anything you can do to help someone, I want you to do it.

Lesson learned. Tom, Jack, and the little French girl soon moved into the bungalow occupied many years earlier by my mom’s parents. The rent voucher was good and covered Tom’s first and last month’s rent. Unfortunately, he was never able to pay another penny toward his housing obligation. Despite my efforts to help by allowing him to redecorate and repair other little houses in the complex, Tom left nearly a year later owing some $5000 in back rent.

Once he and Jack moved, my daughter and I paid a visit to his place to get an idea of what needed to be done in preparation for a new tenant. There, amidst some worthless paraphernalia—mismatched dishes and throw-away furniture—we found our little girl. Either inadvertently or as a gesture of good will, Tom had left behind the painting with which we had fallen in love-at-first-sight months earlier. My daughter was elated! I told her the little girl was now hers, and joked that it was worth $5000—since it was all we had gotten in exchange for the free rent Tom had received. Even at her tender age, though, I think my daughter knew as well as I that we had been left with more than just a painting that we loved: We had been given a beautiful representation of the satisfaction that comes from helping someone in need—especially when others could not, or simply would not, help.

A new home. After transporting the painting to our home in the OC—Orange County, California—we immediately introduced the little girl who lived within it to my older daughter who, like us, fell in love with her instantly. We next brought the painting to a local framing shop. There we selected a gold painted wooden frame trimmed with little filigree designs. Once outlined in black velvet and secured snugly behind protective UV glass, we hung the painting on the wood-paneled wall of our family room where it has remained ever since. After repeated but unsuccessful attempts to decipher the letters on the painting, we became resigned to the fact that we knew nothing of its earthly creator—not even the artist’s name. We knew the work held special meaning for us, and that was all that seemed to matter. Our little girl had found her new—and permanent—home.

A happy time of change. The next seven years brought many changes. My two daughters grew into brilliant students, talented singers and actresses, budding artists, and most important of all, into kind and compassionate individuals who try never to miss an opportunity to help others. Thankfully, I had been able to divorce their father with relatively little emotional trauma to either of them, leaving just us three girls—along with our hairless Chinese Crested dog Max and our cats, Kitty, Catty, and Cutie—as a peaceful and happy family unit.

My parents, knowing that things had become somewhat difficult for us financially and wanting to protect our future, gave me the eight little bungalows in May, 2000—not long after Tom and Jack left. With them came the ability for me to raise my girls in a hands-on, old-world fashion. I was able to act as a stay-at-home mom because I no longer had to be away from my daughters for hours on end in order to sell real estate. Instead, I managed and improved my own properties which made for us a good living. I brought my girls to school every morning and picked them up every afternoon. We spent evenings and weekends together and took a lovely vacation every year. We experienced the phenomenal joy of attending many wonderful musical theater performances which allowed my girls to dream of the day that they might sing and act on stage. The long hours in daycare which my daughters endured as infants and toddlers had become a thing of the past. Thanks to the gift we simply called Echo Park, I was able to actively help my girls with singing, acting, and schoolwork—and have the time of my life in the process.

A stressful new life. After showing me example after example of every conceivable good work and kindness—and teaching me time and time again every good and humane lesson that parents can bestow upon a child—my dad and mom went to their well-deserved rewards. My father died first, in 2001. But it wasn’t until after my mother’s passing in 2006 that disaster struck. Despite the fact that my parents also had given each of them properties of their own, my siblings apparently became envious of my good fortune in Echo Park. Over the next four years they attempted to wrestle my parents’ gift away from me. The turmoil which ensued resulted in the most emotionally wrenching and psychologically devastating time of my life. What a miraculous blessing that at this very juncture—when we needed him most—Mr. Etienne found his way into our lives.

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Etienne to the rescue. I decided to pass some time, and hopefully relieve some stress, by window shopping at a downtown antique district not far from our home. Always a lover of all things old, I visited my favorite shop which consisted of a large conglomeration of booths set up by many different vendors. As I slowly walked from section to section, trying as best I could to lift my spirits by experiencing all the little knick-knacks and pieces of vintage clothing and furniture that surrounded me, my eyes caught sight of and remained fixed on one special painting. To my surprise, a little boy looked back at me with large, familiar eyes. I recognized him immediately as the male counterpart of our little girl! My heart pounding, I moved closer. He appeared to be a newspaper boy, and the paper he was selling was glued to his hand. Yes, the newsprint was in French! At that moment I became certain that whoever had painted this young man also had painted our little girl. Of course, I bought the work on the spot.

That evening my girls and I were abuzz with excitement. It was just as obvious to them as it was to me that our little girl and little boy were children of the same artist. On the back of the new painting we found tacked a small card which attributed the work to an artist by the name of Etienne Ret. Born in Paris, he moved to Hollywood in the 1940s, it reported. Aha! It all made sense; Tom told us the little girl was by a painter local to the Echo Park area, and Hollywood is just a stone’s throw away. We compared the signature on our new find with the one which for years had been completely indistinguishable to us. We could in fact, but with some difficulty, now see the name Etienne in the lower right corner of both paintings. We further noticed that the treatment of the numbers in the two dates was the same. Without a doubt, we thought, we had found our artist! Without delay, I took the next logical step that anyone wanting quick information in 2008 would—I logged onto the internet and began to Google away.

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Introducing Etienne Ret. Sure enough, there was considerable information available about Etienne Perret Ret. A biographical sketch provided by his grandson, for example, related that he was born in France in 1900 and studied at the Ecole des Arts Decoratifs under Maurice Denis and G. Desvaileres. After a period of years during which he exhibited his original paintings, etchings, and lithographs throughout France, Ret moved to the United States shortly before World War II, settling in San Antonio, Texas. Around 1950, after establishing his reputation as a leading artist and teacher, Ret moved to Los Angeles where he continued to show his art at major exhibitions. Best known for his figure studies, particularly of women and children, and for his print making expertise, today his works are displayed in a number of permanent collections at museums in France, London, San Antonio, Santa Barbara, San Diego and Los Angeles. Etienne Ret died in 1989.

When I began looking at pictures of Etienne Ret’s artwork, I was not prepared for what I found. Yes, there was a multitude of artworks by the gentleman available for sale. But none of them bore a clear resemblance—at least to my untrained eye—to the little girl and little boy we had adopted. First, virtually everything I saw online was some form of print such as an etching or lithograph while our works were clearly originals. Second, the eyes—such a prominent feature in the two artworks we owned— did not appear to be accentuated in the least in the online works attributed to Mr. Ret. Further, there were no glued newspapers, no bright colors, and no mixed-media treatments—all characteristic of the pieces we owned. Finally, there did not appear to be an appreciable similarity between the signatures on our paintings and the ones presumably of Etienne Ret that were displayed online.

Still, at first, I did not question that Etienne Ret had created our works. After all, he was known for his focus on children (like ours). He was French (as our children appeared to be). He was clearly an accomplished artist (as the creator of our works must have been). He did live at the same time (during the 1950s and 1960s) and in the same place (in the Los Angeles area) that our artist likely had. And, of course, we