My life

I was born in Berlin on 9 August 1909, the son of Walter Gérard, a German scientist of Huguenot descent, and the famous Italian singer Mafalda Salvatini.

I began to draw even before I could read and write.

I started to draw before I knew how to read and write and when the First World War started in 1914 I cheered my father up with my first character sketches. Later, a strong interest in the human figure incited me to characterise my teachers, representing them in animal versions and from then until now I have always leaned towards this predilection.

I later discovered the art of colour during my travels from southern Italy to North Africa and the Nordic countries. Greece and the Odyssey had already been part of my childhood dreams, much to the dismay of my worried parents: ‘An artist! No! A proper job, please! Not a calling,’ they insisted.

But that’s not how things turned out at all.

Meanwhile, in Germany, Nazism had taken hold. Crowds of brown-shirted men began shouting outrageous things.

In 1932 I found myself in Oxford – one of the few oases of freedom of thought still permitted amidst the gloom of the times – and from that privileged vantage point I realised what was really happening in Germany. In 1933, the situation deteriorated to such an extent that I was forced to leave Germany in haste. I went to Paris. The Sorbonne was certainly appealing, and in Paris I was irresistibly captivated by painting. However, I still had my studies to complete.

I found the focus I needed in my beloved Basel, where I graduated in medicine in 1937. Shortly afterwards, I moved to London. The artistic milieu that, for family reasons, surrounded me, sparked my interest in the world of music and theatre. It was there, I suppose, that art took hold of me. Later, with the outbreak of the Second World War, the severe shortage of doctors finally allowed me to practise my profession, primarily as an emergency doctor. Amidst the din of battle, I met the famous director Peter Brook and began working with him. In the midst of the war, I also met Oscar Kokoschka, a wonderful man from whom I learnt a great deal.

Once the war was over, I found myself working with Peter Brook again on a production of *Romeo and Juliet* in Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s birthplace. Fortunately, I was able to obtain British citizenship.

Shortly afterwards, I had the pleasure and honour of working as a set designer on Mozart operas for Glyndebourne Opera in Sussex and also in Edinburgh.

In 1950, I was invited to New York by the newly appointed director of the Metropolitan Opera, Rudolf Bing, to stage Verdi’s opera *Don Carlo*. This marked the beginning of a collaboration that would last over twenty years and enable me to work in Europe every summer.

In 1951, my marriage to Kyra, who was of Russian origin, opened up a whole new world for me and introduced me to a new culture: the Slavic one.

I owe my access to the studio in Antibes to Marie Cuttoli, founder of the Picasso Museum, who generously offered it to me in 1955. The proposal was endorsed by Picasso himself, who, demonstrating his great sense of humour, appeared visibly relieved that I had not dared to imitate him. In Vallauris, he even allowed me to use his own kiln to fire my ceramics. The works created in the museum were later exhibited in Paris, and the French State purchased an oil painting and a gouache.

In 1959, France awarded me the title of “Chevalier de la Légion d’honneur” and, in 1971, that of “Officier” in recognition of my work in Europe and America. At that time, I was invited to the Geneva Opera by Herbert Graf, whose death coincided with the onset of the serious illness that led to the death of my one and only great inspiration, my wife. After that sad event, I remained disoriented for a long time. When I recovered, I turned my back on Geneva, but without a destination in mind.

It was fate that then set out two new destinations for me: a woman I saw again after forty years, and a lake, here in Ascona.