I first met Nall at a garden party in Vence, during the summer of 1986. That moment remains etched in my memory with an almost sacred clarity. The wooden gate swung open, and within the luminous frame of the garden appeared a radiant figure, as if carried by an inner light. His presence commanded silence and drew attention: a rare, almost magnetic aura emanated from him. Without a word exchanged, I knew that Nall did not belong to the ordinary world. He already inhabited the realm of true artists, those whose very being precedes their work and renders it inevitable.

I remember the moment I was formally introduced to Nall. Our conversation naturally gravitated toward art. I had just returned from Rome, still imbued with the light of the frescoes and the silence of the museums, where I had been pursuing research for my master's degree in art history. Nall asked me about my perspective on Dalí. The question, subtle and profound, opened a path toward the essence of art. Almost instinctively, our voices agreed on the singular genius of this extraordinary artist. At the time, I did not know that Dalí had been Nall's mentor, guiding his artistic development during his Parisian sojourn — a secret lineage that lent a depth to his words I had not yet fully grasped.

The connection was immediate and effortless, and that evening Nall invited me to visit his studio the following day — The Cocoon, the former Vence studio of Jean Dubuffet. The invitation felt like crossing a threshold. Inside, Nall's works were arranged with an almost ceremonial care, as if marking stations along an inner path. I was immediately struck by the power and audacity of his work, set within a mesmerizing environment — enigmatic dolls, funeral crowns, and silent-laden objects — which heightened the artist's profound singularity and lent the experience an almost initiatory dimension.

During this first encounter, Nall took a keen interest in my background, my research, and my projects. Then, almost as if it were self-evident, he asked whether I would be willing to work alongside him. The proposal resonated deeply within me. Already moved by the strength of his oeuvre, the desire to explore this unique universe further cemented my decision. I accepted without hesitation.

I returned to Canada to complete my master's thesis, and in the autumn of 1986, I reunited with Nall. Thus began, by his side, an extraordinary journey: six years of rare intensity, discovery, learning, and silent loyalties, etched as much in the memory of the soul as in the passage of time.

Even today, I am often asked what my work with Nall actually consisted of. Titles varied — assistant, personal secretary, collaborator, photographer, art historian — yet none fully capture the reality. It would be more accurate to say that my role was to create the ideal conditions for Nall to work freely, while ensuring the dissemination and recognition of his work.

This meant working directly on his creations in the most concrete sense of the word. I might assemble panels for certain pieces, patiently glue eggshells onto surfaces, fix Plexiglas boxes, or prepare works for exhibition. Simultaneously, I became familiar with the art world, learning to cultivate lasting relationships with galleries, museums, and the various actors in this demanding sphere.

I arrived armed primarily with theoretical knowledge from university. Nall, however, taught me what no book could convey: the realities of the field, the often-invisible workings of the art market. An accomplished artist, he was also, almost without realizing it, a remarkable art dealer — a skill he attributed in part to his father, a professional banker.

Living and working with Nall was profoundly fascinating. My role extended beyond supporting his art; it offered access to a world of unforgettable encounters and striking personalities along the French Riviera. When I met him, Nall already enjoyed an extensive network among the most influential figures from Nice to Monte Carlo. His collectors were numerous, loyal, and passionate, each bringing a unique perspective to his work. Meeting them, engaging in dialogue, and understanding their connection to Nall's art was an extraordinarily rich human and intellectual experience.

These encounters were complemented by the interns Nall regularly welcomed at The Cocoon. Several young artists from Alabama, his native land, brought with them raw energy and a well-developed artistic vision. I remember Xander Booker, Steve Skidmore, and others who shared the daily life of the studio, exchanging ideas, challenging and deepening their own visions in constant dialogue, nurtured by Nall's presence and exacting standards.

I should also highlight the close relationship Nall maintained with Jean Forneris, then curator of the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Nice. Their collaboration, grounded in profound intellectual and artistic respect, transcended institutional bounds. Jean Forneris authored remarkable texts on Nall's work and consistently, through his discerning and enlightened gaze, nurtured and enriched the artist's reflection, offering sensitive and rigorous readings that revealed the full scope of his oeuvre.

While work in Vence at The Cocoon was itself fascinating, Nall's frequent travels for exhibitions and promotions were equally significant. I had the privilege of accompanying him on several journeys. Each trip was a source of wonder and inspiration: he absorbed landscapes, architecture, traditions, and atmospheres with a keen eye, later transfiguring them in his work.

During these travels, Nall produced numerous watercolors on site. Today, these works form a kind of sensitive journal, a living memory of his journeys, leaving intimate traces of his observing gaze in motion.

Six years passed, during which the need to compile a catalog raisonné of Nall's work gradually became apparent. From that pivotal moment, he agreed to number each creation, preserving its trace and establishing its record. I recall the numerous efforts we made to contact collectors for photographs of works in their possession. This still-embryonic effort nevertheless revealed the scale of Nall's production — both in quantity and in the strength, quality, and originality of his pieces. The many art books devoted to him today testify eloquently to this reality.

I worked with Nall until 1991, a pivotal year in his artistic trajectory: he had just acquired the Karoly Foundation, soon transformed into the N.A.L.L. Art Association. It was a massive undertaking, one to which Nall devoted himself passionately, seeking to dedicate more time to his own work while opening his doors to a growing number of artists from all backgrounds.

By 1990, I had already shared with Nall my intention to pursue my career elsewhere. In response, he decided, for an upcoming exhibition at Galerie Touraj in Monaco, to paint my portrait and use it to promote the event. During our years together, I had rarely posed as a model. We waited until our stay in Mexico, where, lacking a barber, I found myself with unexpectedly long hair. Nall had always favored male models with long hair and seized this moment to depict me in his drawings, transforming chance into a lasting testament of our collaboration.

To conclude, I wish to speak of the portrait Nall made of me, titled Saint Jeaps — Jeaps being the nickname he gave me when I joined his service in 1986. The "sanctification" of my person seems to express Nall's recognition for the services rendered and for a collaboration that was always fruitful. I can still hear his voice, blending humor and tenderness: "No assistant has ever managed to stay six years with me; you deserve to be canonized!" In this way, Nall turned my exceptional longevity by his side into a humorous yet profoundly meaningful "canonization."

This notion of canonization also connects to my master's thesis in art history, devoted to the artistic dossier of the 1622 canonization. I had gained deep knowledge of the artworks linked to such events. Nall found it fitting to depict me in a context both familiar and dear, subtly blending my personal history with his artistic vision.

The work is large-scale (160 cm × 75.1 cm), portraying me full-length. The scene unfolds in Vence, France, recognizable by the three emblematic baous in the background — the very view Nall enjoyed from The Cocoon. The light is direct, almost incisive, and the sky has a transparent clarity, as if washed free of opacity.

I stand upright, body slightly arched backward, suggesting both momentum and surrender. My head tilts upward, eyes turned away from the earthly world toward an invisible elsewhere, another plane of reality. Three golden rays emanate from my head, conferring a sacred aura and signaling the presence of the Trinity. Two small clouds inhabit the sky: their outlines lightly shaded, yet their tops bathed in light, as if touched by silent grace.

My hands are clasped in prayer, reinforcing the sense that I am wholly directed toward the divine, engaged in an inner dialogue that lifts me from the strictly earthly realm. On my chest appears a flower whose three colors recall Trinitarian symbolism.

During the sitting, Nall asked me to change shirts. I returned wearing a black t-shirt adorned with the Batman symbol — a mythical figure of shadow and inner struggle, subtly integrated into the portrait. Around my neck hangs a gold cross set with a ruby, brought from India by Nall, adding a dimension of spiritual journey and universality.

Suspended along my body are bones, relics I carry myself, symbolizing the gradual fusion of my being with the divine, the body becoming both offering and memory. From the legs downward, metamorphosis occurs: my limbs are no longer flesh but wood, like those of a doll or puppet, barely supporting me on the ground. A metal rod at the abdomen stabilizes the body, evoking the need to shed the corporeal shell in the union of spirit with God. The portrait reveals this inner transmutation almost before our eyes.

At my feet rests a book, a symbol of knowledge and the transmission of truth. Having been passionate about reading all my life, it reassures me to see this foundational object as the intellectual and spiritual base of the composition.

The frame is richly adorned with gilded moldings, mirror fragments, and mosaics, creating a precious yet fragmented setting in which light multiplies. Numerous devotional objects — medals, crucifixes — are visible. In the lower section, Nall composes a fleur-de-lys to affirm my Québécois origin, alongside a maple leaf, signifying my broader Canadian identity. These earthly symbols dialogue with the spiritual elevation permeating the work.

This portrait is not only a testament to Nall's gratitude for our years of collaboration — for which I remain profoundly thankful — but also evokes my inner evolution during those years, particularly spiritually. Nall was deeply immersed in spirituality, earnestly seeking to live by precepts he continually refined. Born in a Protestant Alabama family, he nevertheless evolved, embracing spiritualities from India, whose symbolic richness inspired him profoundly.

Nall believed in reincarnation, and his works testify eloquently to this principle: matter metamorphoses, bones regenerate, life continues in new forms. Nothing is lost; all transforms and is reborn. His bedside table was always filled with spiritual writings, with Sai Baba occupying a central place. Nall encouraged me to read these works, fostering a more luminous, confident view of our connection to the sacred. He was attentive to the ego's role and often warned me against its excesses.

Through all these years, Nall guided me in the gradual transformation of my own ego — a slow, demanding journey that he himself had long pursued. Step by step, he led me toward deeper inner freedom. I admired how this path allowed him to experience lasting peace, open his heart further, and refine his perception of the unity connecting him to the divine and all creation. My portrait, Saint Jeaps, resonates with this philosophy: inner transformation, transcendence of the ego, and embrace of the sacred within human experience.

Ultimately, Nall had but one essential desire: to let love become the guiding force of his life. This he taught me through both words and example. His work remains the truest, most accomplished expression of this principle.

Jean-Pierre Garand "Jeaps"