Island Flower

When our family returned to Cleveland from a week-long holiday in Martinique, we found ourselves surrounded again by ice and snow. Except for our youngest daughter Sara, our children who had traveled with us (Andrew, Ann, Mimi and her husband Bill) were dispersed around the country. So I was delighted when the gift of a large tropical plant arrived from the florist a few days later. It was a bromeliad with an exquisite pink flower. I decided to paint it staged in an island scenario while our trip’s sunshine and greenery were fresh in my mind.

We had decided to visit Martinique’s family-friendly Club Med partly because I’ve always been fascinated by everything French. We especially enjoyed their New Year’s Eve celebration that featured small dramatic performances all around us, fancy appetizers, and beverages of every type, color and flavor. Singing and dancing to please all ages kept my kids moving far into the night.

None of this prepared me for our day trip the next morning.

With a Club Med bus and tour guide, we traveled around the island to the town of Saint-Pierre. Founded beside a lovely bay in 1635, Saint-Pierre had been Martinique’s economic and cultural center— the ‘Little Paris of the West Indies.’ Yet what we saw as we walked down its streets was a nearly lifeless place—just small ordinary buildings or gray wooden homes with few of the flowers or amenities one might see in a normal French town. Our guide proceeded to tell us the city’s tragic story.

Saint-Pierre was destroyed in 1902 when Mount Pelée—a large volcano four miles away— suddenly exploded, unleashing two deadly-hot clouds of volcanic gases, superheated steam, and dust that sped out over an eight-mile area. Within three minutes, the first, ground-hugging cloud charred most of Saint-Pierre, killing almost all of its 30,000 residents and visitors.

The only survivors were believed to be a prisoner locked in an underground jail cell who later toured the world with the Barnum & Bailey Circus, another man who lived near the city’s edge, and a ten-year-old girl who had rowed to shelter in a cave.

Today, Saint-Pierre is the capital of Martinique’s Caribbean North District. Though never restored to its past splendor, it’s been designated a ‘City of Art and History’ with some shops, a historic theater, and a Volcanological Museum.

For my watercolor, I placed the bromeliad on a table before a door with windows that look out at stylized trees. A bamboo shade casts striped shadows over the plant’s strappy leaves. And, as
a small salute to the lost denizens of Saint-Pierre, I placed a postcard I’d brought from Martinique in the upper right corner – the image of an elegantly dressed woman out for a morning stroll with her baby and servant.

Gloria Plevin
P.S. The eruption information is from Wikipedia. My vacation adventure is true.