Art: Gypsy John

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John lived in Manhattan for a while, lunching regularly at the Colony Restaurant, partying through the town at night. At the Colony, John used to meet Portrait Sculptor Jo Davidson, who was working on a bust of John D. Rockefeller. Roundly expatiating on the merits of his own sitters, John once took Davidson to task for being less concerned with the intellectually than the financially great.

Whether or not Davidson was convinced by John's views on money v. brains, he has always vastly admired John's work. Says Davidson: "The most outstanding portrait painter today."

Exchange of Gifts. John tried to be indifferent to money but it bothered him; ' it would keep pouring in. His genius for portraiture was evident from the start; the wealthy and the near-great begged for the chance of being immortalized by him. One of his visitors was Hirohito, whom John remembers as "an inconspicuous young man attired in a navy blue suit. Without being handsome, his features denoted breeding and distinction, and his manner was modest, easy and natural." John was advised to offer the portrait to Hirohito as a gift: "Rather mystified, I did so, and the gift was graciously accepted. Some months later I received a beautiful roll of Japanese script, together with a voluminous packet of banknotes. This was the Prince's present to me."

Such posh commissions enabled John to set up his family in a rambling, guest-filled country house on the Avon River where, between gay forays into London, he still holds court. His conversation, like his autobiography, is studded with memories of distinguished sitters, most of whom he made a point of visiting for a while before painting. "The facility," he writes, "with which many artistic explorers . . . set to work at once in cold blood and without a moment's hesitation is astonishing . . . it implies a lack of sensibility. Without long study, trial, and many a failure, the secrets of Nature are apt to be withheld. As with a beautiful woman, courtship, not violence, wins the prize . . ."

No Missing Growth. There were occasional difficulties involved in these appraising visits. John was bored by the much-touted Irish wit of Poet William Butler Yeats and embarrassed by "the obligation of producing an appreciative guffaw at the right moment... I fear my timing was not always correct."

James Joyce, John remembers, "posed well . . . He had a precise and buttoned-up appearance . . . He explained that the poverty of his beard was due to an early accident to his chin, but I didn't feel justified in restoring the missing growth. In spite of his cold and formal exterior I was much drawn to Joyce, and, to his consternation, embraced him on parting." John's feeling for Joyce resulted in a series of unassuming, and haunting, pencil sketches.