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Updated: May 10, 2025
Tall, very spare, and his skin pale despite his wearing only a pareu and never a hat, Choti's black eyes shone under long, black hair, and over a Montmartre whisker that covered his boyish face from his chiseled nose. "Hello!" he said. "Come and have déjeuner?" The manner of both T'yonni and Choti, while hospitable, and their glances at my bags, showed a probable wonderment of my intentions.
I raised my glass to our native land, and finding that the boy of Taravao had eaten his fill of fei and fish, I said ariana to T'yonni, and drove to Choti's. The painter was on the veranda of a cottage, finishing the late breakfast. He received me with enthusiasm.
Choti had many canvases completed, some six feet long, and he also did excellent silver-point heads of the villagers. Tahitians were indifferent models, as they were not much interested in pictures, not seeing objects, as we do, and found posing irksome. Only Choti's friendship for them, his bonhomie, and many merry jokes in their tongue could keep them still for his purposes.
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