Alain Fournier, 1943-2000

Alain Fournier, 1943-2000 An Appreciation There are thinkers of great repute and intellect who would suggest that any objective measure of humankind is in fact a mismeasure. While I am not of a mood to argue the general point either way, it certainly applies to Alain Fournier. I write this appreciation of him so that those who do not know him may be inspired to discover him, and so that those who do know him are able to reflect further on his remarkable life. I beg the reader to indulge me in a rather personal reverie, for it is not possible to have known Alain without having a deep personal response to him. Allow me to recount very briefly Alain's accomplishments. His early training was in chemistry. After emigrating from France to Canada in the 1970's, he co-wrote a textbook on the topic, and he taught pre-college chemistry in Quebec. His career in computer graphics spanned only about 20 years. He received a Ph.D. in computer science at the University of Texas at Dallas, and reported the results of his Ph.D. work on stochastic modelling in a seminal paper in 1980 with Don Fussell and Loren Carpenter. He then went on to an outstanding academic career first at the University of Toronto and subsequently at the University of British Columbia. >From the outset he played on the international stage, especially in Europe and in North America. He has contributed to ACM-TOG as an author, as co-Guest Editor of a special issue (1987), and he was an Associate Editor from 1990-1992. Alain's early contributions to computer graphics on the modelling of natural phenomena were brilliant in themselves, but perhaps more importantly they advocated a methodology that required validation against real visual phenomena. This set the bar at the right level scientifically. His approach, which he once called "impressionistic graphics" both revolutionised the field and drove it forward. Perhaps the best example of this work is his beautiful paper on the depiction of ocean waves with Bill Reeves. His subsequent work on illumination models, light transport, rendering, and sampling and filtering is remarkable for its far-sightedness and depth. His theoretical work in computer graphics and computational geometry made us think about the limits of both fields. Alain's approach to solving problems was at once courageous and rational. Were he to ask himself (as I'm sure he did) for a response to T.S. Eliot's musing, I'm sure his answer would be his inimitable "Piece of cake! OK kiddos, here's what we'll do." And he would rush forward, leaving us to linger happily in his slipstream. Endlessly resourceful and tirelessly innovative, he would mould ideas of amazing insight into work that also inspired others, often much later, to take up the challenge. If C.P. Snow were ever in need of a prototypical person to bridge the "Two Cultures" of Science and Art, Alain would be it. He was blessed with an irrepressible enthusiasm to communicate his understanding and his curiosity about the universe, and he did so in whatever language was most appropriate. He wrote wonderful mathematics, algorithms, prose and poetry. His vocabulary in English and in French was gently intimidating, for even in intimidation he was benevolent. It seemed that his intellect was able to synthesise everything he ever learned. He would routinely interject a Latin "bon mot" into the papers we were writing or practise writing Kanji on the napkins on which we were doing research. We rarely did research in an office. How I miss those days. His art served him as innately and intuitively as did his science. He wrote exquisite poetry that was both challenging and tender. One day I hope that his work will be more available to the general public. I also hope that Alain's accomplishments will in time be formally recognised by the wider computer graphics community. Alain's wit, his innate "jeu d'esprit", was legend. His fondness for good jokes, especially Groucho Marx gags, allowed some but not all of us to overlook his weakness for Jerry Lewis. There are few on this earth who have been blessed with a wider array of talents, and fewer still who had more to say and more to contribute than Alain. And yet, Alain had a sensibility that is common to scientists and artists who have done many great things in their lives: apart from a lovely retrospective paper he wrote for Graphics Interface in 1994, he did not look back sympathetically on his work to derive satisfaction from his accomplishments. He was rooted in the present, and he suffered from the belief that he was only as good as his last project. In the end he may well have believed in Eliot's sentiment: I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. Oh, but they have always sung to you, Alain. It was just that the melody was lost amid the clamour of disease. Alain did not separate the personal and professional. His were passions that required no qualifying adjective. He loved those close to him with an abandon and devotion that that was disarming and humbling. Anyone who knew him knew that he was extraordinarily close to his wife and his daughter. They were his greatest joys, his most provocative muses. They were the foundation upon which he built his life. Leonard Cohen, among others, said that you can't let the facts get in the way of the truth. The facts are that Alain Fournier, a great innovator in our field, died of lymphoma in the early hours of 14 August, 2000, and is survived by his daughter Ariel, his wife Adrienne, and a legion of admirers. The truth is that the sun seems to shine less brightly now that he is not among us. The truth is that he has broadened the minds and moved the hearts of many people around the world. To those who have never known Alain, I express particular sympathy, for there are few people we encounter in life with the ability to make us better than we thought we could be. Such, in truth and in fact, is the measure of this man. It was difficult not to love Alain. With such a beguiling package of brilliance and benevolent eccentricity, it was simply a matter of time and a question of degree. A unique and wonderful person has left us. Requiescat in pace, my friend. --Eugene Fiume, November 2000. (The quotations from T.S. Eliot are taken from his poem, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock".)

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