May 2002 - La Jolla (California), platform no. 21
I hate wearing black on rainbow days.
I was standing at the traffic light...waiting. My hands wet, the umbrella closed, a foot in the puddle. I didn't care. You know what...I was there for her
a young lady met accidently on a train fifty years ago...
I remember that moment as if it were yesterday.
"I was raped by my father when I was 11, so perhaps it's no wonder I started shooting my paintings" - Ms. Saint Phalle says.
People were just passing aside, some were even getting caught in my umbrella at the traffic light. My foot in the puddle and myself didn't care. You know what.. she had passed away
I had been following her works since the 80s. I saw "the beautiful things" she was able to make.
In the end she did it.. "her Parc Güell".. do you remember? T H E T A R O T G A R D E N
ONE: the mail started arriving late
TWO: "monsters" arrived on the hills nearby...
Although no one suspected it, there was a connection between these two occurrences. The postman, Ugo Celletti, had been helping Niki to give body to her monsters. The mail... well..could wait.
Art was for Nicky a way to give voice to her psyche, define her indentity. That was the Tartot Garden.
“Men’s roles seem to give them a great deal more freedom,” she wrote to a friend, “and i was resolved that freedom would be mine.” - Niki
The traffic light turned green. I crossed the street.
Bye Niki
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