Niki de Saint Phalle

Married at eighteen, mother at twenty-one, and terror of the art world.

Favorite dream of mine.

I dreamt I was a young, fierce orphan girl, flat chested and wiry. My best friend and my intended was a fellow orphan. He would hold me to him when he laughed, great lungs booming around me. We tormented our ancient city.

Playing one day on the sandy edges of the town, we found a book with a map and an corroded navigation tool made of bronze. We set out to find the treasure it described, although we could not read or use the tool. We just knew that was the proper response.

We went deep into the deserts. The deserts were shaded every hue, and as the sand moved dunes took on new colors. We were awed by the beauty, and although we were about to die of thirst, our eyes praised the world. Holding dirty hands, browned and naked skinny, wonder eyes.

We collapsed. Desert gypsy's found us and a large woman who had lost a daughter took me from him. They left him.

I was convalescent, planning murder, covered in beautiful colored blankets. Wakeful in a tent, with lights shining on the fabric, I saw his shadow creeping along the edge. His knife came up and cut open the tent cloth and he stepped in.

Overjoyed escape into the desert.

Hedgehog in the Fog