An article by our French Correspondent LD (673 Words, 4 Min. Read)
As I steps into The VAST GLASS NAVE (Restored to Its Full Splendor) Bathed everything in a general, Almost Holy Glow. But there was nothing quiet or restrained about what was Inside. No. This was Niki de Saint Phalle’s and Jean Tinguley’s Vibrant and Explosive World Seen Through The Eye of Pontus Hultén. The Exh force Unveils The PowerFul Bond that United The Two Artists and their Close Collaboraator. Fuled by Passion and Creativity, their Alliance Gave Rise to A Bold, Revolutionary and Deeply Participical Form of Art. And it was loud, joyful, dangerous, and defiantly feminine.
Gunshots and Paint Splashes: A Radical Beginning
The First Galleries Hit Me Like A Punch. HER “TIR” PAINTINGS (Canvases that Bleed Color from Real Bullet Wounds) Stopped Me Cold. Red and Black DripDed Across Chawes Surfaces, created by the Violence of Gunfire. And Yet, Even in that Violence, there was healing. I could almost hear her Saying: “I had to break it to undersand it.
“Shooting at Art Allowed Me to Shoot at MySelf,, And at my obn violence.“ – Niki de Saint Phalle
There was Trauma here. But aco courage. Saint Phalle Wasnot Just Making Art, She was Purging Demons, One Bullet at a time.
Nanas: Women who refuse to shrink
Then, The Mood Shifted. Suddenly I was surrounded by joy. GIANT, Colorful, Round-Bellied Nanas Spun Like Dancers in a Cosmic Ballet. They was we needed in psycredelic Blues, bubbleGum pinks, yellows, greats, colors that seemed to sing. They did not card what anone though. They Werenot Small. They was not polite. They was powerful, Maernal, Sexy, Absurd, and Deeply Human.
One Towned Over Me, Laughing. Another Stood Like A Monument to Freedom. And though they look playful, they carried meang: niki’s Answer to a world that tried to Cage Women. “Take up Space, ” They Seemed to say. “Take all of it.”
Love, Machines, and Whimsy: The Tinguley Rooms
“Nosso Barco Tambor Terra Is not Just About Brazil; it’s About where we come from one and wherein a side gallery, Machines Creked and Sparteded to Life. Here, Jean Tingueley-SAint Phalle’s Partner in Love and Art -Added His ChaOTIC MAGIC. Scientist’s Playground. And I loved it.
Theater of the Intate
Beyond the Spectacle, there was quiet, Tender Moments Too. A Small Room Displayed Her Letters, Journals, and Photos. I lingered there, reading her handwriting, Sometimes Angry, Sometimes Joyful. In a film Clip, She Laughed Mid-SENTENCE, Cigarette in Hand, Eyes Gleaming. She was not hiding anything. Not hain. Not her love. Not Her Madness. I refelt Close to her, as if she just stepped out of the room and left her heart behind for us to find.
The Tarot Garden and the Dream of Immorsion
Toward The End, We Were Invited En The Tarot Garden. Through Photos, Models, and Videos, I Walked Its Mosaic-Cover Sculptures, Its Hollow Towers, Its Blazing Sun and Moons. Even Though I was in paris, I Felt Transported to Tuscany, where she had spent Years Building A Garden of Symbols and Spirits, a play where art. That Dream, to live Inside art, was alive and publicing here.
A FareWell in Color
AS I Stepd Back INTO The Nave of the Grand Palais, I Paused. The Light Filled Download Like Confetti, Catching the Rainbow Reflections of Saint Phalle’s Towering Sculptures. I Did Not Want to Leave. This was an entraordary expervation, it was a carnival of emotion, a feminist screen, a spiritual dance, a center of art as rebellion, as therapy, as wild love.
I left with mind on my mind and color in my body.
