Jeanne-Claude, Adieu

I was fortunate enough to meet Jeanne-Claude and Christo during a stop they made in Denver earlier in the year. I was given the assignment for The Met newspaper at Metro State College by my photo editor, Cora, and to accompany me, a young, pretty writer.

I was comfortable going to the Center for Visual Art, the artistic arm of Metro's art school, having been there to see some very impressive and very awful artwork.

I'd known about JC&C for many years, after some odd projects that really can only be understood by artists who train to look beyond appearances and rip the essence of objects and concepts and splat them on a wall. They did just that, throw convention back in our faces.

On this particular day, Jeanne-Claude and Christo were promoting their new project, another drapery-laden convection to tantalize the visual senses and make you ask, "What the hell are they doing?"

After listening to the pair give a presentation about the project and answer questions about financial logistics through their dollar-guru, the writer tentatively approached the pair. Her questions were pragmatic and straight-forward, but very little about JC&C was straight forward.

I listened to the interview, and at the end, the writer came to me and said she wanted a picture with the two of them, and I suggested she just go ask them. She approached them and asked Jeanne-Claude, "Can I get a picture with you guys?"

At that point, Jeanne-Claude's clown orange hair flipped and a thrill of horror crossed her face.

"Guys! Guys? Who are GUYS?" Jeanne-Claude said. "Dahling, I am not a guy, you are not a guy, we are women, why do you say that?

The poor, young writer was reduced. She had no answer, she hadn't paid attention to her speech, a carelessness of youth, and she was paying for it dearly at that moment. I have no doubt, she never said the word, "guys" ever again.

Christo posed for the photo, and the young pretty writer got her digital reminder to watch her speech and not treat all people as a homeboy. Their smiles are genuine as they smile for the camera, probably one of a million shots taken in their lives.

I only learned tonight that Jeann-Claude had died of a brain aneurysm last week, and I wonder how Christo will do without his muse, his inspiration, his mouthpiece and connection to the world. She was the wind that pushed the creative sails and in a way, she gave Christo the permission and freedom to create his larger-than-life monuments.

I have no doubt he is already using his grief to erect a edifice to his love, and it will probably have the color orange in it, somewhere near the top.