In 1956 I flew to France and made my way to Canne. There I located Picasso's

Studio, La Californie. The next day I summoned the courage to approach the villa grounds, uninvited.  I snuck through the gardens and entered Picasso's studio on the ground floor.

He was not there.  No one was there.

I walked around among all the breathtaking clutter.  Here they all were, sculptures, drawings, small paintings, huge paintings, unfinished paintings, color and back and white, bottles of paint, cans of paint, brushes and sticks, tables and stools and lamps.

After about 30 minutes Picasso entered the studio. He was surprised to see me. “Who are you?” he asked. I told him I had come from America to see his work and studio.

I meant no harm. He said nothing. He lit a cigarette, looking at me and I at him. “You can look,” he said, “but please don't interfer.” I said I wouldn't. He turned and faced his easel with his unfinished painting on it and stood staring at it, smoking. I quietly walked around the studio, looking at each painting and sculpture. He finally began to paint. I watched him approach the canvass, paint, retreat and approach again. Again and again as the painting evolved.  After a while I cautiously asked him why he made the changes he did to the painting. He briefly explained without looking at me.  I spent the entire day examining every work in the studio and watching Picasso paint.

In the late afternoon, Picasso was still at his painting.  I said “Pablo, thank you, I’m returning to America.” Without looking away from his painting he said, “Good bye.”