Trust me, NOTHING beats pink hair

Trust me, NOTHING beats pink hair for identification purposes. Try calling your plumber and giving your name, address, telephone number, past plumbing history, social security number, height, weight, age ­ well, maybe not age - WHATEVER. And the response will be UTTER BEWILDERMENT.

BUT, as I have discovered, "I'm the lady with the pink hair" evokes an IMMEDIATE response. Anything from "oh HI, how ARE you?" to "do you still have the same problem" - chuckle chuckle. IT'S BLISS.

It all started with my first solo exhibition in Geneva, more than a few years ago. I was beside myself with nervousness, and so of course tackled the MOST IMPORTANT issues first: a) outfit and b) HAIR. Outfit was easy - just go out and spend some money. But HAIR - now THAT required some thinking about.

So I went what I thought was COMPLETELY MAD at the time (I was much more conservative then) and decided to have a PINK STREAK put in somewhere in the middle of all the boring brown. Talk about living DANGEROUSLY. After all, I thought, people EXPECT artists to be a LITTLE crazy. And so I had a little pink streak put in. Well, I thought it was little, but a sense of proportion is a very personal thing.

There's been absolutely NO GOING BACK since then. It has evolved through a whole SPECTRUM of colours over the years. And it has grown and grown, until at one stage there wasn¹t a SINGLE brown hair on my head. And - no groans, please - it has been HEADY STUFF.

A little pink streak became several streaks of pink/purple/orange. Then bright red all over. THEN - there was no holding me now - a COMPLETE change of colour range to blue/green/purple. Here I hit a serious snag. NONE of my clothes went with this combination. It would have required a MASSIVE investment in a new wardrobe, so I abandoned it. Especially after a sweet lady engaged me in conversation at the dry cleaners and - eyeing the green with genuine interest - asked me if it was St. Patrick's Day already.

But that's been the best thing about it, you see. People react, and chat to me, and I've acquired a wide and interesting diversity of friends as a result. Mind you, the reaction hasn't ALWAYS been a happy one. I vividly remember walking down the streets of New York, where a couple of TERRIFIED children cowered behind their HORRIFIED mother. One of them actually BURST INTO TEARS. Now THAT was mortifying. I felt like a COMPLETE menace to society - fleetingly - before reminding myself that kids are SO conventional.

All except mine, of course.