In 1983 I was an exchange student in Bonn,Germany. I went to a Gymnasium and finished high school as part of my senior project. My school,Hunter College High School in Manhattan had a policy that students completed all standard high school requirements before the last year. My senior project was to go to school in Germany. That summer, my host parents decided they wanted a vacation. Their suggestion was that their two children and myself leave for a month and go someplace so that they could enjoy some quiet at home. So I set off on a train to France with very little planning. I ended up hanging out in Avignon for a week hoping to meet a friend who invited me there. However my friend Louis had vanished. So, having no lodging and very little funds, I depended on the kindness of strangers for places to sleep. Somehow I ended up in Nice on the Côte D'Azur. I got into a conversation with a lovely hippie woman who was sitting on the pavement playing a lute. She let me take pictures of her while we conversed. At some point, when I turned around, my bag was gone. The bag had my Passport, all of my travelers checks, cash, my plane ticket home to the US, my address book, my wallet and identification. I freaked out completely as anyone would. When I turned to tell the nice woman what had happened, she had disappeared. I asked a stranger where the nearest police station was. I sprinted there. The police told me that in all likelihood, I would not get anything back. I was effed. A kind female police officer told me that while it was very unlikely that I would get any of my stuff back-- that I could look. She said that often thieves in that area grab a bag, take the money and then throw the rest of the stuff in a dumpster. She said that the location where I had been robbed was near a lot of restaurants that had large garbage bins. The arcade was also was above a large underground parking garage. In a daze, I walked through the back alleys of Nice athat humid, sweltering afternoon looking through giant garbage bins full of rotting fish for MY bag. Found nothing. I searched the parking garage over and over again. I had not eaten. I had sweat through my clothes. My fleabag would not let me in to change or shower because I had no key and I had no money to pay! I returned to the police station. They had arrested the woman who robbed me. She denied everything. The lady police officer had also searched the area. She found my bag! Everything was there: all my money, my passport, my plane ticket. Everything. Today, 43 years later, I reflected on that Summer with happy nostalgia. One day, when I found a small box, I knew it would become Naughty in Nice. It's not about somehow recreating the events of the day. As it turns out, I took pictures of the Hippy robber and I still have them. So I could have used the pictures of her in the collage to evoke what happened. But I don't usually opt for the literal approach to a creative project. I wanted to capture some of the the excitement, glamour, glitter and frisson of that day. So what does Naughty in Nice prompt you to experience?

Artwork Size & Ink Base:

21 x 29

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Daniel Aaron Schwartz

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