Our Meeting

Odors of turpentine and oil paint irritate our throats. My two artist friends unhinge the swinging attic window of the 6th floor ‘atelier’ on rue des Bernardins, Paris 5éme. We three welcome Spring breezes along with a gust of air as the door unlatches and Tošković bursts in announcing himself to me, the stranger in the now crowded 12 ft x 12 ft ‘chambre de bonne’.

“MOI, JE SUIS TOCHKOVITCH GRAND ARTISTE”

That Tošković and I, swarthy Montenegrin village born artist and Jewish Brandeis University grad, got together was a surprise and a secret to my aspiring North African artist friends as well as to his successful Hérouval Yugoslav artist colleagues. In early 1967, we took the Black Swan, Norwegian freighter from Rotterdam to New York City where we stayed in another 6th floor walk-up on Mott Street in Little Italy. That was until Tosho’s visa ran out and his French student status was due to expire finally as he approached his mid-30’s.

©Linda Tobin