In Loving Memory

"The day I met Brenda I was wearing my white boots and my hair was dyed; that is why she wanted to be my friend," Pico would say proudly to others. I choose him as a life mentor, and we were very close friends for over ten years. To him I was Princess Brenda, for me he was Pico Cometa. His studio in Alabama Street, at the Mission District of San Francisco, became one of my favorite places on earth; a place I always go back in my dreams. "He painted a blue shape on the courtyard's floor to resemble a swimming pool", I told my mother today. He will play his LP collection in the evenings and leave his door open for everyone to come along. I use to sit at his studio while he cooked pork-chile tacos and shared all his stories as an art student in Mexico City, his years in Wisconsin, his yearly travels to Quintana Roo and how he decided to become an artist. From him I understood the importance of being authentic and coherent. "Pico, whenever I have children, I want them to spend their summer vacations with you, I want them to learn from you there is another way of framing life, of living." The last time I saw him, me, my friend Helena and my colleague Javier went to his studio during a work trip to San Francisco and he played his collection of french and salsa records for us. The last time I talked to him was in May, he called one evening. "I found your phone number while cleaning my drawers and decided to call you Princess," he said, "you should come to San Francisco soon; there are many new stories I want to share with you." Pico knew how much I loved him and how important it was for me to have him as a friend. He showed me to see life in multiple colors, and for that I'll be forever grateful.