The galleries at Hudson Hall are currently host to ‘Sita Gomez,’ an exhibition curated by Nancy Cobean of Rose Gallery. Gomez is a prolific multicultural artist and 94 year-old resident of Hudson, New York.
Her paintings and sculptures probe and observe gender, sexuality, history, and religion. Her lively, often nude, figures are created with an obvious zest for life, exceptional flashes of color dance with exciting application of pattern.
I went to Hudson Hall excited to speak with the artist who’d created these vibrant, zaftig, characters. I was ready to talk about process and inspiration. What happened instead was Sita sharing with me - with us - her life story.
Gomez and her family fled Europe for her father’s native Cuba during World War II. In 1942, they arrived in the United States.
[This transcript has been lightly edited for readability.]
Sarah LaDuke: When did you know that you were an artist?
Sita Gomez: I was four years old. I had a dream of a little bird falling out of its nest in a flowering tree. And I went and told my mother about it, and I kept bothering her all day about it, you know. So, she took out a little metal box with little squares of color -- water colors. She gave me a pad of paper, a glass of water, a brush, and she said, paint it. So, I painted it. Oh, and I liked that. And that was the beginning. And from then on, I painted.
Sarah LaDuke: Sita Gomez, born in Paris in 1932 is sitting at 94 years old, looking back on a life of art making – yes -- but also a life of life. An existence impacted by major events of the 20th century. Her stories are well known to her, and you can tell she has reflected and fiercely wants to share.
Sita Gomez: When I was in kindergarten, six years old, I was in a beautiful school that dated from 1430 in Paris - with a beautiful chapel. I used to go up, and I would peek in the chapel because it had beautiful blue stained-glass windows. And I don't know what I did. I assume it was colored pencils. They wouldn't have given us paint at six. And when I graduated to the next grade, they kept all my paintings and my drawings for their museum. I went back in the 50s. I want to see what the hell did they keep? What could I have done at six that would be interesting? So I went back and the facade is there. There's a plaque founded in 1430 - I opened the door and the building is no longer there. There's a modern glass building there. So, I assume that my drawings went with it, but I'm curious that what - at six? What am I? What could I have done? You know, that that they thought was interesting enough to keep. But, so, that was the beginning of my career.
Sarah LaDuke: Indeed, it sounds like you have a very vivid memory for those early childhood years.
Sita Gomez: I remember everything. My first four years were spent in Norway and Sweden. My mother was half Norwegian, half Swedish. She had postpartum depression, and you have to take the child away, because very often they kill the child, not out of maliciousness. It's a mental problem. So, I lived with my grandparents and my parents would come and visit me periodically -- every few months they would come.
When I was four, I guess she was better, even though I don't think she was ever totally well -- and I came back and lived with them in Paris. Father [Dr. Domingo Gomez‐Girneranez] was from Cuba but he had studied medicine and mathematics in Paris, and he had been Madame Curie's Assistant, and that's where he had met [Albert] Einstein, who was a friend of Madame Curie's, and by the time I was born, he was Chief of Staff at a big hospital. Everything was just lovely. We would go to Scandinavia to visit the grandparents, and we went to Belgium to visit the Cuban ambassador, who was a friend of father's, who was stationed there. And we traveled. We went to Biarritz every summer. We had such a lovely life, until one day there was a man with a little mustache who sprang up -- and we tried to get away. We drove to the Spanish frontier. Father's best friend was Raul Capablanca, the chess champion, and he had left us his white Cadillac convertible. Now in the 1930s convertibles were tiny. This is not like in the 50s, the Cadillacs. So, we tried to get into Spain. The frontier was closed. Then we drove all the way up to Dunkirk, where they were evacuating the French troops, which I don't understand, aren't they supposed to be fighting the Germans? It gets a little scary when they evacuate the army.
Sarah LaDuke: I imagine it does.
Sita Gomez: And so we were in line. It was a line, one car after another. Mostly they were army trucks full of French soldiers. And there was that little white Cadillac convertible. We had the Cuban passports.
Sarah LaDuke: And they were authentic passports, because your dad was Cuban.
Sita Gomez: Yes - because in France, I was born in Paris. If you're born in France, you're not French, unless your parents are French. When you're 21, then maybe now it's changed, but when you're 21 you can apply to become a citizen. So, we're all three there with my cat. I had a Siamese cat, and she went everywhere with us, and all of a sudden there's a English officer in uniform in front of us, between the trucks and us, and he stops our car. And this didn't look good, you know. And our father had a diplomatic -- the whole family, we had diplomatic, Cuban diplomatic passports, which sort of intimidated people, you know, they respected more. And he spoke French, and he says, “What you doing here?” “We're trying to get to England, you know. He says, “you can't - this is only for the military.” So, he threw us off. And that was the day that, around that time, that the French capitulated, you know? So, we drove back to Paris, and it was a very sad sight, because most of Paris had left, and the people had who had dogs or cats just released them, and you saw beautiful dogs, you know, which must have cost a fortune, and they didn't take them with them. I said, how can you do a thing like that, you know? And they were just wandering the streets, beautiful, expensive dogs. So now we were under the German occupation. Father was Chief of Staff at QuinzeVingt, a big, important hospital, one day, shortly after the capitulation of the French, a delegation of High German officials came to visit him at the hospital, everybody looking around [like], “what has he done?” And they came with a personal invitation from Hitler for him to continue his research work in Germany. And that's when father came home and said, “We have to get out of here.”
He went through the Cuban embassy and the for the Cuban government to claim us, you know, as Cuban citizens. And the day the permit arrived; father came home. He never came home in the daytime, because he was so busy at the hospital. And he came, he said, “I have the permit, we can leave.” And my mother, the ditzy blonde, said, “Ah, When do we leave?” And Father says, “Tomorrow morning.” Mother said, “But the furniture…” Then he says, “Just what we're wearing and what we can carry.” And next morning, I had my cat, I had three books by the Comtesse de Segur, which were books for little girls and we left. We got to Spain. We were in Bilbao for two months, I think, waiting for the boat, because the boats were filled with passengers trying to get out of Europe. And after two months, we got on a boat to go to Cuba, and about a day out, or a day or two out, we had to return to El Ferrol, which was in Spain, for repair. A mine had hit the boat. Many were lost. We went back. Father, of course, wanting to always be well informed, went down to look when the [ship] was in dry dock, he said, “You have no idea the size of the hole.” But it was repaired. And we went back on the boat.
And we eventually arrived in Havana, and it was like landing in heaven. The sun was out. There were flowers everywhere. There were friends, there was food.
Sarah LaDuke: Was it the first time you had been to Cuba?
Sita Gomez: Yeah.
Sarah LaDuke: Were your parents the only people you knew?
Sita Gomez: Yes, because the many, many at a certain point, I think it was in the 30s, early 30s, there was a political unrest in Cuba, and they closed the university, because the unrest always starts with people who don't have to go to work. So at that point, many went to study in France, and I remember meeting a lot of the famous Cuban artists in our home in Paris, and some later on. I met many doctors who had studied medicine in France also. So, we were we arrived there. My father was in pure research. He wanted to remain, you know, in France, he had to work. He had -- at the hospital,he had a whole ward. He was chief of staff there, but he wanted to just do research. But you can't do that in a small country. They don't have the money for it has to be in a large country. So there's the United States. And by then, Einstein had befriended father, because father was also a mathematician, and father knew him intimately, you know, because of Madame Curie and all that. And so Father got in touch with Einstein and said, “Help. I need to get to the United States. I have no money. I have nothing and I need to be with the university.” Einstein wrote to the President of Cuba. It was published in all the papers. Einstein writing to the president of Cuba and saying how valuable father's work was, and that Cuba must do something to help him. And indeed, they did. I know there was a sum of $5,000 - which may sound very little now, but it was a good one year's income in those days.
Sarah LaDuke: Our guest is Sita Gomez. An exhibition of her work curated by Nancy Cobean of Rose Gallery is on display at Hudson Hall in Hudson, New York through April 4. If you're just joining us. Gomez and her family fled Europe for her father's native Cuba during World War Two. In 1942 they arrived in the United States.
Sita Gomez: But there was a little problem. My father didn't speak English. He was fluent in French because he had gone there. He was a teenager when he went to study medicine. But now we had a big problem. My mother spoke English. She spoke many, many languages, but that was of no use for him. Fortunately, the Americans had organized classes -- for mostly Jews, who were coming over -- in English. You can't do anything if you don't speak the language. So, every day, father would go, they had taken over a hotel, and in the auditorium, gave classes in English, and he was there every morning, nine to 12, I think. Then he'd come home for lunch, and then he bought himself a record player and discs to play all day to get his ear accustomed to English. The only thing he'd played all the time, and it was all of Shakespeare's plays “to be or not to be.” And I could recite them also, because I kept hearing it! and then at night, he'd go to the movies to get his ear. It's not that he wanted to go to the movies, but to hear the language he was doing—
Sarah LaDuke: He's using his researcher’s brain, applying it to learning English.
Sita Gomez: He did it like, you know, this was serious, and one day, about two months after we arrived, he came into the living room and he said, I speak English. And he was, with Einstein's recommendation - it couldn't have hurt - he got a position as a research professor at NYU. And then in 1952, the President [Carlos] Prio [Socarrás] of Cuba got in touch with him in the US and said: “You've done so much for France, you've done so much for the US, when you're going to do something for your country?”
And father thought about it, and Prio said, “Make me a plan. We'll put it past, the past the Congress, and it probably will get accepted.” And father thought a while, and he said, “Well, he's right, maybe I should do something,” you know, and it couldn't be more pleasant than Cuba was in those days. So, he presented a plan. It was approved. He was going to create a National Heart Institute in Havana, which would be open to all the cardiology professors all over the world. It would become a Cardiology Center. And he wanted clinics in all the provinces, just specializing in heart disease. And it was approved. The money was there for it. He got a building ready in Havana already, and then the Castro government took over that time. My father does not have a pension from the university because he left. So, what's he going to live off? These are not rich professions, you know. So, he got 40 acres of land, 20 minutes from Havana, and he had a ranch. He had cattle and all that, in case he could not work anymore, or in case he died, my mother would have at least a place to live and she could get an income from everything on it.
I was living in New York by that time with I had three children, and I was living with my husband in New York City, and my parents had come up to spend Christmas with us, Thanksgiving and Christmas. So, they were with us. And January 1, I put the TV on to watch the news early in the morning, and I see Castro's in Havana, and I ran to tell my father he rented to see it says, I don't believe this. So, they had just left, and with very little money, because they stayed with us, they didn't need any you know. And father said, “We’ve got to go back.” The flights were frozen until January 6, which is the Day of the Kings,
They went back - when they got on the plane, there was something sinister. A lot of young people with guns on the plane. This was could never have taken place before. But they landed. Many people were arrested who had done nothing, just, you know, just picked up. At one point they drove up to father's ranch. A bunch of -- Father said teenagers -- maybe they weren't teenagers, but they were probably very young with machine guns and Jeeps. They didn't even know who he was, but he looked like, you know, your father was six foot one, always well dressed. He looked like somebody who wasn't just a bus driver.
Sarah LaDuke: No offense to bus drivers.
Sita Gomez: No -- even though this last president of Venezuela was a bus driver –
Sarah LaDuke: Some offense to him.
Sita Gomez: They started to talk to him, you know. Father said “This is sinister. Was happening here.” And they, one of them, said, “Let's take him with us.” Oh, my mother was disturbed. My mother wasn't too bright or too sane, or both.
Sarah LaDuke: That's been, that's been the theme of her part of this thus far.
Sita Gomez: They took father away. And there was a big sports stadium that had opened just before Castro took over, where you could seat 5,000 people. They took him there. It was filled. Not 5,000 probably 20,000 were there. You know, well dressed people, you know, with suits. I mean, you know that these are lawyers or doctors, you know. They had him there, and as he was more important, they thought than the others, they locked him in a closet -- private room [with a wink].
And my mother was hysterical. She didn't know who to trust anymore, so she called the French ambassador, who was where we always used to spend Christmas at the French Embassy, and he said, “I'm coming to pick you up. We're going to the Mexican embassy.” He picked her up. He went to the they went to the Mexican embassy and made a plan. And the Mexican ambassador said, “let's get the Spanish Ambassador involved.” So you had a Spanish Mexican and the French ambassadors. And meanwhile, mother was not to leave the embassy, because that's foreign territory.
They were trying to get [father] out. They finally, I don't know how they did it -- they got him into the Mexican embassy, but he's still in Cuba. Every night after Castro spoke, there would be the execution of young men, public executions, you know, and people watch that as if it was a program.
Within days, they put father in the embassy car, Mexican embassy car, draped it with a Mexican flag, which means it's Mexican territory, drove him to the airport, got him on a plane to New York, and as they were returning to the car, the plane comes back, the ambassador rushes and grabs father and shoves him in the car, and they say, we're going to try again tomorrow or the day after the next time they tried, they put the French, Spanish and Mexican flag on the car, drove it to the airport, got father on a plane, and he arrived April 1, 1959 - in a wrinkled white linen suit, and the rest is history. We know what happened in Cuba, and it's taken 67 years for me to see that maybe, maybe now Cuba will be free.
Sarah LaDuke: The exhibition Sita Gomez, curated by Nancy Cobin of Rose gallery, is on view at Hudson Hall in Hudson, New York, through April 4. In the first part of our conversation, Sita shared her birth family's story of fleeing the rise of fascism in both Europe and Cuba. In that incredible telling - and I'm so, so grateful to you for sharing it with me - we lost you. We lost where you are and where your art making is in that that tale of your family.
Sita Gomez: So I went to school here. I had missed four years of school because of the war, and I had learned two new languages. My I must have had such a sewer in my brain of everything mixing. They put me in the Lycée, but I had missed four years of school, and they put me in a class of my age. But I missed four years! I couldn't go back to a regular -- where I should have been, you know. It was very upsetting to me. But meanwhile, we had many friends here who were in exile. This was the war in exile in the United States. And we had [Jacques] Lipschitz, the artist, very good friend of ours. Pierre Chareau who I was supposed to work for. Pierre Chareau and his wife - on Sundays, they had a big apartment, rent control, on 57th Street, and every Sunday they would have a group of interesting people. And that's where I met [Robert] Motherwell, the artist. I was maybe 14, and I always ran to sit next to him, because he was so good looking. And he must have been in his late 20s, you know, on one of those Sundays, he must have noticed that I always sat next to him, and he said, “And what do you do?” I said, “I paint.” And he [held up] his hands, filthy hands, and he said, “Me too.”
But there were always very interesting people there at Pierre Chareau. Pierre Chareau was the architect who designed and had built the Glass House in Paris. The only problem was that Pierre Chareau was not an architect. He knew nothing about engineering, and everything he ever did collapsed.
Sarah LaDuke: What a metaphor.
Sita Gomez: Motherwell had bought a Quonset hut after the war, and he had land in the Hamptons, so he wanted to use a Quonset hut to live and work in and paint. And of course, Pierre Chareau did the Glass House. He got him. It was a disaster, to such a point that it was eventually torn down. You know, architects are engineers, also not just designers. You need the best.
So that was a disaster, but he loved my painting. I was a child, I was a teenager, and he would often come for lunch on Sunday, and the minute he walked into the apartment, he said he used to say, “Before, anything else, I want to see what Sita painted this week,” because I would come home from school and paint. He kept telling me, when you graduate from high school, you're going to come and work for me. I thought, Oh, that's good. I have a job.
Sarah LaDuke: Doing something you already love in some capacity.
Sita Gomez: So I graduated in the summer 1950 I graduated high school and he dropped dead. There goes my career.
Sarah LaDuke: The nerve, the nerve of him, inconsiderate.
Sita Gomez: I've been looking for four years. I've been looking forward for this. So –
Sarah LaDuke: Have you forgiven him? Or no?
Sita Gomez: Oh, he was an angel. I loved him.
Sarah LaDuke: So when, when he had the nerve to pass away and you didn't have the job after high school, what happened then? For you?
Sita Gomez: French doctor, who was here on a grant from the UN he had been all over the United States at different universities, working for two years, and he was staying in an apartment. He had rented a room in an apartment of my girlfriend's boyfriend. They said, “Why don't you come? He has nobody.” I came and we went out in the movies or whatever, and he was very nice. He was a French doctor. He was 10 years older than I, and he had worked at the Pasteur Institute, so he had very good references. And we spent all summer going out to museums to do all kinds of things, and then he asked me to marry him. Well, you know, Pierre Chareau died, so I might as well get married. And he was very nice, and I sort of looked forward to coming back to Paris. The thing that I didn't realize is that you're not going back to the same place. There's no going back.
But anyway, so I went back, and things started to become very strange. He was 28 -- 10 years older, and I didn't know what was happening, but very soon I realized he's not well. Schizophrenia starts between 18 and 29 –
Sarah LaDuke: Late 20s, very often, is when a break happens.
Sita Gomez: I mean, he had was a doctor. He had had a very reasonable life, you know. We couldn't find anywhere to live. Finally, somebody was leaving an apartment. They got a job in the south and they left us his studio, and for, I think, three months, we could stay there. I said I was so happy, because we didn't have to go to hotels and rooming houses and all that, and I was able to cook my first meal. And I made something I never, have never cooked that again, because this is the bad memories. I had done a porque a la basquaise - pork in the Basque style. And it's a roast pork that is cooked in milk, and it looked delicious. And I had, and I had done all the other things, the salad and vegetables and all that, and I had set the table in the kitchen, and I called him in, and he came with a very unpleasant looking face, you know? I thought, … how strange. And he sat down, and I had served the plates and he's not eating. I said, “Try it. It's very good.” And he said, “You're trying to poison me.” And I thought he was joking, but he left. He left, left the food, and then he had gone back into the studio apartment. Then I hear a horrible noise of glass breaking, but big glass breaking, not just a glass. And I ran in the studio, and he had broken all the windows with a chair. Luckily, it was an apartment building, so some tenant called the police right away. And that was the beginning of his schizophrenia.
Sarah LaDuke: Then what?
Sita Gomez: Then? I was pregnant by then, and there was a law protecting you that you can -- if you are in an apartment, they can't evict you, but these poor people had to come back, and I had nowhere to go, and then I'm pregnant. What do I do?
So he was locked up, and every once in a while, they changed the insane asylum, putting it further and further away from Paris, which meant that he's not going to get cured. And they wouldn't tell me what he had, because I was only 19 by then, I was a minor. So I said, “Well, tell his mother.” They said “No, because he's married, it has to be the wife.”
So I couldn't get an answer as to what does he have. I can't make any decision until I know what he has. And it took a few years for me to find out what he had. At a certain point, after a year, I decided to go back to United States, because by then I had the baby, I said, this is what I'm going to do. I'm 19 by then, you know?
And so I came back with my parents, and then that was just when they were moving to Cuba. And then my father said, we have to resolve this situation. So he wrote his friend, Dr. [Henri] Ey, and said “Do me a favor.” He was famous psychiatrist. “Can you please find out what he has? She is a minor. They won't give her the diagnosis, and we cannot make decisions until we know what he has.”
And Dr Ey went to see him and said “he's schizophrenic.” Then father said, “You have to get a divorce. You cannot be married to a schizophrenic.” So I got a divorce in Cuba.
Sarah LaDuke: How did you feel about that?
Sita Gomez: I was glad. I was glad because I felt safer. You know, when you feel something can happen to you or the child. You know, that's what takes precedence.
Sarah LaDuke: Artist Sita Gomez, an exhibition of her work is on view at Hudson Hall.
Sita Gomez: I got a divorce. We're living in Cuba, and then I came to the United States. I decided I've got to get a job. I've got to get a profession, because now I'm alone, to take care of a child. And I was going to Parsons. And then I met my husband [George Kanelba], a delightful architect, British architect with a clip which had British accent from the, what they call public schools, but the private schools and but the truth was, he was a Polish Jew, and nobody knew it during the war. This was a different atmosphere, you know, once he was in the United States, it didn't matter, you know, but during the war, this was serious business. We got married, and we had two sons, and sadly, when they were adults, they both died, not at the same time. One died of AIDS when he was 35 and my other son died of multiple sclerosis when he was 49.
He was in the Air Force when he got ill. He wanted to be a pilot all his life. That was his dream, and he came home one day for Christmas in uniform. He looked like a movie star. And he took father aside, and he said, “Papi, tell me what's happening with me.” And Father says, “"well, what's the matter?” He says, “Well, I keep dropping everything, and I feel as if I have a corset around me.” And I saw my father's face drop. Father took his arm, and he said, “When you go back to base, don't go to the regular doctor. Tell him you want a neurologist.” He already knew.
Sarah LaDuke: What was the fate of your first child, your daughter?
Sita Gomez: She's not well. I don't want to go any further.
Sarah LaDuke: You're creating art through all of this -- were you able to -- you never, never lacked for supplies? You were always creating art.
Sita Gomez: Yeah, but I was painting mostly at night, because I had three children. And, you know, architects, there's three that make good money. The rest work for those - this is not a very lucrative profession. It's six years of education, you know, to get a degree, and he had one in England, and then he got his license in the United States. But you're working for other architects. You're an employee.
Sarah LaDuke: Who were your art contemporaries in New York when you were, you know, once you were connecting and moving and shaking and exhibiting?
Sita Gomez: My great love was Pierre Chareau, because he loved my work. And -- who else? Lipschitz was a friend who often came to the house. I didn't have that many. I was at the Lycée - so a friend of father's, when he saw my paintings, he said “she should go to music and art.” And I said, “What's that?” And then he explained it to me, and next morning I was on the phone. They told me to bring my portfolio, which was huge. Marvelous Gothic building and they had either music or art. Well, I was in art, and every once in a while, the teacher would turn the class over to me, but I suspected she just wanted her rest
Sarah LaDuke: But, she could have chosen a different student, and she chose you.
Sita Gomez: It didn't enter my mind. You know, I didn't think my work was that fascinating. It was something I enjoyed, but I didn't realize that maybe it was. I asked Lipschitz once, when he was in our home, I said, “Monsieur Lipschitz,” I was about, 12-13, “what do you need to do to become an artist?” And he thought a while he was thinking - he said “You have to have a wife who has a job.”
Sarah LaDuke: …and make art.
Sita Gomez: So that didn't help me very much. And he did. He had a wife who worked, who had a job, I don't know what she did. All I always wondered was whether she had hair, because she used to wear huge turbans. And I thought maybe she doesn't have hair.
Sarah LaDuke: Maybe she didn't. When you say that you, you know, didn't, didn't think your work was so spectacular that your teacher would particularly appreciate it or - maybe you didn't think other people would appreciate it. Where does that come from? That you liked it, but it didn't matter if other people liked it, and you didn't think they did –
Sita Gomez: Very naturally. That was the only way I could paint, and I didn't paint like other people. But I noticed when I graduated that the teachers kept a lot of my work.And I thought, why would they keep my work? You know, everybody there had talent. Now, very few proceeded to continue. Because you can't live on art.
Sarah LaDuke: When you look at the exhibition that's gathered here at Hudson Hall, how do you feel?
Sita Gomez: Well, what strikes me is that people enjoy them so much. Because to me, it's natural. That's the only way I paint, you know. But nobody I knew painted like that. Most people painted a black square on a white canvas. Literally [laughing]
Sarah LaDuke: I've seen them! [laughing]
Sita Gomez: … and I kept looking at that. I said, Why is that so interesting? And with me, it's much more personal, and that's why I paint women. Why do you always paint women? I said, because that's what I know best, and a naked woman is not offensive, whereas a painting of a naked man is offensive
Sarah LaDuke: To you or to everyone?
Sita Gomez: To everyone. Because they're too exposed, we have everything inside, you know, nicely tucked away, but with them, it becomes a little vulgar, I think. And besides, I have much more fun with women. There's a hair, there's a makeup, there's clothes, you know.
Sarah LaDuke: All those wonderful curves.
Sita Gomez: Yes, exactly. It's much more fun.
Sarah LaDuke: Do you have a current art making practice? Are you able to create now?
Sita Gomez: I can't, because about 15 years ago, 20 years ago, I got the Dupuytren syndrome, and my hand is paralyzed. The left isn't as bad, but this is the this is the way my hand is. I can't do anything with it so, and you know, I've been to every museum in Paris except the Dupuytren museum because I figured it must be horrible. It's a medical museum. I don't want to see all these formaldehyde parts.
Sarah LaDuke: Who are some artists that you have seen museums throughout your life that you enjoy their work?
Sita Gomez: Goya! Goya, I don't relate to abstract art. I don't know what they're looking at. I have no idea what do you look at. What is it so interesting? There's nothing personal. How good can it be if I can copy it with a ruler. Anybody can do it.
Sarah LaDuke: When you look at your work, is everything in it personal?
Sita Gomez: Yeah, yeah. And of course, the women give me much more to work with, and I'm very interested in history, so historical costumes, which are marvelous. I have much more to work with.
Sarah LaDuke: Sita, I have loved speaking with you. I took up much more of your time than I requested, and I just want to thank you so much and congratulate you on the exhibition.
Sita Gomez: Anytime. Good luck!
