by nvpadmin | Jan 1, 1970 |
I live with wounds that will never heal, I live with secrets I cannot share. I live with knowledge that makes me bleed, I live with pain that no one can see. I live with hope that comes quietly around, I live with courage occasionally. I live with support that is steady and true, But most of all I live with...
by nvpadmin | Jan 1, 1970 |
by nvpadmin | Jan 1, 1970 |
“For a human is like the tree of the field.” Deuteronomy (20:19) “Tree Trunk” speaks of Mother Earth and Father Time. It is anthropomorphic. Solid, weighty, massively strong, powerful, unshakable, unmovable, long. The branches are massive fingers upon a thick wrist, or amputated body parts. Its roots, like elephant legs or claw feet, are planted deep below the ground, expanding its boundaries and borders. It cannot be confronted or challenged, compromised or charged. It is. Majestic and strong, old, yet young. For...
by nvpadmin | Jan 1, 1970 |
The family stands erect, proud of its European history, before the Old World collapsed. They stand eternally together. A warm afternoon light covers the son in the middle as his tall father protects him in front. The young children, in short horizontal boxes, died early in infancy before the State was formed, when children died from the common cold or a childhood disease wreaking havoc upon their young, anguished parents. Only the mother, slightly set apart, turns away. Her cracked heart reveals the suffering of her life, the hardship of her youth, from too much loss at too early an age, from everything that she knew and held...
by nvpadmin | Jan 1, 1970 |
A sad and wistful feeling over comes me as I stare at these old and forgotten worthless possessions. The brass Hamsads may still carry amulet protection. I think of Jan Vermeer and his exquisite Dutch interiors of 1593 reinterpreted and transplanted into the Middle Eastern landscape. I wonder what cupboard or table held the ceramic container, what liquid filled its smooth interior. Old discarded jewelry and necklaces, broken lanterns, copper plates lie abandoned in this crowded antique store window in South Tel-Aviv. No one walks here any more to shop. There are no visitors or local customers. Even the storekeeper is nowhere to be found. Deserted and forgotten, like old keepsakes, or long ago memories, this glass front speaks of a time and a place and a period that no longer exist. Only remnants remain without meaning, ownership or...
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