When I start breaking down the essence of what a "kibbutz" means to me, I try to pin down something... Read More
When I start breaking down the essence of what a "kibbutz" means to me, I try to pin down something from an elusive bundle of signs. It begins with cliches, a tractor, a field and orange trees. At some point a visual storyteller created these images and they became icons. What are my personal icons? I though about the Common Hall with its brutalist architecture. I thought about its wooden stage and red draping curtains that were there for so many years. I thought about my mother's coffin standing there covered in black when I asked to see her. My father gave me the gift of describing her to me, a mental image that I hold dear 30 years later. I though about cultivated plants that I dislike and animals that I like. My personal icons are collective in a way. I enjoy the work process although I confront years I would rather not think about. I make peace with some of them along the way. This is for Liat my darling sister. I gave her a picture of a swan I took in Kensington Gardens. She is my swan, my beautiful winged bird.