WOVEN MEMORIES

In the forest in South India they are a constant dance between man and nature. Every hole in the net is an opening for a snake to enter... a crack in the wall is a paradise for termites... a that you haven't moved for a while, becomes the home of Hundreds of ants... every item of clothing that is not worn and washed gets moldy or eaten
The quick decision to leave the house on a rescue flight to Israel, a few months after the outbreak of the Corona virus and the ongoing lock-down in the forest, did not allow me to properly pack and evacuate things from the house. Everything happened so fast and with so much pressure.
People I don't know moved into the house and they took care of it only partially.
When I returned, after two and a half years, to the house where I lived for the most years of my life, and where my three children grew up. The house where we accumulated happy and less happy family experiences.
I started clearing things and touching memories:
Here is a birthday greeting that Nitzen wrote to me many, many years ago, and here are the straps of the karate suit, a ceramic vessel that a Adam made once upon a time... a lot of our clothes and the people who passed through here, Stav pig doll, key chains with a Adam photo, the scarf that covered my face while riding the moped on the dusty roads, tablecloths from the cafe I founded, fabric flowers that are used in ceremonies and special events in India, peacock feathers, an acrylic cloud from an old pillow, coconut ropes that were used for tying The roof, gold threads, a dress I sewed , piece of crumbling fabric that my mother bought when we visited India in 1969 X-ray after a motorcycle accident,Telephone and computer cables that Danny liked to collect, earrings, hemp threads , Christmas lights, an old notebook in which I wrote, My father's shirt...
Dayalan the carpenter/welder, with whom I have been working for years, assembled a huge iron weaving loom for me, and Wilbert, tall and sturdy, got on a chair and helped me stretch the thick cotton ropes that I used when I was making bags.
I started weaving sitting on the floor and finished standing on the same chair.

Pieces of life were woven into a large tapestry of memories.