On Thursday on Rosh Hashannah services, when I said "Shana Tova" to a person besides me, I shaked his hand and realized he has only one finger on each hand.
Helping our friend to get out his bike from the truck of his car, John dropped all his keys... into the gutter. It took some courage to talk him out of the idea to swimming all the way down the drain.
Un-folding the sails on the boat today I silently compared it to folding the torah in the morning services. Similar comfort and discomfort between winds of life and truth of living.
The most of the paintings from my July show "Landscapes with no horizon" look as an enter into another space, not a landscape and not a painting.
My old abstract NY painting has been used as a cover to keep the wooden table from the rain. It rained all right. When I took of the table cloth and turned the painting over I discovered that it is called "Wet Space".
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