Although every child is unique, when asked to draw a house the drawings tend to be similar: a cube with a door and a window, roofing tiles, a chimney and a fence surrounding it all. Home as a safe place. Protects and caters one physical and emotional needs. As a child in Brazil, on my weekly outing with my parents, there were only ten minute drive between the fancy houses we came from and the slums I was exposed to. Mansions opposite tin shacks. Still Houses.
The door and fences of my familiar and embraced Brazilian home were broken into right after moving to Israel. Got married right away. Giving birth to one daughter and another one and another one and another one in quick succession allows a wild and scary storm to attack my pampered and wonderful childhood home that I carried with me over the ocean. Threatens to uproot it. The house itself managed to stand still. The emotional nest doesn’t. Helpless, lost and lonely I am trying to stabilize it by sticking to all responsibilities.There is only a partial success. Somehow, something in the family model I experience at my parents home can not be implemented into my own. The house that symbolized for the little girl safety, happiness and love turns to be not more than a block of concrete.
40 years after I was uprooted from that home, from that dream, bursts into my work the series Home.The rooted houses characterize the series. Some floating other are drifted. All in an enigmatic surroundings. Houses anywhere everywhere and nowhere. Houses that might be inhabited and might be abandoned with no door, no window, nor a roofing tiles, a chimney or a fence to make one happy. If we can only get closer to our inner voice to our heart we will find home internally.