Grief is so often about the pages, the chapters, the books we feel we wont get to write, make, or live in our lifetime. The unrealizable skyscrapers. Always teasing, one horizon away. And yet, we owe it to our very particular and intimate griefs t
If you are called to participate in one of my mixed media workshops and retreats in the US or abroad, please consider subscribing to my newsletter to receive information from time to time. orlyavineri.com/newsletter And here, just some of my good ol
She was so delicate that, while we sat beneath the Linden branches, a leaf would fall and drift down and touch her skin, and it would leave a bruise. So as we sat in the afternoon hour, beneath that fragrant Linden bower, I had to chase all of the le
Dead or alive, no one survives a war. Not one that occurs while standing on a small kitchen floor, nor in a city, bombed, flattened to the ground.
. . ~ Birth Days ~ Once Grief stops wishing me ‘Sweet Dreams’ every night, stops being morning’s reliable alarm, stops becoming each day’s Sunshine, Sweetheart, Lover, what will become of me? What will I make? What will I w
Images from the past appear lately…to amuse. This is the first poster I designed 18 years ago to advertise my newly invented job. I’ve decided I’d become a teacher of Art Journaling. I would start to ‘gather’ around wi
. . Sorting out Ripe Olives from Smoke Grays Square baskets from darling nests Soft tissues from edgy bones Paper piles from sturdy tabletops Intimate layers from far horizons Sorting out, burning desires, from regular ones.
Being ‘on the way there’ means everything that is freedom. Possibility. ‘Getting there at last’, that’s a whole other thing. More, of a kind of loss, than of anything else.
~Truth~ ‘With cities, it is as with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that conceals a desire or, its reverse, a fear. Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thr
If you are like me, looking for ways to simplify expression, minimize head clutter, and subsequently my canvases too, this may be for you. ‘Exploring Minimalism in Mixed Media’ will be offered one last time this year in Whidbey Island,
*Lumps in Throats* New this morning, to read and listen to, on orlyavineri.substack.com 🤎🩶🤎
Two spots became available in this!!! Come with us, to this once a year special event. With me and @leighannalight 🩵💚🤎 Info @ orlyavineri.com/workshops
Summer, almost 7 years ago, freshly bought, and now, spring, all dressed up and ‘staying home’.
On these adorned little plains, waiting between black and white, is the one and only question of the day. How many answers do they offer? And which one and only will you pick and adore today? I want to know.
No matter what happens today, I will cry. I will cry for something, perhaps something that has nothing to do with today, or even this moment. I will cry for a piece of paper I once called ‘Mine’, the one that was on my work table just a f
~ Midway of a trembling ~ Midway, on the working table of a workshop.