. . Today, in just a few hours they will come. It will be the first day of ‘Passport to Journal’ and my last workshop of the year. It will take place at my favorite place, my home. Then we’ll rest a bit. Hibernate until January
. . On Substack this morning.. Just Me and My Older Brother. About episodes of profound closeness and the stretches of time and long distances between them.
. . This magnificent boy, man, historian. He was 3 then, and today, 11.11.25, he turns 30. At 7:20 a.m. This love. Nothing like it. The most divine there is. Blessed with my son Ilan, also known in the family as ‘He who wrestles with God
The first two images are of one old passport (before 1948). I turned it into a visual journal/altar a good few years ago. I looked for it so hard and finally found it raw and magnificent, waiting for my visitation, touch, devotion, and care. So ma
Emotion runs deep, wild, and forth, like an all too known burden, while the regulation of it always lags behind. Just like a familiar process of making, of making sense, of sorting out, of simplifying.
“I have already settled it for myself so flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free.”  - Georgia O’Keeffe
Two spots have opened up 🤗❣️ Come be with us, with @alexcastroferreira7770 and me, in Passport To Journal, in Romania next year. Link in my bio orlyavineri.com/workshops
On Substack this morning… Expectations It feels so very good to imagine a life exactly as it is gifted to us at any given moment, and if not a life, then just a day, like animals do, without relentless expectations of various futures, near a
It’s quite unfortunate to be married with comfort. Almost as much as with chronic discomfort.
A visit somewhere else other than to her mind can do a woman a lot of good. And if not that, then at least allow some distraction. Especially on a sunny day after a storm had passed, yet still remains. #auroramillsarchitecturalsalvage
. Bowls mostly of ash and esteem. One with strawberry ice cream, another with unknown substance. In terracotta color. Like fired clay. Not shown here are dark, purple, almost black, fully wilted, fully mourning, Calla Lilies. November 2nd Dia de
The greed of hungry ghosts is felt on this stormy day, more than on any other. Between Halloween and Dia de los Muertos.
By Antonio Machado… ‘always fugitive, always near always concealed, always disdainful always leaving, always untouched always in black, always dreaming always the bitter flower always the night, always concealed always fugitive, always
“Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way” Franz Kafka
New on Substack 🤗 Exploring Minimalism in Mixed Media and Elsewhere The new/old adventure
Hearts on sleeves and other cloth. Bandages on cut thumbs. Green gates leading to nowhere in particular. Faces un-shown. And beyond all these, a flowing creek, unseen here, but heard, restored to its original rage. So quiet and speaking loudly. All
Desperate to make sense.
“You deserve to be in environments that bring out the softness in you, not the survival in you.” Brené Brown