Very soon more info about Fall 2027 in Paris with @alexcastroferreira7770 and me.. 🌸💗🌸
All children live through an abrupt or a gradual loss of freedom. There comes a time they no longer remember it was once even known to them. To a point there is no longer room for them to grow into.
~ Intellectualizing Everything ~ New on orlyavineri.substack.com ‘She was the quietest among us four, in our familial house, and till today she wastes no words… Thousand self portraits, made in silence. Not a word spoken.  My Maya
I counted them 20 magnificent Fuyu persimmons They are ripening on the tree All at the same time, unlike the fig tree Cradled between velvety leaves They are patient And I am patient too We both know. Harvest is inevitable.
In a week, at @cargoinc Portland, Oregon Just one spot left. 🌸🙌🏻🌸 orlyavineri.com/workshops
Those weeds in other countries, growing from roof tiles, in May, but in autumn’s colors, towards the light, the clouds, the breaths of air, the wearily open ended, and the utterly unseen from the ground. “And did you get what you wanted
Two spots remain. 🌸🤲🏻🌸 orlyavineri.com/workshops
Beloved in all her parts, her asymmetry, vividly remembered or achingly fading away.
The Syntax of Scars Why do you talk about your wound in my language? Maybe your language first spoke to my wound. Maybe so that you understand that this wound is beyond borders, beyond languages. Maybe so you know that you do not need to be here to
Chasing Choice Mew on orlyavineri.substack.com
Finding light and tranquility as a daily ritual.
Exploring Minimalism in Mixed Media @cargoinc Portland, Oregon Two weeks left 🤗🤍 orlyavineri.com/workshops
At first glance she thought it was a picture of an Ice Cream Sundae, at second she knew it was of many things in addition to that.
He said, can you please offer me a cup of coffee to go with all of that?
A starter home. Loving you feels good.
She Asks Nothing of Me Today on orlyavineri.substack.com
These memorials I build so respectfully and tactily, with my hands, with bones, with cloth, with dents in clay, with twigs, lint, threads, and floaty feathers, on paper, with paint, thin like blood, with pens, marks, lines, scratches and scribbles, a
From Not Just Passing By Hiba Abu Nada   …Softly, we pass over wounds, like purposeful gauze, a hint of relief, an aspirin.   O little light in me, don’t die, even if all the galaxies of the world close in.   O little ligh