Ayelet Amit Yehudai
This time I’ll start with the memory Ayelet gave me, It was so familiar that it almost felt as one of my own:
A visual memory of a small single story house with spacious rooms, and a tall pine tree next to a large front porch. In her memory you could hear the birds, you could feel the changing seasons and share peaceful, lazy afternoon gatherings with neighbors on the lawn.
Imagine her as a young child, when she was sleeping over at her grandparents, waking up at 4 a.m., with first light, to sweep falling pine needles off the entrance floor.
I first met Ayelet when I discovered screen printing, someone directed me to her. She is a visual artist and a screen printer. Few years have passed and we met again, this time at the neighborhood supermarket. A quick chat led to a longer conversation over coffee. I discovered an open hearted and friendly person, eager to interact with like-minded people. I felt as if she warmly welcomed me into the local art scene as she recruited me on a future project.
After she shared this beautiful memory I asked Ayelet if she recognizes this child in her grown self?
“It is the longing and endless quest for something that was lost, ” she replied, “I know, I will probably never have this kind of house, but the child in me keeps longing for living close to nature. In my art, the themes I work with, the colors I use, I am always going back to that scene.”
From The Poetics of Space by Gaston Bachelard that also came up in our conversation:
But over and beyond our memories, the house we were born in is physically inscribed in us.
He used a quote by the poet André Lafon, that perfectly fits what I see in Ayelet’s work:
I dream of a house, a low house with high / windows, three worn steps, smooth and green / A poor secret house, as in an old print, / that only lives in me, where sometimes I return / to sit down and forget the gray day and the rain.