I lose my shield as I grow older. Outer layers of cynicism peel off my onion, to reveal transparent vulnerable heart that dances to the strangest tunes.
That’s how I found myself standing in line to have her sign my book. Blushed I answered questions she warmly asked about me(!). To my surprise she said something in Hebrew when she noticed my book cover was stained. when I noted that she said “I was born here”.
I fell for her long ago, when I first saw her sofa painting (page 190) with the text “on the street I photograph a flowery sofa”. She couldn’t know that I am familiar with her story. She couldn’t know we share a language – other than the Hebrew…