Both of these images are from one Breathwork weekend and are about my mother, as I move towards more identification with her and, really, a honing of my identity as a woman, a mother, a wife and a woman of Jewish-Israeli heritage. The one on the left shows my mother made of paper, slowly curling up and burning from the flame of her own cigarette. The one on the right shows an atavistic birth — not scary in the least, but ancient and knowing. The words are Mother in Hebrew.
