Studio story 1: The first studio I worked in
I grew up in a very small community. In 1965 we sailed two weeks on Queen Anna Maria from Haifa, Israel to New York.
My father worked there as a scientist. I remember the dolphins, the round horizon circling me steadily in the middle of the sea until we sailed into a harbor.
That was the year the Beatles came to the USA, creating a cultural commotion on TV as well. I loved them, and my parents thought they were terrible.
I went to the 7th grade in a public school. My English was reasonable as my grandmother spoke the language, and still, the gaps were huge. I changed from gym shorts to school skirts, even in the winter and the snow. It was also strange to move among learning spaces according to school subjects. Each teacher had a classroom, and the students changed their place every hour.
There was also a cafeteria for lunch. A cheese sandwich and oranges were replaced by the purchase of a milk carton and white bread with peanut butter.
Art lessons took place in a small hall and were like nothing I had ever known. The space was plentiful with materials, even sewing machines!
We sat in groups of eight children around large wooden tables. Mrs. Allen placed a record on the record player and asked us to listen and draw what we were imagining. I happily painted blue sea waves. I kept peeking to see what others were doing, checking if I was right in my guess.
The following discussion was even more magical for me – Mrs. Allen explained that everyone interprets music differently, and all interpretations were exciting and to the point.