By Helène Aylon
Examples of Aylon’s paintings incorporated are her early doorways for the Jewish chapel at JFK airport, her peace pillowcases (including one worn by way of Grace Paley), and her present look for the hyperlinks among feminism and Judaism
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Extra info for Whatever Is Contained Must Be Released: My Jewish Orthodox Girlhood, My Life as a Feminist Artist
I told Rothko his paintings reminded me of the sensation of squinting into the Havdala flame with eyes nearly shut, and seeing the fading and blending of the ethereal color of fire. I wondered if he had done this, squinting while looking into the holy candlelight and seeing beneath his nearly closed eyelids the smoldering reds, the golds that he painted. Rothko brought out his latest works on paper, done only in black and brown, and differentiated only by the varying proportions of the two colors.
For years we have waited for this day. We’ve been planning for months. ” Apparently, yes. Not once during that wedding did she hug me, although she heartily embraced all the other guests. Walking my son, Nathaniel, down the aisle at his wedding, 1984. You’d think she would have been accustomed to her problematic daughter. I can recall worse times, like when I was six years old and Mother caught me talking to the kid next door who looked like a misfit in our neighborhood. “He’s not a yeshiva boy,” she had previously warned me.
I found myself feeling very alive, as though he was singing away the sediment of death, the grayness that receded when I heard his voice. Often in the morning I would find the phone receiver on the floor. I never remembered when the phone had dropped from my hands, but when I stepped outside my door, I hummed “hashmeeayni es kolech, ki kolech nava” (let me hear your voice, for your voice is pleasant). I believed Shlomo sang to me for tchiyat hamaytim (for bringing the dead to life). To be thrust into single status in those days was a jolt.