“I so want to come back here,” she had said just before we took off. Most of the time, when we speak of the future, it is about potential, about what might happen. Lily knew that this dream might not come true. I didn’t answer her.
On the way, she explained that she wanted to make changes in the workshop. Even the ninety new participants who had signed up for the program – doubling the number from the year before – were not enough for her.
“There’s no maximum. I want the activity there to continue without interruption. As much as possible.”
“So what will you ask Ali?” I asked.
“To give us a freer hand and to support us. I know he has the resources. Besides, the people are paying.”
“How many adults registered?”
“Fifty.”
“Fifty!? That’s a lot – you started with about seventeen.”
It wasn’t only the number of people that grew, but also the variety of subjects. In addition to the drawing and painting which they had begun with, there was now also engraving, sculpture, photography, and printmaking.
“You’ll collapse,” I found myself warning and trying to protect her once again.
“On the contrary, I’ll flourish.” Once more, she challenged any attempt to slow her forward rush.
I reminded her that just a few days earlier, she had been bleeding. “We can’t ignore that,” I argued.
“Apparently I’ve caught the teaching virus, and so far, there’s no cure for it.” She answered with a smile.
“And what about your studies at the College of Art and Design?”
Lily replied that she hadn’t forgotten for a moment the opportunity she had been given. Of course, she had some limits, but she wasn’t about to give it up.
“No buts,” I begged.
She put her hand on mine, her head resting on my shoulder, and fell asleep.
The months that followed, when the workshop was active, changed our routine. The municipality helped with hosting, but in practice, it was we who hosted all the invited artists. All the logistics were Lily’s responsibility. She took care not only of those who stayed on weekends, but also of those who were in the city during the week. Lily drove the guests from place to place. And if there were too many to fit in the jeep, she made several trips. Sometimes she even joined them for outdoor sketching or painting, and then, as she put it, the “celebration” was complete.
Later, she planned to divide the week into two – Sunday to Tuesday she would teach, and Wednesday to Friday she would study.
“When we return, I’ll stop by the College of Art and Design to get the material they give the students, so I can build a program.”
“On the way, you’ll stop at New-Hope Medical Center – you promised me.”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.”
We landed.
Chapter 49
Hospitalization
The day after we landed, we were already getting her fix of the Tel-Aviv galleries. True, the differences in size and abundance were clear, but there was no difference in the insatiable hunger for art that had opened inside her and could not be satisfied. Lily felt that the world had changed in the month we had been away. This feeling filled her with energy and drove her to see what had happened in Israel during that time. For me, it was just more work; for her, each work of art was a world unto itself. The freedom to talk with gallery owners in Tel-Aviv – people from whom she could learn new and innovative things – was more important to her than anything else. In New York, she had been afraid of such encounters.
She postponed the tests she had promised to undergo after the bleeding episode in Washington, saying that she preferred to use our shared time in Tel-Aviv for being together, and that when I went back to Eilat, she would go to New-Hope Medical Center Hospital.
Three weeks later, she called to say she had gone for the tests and that the full results would be ready in about a week.
“Is Shira still there?” I asked.
“Of course. She asked about you, and about David too. She got married … and not to a doctor…” she laughed.
