Black Belt

Funny that Little Man has given me a writing assignment coinciding with a long dry spell of writing inspiration. Nothing like an almost 9 year old about to become a black belt, kicking my ass into writing shape (he'll get a kick out seeing the word "ass" here). Perhaps good enough for a blog post. He'll be the judge and you'll know if you are reading.

The back-story - Little Man, as most of you who know him or of him, has been doing Tae Kwon Do since he was 5. More than just going you can say, he's made the place our second home, going an average of 4 times a week diligently and of his own free will. He's always shown good focus and a need to perfect form and it shows as he's progressed seamlessly up the belt ladder in minimum time. Thirteen belts hang on his wall with one remaining as the ultimate goal within reach in just hours from now. One of the obstacles, besides the obvious upcoming physical test was having had to write an essay about what TKD means to him. Not a simple task for a 3rd grader (and maybe he'll let me post his own words here too). Anyway, maybe influenced by this or maybe as punishment for this, but our Little Man wishes no gift for his big achievement, but rather that each one of us (Orit and I) write an essay of our own. A letter, to him, about how proud we are of him and what it means to us. Payback by our altruistic little smart-ass (another "ass" to make him smile) kid, that is willing to give up gifts for a boost to the ego and a pad on the back. We all recognize that as long-term thinking. The stuff of a leader. And bless him for it, he shall be. For that I take my hat off, give myself a slight pad on the back and proclaim out loud my absolute pride in his whole essence and being. This one achievement of reaching a goal set out at the age of 5 when he discovered his focus to become a black belt is but a small part of him at the now seasoned age of 8.6. There is so much more to this Little Man. But that's the homework he's assigned me so that's the subject of my words...

And here I must stop as per his request. I read it to him just before bed tonight. It took him but a second to decide that the introduction to this point is for all your eyes. The letter I subsequently wrote him as my "homework" from that point, he chose to keep private for himself. Then he walked up and gave me the kind of hug the moment required. What else can I say, that kid is smarter than I'll ever be.

In the morning it's black belt time.

POLAROID - guest blog piece for Jeremy Cowart Blog

In being asked to write a guest blog piece, I'm stepping into new territory. I write as meditation. I'm a photographer and artist by trade. Writing is a mental challenge that stimulates, yet relaxes me. I write in solitude. Introspective and personal. Some rants end up on this here blog of photos and words. Visual and written stories uploaded with a click of the mouse. It's out there, intended for some, yet exposed beyond to all. It always amazes me who it reaches. So this is new to me. An assignment, of sorts, to inspire other “creatives” such as ourselves. I find the best way to do that is to keep it personal. Either shoot or write about what's around you. Tell it in story and put it out there. It will touch someone.

Thank you Jeremy for being interested and providing a platform.

Read my piece at: http://jeremycowart.com/2012/06/guest-post-gal-harpaz-polaroids/

Theo Progress Report 04/22/12

Theo Progress Report - Italy 2012

Theo Progress Report - Israel 2012

The Lioness

My step grandmother was my grandmother. I knew no other. I was born well after she had cemented her place in the family when my Mother lost her mother as a teenager. Younger than my Grandfather - somewhere between his age and my Mother’s. She was never Safta (Grandma in Hebrew). Just Levia. Her name meaning lioness in Hebrew. Though not by blood, by birth she was my Safta, regardless of how I grew up addressing her.

Unlike all the rest of her grandchildren, I did not really grow up with Levia. I left when I was 4. I would come to Israel every summer on my yearly visit from where it was that we were living. I'd sleep on a mattress on the floor of the room that served as her painting studio. Levia was an artist. A painter, a sculptor, a jewelry maker. Every piece of art in the apartment was hers. I am afflicted with a similar disposition. She was not much of a collector of other's work. She lived amongst her creations. Paintings of oils, acrylics, watercolors, sketches of pencil and charcoal covered all walls and sculptures on shelves and other surface areas. Constantly changing as it took on a musical chairs quality for my yearly viewing. Even the main sewage pipe running up and down through the building, in their portion, in their bathroom, was covered in a plaster sculpture of a female nude. The room I'd sleep in was packed with supplies and storage for works that are not on display. Much of the work was still life and figurative. Very classic painting school. Portraits. Lots of nudes. The female form. I would occasionally find 4x6" snapshots of naked women posing as subjects for her or in art workshops. She worked from photographs. Always interesting for a curious young boy/teen to stumble upon on some easel shelf. I'll let your imaginations wander to wherever you'd like to go with this. Back to topic. Later she experimented with more abstract paintings and jewelry, which though rough around the edges in form and comfort, I was a big fan of it’s boldness of design.

Levia talked about her art. I had a certain connection with her on an artistic and creative level that grew stronger as I matured into my craft. Unfortunately it was already in her later years. I would have loved to have had the same conversations in her youth. She could talk about her art tirelessly. As much as her prolific art making itself. Though, I never really got to see it in the making. Which is something I only now realize in hindsight. I was around for very short spurts on summer vacations. Given the tour of latest materials, ideas and results in summary. Besides that, it was about the meal and the hosting and making sure all visitors were happy. Adults talked and discussed, whilst I explored and got to know my Safta from behind the scenes. Through her space and stuff.

In recent years Levia had been living in a home. Her mind delving deeper into the Alzheimer's disease that was overtaking her. I saw her on 3 separate occasions over the past 3 years that I've visited. Each time, Little Man remained in the lobby with my dad. My mom and I went up to see her, sitting in the common area of her unit. Engrossed in the group activity of the afternoon, she’d notice us walking up and she’d light up for a moment. Always remembering my face. Wanting to show off and share something with me. Dance and sing and talk about how pretty she used to be and is. After another full year and a thicker beard, she always recognized my eyes. Three similar experiences, though progressively seeing her be taken further away from us. They were difficult moments for me, but necessary. I live thousands of miles away and have most of my life. The rest of my Mother's family bucked up, went on rotation and united around making her feel loved. She was not alone. My grandfather, my Saba, the solid rock of the family. 96 years strong - sharp as a tack and independent. Nurturing and present everyday of her life, before the home and after, without fail. Even when she forgot. He remained her daily friend, until the end, the other day.

Goodbye Lioness. I'll miss you and will always love you.

Theo Progress Report 02/12/12