This month I hosted another writing group created and run by my dear friend Zee Zahava, who brings small groups to the gallery to respond to the current show- not a critique of the work but a response to how the pictures make them feel. It is such a privilege to share in these visions. This is Zee’s short art/fiction story of coming to Ithaca- standing in front her favorite picture of the month. It was late August, 1968, and the drive from our apartment in the Bronx, up to Quarry Dorm in Ithaca, was long. Longer than it would be for any other family. My father was nervous. He had to stop and pee at every rest stop. Also, he had to smoke a cigar, each time we stopped. My mother was unusually quiet. Each time dad got out of the car mom would turn around in her seat to ask if I was okay. I always said that I was. But was I? I had no idea. I was bundled into the back seat with my guitar, my new electric typewriter, a not-very-good record player, and all my albums: Joni, L...
Comments