After retirement, Phyllis had the time to make art. She spent hours looking at magazines and tearing out images that somehow felt familiar to her. Without thinking about them, the images intuitively came together to form collages, which she recognized as visual stories from her life.
The next step was integrating the visual art into various pieces of memoir she had written over a period of years. She says the whole process was magical for her. She loved bringing to life snapshots of an old world that existed in her memory.
Much of Phyllis’ work has its roots in her childhood working class Jewish community in Philadelphia, PA. Other strong influences are her years of work with refugee/immigrant students, and the priceless education she received in the women’s movement.
My aging body contains the stories of my life. Old age illuminates the joys and the struggles, and the meaning of it all.
My father’s death was complicated, fraught with a swirl of difficult feelings. At the graveside I was embraced by Rabbi Claire Green. “I’m here for you,” she said. “I won’t let go.” I felt safe and the grief poured out.
The trauma is behind me. The events happened in the past. But today inside my body the fires still burn.
Trauma and fear pass from generation to generation. From the pogroms and World War II Holocaust of the old country to assimilation and antisemitism of the new country to the antisemitism of today.
I stepped down, my femur snapped, and my life changed forever.
Life can be burdened by secrets that beg to be told.
In 1972, I discovered feminism, consciousness raising groups, and a community of lesbians. It was as though I stood up and saw the world in blazing color. Nothing would ever be the same.
