It’s quiet and faraway here, in the center of the city.
You open your eyes to find colored strips stretched over the buildings all around, and a gray net cast over the plaza. The blinds on the balconies of the houses are shuttered. Actually, there are no buildings or balconies – only blinds. Your feet follow the colored strips on the ground, and it turns out that the passersby surround the plaza staying close to the stores instead of just crossing it.
The scene evokes memories of many places – the relaxation is like Germany, the stagnation like Ferrara, the talented kids like in Russia, the date palms like in Afula. And the stores: small, modest, with simple window displays. Customer traffic is thin: a few people getting haircuts, from above the cats look like long sleeves. One could leisurely push a baby carriage along here, or rest and collect one’s thoughts on the benches in the company of other elderly folks.
At one time, the nearby Ludzia Factory workers sat here, back when the plaza was called Shikun Zol [’cheap housing’]. Later, hats were seen here and there, a definitive sign that now, others would rule. Many of those here today are immigrants from the Soviet Union, including the shop owners.
There’s also a park. Southward, the plaza spills onto Herzl Park, where there are surprises in store. In the daytime, the park is dotted with giant colored dolls, and at night, the path winds among illuminated benches and the shade of somber plants.
Artists were invited to visit the plaza, and each one chose to relate in his or her work to a certain quality reflected by the place, and to contrast the local with the external reality, or to stimulate a long-ago memory. We tried to integrate as much as possible into the existing texture, and not to disrupt the everyday goings-on.
The CDA's archives are operating with the support of the Ostrovsky Family Fund and Artis
