White is not White

Sitting in a net installation in the busy and with poor population crowded main Bus Station in Tel Aviv (White is not White 2018), I weave a white pillow from white worn T Shirts.
During the Shiva after the death of my friend's mother, we have woven part of her clothes into mats. There are many colorful leftovers of brightly colored garments with which I fill the pillow. All around me, her clothes are lying on the floor to passersby as donations.
When the pillow is finished I sit down on it and meditate.

The bus station is a restless and noisy place. People of many nations, especially those of the lower social classes, refugees, homeless people and drug users, hang out here. Urin smell is everywhere. I usually hurry from the entrance to the level from which one can take buses to different directions in the country.
While contemplatively weaving and sitting in a transparent cocoon I connect with the place. Separated only by a membrane from the others, I feel safe and secure. Many people stop and hesitantly choose clothes, the setting is strange but not intimidating. Someone even leaves money back there, which later disappears again as well. I make peace with this "off space". The meditation at the end sinks me into the diversity and colorfulness of human (co) existence. I am part of it.