Nest in my pocket - Efrat Dekel
- nonaorbach
- Apr 28
- 2 min read
In March 2025, I took part in a supervision group for therapists. We were invited to create a container, a three-dimensional structure that visually represents who we are as therapists.
I tend to work intuitively, examining the studio and choosing the materials that feel right for me at that moment. During this creative workshop, my eyes were drawn to long, dry reeds, and I decided to weave them. Slowly and patiently, I weave over and under, up and down.
I’m so immersed in weaving, connecting, gluing the ends with transparent glue so they won’t unravel… and I suddenly remember—I’m supposed to create a container!
I gather the leaves together along each side of the woven square, and I form a long, narrow vessel. I use a stapler and thread to hold it together so it won’t open. Inside, I choose to place a lump of burgundy-colored wool as a base and three small, colorful wool balls on top.
When I look at the piece, I feel disappointed: what kind of container did I create? It barely holds itself together. What does that say about me as a therapist? Can I contain and hold my clients in a container like this? Can I hold myself? And yet, the soft wool inside the container is comforting, calming, and encompassing.
I place the piece on a lace doily as a base.
The structure now looks like a boat.
The lace reminds me of my grandmother, standing and ironing the lace doily, then carefully spreading it beneath a flower vase.
At home, I decide to strengthen the container. I connect the edges and create a kind of woven “pocket,” and then wrap it in the lace doily. Now, there is something soft, embracing, and calming on both the inside and outside.
As I reflect on the creative process, I realize that I constructed a container from scratch. After all, I could have taken a ready-made box and simply added materials to it, but I chose to create the entire structure myself. Weaving, interlacing, over and under, lengthwise and crosswise, again and again.
The container—like me—holds different parts: The woven leaves are fragile, yet also flexible, ever-changing, in need of stability. The softness of the wool inside is nourishing, comforting. There are three wool balls resting atop the burgundy wool mass, and I wonder whether they represent me, the client, and the world of materials. The softness of the lace doily embraces and envelops. Its binding is provisional and enables loosening the tight mass when needed. The container has become a kind of “pocket” or nest, and perhaps the three wool balls are eggs from which something new will hatch.
I contemplate my recent years as a therapist working in various places. In each of them, I recreate my container, taking it with me in my pocket.
I place the work on a lace napkin as a base.
Efrat Dekel
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