
Welcome to Forestudio





| About
My name is Chen’cha and I create art using materials found in nature -
the materials of life, even those usually categorized as scraps; everything and anything bursting with spirit and life.
My work is inspired by ancient crafts.
I am an educator, teacher of ancient life skills, and lover of all beings, earth, and life.
I am mother to Yula-Ruth and wife to Amir.
Each and every day, I learn and discover a bit more about the “wild thing” in me that creates; the wild creator that is me.
I create sensually, freely, and intuitively using whatever comes into my hands and heart.
| About Forest Studio
Deep in the woods beside Pardes Hanna lies a secret forest camp.
It has a kitchen built from earth and a forest cabin woven from branches; a mud fireplace, pantry for food and medicinal plants, elaborate herb garden, wool loom, blacksmith workshop, forest library, inipi sweat lodge, tree house, hidden obstacle course, pottery kiln, gnome house, and many other surprises.
Everything was built over the years—with natural materials and a tremendous amount of curiosity and wild creativity—by students in the ForestStudio.
A small tribe sits on the woven mat and creates, inspired by traditional crafts:
Felting, whittling, sewing, weaving, beading, engraving, knitting…
And also listening to folk tales and tribal legends, seeking inspiration from far-off lands, laughing, dancing, listening to each other’s hearts, connecting to their passions and senses, playing, strumming music, drinking tea made from apple slices and cinnamon bark cooked on the fire, resting...
And in the forest all around, wild boars, barn owls, and noble birds calmly observe all that is being done…






| Workshops
In the studio, I teach a variety of techniques inspired by handicraft wisdom I collected from cultures around the world. But not only.
I also explore how we can live as people who create.
How and with what we can nourish the fire that burns within us.
The fire of life and creativity.
That which gives freedom to the wild creators in us to create.
We meet in all weather. Our studio has a rainproof covering for winter, good fire for warmth, and excellent shade from the hot summer sun.






| Year courses in the studio
ForestStudio is offering three year-long programs this year:
In addition, I offer storytelling sessions and short workshops on a variety of topics, by reservation only.
| Creating Motherhood
I am now coming back to teach in the ForestStudio after two wonderful years spent pregnant and giving birth to my daughter Yula.
I felt the need to create in order to give myself air;
To survive the life-changing event that is motherhood.
But crafts stores were closed because of COVID,
And anyway my scar hurt so badly I couldn’t get up.
So I stayed in bed,
And created art using anything in arm’s reach -
My breastmilk, placenta, and lochia blood;
Long, beautiful hairs that I shed after giving birth;
Soiled diapers and dinner plates that I broke in a fit of hormonal rage;
Spit-up, bibs, and pregnancy documents;
My first menstrual blood in over a year.
I gathered the small moments of life
That are tied to explosive emotions;
My appearance after giving birth;
The violence bubbling in me during those long nights spent awake;
Sexuality and my body’s red-sea-splitting scars;
Breastfeeding and difficulty bonding with my little one;
My fear of hurting her;
My yearning for life before she arrived.
I drew inspiration from folk tales about pregnancy, birth, and parenthood,
That moved something in my soul.
And all of this processing
Left me standing up straighter,
Left me more stable.
The art I created during this delicate period in my life
Provided me with great healing.






| Chen'cha Writing

Treasure from the Temple
Postpartum recovery
Days and nights in the ship that is our bed
Nursing and crying
Drawing with the living waters that spring forth from us
Breast milk and lochia, tears and mustard-colored poop
On prints made from our daughter’s placenta.
God moved through me like lightning
And I opened up
The angels danced with me
The moon lit a path for me between the worlds
A path to the infinite
Thank you for coming to us
Little winter girl!
~ Here is the ancient ocean
Made of amniotic fluid, breast milk, tears, sweat, and lochia,
Upon which Shuali and I sail in our postpartum bed, returning from a pilgrimage
Filled with pain and intense beauty mixed in one
And in our hands the wondrous treasure
That we brought back from Temple…
Little one.

Mama on the plancha
A duet made from leftovers and plates broken by me in a fit of rage
The baby is sleeping in the living room
And I am banging angrily on my miserable chest,
The lime green birth ball,
Shoots across the kitchen with all its might
Passing the bathroom
And crashing into the bedroom
I follow it, locking myself in the room, pounding on pillows
Screaming into them
Which just makes my throat hurt
I sit down to meditate but my thoughts quickly get me back up
I even bring this anger to treatment
Just 6 weeks after giving birth -
It’s strange driving in the streets
Strange being without her
And the light is sparkling on the palm trees
Shining so brightly that it hurts
But when the treatment ends, the anger rages on
I’ve reached the edge and every little thing drives me mad:
The sounds of eating
Shuali wanting to be close to me
Spooning me from behind while Yula yanks at my nipple
I’m ravenous from nursing and we didn’t buy enough food
Stacks of dishes and compost are piling up in the sink
The dishwasher and second-hand vacuum have finally died
We didn’t even have a chance to nickname them or get attached
And nothing I cook comes out any good
Everything is burned or has no taste
Just when I need nourishment most…
As long as I am alone, it’s ok
But when Shuali’s home, too,
I topple it all on him
And expect him to save me
Doing it my own way, of course
Whoa, I admit to myself,
I never did learn to deal with my anger
Because it’s an emotion I’ve felt only rarely in life
But now it’s bubbling up
Every single day…
So I make art from the ruins of the malodorous kitchen sink
So that I can understand:
One morning in bed, I simply shouted “no!!!!”, over and over again
I’m sick of this gendered divide
Daddy works and fulfills himself
Mama dedicates herself ‘till she longer exists
I shouted in a loud and uncontrolled voice
Like vomit
And the peel cracked
And what was inside turned outside and overflowed
And the little one just looked at us both in smiling wonder
Once I would have been embarrassed in front of the person watching me explode
But that morning it was beautiful
Something to taste, to roll over and over again in my mouth
So I could keep exploring this flavor so foreign
So unique
Of truth emerging from the depths
And I became filled with gratitude
For this man who is with me,
Who instead of closing himself off, running away or getting mad
Jumped up to gather me into his warm embrace
Straight into the growl of the crescent moon bear
The one from the Japanese legend
Who paves a path of help for the hardened hearts of the wounded
And I immediately softened and cried
And each tear was more precious than diamonds
~ Broken plate, free-range eggs with shells, and cherry-tomatoes from the garden

Some of that red red
Camping on a pristine beach
Just Yula and me, for a week
When, suddenly
My first blood in more than a year
I don’t have a pad and I don’t have a mooncup
I didn’t come prepared
Even though my womb had been talking about it for weeks
Wincing and whispering her secrets to me
I might have guessed, perhaps
But I didn’t remember how it felt
And now the full moon shines above us
Like a massive screen projector
I’m covered in sweat, sand, milk, blood, spit-up
And the sticky hands of a curious baby
The salt water is my soap
It feels good, very good
Very alive
I am a mermaid
And the blood flows and flows…
Shit, I didn’t even bring underpants!
But I found two paintbrushes in my bag
Borrowed some sketch paper from the next camp over
And I drew, with the blood and with an egg
In the blue ink, I dipped my wrinkled hands
Swollen from sea water
Wide open
In my moon rest
And I told myself and little Yula
The secrets of the blood
While I got to know them again
As though it were the first time
I invite you to join
On the journey of creativity
A process in which our hands will express our soul
And we will wander along unknown paths
Because this is where the true magic occurs.
Chen’cha