Yehuda Sharim explores place, community, and movement. Sharim’s camera traces migratory paths of birds traveling in mass at sunrise and sunset, stumbles across abject detritus that marks a life once lived and now forgotten, and peers into quiet moments shared by strangers who become neighbors.

The valley of vacant rooms

A small plant/Empty-Streets
Wi-Fi Internet Access

The valley of numbness

My father’s fingers are numb
He cannot feel them or what he touches anymore
The doctor says it is a result of hard work in the fields over so many years
He prescribed him medication and sleeping pills and frustration pills and exploitation salty sweat pills and more pills for a numbed world – can you feel it?

The valley of mothers

On her 70th birthday I went to the birds
The next day, she said no time for special occasions, she will go to work
My mother is used to celebrating her birthday at work
I followed the movement
In the distance I heard gun shots –only here they call killing “recreation”
She said she feels emotional

The Valley of everything

We are talking about death
And your friend says: they are trying to kill us
They are waiting for us to die
so they can write a report about us
You try to correct him: they are not waiting
death is here, everything but blossom

The valley of bare wings

I keep returning to the birds
It may be my way of staying in flight
Reminding myself of days without masks
Reminding myself of my own (migratory) wings
Matters feel incomplete right now
I am with the birds of the Valley
The Valley of Open Eyes
The Valley of Bare Wings
The Valley Exhausted Life and Unexhausted Souls
The Central Valley
I am with the birds

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