< back | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | next >

June 1943, in Grabowka. While I was tending the garden I had planted, two Nazi soldiers appeared and began to talk to me. I couldn’t let them know that I understood them, so I just shook my head as they spoke. Dziadek, the old farmer who had taken me in as his housekeeper, came to stand watch nearby, but the honeybees rescued me first, swarming around the soldiers. “Why aren’t they stinging you?” the soldiers asked Dziadek as they ran out of the garden.

No. 28, Honey Bees Save Me. Embroidery and fabric collage, 1996. 31 11/16 in. x 34 in.