Book Fund at Packer Collegiate

Today there was a reception to view photography books purchased in Elizabeth's name for the library at Packer.

Books by Lisette Model, for instance.

And Meatyard


Erwin Olaf

And pictures of New York by

Ruth Orkin

And one by Klein of Tribeca, after snow

I felt very elegiac, and overwhelmed by the emotion of returning to the school, the first time since the memorial service over three years ago.  So many of her teachers were there, people who mattered deeply to Elizabeth's education, people who taught her what she should be.  People like Eric Baylin, who read this poem:

Elizabeth's Books

Through her eyes a photograph unfolded
Through her gaze surface grays and blacks began to breathe,
     gave way to stories.
Faces came alive
Through her careful looking.

And so these books - Elizabeth's - are filled with surfaces to be
    plumbed through quiet gazing.
For years beyond our own a string of curious minds will find in these
    new ways of looking, new ways of thinking
And through their eyes and in that trail of small epiphanies, lighted
     moments stretching past our view,

She will be gazing still.

Eric Baylin
April 22, 2010


  1. What a wonderful tribute to Elizabeth who loved beautiful books and photography. Will this be an on-going endeavor? And may we contribute to new books? I can't look at the photos on this page without crying. — Liza

  2. I think Elizabeth would have been very satisfied with this selection - all great artists, some female photographers, some NYC based. Such thoughtful choices, and this endeavor is really such a nice tribute to Elizabeth, her blossoming gift as an artist + her connection to her school and the program. This feels like an apt tribute.


  3. Thanks, Liza, for asking. Let me see what can be done.


  4. Thanks, Anne, for your note, and all that you do to have Elizabeth remembered at Packer.


  5. What a thoughtful and meaningful, living tribute to your beautiful, artistic, brilliant daughter. The choice of books is just wonderful!

    And the poem is stunning.

    Sending hopes for peace,


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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry