Women’s Stories – with Amit Sendik
We’ve known Amit Sendik for years—as an active force at Portfolio Magazine, and as someone who knows everything happening in the local fashion and design scene. Over time, she became a close friend and a regular guest at our studio, ever since our early days in eastern Tel Aviv.
In our conversation, we learned about her work, her multidisciplinary engagement with design and craft, and how abundance can actually foster a sense of calm. Her vibrant energy brought us an optimistic wave of progress and change—exactly what we needed right now, at the peak of summer.
Could you introduce yourself?
My name is Amit Sendik. Today, I define myself as an artist, curator, and writer. I’m the fashion editor at Portfolio Magazine, while also writing about other fields that intrigue me, such as craft, design, music, and dance. Alongside my writing, I am an active artist working mainly in ceramics and textiles, and I curate various exhibitions and projects. I think curiosity is the thread that connects everything I do.
For many years, I thought I had to choose and define myself through a single profession. Today, I realize that the intersection between these worlds is precisely where I belong—they don't compete with one another, but rather nourish each other and create an ongoing dialogue.
Tell us about your work. What is your background?
My academic background is from HaMidrasha Faculty of Arts. After graduating and spending several years abroad, I took a different path and built a career in communications consulting. For over two decades, I managed an independent agency until I decided to close that chapter.
At that point, I returned to full-time creation, began writing for Portfolio, and eventually expanded into curating. You could almost say I reinvented myself over the past decade—not driven by a master plan, but rather by an endless curiosity and hunger within me that push me to learn, meet people, and avoid standing still.
Today, I feel that everything I’ve done along the way is embedded in my current practice. Nothing was truly left behind.
Where do you draw inspiration from?
Essentially, from everything around me. My world of inspiration draws from color, painting, movement, patterns, textiles, fashion, and beyond. I might catch a color combination on the street, notice a detail on a garment or a pattern on a fabric, and something stays with me, starting to turn in my head. I look around and collect imagery all the time—photographing, saving, remembering. I don't always know in the moment why something caught my eye, and sometimes it resurfaces in my work much later.
In recent years, memory has also entered my work more prominently: flowers I remember from childhood, my grandmother's handiwork, textiles, and images that stayed with me. My inspiration lies right at that meeting point—between everything I see and absorb now, and the things I've carried with me for years.
How does handcraft fit into all of this?
The laboriousness associated with traditional crafts is a central component of my art. The slowness, patience, and repetition they require act as an antithesis to the intensity of the rest of my work: writing, curating, meetings, and traveling. The moment I step into handcrafts, time moves differently, and all the content worlds I inhabit converge into a single personal language. Through the material, the embroidery, and the repetitive action, I process—perhaps even unintentionally—everything I see, encounter, and absorb.
How have recent years and the local situation influenced your work?
You can’t live and create in Israel as if nothing has happened. What deeply concerns me in recent years is what kind of world and country we will leave behind, and above all—what tomorrow will look like here. I feel a responsibility not to ignore these questions and to try, in my own way, to act upon them.
My grandparents immigrated to Israel in the early 1930s to realize their Zionist dream. They came out of faith and a desire to build a better life and world. I think a lot about how they didn't dream of the reality we live in today. They had a different vision, and I want to continue, in my own way, realizing their dream for the benefit of the next generation.
My way of making an impact is through social involvement and action, in places where I feel I can contribute and that suit my capabilities. I choose to act using the tools I have—creating, writing, curating, connecting people, and giving a platform to stories I believe need to be told. That's where my power to act lies.
Facing an overwhelming reality that isn't always in my control, I remind myself that my choices are still in my hands. I can choose what to engage in, who to work with, and what values to bring into my practice. Perhaps this is my way of continuing the dream passed down to me, trying to leave behind a slightly better world.
What are you working on these days?
I'm currently developing a new body of work where ceramic pieces are wrapped in embroideries and textiles that I construct like patchwork, joining them together as I envelop the vessel. It’s a natural evolution of my ongoing exploration into the connection between soft and hard materials, and how memories can be preserved within objects.
At the same time, I’m preparing for several upcoming exhibitions in Israel, and most excitingly for me, internationally: next year I’ll be exhibiting in New York, which is a dream come true and a moment I'm eagerly anticipating.
What else do you dream of fulfilling?
To keep creating without being afraid to change. I’d love to exhibit in more shows, participate in a meaningful artist residency, and continue developing my personal language. Alongside those, I dream of expanding my curatorial practice.
A recommendation for life / an exhibition / an album / a motto:
As someone who believes that completeness exists precisely within imperfection, I return again and again to Leonard Cohen's Anthem and the line:
"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in."
There's something in this quote that guides me in both life and work: not to seek absolute perfection, but to see the beauty, possibility, and hope precisely in what is incomplete.
Tell us about something you learned from your grandmother.
My grandmother taught me almost every traditional craft I know. She was a seamstress by trade, and alongside her, I learned to embroider, knit, and work with my hands. Amusingly enough, sewing itself is something I don't particularly enjoy!
Above all that, she taught me what unconditional love is. She was a safe haven for me—someone who loved you simply for who you were, without demands or conditions. Only over the years did I realize how deeply that love shaped me.
Perhaps my handiwork is also connected to her more than I thought—to the patience, the touch, the giving, and the desire to wrap and protect. Today, when I create, I feel that I am carrying forward a part of her.
