Over the years I've spent a good amount of time wandering around Ramat Hanadiv nature reserve near Zikhron Yaakov, seeking its treasures and discovering even more only to have it all follow me back into the world, and into the studio.
When I was a boy I had a book called the Red Balloon that I took with me wherever I went. I would hide in secret places to read it because doing so caused tears to trickle down my cheeks. This painting started as my two runaway dogs adventuring towards Jisr a’Zarka, an Arab town nearby on the sea. Once I painted the balloon red, however, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had joined my dogs on their quest into the unknown.
In one of the most powerful origin stories known, a letter of high importance within the nature of being went missing. From this we have ascertained that there were once two giant sea creatures populating the depths; one, however, was removed to high heaven so as not to swamp the world with offspring. The remaining creature now weeps for its lost partner, and fills the oceans with tears.
I was always intrigued by the idea that, once the moon had been chipped out from our own planet during the cataclysmic event that formed our world, a hole would have been left behind which, over time, would have been filled in and never noticed again. We take our world for granted far too easily.
At the height of my studies, delving into Jewish thought and practice, I had just finished fasting and praying to align my soul with the universe for Yom Kippur, and came into the studio to get some tools in order to begin building my Sukkah. That night, in lieu of building a Sukkah, I began to paint it instead.
Once in a while, for some reason, a chicken seems to pop out.
In 2018 I began finishing some of the oil paintings I had been working on. The new works were transformative for me, connecting to past exploits into visual storytelling, but also developing many newly discovered philosophical liberties gained during studies after moving to Israel.
My craft has also since developed and improved, mostly having focused on painted panels in the past using glazing techniques. The new work, while still employing some glazing, relies more heavily upon direct paint application and removal.
These new processes tie, as well, into the philosophical freedoms I’ve gained since moving half-way around the planet. In many ways the methods I employ mirror the progression I have followed throughout life.
By gaining knowledge through the process, then removing what I recognize as obtuse, then layering information and experience once again, etc., the work becomes a story unto itself, reflecting the philosophy beneath and transforming into a window that glints light back from my own life.
Inside the workings of the world, there sparks a beginning of all things.
In trauma it sings, this beginning, to the unfolding of time, while collecting its mission from the strength that accompanies it into the void, all the way to love waiting from the opposite shore.
On the horizon we can see it burst out from the depths and into the light, but only for a moment, before it melts once again into hibernation and chaos-waiting; and loving too, a womb of being.
Our village is small, but the world we live on is much, much smaller. And, our awareness of this propels tiny echoes out from our knowledge of these strange and small facts, still spinning somewhere deep at our core.
Then again, no matter … we are One, you and I, and we sing as we fly, connecting Heaven with Earth, and filling the Universe with our love never-ending, back towards its beginning, and much, much more.