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A poor child’s feet parade crude sandals, straps affixed to soda bottles with the caps still intact. Sheshbesh (backgammon) players become images of men in black hats praying at the Western Wall. Street scenes of the old city of Jerusalem, glowing with dramatic light worthy of Caravaggio, merge with photographs of streets in the old city of Safed, with all of its deep blue painted doors and walls. Hasidim at the tomb and mikvah of the 16th century Kabbalist, Rabbi Yitzchak Luria (the Ari), juxtapose with a street sign for Rehov Ha-malakh (the Street of the Angel) and images of Masada. One image even appears to represent a hasid playing ping-pong. And perhaps the most inventive fadeout shows an image of the Lubavitcher Rebbe turning into a series of Byzantine portraits and then an image of a poster for the Breslover Hasidim that declares “Nachman M’uman!” Ezri Tarazi’s photomontage (executed with Moshe Ronen, Yaron Meiri, Sharon Gil and Maya Vinitsky) entitled, “Is-Reality: People, Places, Things” is exhibited on six screens, arranged with two rows and three columns. The leftmost column is entitled “people,” the middle “places,” the rightmost “things”. At any given time there are six images simultaneously showing, which lends the work the feeling of a Ringling Brothers’ circus, in which the viewer tries in vain to catch all the action. But the moving slideshow is most interesting for its transcendence of boundaries. The title evokes the childhood riddle game in which one party uses a series of questions (the number is subject to house rules) to identify something or someone about which the other party is thinking. The guesser inquires first if the object of thought is a person, place or thing (or animal, mineral or vegetable in another variety of the guessing game). But either-or scenarios are often the domain of youth. The riddle game does not account for objects that reside in more complicated realms: both, all, some or neither. In Tarazi’s photomontage, some images surface in both the place and the thing column. Though it seems that Tarazi has cast all of his images neatly into categories and boxes, in fact the purpose of the piece seems to be more about blurring the distinction between people, places and things. This is a particularly interesting thesis to explore vis-à-vis
Ezri Tarazi’s photomontage (executed with Moshe Ronen, Yaron Meiri, Sharon Gil and Maya Vinitsky) entitled, “Is-Reality: People, Places, Things” is exhibited on six screens, arranged with two rows and three columns. The leftmost column is entitled “people,” the middle “places,” the rightmost “things”. At any given time there are six images simultaneously showing, which lends the work the feeling of a Ringling Brothers’ circus, in which the viewer tries in vain to catch all the action. But the moving slideshow is most interesting for its transcendence of boundaries.
The title evokes the childhood riddle game in which one party uses a series of questions (the number is subject to house rules) to identify something or someone about which the other party is thinking. The guesser inquires first if the object of thought is a person, place or thing (or animal, mineral or vegetable in another variety of the guessing game). But either-or scenarios are often the domain of youth. The riddle game does not account for objects that reside in more complicated realms: both, all, some or neither. In Tarazi’s photomontage, some images surface in both the place and the thing column. Though it seems that Tarazi has cast all of his images neatly into categories and boxes, in fact the purpose of the piece seems to be more about blurring the distinction between people, places and things.
This is a particularly interesting thesis to explore vis-à-visIsrael, a land that is so personified in the Bible, as in “the land disgorged its inhabitants” (Lev. 18:25) or “a land that devours its inhabitants” (Num. 13:32). The whole notion of an Israeli design, though, is a mysterious one. In the catalog introduction, curator Ezri Tarazi of the Bezalel academy of art and design writes of a visit to New York where he saw an elderly couple braving the rain with umbrellas and raincoats. Tarazi “sensed these people were Israelis; when we passed each other – as I expected, yet still to my astonishment – they were speaking Hebrew.” Tarazi saw a curatorial opportunity. “The moment I experienced on that rainy street in New York made me reconsider the question of whether there is a singular style to contemporary design from Israel.”
So what does Tarazi’s Israeli design that is so recognizable (even from across the street) entail? A series of “functional” objects that don’t work.
Take Yuval Tal’s “Handle with Care” (2003), a series of drinking mugs. The mugs, though unlike the regular sort that you’d buy in a store, have had their handles broken off. Tal, somewhat mercifully, has reattached the handles, but they are either attached backwards or with new materials wholly unsuited to play the role of handles. Tal’s mugs then have vestigial remnants of handles, but the mugs don’t work.
Chanan de Lange’s “Post Library Bookshelf System” (2000) is also a nonfunctioning piece. An assemblage made from perforated steel posts, the bookcase is hardly a bookcase. It looks like a random assortment of metal beams crisscrossing and zigzagging through the gallery space. The only comment of de Lange’s hanging ominously beside the bookcase is the claim, “The books are more comfortable when they slant a bit.”
Several other pieces in the show highlight this anti-functionality. Raviv Lifshitz’s “Hubeza Seat” (2003) is a seat made of steel rods and a vinyl balloon. The balloon is blue with flower patterning on it, and by the looks of it – even in the unlikely event that it could support a seated person – it would prove a most uncomfortable seat. Tal Gur’s “Sturdy Straws Chair” (2002) is a green seat made of polypropylene drinking straws, heated until the straws joined together to form a chair. Needless to say, the sturdy chair looks anything but sturdy.
And finally, Yaacov Kaufman’s “Aluminum Containers” (2005) is an installation of dozens of aluminum cooking pots and pans, many of which are bent out of shape or cut apart beyond repair. This work recalls Palestinian artist Mona Hatoum’s series that questions the safety of the home. One piece of Hatoum’s (“Incommunicado,” 1993) shows a baby crib with stretched wires where the cushion should be. “Home” (1999) shows a kitchen with electrified utensils that prove more dangerous than useful. Hatoum, whose work is in the collection of the Israel Museum, also did work about peace in the Middle East. “Map” (1999) contains glass marbles arranged on a floor to form the world continents. As viewers walk around the room, the marbles shift. The implication is gloomy; people might be disrupting a harmonious map rather than improving it. “Plotting Table” (1998) was a similar conception. Hatoum used green UV lights to illuminate a wooden plank – with holes drilled in the arrangement of a world map – from beneath.
The “Solos” work recalls Hatoum’s conceptual art in surface, but Hatoum’s work has a way of convincing viewers that there is a lot at stake in the pieces. Even though the newly published catalog of the collection of the Israel Museum, Jerusalem (Abrams Inc., 2005) hails Kaufman as “one of the most important designers and educators in Israel today,” the aluminum work – as well as much of the rest of the “Solos” work – ends up presenting fruitful postmodern meditations on function. But the objects are simply objects of the mind; the chairs, pots, and shelves do not work. The “Solos” body of work consists of design objects that are useless, and yet they demand to be accepted as art. This temperament is in no way endemic to Israel; it is a mode of curating and art making that is all the rage in contemporary museums of every sort. But the show is interesting simply for Tarazi’s photomontage alone, which uses the moving slideshow form to show the many faces of Israel form Bedouins to Palestinians to Jews, and from backgammon to bottle cap sandals.
Menachem Wecker welcomes comments at email@example.com. He is a painter and writer, residing in Washington, DC.
About the Author: Menachem Wecker, who blogs on faith and art for the Houston Chronicle at http://blogs.chron.com/iconia, welcomes comments at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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What better proof do we need than the recent war with Hamas in Gaza, dubbed “Operation Protective Edge,” that transformed the pain and suffering of three families into a sense of unparalleled unity and outpouring of love of the entire nation of Israel?
So many families are mourning, and all along we mourned with them.
In addition to his great erudition, Rabi Akiva was known for his optimism.
What can we do to help him stop feeling so sad all the time?
Children with dyslexia or dysgraphia frequently have problems in social relationships.
Israel’s neighbors engaged in hostilities from the onset. The War of Independence was a hard-won battle. Aggression and enmity has followed for 66 years.
The contest will include student-created sculpture, computer graphic design, collage, videography, PowerPoint and painting.
David, an 8-year-old boy on the autism spectrum, recently attended a Friendship Circle event. As he entered he told his Dad, “I love coming to the FC programs ‘cause everyone loves each other.”
Goldsmith himself went on his own “voyage of discovery” to the places where his grandfather and uncle landed and were sent.
Frank proclaimed himself Zvi’s successor and the reincarnation of King David.
Almost immediately the audience began singing and clapping and continued almost without stop throughout the rest of the concert.
As of late, vintage has definitely been in vogue in the Orthodox community.
The exhibit, according to a statement from guest curator Michele Waalkes which is posted on the museum website, “examines how faith can inform and inspire artists in their work, whether their work is symbolic, pictorial, or textual in nature. It further explores how present-day artwork can lead audiences to ponder God, religious themes, venerated traditions, or spiritual insights.”
It all started at an art and education conference at the Yeshiva University Museum. When one of the speakers misidentified a Goya painting at the Frick Collection, both the gentleman sitting next to me and I turned to each other and corrected the error simultaneously.
One of my favorite places when I was growing up in Boston was the used bookstore on Beacon and St. Mary’s streets. Boston Book Annex could play a used bookshop on television; it was dimly lit and cavernous, crawling with cats, and packed with a dizzying array of books, many of which sold three for a dollar. But used bookstores of this sort, however picturesque and inviting, are a relatively modern phenomena. In the Middle Ages, for example, I would never have been able to afford even a single used book unless I had been born into an aristocratic family. (Full disclosure, I was not.)
Jewish medals, several with Hebrew inscriptions and provocative imagery, were among the gems at The European Art Fair (TEFAF) in Maastricht, Netherlands, as I wrote in these pages two weeks ago. Another mini-trend at the fair, which will interest Jewish art aficionados, was an abundance of works by Marc Chagall.
It’s virtually impossible to ignore the financial aspects of TEFAF Maastricht, the annual arts and antiques fair in the historic city about two hours south of Amsterdam. More than 250 dealers from nearly 20 countries sell their wares—which span from Greek and Roman antiquities to contemporary sculptures—in the halls of the Maastricht Exhibition and Congress Centre, whose corridors are adorned by nearly 65,000 tulips.
Max Ferguson’s 1993 painting Katz’s may be the second most iconic representation of the kosher-style delicatessen after the 1989 Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan film, When Harry Met Sally. Ferguson’s photorealistic painting depicts the deli from an interesting perspective, which is simultaneously inviting and hostile—in short, the dichotomy of deli culture.
The whole idea of an artful pushka (tzeddakah or charity box) is almost a tease, if not an outright mockery. Isn’t there something pretty backward about investing time and money in an ornate container to hold alms for the poor?
Located about nine miles north of Madrid, the Palacio Real de El Pardo (Pardo Palace) dates back to the early 15th century. Devastated by a March 13, 1604 fire that claimed many works from its priceless art collection, the Pardo Palace and its vast gardens were used as a hunting ground by the Spanish monarchs.
Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/soda-bottle-sandals-and-post-library-shelving/2006/03/29/
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