Four seasons ever-turning, four generations and counting, four truly inspiring days for us at the Potomac Vegetable Farms in Virginia. Here seasons and decades come and pass while the values and ethics strike roots deeper and deeper.
walking in a maze of my own make,
the walls keep shifting with every step I take.
put it down, lay it out, then
pick it up, confront the doubt.
A few years back we saw a small, enchanting indie film called “Liberal Arts.
(A 35 years old Jesse returns to his college for his favorite professor’s retirement party. On the way out, he takes a trip down memory lane and stumbles upon a fairy-student, Zibby, in a dorm party. Zibby studies acting and decides to take on the first rule of her improv course – say yes – to the next level.)
The story line is simple and familiar in a way, but there its inner beauty lies. It shines of little truths, of precious moments, of naive passion to live life to the fullest, of optimism and joy. Not because it is childish or unaware of harsh realities, but because it chooses to say yes in the face of worry, criticism, darkness, loneliness, cynicism and doubt. It chooses to say yes in spite of the fears, as a remedy to the soul, as an act of trust and gratefulness.
That little yes was among the first seeds of this phase of this project.
Some days you just got to go out and do it.
Off the recommendation of a girl from Boston whom we met at the edge of a peninsula in NH
and with a mistaken assumption that we could get breakfast here,
we arrived at this cool fermentation joint in Portland ME serving a plethora of tasty fermented liquid concoctions.
A few Saturday morning beverages later, but unconnected to that fact, we offered the guy at the bar to create a wall-piece for them.
be longing. belonging.
This is what we felt here. At that moment we felt this was just about the place, the vibe, the communal sense of it.
But looking back and writing this, I wonder if it’s not also about the two of us,
flying far from home, always staying connected to our source but always carrying on, putting faith in letting go,
belonging to the longing for the interactions and creations, always new but all connected to the one great source
from which all is drawn.
“time will tell”.
Deep in the White Mountains of New Hampshire,
where the moose are elusive and the moss is ever-present.
Our first day on the road in our mobile home/studio.
A day full of gut feelings & intuitions, truly inspiring human encounters, new experiences,
great unknowns, winding roads, thunderstorms, aligning fear to faith, trusting it all,
minding our hearts.
incomplete. in complete. complete.
We continue saying our goodbyes here in Israel, this time to Tel Aviv
whose walls welcomed our first works, 8 years ago.
A different text was originally set for this piece, a poem about longing across the seas.
But once the separated yarn halves were up, that initial text just didn’t feel right.
So we left them there, dangling and incomplete, and went to do some soul-searching.
What was born is this – a piece about relationships, about belonging, and… about longing across the seas.
As our days here in Israel wind down
and the On the Road phase of this project beckons,
we are dealing even more than usual with the cyclical nature of things.
The end allows for a beginning, a beginning necessitates an end.
Behind doors that have long remained shut and dormant
wait the possibilities of a decisive action.
The expectations, my fears, the people and animals whom I love, love, love more than words.
The set of clothes for a special mood, the bookcase(s), my own bed, the excellent shower, the table on which I work, the collection of large color markers, the countless spice-jars (shelves full of them!)
All that connects me to this place… my home base.
This is a lesson in release.
I train myself in the way of the unexpected and the unbelievable. :-‘)
Up on the mountains that oversee Jerusalem,
there once lived a quarry where machines and men ate into the mountainside,
in turn feeding other machines that digested the stones and earth, turning them to powder
that other men could use to make their own brand of stones and earth, and build homes and roads.
The bellowing clouds of dust which incessantly encompassed the nearby town
eventually led to a citizen revolt, which led to the quarry being shut down, two decades ago.
Abandoned and derelict, its skeletal remains crumble slowly but somehow majestically.
Perhaps absorbed at night, with no soul to witness, back into the scarred terrain.
Saturday afternoon in the port of Haifa.
Dedicated to all who crave for starry skies and distant horizons.
Haifa is dotted with more than a dozen crumbling colossals,
relics of a time when cinema was larger than life and cinemas were its churches.
These huge majestic buildings stand out even today in their girth and magnitude.
Shut, hollow and abandoned, it seems no present-day venture has a use for such beasts.
The Hadar Cinema is actually the smallest member of this family.
It sits between the railroad and the flea-market, its doors and windows barred.
While life whizzes around it, its rows of chairs remain buried in darkness and memories.
The text of the work reads:
there are no answers
between the lines
“What is this nonsense? Draw something beautiful!”,
the old man shouted at us from his 2nd floor window across the street.
“I’ll erase it, just like I erased the previous nonsense that was here.”
Well, that explained the white coat of paint, expressively brushed on the wall.
“Draw a horse, a bird, something beautiful!”
I tried to de-nonsensify the work to the man in the window,
hoping to change his mind about erasing it,
hoping to grant our work at least a few days of life. He wouldn’t have any of it:
“Why don’t you draw a camel, something beautiful?”
In the meantime, an old homeless man stopped by with his overflowing shopping cart of found treasures.
“All these graffiti hooligans, defacing the city. It’s just ugly.”
While he and Maya began discussing street-art and vandalism,
my exchange with the man in the window continued:
“Draw a lion, a bird. Something I understand.” And there it was.
He hated it, really hated it, because he did not understand it.
I translated the text, explained in details the positivity of the message,
brought his attention to the relative fineness and delicateness of the work.
He heard, but I wasn’t sure he listened.
Same for the homeless man, who continued to decry the “ugly, self-promoting graffiti”
and long for “actual art” to be done on the streets.
As we got into the car to leave,
the man in the window retracted silently into the darkness behind him.
The homeless man, though, rummaged through his cart, pulled out a gold spray-paint can,
and with a serious smile and devious eyes, said: “Now I’m gonna go make some real art”.
The Bat Galim Casino in Haifa was never actually a casino,
but it is a cool name, given to it at birth in the 1930’s.
Built literally on the waterline, defying past and present construction laws,
this 3-story building never lived up to its immense potential.
Even with the tide coming and going right underneath its glass floor
and the sea winds caressing its rooftop terrace, it’s almost as if it was cursed.
From a cultural center under British rule, to a cinema in the 50’s, to a night club in the 70’s –
no matter what it tried to be, it never lasted.
And then the aforementioned laws caught up, and put the Casino at an impasse.
One cannot renovate it, because it’s illegal to build right on the water.
One cannot tear it down, because it will harm the marine environment around it.
And so, for most of its life and for the past 30 odd years,
this could-have-been gem is a hollow shell slowly whittled away by the salty waves,
whistled through by the winds, bleached by the summer suns.
the text of the work reads:
with our incessant creation —
colossals upon the water —
the beating wind — and the two of us —
and should they dare enter the eye of the storm —
they will never be able — not for a moment —
to calm us.
Photo by Naftali Shoshani
(Translated from Hebrew)
As I tether my fate to your rope
As a shepherdess, a Messiah, a noose
Blanket myself in your breath, in your skin
Stumble through the haze of the dream
The embers of past ignite in the dark
And my heart misses a beat