Some Light on the Matter

Oil on canvas,  55x70 cm, 2017

A few weeks ago I changed all the lights in my (rented) apartment. It used to be an office (lawyers), and then I moved in and the office moved out, but not entirely: there was an office ceiling with neon lights and not-so-pretty panels. On top of it, those neon lights strated to flicker and I had to remove most of them. There was simply not enough light.
Until recently, that is.
This is then and now:

As you can see, this is enough to work with. Enough of waking up in the morning and finding out that I did something terrible with the colors last night. ---

Crane, oil and scratching on panel, 38 cm, 2018

The light playing its special effects in the world around me usually stops me in my tracks. A dark corridor permeated by soft afternoon light can bring me to tears, as was the case with the abandoned villa in Italy in the image on top of the post. I found out that the way I treat light in my painting is typical,  full of feeling and awe.

In the work right above, I used the effect of light of the full moon with cloudy skies to enhance a dramatic feeling.

Forest, oil on canvas,  81x170 cm, 2013

Nature creates a rich light performance with foliage. Below some other examples.

Khayat Orchard, oil on canvas, 25x25 cm, 2016

Yard in Pennsylvania, markers on paper, 17x25 cm, 2017

Here, I used negative forms and turned the darkness into light by painfully scratching away paint.

Horsemen of the Apocalypse, oil and scratching on plywood, 53x73 cm, 2018

Khayat Orchard and Cat of the Imagination, oil and scratching on panel, 37 cm, 2018

Artificial light makes weird colors at night.

The Gate, oil on canvas, 50x70 cm, 2017

Interiors have a softened quality, indirect light usually coming from the side. It's very sunny outside.

Eyal, watercolor, 28x20 cm,  2018

I started painting this crane in bright daylight and somehow these negative forms emerged. 

Crane, watercolor, 27x16 cm, 2018

Drenched in blinding mediterranean summer sun:

On the Balcony, markers on paper, 28x22 cm, 2018

Back to the Back Yard

Panorama - Back Yard, oil and engraving on plywood
30x170 cm, 2018

Like breathing in and breathing out, like the seasons coming and leaving, so does the painter go back to old favorite themes to check if anything has changed in theories, ideas, execution and style, or just because these old themes are still all around.
I like to travel and get away from my comfortable chair, but then when I am back, I am excited to be in my own studio at last, and create more significant work than just catch a glimpse of this and that on paper.
I love paper; give me a whole lot more or leave me stranded for a weekend in the paper department of the art store. But what is conceived in the quiet solitude and seclusion of the studio, after some brain picking and trial and error and a lot of tedious labor sometimes,  may be worth the while and toil when I proudly present a new piece that took some time to be born into the world.
My back yard went through some changes, as well as the indoors, but that's for another report later on. I took old sketches, drawings and watercolors to make this oddly stretched panorama 30x170 cm on plywood. For more convenience,  I divided the photo into three parts.

Jazz at the Corner

Fall colors on the balcony
markers

What do you know, summer is so much history by now, I'm all wrapped up and ready for the strange cold winter. Because it's not really winter, we forget how cold it can actually be.

In February I will have an exhibition in a gallery, and I still don't know what works will be shown. the idea is probably just to present myself to the public rather than choosing a theme, which is alright by me.

Khayat Orchard, oil on wood


Khayat Orchard, oil on wood

A lot of ideas are zooming in my head and not enough time and energy to perform. But I do manage to do some work. Recently I got into the habit of drawing the musicians in Cafe Hapina ("Corner Cafe") - where I had my "Khayat Orchard" solo exhibition two years ago.  They have jazz every Tuesday. The regular show belongs to Yair Loewenson, who hosts different musicians every week. 

The rest is silence. I have one or two surprises up my sleeve. Just wait a while longer.

Dances with Cranes

"Work in Progress"
oil on canvas, about 72x133 cm

Summertime, and the living is unbearable. Thinking about the guys out there on the scaffolding, building homes for the more fortunate,  helmets covering heads sweating away melting under the naked sun.
I have been a member of various groups monitoring safety at construction sites, and as much as the fight is taken seriously, nothing yet has changed in the statistics. People die building homes for us. People die unnecessarily, out of negligence,  carelessness or sheer cold decisions to cut expenses right there.
For my part, I hate building taking place nearby; the pleasure of the outside is gone; it's dirty, hard to breathe, noisy all day and when the work is done (Twenty-two floors on top of three commercial ones), will probably block my winter light in the morning-noon, which is all the light I have in winter. 
But hey, progress, cities, urban renewal and the like. I'm not against all that.
I found out the building site was actually a treasure den for interesting subjects to paint. The colors, blue-turquosie sky and yellow-orange cranes, bright red railings and yellow vests, sometimes a green arm of yet another crane, blue vertical lines of ladders. Celebration. And the human element - people doing physical work, they seem so elegant, young and full of energy, united in their  coordinated movement to create a rich, complex modern dance.
Then, I read a book that had a description of cranes in it. Not this kind of cranes, the real thing. And guess what, cranes are noisy, and they dance as well. And after their job is done they all migrate - a huge group of them, darkening the skies, hundreds of thousands of free birds keep going and going until they find a place to settle, winter or summer, same routine for thousands of years. Are we lucky to be people? Why do we threaten nature so much? How come the summers now are so much hotter than in my childhood?
Cranes do not need to be saved, but most of nature does. And people.

"Horsemen of the Apocalypse"
oil paint and scratching on plywood, 53x73 cm

Moon and Craneoil paint and scratching on plywood, 37 ⌀


watercolor, 18x12 cm

watercolor, 28x23 cm

watercolor, 46x31 cm

watercolor,  26x32 cm

watercolor, 47x29 cm

markers, 16x20 cm


markers, 15x20 cm

markers, 24x30 cm

The Old and the New
markers, 20x27 cm



Setting Sail
Watercolor, 30x47 cm

No Fool on The Hill

New watercolor,  a back yard that no longer exists 32x51

The world is busy with its foolish business, but since my return from New York, six months ago, I no longer turn on the radio or read the papers. This leaves me with a great many gaps in my knowledge and a whole new world of firsthand experiences, untainted by the rage and regrets of the bigger scene.
I am watching winter turn into spring  in my homeland doing my own. For days I am indoors and suddenly the urge or necessity overcome me and I am amazed to see yet another season in the flow. I was preparing, sketching and so on with one major project, then a few smaller works, but in winter I tend to hibernate more - days are short - so I didn't really get much work done.

Three versions (markers, markes, & below - oil 60x40 cm) for "The Fool on the Hill"

Some New York scenes in watercolor or markers - all done after I returned home:

Some Tel Aviv (marker) scenes:

This fascinates me recently, what you can do with a sharp tool scratching oil-painted surface. The round panels I found on the street, where I always find things, pick them up and then spend years wondering why the house is crammed with things until - suddenly - the idea comes from nowhere. There is a time (and place) for everything. It is a small series of engraving on painted panel, all between 38-40 ⌀. Two of them below.