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.

Time of the Season

Budapest - Asian restaurant

Summer lingered on hot and humid and I was still in Israel. After my previous last-minute trip to New York, I thought I will be traveling again this summer, but there were various setbacks, and on top of this it was the most horrid summer in history, I shit you not. 

Budapest

But at the end of August I did hit the road. And what a glorious road this time, stretching between three continents and checking out many new destinations, starting in East Europe - Hungary and Serbia - and ending in the fantastic Grand Canyon and a village in Pennsylvania.
I took gear for all seasons almost. In Europe summer was still on when I left late mid-Sept, and here in New York (where I am writing this) winter sends a cold and wet hello every now and then. It is time to go back, soon in a few days, to one of the world's most weather-friendly places (though its people are used  to complain about the climate, let me assure you, they have nothing to complain about).
In Budapest I have been visiting my good friend the artist Josef Ralt, a remarkably skillful painter who likes to sit at cafe's and draw the people with his pen and watercolor. He left Israel recently to move there and has already formed a new circle of friends, similar to the one he had in Tel Aviv.

Belgrade



No need to explain

I went to Pennsylvania following an invitation of yet another artist friend, Shirley Kanyon, whose words (here in her Hebrew blog) are almost as enchanting as her lyrical images. I stayed for a week after a week of Grand Canyon solo adventure, and it was quite different there in a countryside village. I felt like in an art residency, having deep discussions with Shirley about art, painting, structure and subject matter. I exerted myself and tried to learn new methods of adding line and color to form. 

Home at Shirley's


Botanical garden



And this is New York.

A man I met in the park wanted his portrait in markers, and then his daughter's, from a photo. It was a great experience to actually talk to someone who was really interested in what I was doing. Real contact is rare. This is a call to my fellow brethren to please make conversation with an artist at work, as long as the work seems finished enough you wouldn't be intruding. We love your comments when they are genuine and coming from the heart. Artmaking is a solitary business, done in private and not performed before a crowd; and we may miss that human connection sometimes. 

As the leaves are falling, done by now with their spectacular multimedia show, so shall I wrap myself to be back to my old hometown and see what's new. I know I have been missing a few.