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Meditations on the Space in Between
By Shlomi Rabi
In discussion of one of the women featured in his new body of work, "Garden of the Gods",
Yigal Ozeri wistfully notes, "This is the perfect face of melancholy. It’s such an intimate moment.
She is remembering something." That Ozeri summons memory and melancholy within the same
breath is not contradictory but complimentary, for the two delineate the extreme bookends
of desire. Yet, it is not the desire to recreate a past event that defines the works as much
as a meditation on the space between reality and fantasy. That is, Ozeri does not imagine or
emulate a pre-existing scenario from which humanity had since devolved. Rather, he conjures scenarios
that could have never existed, and the memory to which he alludes in the above statement is not of an
actual event but of a gap between the physical and metaphysical, that which cannot be proven or unproven,
the axiomatic realm in which the women freely roam.
Associations of Ozeri’s work with the Pre-Raphaelites are inevitable, for like the women featured
in the works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John William Waterhouse and John Everett Millais, among others, Ozeri’s
women are to be read as embodiments of poems, sonnets and chants, not mortals. Seldom do viewers see their feet
for they are extensions of the earth on which they tread. Like the weeds, the trees, the branches, the rocks, and
the grass blades that envelope them, they are every bit as natural and organic in their being and consequently,
their appearance. Their willowy figures are bent by the wind, their skin is caressed by the sun, and their fingers
are as delicate as petals. There is no sense of resistance in their bodies or unfamiliarity in their facial
expressions for they are one with their surroundings.
The white garb in which the women are dressed is of importance. As a color, it is a blank space,
a return to a primal existence, one that is not stained or colored by experience. It is imbued with an immediate
sense of purity, neutrality and innocence and almost removes the women from judgment. They are rendered as modern-day
reincarnations of Eve, for centuries the emblem of treason but now redeemed in her union with the Earth from which
she was created. It is perhaps that memory to which Ozeri refers in his earlier statement, one of a time in which
Eve was merely the first woman and not the first conniving seductress. But even if that is the memory that Ozeri
alludes to, it is one that exists through oral and literary legacies, not a scientific or photographic proof,
and as such, remains elusive.
Interestingly enough, photography plays an enormous role in Ozeri’s work. As seen in his previous
oeuvres such as “Priscilla in Ecstasy” and “Lizzie in the Snow”, Ozeri relies on photography as source material.
In her discussion of the field of photography, Susan Sontag noted that a photograph is “a trace, something directly
stenciled off the real.” In that regard, the resulting image does not have to prove itself or justify its
authenticity for it is culled from existence. A photograph, after all, is “taken”, not “made”, which immediately
aligns it with the Truth. Nonetheless, Sontag also noted, a photograph dilutes the importance of experience. In
that regard, the photograph’s strong tie to reality is the very same thing that discourages the viewers from
experiencing reality to its fullest. The photograph becomes readily acceptable as a surrogate of something that
once happened, and by virtue of its having been recorded, substitutes that which it portrays.
At this thought, in fact, one cannot help but evoke the beliefs held by traditional civilizations
that a photograph captures, arguably steals, the soul of the photographed individual. The resulting image, therefore,
is not merely a record, but a chip of reality, an object with a stolen spirit. As such, the photograph likewise devalues
reality and diminishes the importance of physical experience. In that regard, one may wonder when looking at Ozeri’s
images—all based on photographs that he himself had taken—whether they are mementos of a reality that he was in no
position to steal, or perhaps relics of fantastical ruins that he ought to have left untouched within the realms of
the imagination. This suggestion could hold some truth had it not been for the fact that Ozeri’s photographs are not
the end product but a vessel for the paintings.
By painting and recreating the photographs using the thinnest of brushes, masterful skills and boundless
patience, Ozeri deftly and painstakingly re-animates the photograph with a human touch. In doing so, he breathes life
into the fleeting moments that he had captured, challenging the momentary recording of the photograph, turning the
temporal to the eternal. If any spirit had been stolen in the photographing process, Ozeri lovingly restores it to the
women depicted. The paintings, accordingly, are not to be read as photorealistic, but rather, as transcending
a visual meditation on the soul.
The power of the paintings lies in their devotion to the unseen. Like the Impressionists, the paintings
leave viewers with a sense of ambience, as opposed to didactic interpretations of reality. Despite their clarity, they
evolve past their own subject matter as well as their own materiality, acting as a visual trace of an untouchable but undeniable spirit.
Similarly, the title of the series, “Garden of the Gods”, is redolent of another historic artwork of a
similar title that also emphasizes the elements of aura and energy over human physicality—Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Garden
of Earthly Delights.” In both bodies of work, the garden acts as a representational nexus in which excess is celebrated.
The physicality or accuracy of the space is negligible since the actions that partake within it supersede the link to
reality or a sense of familiarity. The central panel within Bosch’s masterpiece, flanked between the birth of Adam and
Eve on one side, and the hellish progression to sin on the other, depicts the liminal space between the beginning and
the end, the pure and the sinful, and it is that very same space that Ozeri captures in his own garden. Like Bosch’s
interlocked figures connote the pleasures of life, Ozeri’s women are emblems of something that extends beyond the human
condition. They are not primordial or devolved, but rather, they comprise the sliver of energy between the two.
It is upon close inspection that viewers begin to discern the gentle brushstrokes from which the women
are made; the layers that build up their skin, their hair, their white dresses and their surroundings. Paradoxically,
as viewers approximate the works within breathing distance, the women slip away from any photographically familiar sense
of reality and into the world of a painted fantasy. It is us, the viewers, who are then left with what Ozeri termed
as “the perfect face of melancholy”, feeling as though we were on the cusp of remembering something truly magnificent
and otherworldly, only to quickly acknowledge that it had never quite existed.
Shlomi Rabi has been involved in the arts as an auction specialist and writer for over ten years.
He has worked with organizations such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Neal Auction Company, Susanin’s Auctions,
and at NBC Chicago, for which he was awarded an Emmy in 2008—for Outstanding Achievement in Alternate Media. Rabi, a
native of Israel, currently works as a Photographs Specialist at Phillips de Pury & Company in New York.
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The Crying Lady
By Eileen S. Kaminsky
Being an art collector and especially one that passionately collects works by Yigal Ozeri is
much more than deciding whether to purchase a specific work of art. I met him at an opening at
Stux gallery seven years ago, purchasing my first piece The Crying Lady. Since then
we have developed a relationship that is beyond mere friendship; he has become my companion, my
family and my dear friend. We travel to his openings around the world, go to museums, spend many
days talking about politics, relationships, and of course art.
The Medusa by Ozeri is the epitome of my collection. When I first saw this
painting, my heart stopped beating, uncontrollable tears flowed down my cheeks, and I knew
that I had to have it. It is the first painting that I purchased because I felt compelled to,
regardless of space availability, or any other consideration. For me this painting marks the
point where I became an art collector.
I also believe that the Medusa symbolizes a departure point in Yigal’s career,
since until then he mainly focused on subject matters such as chairs, architecture,
windows and pigeons. The Medusa with her monumental face fills the entire canvas,
and her curly hair twists like the snakes on Medusa’s head. Her wide open mouth,
her petrified gaze, and the way in which her face emerges from the dark background
resonates Caravaggio’s masterpiece, Medusa (1562-1600), where he isolates the
Gorgon’s head on a round panel. Ozeri, on the other hand, in his rendition of
the Medusa captures her iconic essence as union of the extremes; appalling
monstrosity and yet at the same time, an irresistible, striking beauty.
I see myself as very fortunate to have in my collection several unique paintings from
the Dress series by Yigal Ozeri. At first glance, the viewer may marvel
at the wonderful rich colors and the superbly rendered fabrics while conjuring the missing
body parts. However, one is utterly surprised to realize that though the dress is erect and
voluminous, it is in fact, vacant of its occupant.
From my conversations with Yigal on the topic, I have learnt that he is fascinated by
what he terms “the broken space” that is created between the garment and the body that
inhabits it. His faceless figures acquire new vitality precisely due to their absent
presence, marked for the viewer by the receptacle that had contained them, and now
emerges as an echo and evidence of what had been and will never return. By emptying
the dresses of the bodies that were contained in them, Ozeri seems to fill them with
himself, drawing a common denominator between him and those great masters. The Dress
series is a reminder for an era that has vanished from the world where the outfit featured
your individuality and the garment was one’s private home.
A while back, we had a long conversation about the Presence of the Absent
series and its origins. Yigal explained that at the time court painters had to comply
with their patrons’ demands and tight schedules. Thus, the painters would first paint
the clothing that they hang on an architectural structure waiting for the courtiers
to show up. When they did, they would come for few short sittings, requiring prompt
and quick rendering of their portraits, after the dress was painted, so that the patrons
would not lose interest and end the session. Interesting to note, that in these portraits
the meticulously painted garments, would endure time, whereas often times, the rapidly
rendered hands and faces would fade away.
This evokes questions such as is one’s clothing a separate entity? Does the person exist
without the garment? Does the clothing make the person? Hence, the presence of the absent
represents the absence of the original sitter that neglected to sit. Now Yigal raises the
question, should he paint back and restore the missing features or should he leave the
painting to reveal how superficially these images were applied?
One of the paintings in my collection titled White Lady was inspired by the famous
fashion house Balenciaga. Cristóbal Balenciaga was inspired greatly by architecture and
therefore his dresses hold an extraordinary quality and volume, acting as if they have a life
of their own. In White Lady the formal headdress faces away from the viewer. Only a
white gloved hand clutches the dress at one side. I want to call out to the girl, “turn around”,
but she is forever faced away from me.
It seems to me that the Dress series heightens and amplifies the Medusa,
making it ever so startling in its full presence and blunt assault of the viewer’s senses.
Here, Yigal leaves behind his quest for the absence and moves ahead for the presence.
View all Yigal Ozeri works in the collection
View selected press for Yigal Ozeri
Spirits of Our World by Robert Ayers
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Yigal Ozeri is represented in New York by Mike Weiss Gallery.
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