Between Almond Blossom and Cherry Blossom
Rachel Sukman
The color pink covered the walls in Lilach Bar-Ami's studio in
the year 2003 when she attended the Advanced
Studies Program in
Fine Art
at the Kalisher School of Art. It was a feminist protest in
high-gloss paints which were bold not only in ter
ms of the color intensity, but also in the disturbingly strong
odor which took over the workshops,Best Replica Watches stairwells and corridors.
This may have been the last scream uttered in the language of
modernist painting. Color was thrust directly from the
receptacle which contained viscose pink liquid. The traces of
drippings that had dried were seen on the canvases attached to
the walls, becoming an abstract surface of pink with blood-red
veins. Despite the pleasure which accompanied the act of
painting so dear to her (in those days), Bar-Ami did not settle
for a statement expressing the visible sights in a single
language. The pink color splashes were, for her, a
correspondence on two levels?theoretical and practical?mainly
with the men in the American Abstract Expressionist group (i.e.
Jackson Pollock).
Bar-Ami's obsessive approach was manifested not only in the
painting of abstract, expressive surfaces, but in every object
which carried an artistic message. The totality of the pink room
invoked antithetical feelings of power and refinement. It
offered viewers a dual experience: pink claustrophobia, on the
one hand, and an invitation to stay and experience the nuances
comprising the pink statement, on the other. It was clear to
Bar-Ami that the pink walls must be continued via obsessive,
meticulous work associated with her gender. For that purpose she
used plain silvery-gray sewing pins which were inserted into
small pads self-made from pink dust cloths bought in Tel Aviv's
Carmel Market at a bargain price. Every pincushion was decorated
with "vaginal" pink-red embroidery, and some were even marked
with an oval line reminiscent of a vagina. They were spread on
the floor to form an orderly installation, arranged as a grid of
objects which form a right angle. It was on that occasion of the
pink scream that the texture fusing Bar-Ami's modes of
representation with a local Tel Aviv female identity began to
crystallize.
Upon graduating from the "Fifth Year" Program for Young Artists,
she no longer had a studio in which to work with toxic-smelling
paints, and Bar-Ami decided to give up painting. It soon turned
out that this meant giving up the abstract and the conceptual as
well. "When I returned home, to a standard apartment in a
4-storey central Tel Aviv building, it was clear to me that
despite all my love for the Abstract Expressionism of the New
York School, such painting had no room in my private space, so I
decided to connect to the place in which I live and work."
This new condition brought with it new, equally fascinating
ideas and work modes. The identification and definition of her
means of creation changed on two levels: on the contextual
level,hublot replica watches the transition from abstract to figurative marked the
entry of a narrative associated with her personal story; on the
technical level, the change was manifested in replacing the
plastic materials with flat computer-processed images. The ink
and color stains, like the sewing and embroidery, gave way to
digital images. This was the moment when Bar-Ami returned to her
literary world; she turned to stories and books, which gave rise
to the figurative images so dear to her, and to the feminist
reflections, since the course of her life has become an inherent
part of her work. During that time she was occupied by thoughts
about the everyday difficulties of life in the shadow of
bureaucracy and the Israeli establishment, and about the
discriminatory treatment of women's work. Suddenly, the wolf
emerged as a signifier of the male world, with which the woman
is forced to deal. With a computer program she began a
mechanical process in three colors revolving on the theme of the
wolf and the woman; the computer enabled such acts as
reproduction, addition, subtraction, eras ure, flattening, and
change of angle, which generated new forms and images, conjuring
up past memories from her childhood on the kibbutz and eliciting
the need to tell her story.
Quite arbitrarily she became exposed during that time to
Clarissa Pinkola Estés's book Women Who Run with the Wolves,
from which she drew the legitimacy for her next solo exhibition,
"Fool Moon," held at Office in Tel Aviv Gallery in 2004. The
book argues that wolves, more than any other animal, share
several characteristics with women. "They are deeply intuitive,
intensely concerned with their young, their mate, and their
pack. They are experienced in adapting to constantly changing
circumstances; they are fiercely stalwart and very brave." The
predominant colors in that exhibition were red, black, and
white. Red symbolizes femininity, but also power, blood,
strength, and violence; the black and white define and reinforce
the red. The restrained coloration of these works stood in stark
contrast to the female qualities as well as to Bar-Ami's
personal obsession with ownership of clothes and her tendency to
collect items of clothing, shoes, and purses in different
colors.
After discovering the computer's potential as a work tool which
could replace the brush and paint splashes, she became addicted
to the Internet and its surfing possibilities. The link to
sources of information and Google's entry led to breaching of
borders, introducing accessibility and immediacy of dialogue
with artists from all over the world. The acquaintance with
their "story" connected Bar-Ami to her "story." For the first
time in her life she realized that she had a story. Theretofore
she thought that her life was but a sequence of boring, rough,
belligerent routine.
Israeli-Japanese Landscape
Bar-Ami was born in the Western Galilee in the month of Shevat
(the fifth month in the Jewish calendar,
generally coinciding with January-February), the month in which
the almond trees blossom in pink. She feels a direct personal
affinity with Japan, where the cherry blossoms herald the advent
of spring. The snow-clad Mount Hermon connects and interchanges
with the likewise snowy Mount Fuji. The highest mountain in
Japan and a site of pilgrimage for the Japanese, Fuji has been
represented in ink drawings by many Japanese artists. Sakura is
a promised land, and the Israelis too have a Promised Land of
their own. Thus a cross between local and distant landscapes is
gradually constructed. The cherry or orchard blossoms are but a
temporary cover or a state of short-lived euphoria, or perhaps,
a mirage that might change any minute with the threatening local
reality. The artistic act, however, had already been performed,
and the work acquires a life of its own.
Why Japan?
By thinking about things you could understand them.
-- James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
According to Bar-Ami, long before she ever started working on
the series to which she gave the Japanese title "Sakura," she
was fascinated by the idea of crossing typical Israeli
landscapes with Japanese or East-Asian scenery. It was an
attempt to create a hybrid between a calculated, foreign,
sublime beauty and the familiar, local, Israeli ruggedness. "I had an almost innate yearning for the unknown, for the secrets
of the Far East," she says. "In retrospect, I can say that under
the external guise which pulled me to the East lie similar
qualities shared by the Middle East and Eastern Asia. Japan for
me is the
ultimate manifestation; the most powerful, whole, real
expression of those landscapes which I tried to create in my
works, a cross between the beautiful and the threatening, the
luring and the repugnant, the sublime and the inferior, male and
female, central and marginal." The escapism to the far-removed
landscapes of Japan was congruent with a prevalent trend in
Israeli art. A similar Japanese influence was discernible, for
instance, in Yehudit Sasportas's installation at the 2007 Venice
Biennale. For Bar-Ami, it is simply an appealing magical world.
She feels identification with Japanese aesthetics, and the
figure of the Japanese woman was an object of admiration for
her, so much
so that she created a self-portrait of herself as a young
Japanese woman (page.4). In some of her works one can clearly
identify the figure of the geisha, a role she dreamt of filling.
This duality of living here and longing for there was to become
an integral part of Bar-Ami's life and art; to some extent, it
determined her iconographic choices between 2006 and 2008, while
creating the works for the exhibition "Sakura" (cherry blossom),
rendering it a visual statement. Bar-Ami's choice of Japan,
which she favors as a refuge, is not random. It is to Japan that
she wants
to return, even though she has never been there. She feels a
yearning for tranquil, enchanting, far-away landscapes, and in
many of her works one encounters the cherry blossom.
Once she realized that the association between the almond
blossom and the cherry blossom was not only legitimate, but a
part of her connection to the global village, the boundaries
dissolved. Henceforth she ceased taking the symbols with which
she was raised for granted, setting out to explore them and
introduce them into her works as milestones. Thus, from one work
to the next, the images and symbols multiplied, as she conjured
them up in a spiritual act, both calculated and intuitive.
The life of Lilach the girl, who grew up frightened on the dark
nights in Kibbutz Hanita on Israel's northern border across from
Lebanon, has changed unrecognizably. The desire to recall all
the details that make up the web of her life, and the wish to
carefully interweave them with distant, yet corresponding sights
from Japan, enable Bar-Ami, like many artists in the global
village, to be unique in her local milieu, while appropriating
landscapes, figures, and pink blossoms.
Despite the visual overload created on their surface,
observation of her works is akin to a journey through a dense
forest with secret paths. Bar-Ami offers anyone willing to enter
into the unknown a fascinating experience, enabling him to
choose different tasks of deciphering: historical, emotional,
political, personal, and aesthetic.
Bar-Ami has gradually returned to her childhood landscapes.
"Here," she says, "begins the contrast embodied in the pastoral
quality of the green expanses and the ostensible sense of
security provided by the kibbutz. The image in my mind's eye is
of children playing on the lawn, and all of a sudden this
contract between the marvelous silence and the fact that the
kibbutz is in constant danger and a state of war vis-á-vis the
Lebanese border." She regards the Israeli landscape as a horizon
where cypress trees, helicopters, soldiers, tanks, war, noise,
and border are visible. Reflecting upon the values on which she
was brought up, such as the admiration of the heroes of the
Israeli dream?from Danziger's Nimrod, which signifies the
powerful, heroic, masculine, yet sublime, Israeli art, through
the sculpture of the roaring lion, symbolizing the mythological
figure of Trumpeldor, the hero who sacrificed his life for the
homeland, to Moshe Dayan, with the black eyepatch, symbolizing
the figure of the commander who lost his eye in the battle over
Kibbutz Hanita. The introduction of Dayan's figure into her work
is just one example of the way in which the story of Bar-Ami's
life has become an inherent part of her oeuvre. As a kibbutz
child and an artist, she is well aware of the power of national
symbols; on the surface of her works she brings together secular
and traditionalist Israeli rituals practiced on the Jewish
holidays, which have become popular symbols in the State of
Israel. One of these is the obsessive treatment of uniform, not
necessarily routine school uniform, but rather ones worn on
festive occasions involving song and dance. The girls featured
in many of her works dance on the national and traditional
holidays, recite poems and worship Israeli heroism. They are
uniformly dressed. Bar-Ami radicalizes these figures, making
them appear as reproductions through both their dimensions and
their hair style?usually a pair of braids, at times a single
one. "The girls in my works are made after my own, adult figure.
They dance the hora around the roaring lion. The hora is part of
the local-pioneering folklore which was, obviously, a way to
overcome the fear as well as to rejoice and unite despite the
war," she says. The girls sometimes dance in white vests, but on
Independence Day and the Memorial Day ceremonies they wear white
blouses, blue skirts, and black patent-leather shoes; this was
how everyone stood at attention for a long minute in memory of
the heroes who fell while protecting the homeland. At the time,
she accepted her participation in these ceremonies without
question; today she realizes that it was but one of many ways to
unite the people and generate an affinity and a commitment to
the land, to a life of equality and communion; and perhaps a way
to lie, as well.
Into all these penetrate the fears of the night and darkness,
and the danger of attacks on the northern border settlements.
The unending war theme is represented by the skyline?the sky is
the real border, and the air force protects the sky with the
helicopters which Bar-Ami cuts as well as with armed soldier and
tanks and cypress trees. The threatening reality, the history of
the British mandate in the country in the figure of British
soldiers, the cherry blossom in Japan, and fields of
anemones?kalaniyot in Hebrew, alluding to the nickname given to
the British soldiers in Palestine during the mandatory period,
and to Shoshana Damari's well-known song lamenting Israel's
fallen soldiers, and the protected red anemone flowers which
beautify the homeland's scenery?all these are found together in
the private creative space of the artist, who also crosses
indifferent ostriches with Japanese angelic-satanic heads. As
illogical as this link may seem, it is surprisingly harmonious
and engaging in terms of coloration and composition alike.
Japan is present throughout the series of works created in the
past two years, until the nurses-in-white enter the picture, at
which time the game of fancy seems to end, and we return to
reality, to the mundane truth. This is the last work in the
series, and Bar-Ami gave it the title Eventually I Got a Shot.
To the broad spectrum of existing figures she adds the nurse.
This was the end of the Second Lebanon War, and things had
ostensibly come full circle.
All the works were created by means of forms, which represent a
type of repetition, a duplication of the story and its
transformation into a symbol of a shared experience cut out by
means of unique, industrious, obsessive manual labor. Most of
the images were flattened, replicated, and processed digitally.
Despite the visual overload of symbols and images in her
stratified works, the narrative is easily comprehended and may
be deconstructed into subjects which link to one another with
calculated naïveté.
Bar-Ami's modes of representation are somewhat tangential to
those of renowned African-American artist, Kara Walker, whose
works depict personal experiences associated with the harsh
history of her people in America. The paper cutouts ostensibly
enable cutting and deconstruction of the Israeli myth, as well
as a later reconstruction of the story. The work is done in
layers which call to mind, inter alia, an archaeological
excavation; a search for the truth while attempting to return to
the kibbutz forests in order to find additional signs attesting
to her real identity.
In her unique way, Bar-Ami manages to touch upon diverse and
fascinating themes, such as cultural and historical symbols,
both Israeli and universal. A quintessential local artist,
Bar-Ami's works clearly draw on Israeli symbols and local
cultural heroes. At the same time, she is well-versed in the
international art lingo. The result is an intriguing,
highly-original work. |