The JAI (Jewish Artists Initiative) is at it again. One show in two RIVALS:
UCLA Hillel Art Gallery and
USC Hillel Art Gallery.
Two opening receptions. Two events. Two long tables covered with humus, baba ganouj, pita bread, fruit..... Hey, when Jews have an art opening, it ain't gonna be cheese and crackers.
[Then again, no ice sculptures of Bruins, Trojans, or OTHER false gods.]
[But I digress.]
No, the Jewish Artists Initiative of Southern California (new-ish group, new website still under construction at
jaisocal.org) used this pair of exhibitions to engage in a visible and audible dialog about the sources of its members' art.
The panel discussion at UCLA Hillel was academic, moderated by
Lori Starr, the new director of the
Skirball Cultural Center. And it included
Barbara Drucker, the chair of the fine art department at UCLA,
Ruth Weisberg, the dean of the School of Fine Arts at USC, and several additional JAI members. Longtime UCLA Hillel Rabbi
Chaim Seidler-Feller kicked it all off with a few choice words. Questions and answers followed. And then more food.
A couple weeks later at USC Hillel, the
"Way of Council" performance, or ceremony, or discussion [led by artist Victor Raphael's brilliant wife and "Way of Council" facilitator, Jane Raphael] covered similar ground far more intimately, with a dynamic, spiralling circle of sharing, by us, one by one.
Each of us posted a statement on the wall next to our work. But speaking in an intimate, ritual circle is different than writing an artist's statement, or participating in a hierarchical panel discussion. Way of Council charges us to listen fully and respectfully, speak leanly and spontaneously, and speak from the heart.
As my turn came, my back was to my artwork, but I was directly facing my parents, the truest sources of who I am, flesh and blood, Jew and daughter, thinker and creator. So naturally, I had to say exactly what was pressing to come out, spontaneously, from the heart, in the moment. And just as naturally, I burst into tears.
Here is what I remember having said. And then afterward I'll add the statement from the gallery wall.
[spoken]First of all, for me to talk about the source of my art, I have to say that I am so moved that they are right here, my mom and dad. [Tears.] They are always so supportive of me and my art, even when they are worried about what I'm doing. [More tears.] Like when my work gets particularly dark or aggressive, my mom saying, "Honey, are you sure everything is OK?" [Laughter and tears.]
Naturally, my parents have sourced who I am, my growing up Jewish and educated, with
Hebrew School,
Hebrew High School, and
UJ, with absolutely no choice in the matter. [Laughter here, from EVERYONE.] I have always felt rooted to Judaism, loving study, and text, and layers, and discussions. So I make art that reflects that rootedness. No matter what I have chosen to do in my life, I have always done it as a Jew.
Other ways my parents sourced me is in who THEY are. My dad, a retired doctor, always had
medical journals lying around the house. So I would look at all those cool pictures of diseases, and tissues, and organs, and x-rays, as a matter of course, even as a little, little girl. From those, and from my own surgeries, I was always amazed that we are bodies, and that we are made of blood, and stuff, and mush, and guts, and liquids. My favorite Hebrew prayer,
"asher yatzar," is all about this, and has inspired about ten years so far of my artistic production.
And my mom, always cooking and taking care of us, sourced me to be someone who loves to cook and chop vegetables. So I look at the heaps of kitchen scraps and am present to how much our food sources who and what we are, how we eat it and it transforms and becomes us and sustains us. And I draw, and scan, and photograph, and sketch, and think about, and use these things—my kitchen scraps—as another major source in my work.
Not all the work that is sourced from these things is pretty. The work that I am showing here is from a group of pieces, a series called
Bite, nasty, icky charcoal drawings of mutated mouths, gums, jaws, and teeth. This group of pieces grows out of my anger at our consumption as a nation, chewing up and spitting out everything. Everything. Our youth. Our natural resources. Other nations. Other cultures. We consume and excrete. And it definitely isn't pretty.
Anyway, that's why this specific piece, called
Clench, is here.
statement posted on the wallThis exhibit has us address the very sources of our work as artists, and the extent to which these sources may be Jewish sources. I am a Jewish artist. Some of my work may look Jewish (in fact, some of it is “Judaica” in the form of ketubot—Jewish marriage contracts), and some of it most certainly doesn’t “look Jewish” (whatever that means). Nonetheless, I know my deepest concerns to be sourced by my past, a Jewish past, filled with a love of study, sacred language, text, and the peeling away of layers of meaning.
Furthermore, much of my recent work derives directly from a specific Jewish source.
My favorite Hebrew prayer is not about Judaism, the Jewish people, history, Shabbat, Israel, or holidays. I am most moved by the prayer we Jews say about the body, “rofeh kol basar.…” This prayer acknowledges the miracle of life as being of flesh itself (of “tubes and openings”). All of the complexity of the hidden mechanics of flesh is miraculous: the pumping of blood through tubes, the structure of bone and cartilage, the sly reference to sexuality—male and female (again, “tubes” and “openings”—easier to see in the original Hebrew).
Blessed are you, Lord, God, Sovereign of the Universe
Who in wisdom created the human being,
Putting inside many many openings (“openings openings”) and many many tubes (“tubes tubes”).
It is completely obvious to You, before the Seat of Your Glory,
That if one of them should shut (when it is supposed to stay open)
Or of one of them should open (when it is supposed to stay shut)
It would be impossible for us to even rise up and stand before You.
Blessed are you, Lord
Who heals all flesh
And makes miracles.I feel deeply that my purpose as an artist is to make my individual contribution to furthering humanity by spreading art and expression, in service of transformation, ultimately repairing and regenerating our world
(“tikkun olam”). I return, again and again, to both the aforementioned prayer and a favorite quote by art critic
Jack Burnham, from
The Artist as Shaman:
It is precisely those artists involved in the most naked projections of their personalities who will contribute most to society’s comprehension of itself.
