Recap and Results

From October of 2011 through June of 2012, I lived and painted in Israel with the support of a Fulbright Fellowship.  I began my time in Israel by hiking by myself for three weeks from the border of Lebanon to Tel Aviv.  I drew and photographed trees, litter and architectural structures contending with the land.  I walked through the Galilee region, walking routes Jesus likely traveled from the Sea of Galilee to Nazareth.  I stayed in the mystical, hill-top city of Sfat, where residents were preparing for Sukkoth, the holiday when Jews sleep outside in remembrance of their ancestors’ flight in the desert.  One night I slept in a monastery atop the Mount of Transfiguration, where Italian monks fed me a much-needed dinner.  I hiked through the charred remains of a forest fire on Mt. Carmel, where thousands of years before Elijah called down fire in a showdown with the prophets of Baal.  I walked along the Mediterranean for a few days, slowly approaching a trinity of smoke towers that I could see from miles away.  After passing them I came upon the ruins of Herod’s seaside city, Caesarea, before ending my hike on a beach in Tel Aviv among sunbathers in bikinis and speedos.

I moved to Jerusalem and began my time there by walking around, drawing in my sketchbook and copying down passages from the Bible about this holy city. I started painting on Mt. Scopus, where Hebrew University and Bezalel Academy of Art and Design sit looking over the old city of Jerusalem to the west and the Palestinian Territories and Jordan to the east. It’s a geographic position of power and a place of dramatic contrasts.

I rented a car for a week and stayed at a campground on the shore of the Dead Sea where various groups came through: German tourists, vacationing UN Peacekeepers, a platoon of the Israeli army, boys from a religious school etc. I painted from morning to night in the Judean Desert, a landscape where religious seekers had come since ancient times to escape the distractions of society. I searched for ways to respond to this landscape of emptiness where the soul feels exposed and hungry.

I painted outside Bethlehem, in a field of olive trees abutting the massive separation barrier partitioning Israel and the Palestinian territories. I found myself transfixed by these hardy trees which contained a life force contrasting with this pathetically large and tragic wall cutting through the land. From where I painted, I could see Gilo, a Jewish neighborhood with clunky, modern buildings on one side and Bethlehem with its array of mosques and churches on another side. A Bedouin family inhabited the land where I painted, evidenced by the goats, sheep and horses which meandered through as I painted. I befriend a few of the children who would come and watch me paint.

One day I took a bus to the West Bank, traveling through Jewish settlements before arriving at Wadi Qelt, a valley surrounded by arid hills. I painted near the road but tourists heading to a nearby monastery kept stopping and watching me. I took my paints further up a hill and began painting a view of hills folding in upon themselves and stretching to the horizon. Soon a bus of French tourists stopped at the bottom of the hill and they began walking up toward me; my desire for a day of solitary, transcendent painting soon looked futile. They sat nearby and sang a hymn while Bedouins came to sell them cheap jewelry and scarves. When they didn’t buy anything the Bedouins sat down to watch me paint. When everyone left I had a few moments of peace before a settler cop approached me with a machine gun. With no mutual language in which to communicate, he interrogated me, radioing information from my school ID to another security officer. He let me continue painting but it soon grew dark. I tried to catch a bus home, but they weren’t running because it was the eve of a Jewish holiday I didn’t know about. I tried hitch hiking for a few hours but eventually had to get rescued by a friend who drove from Jerusalem to pick me up. I threw out the paintings I made that day.

In Jerusalem, I had a studio on the roof of the apartment building where I lived. The studio had been a make-shift green house. During the winter, rain leaked down the walls while I stood over my easel, painting next to a space heater. However, this provisional studio had everything I needed and it was my first studio with a sink. It became my refuge from a noisy house with a rotating cast of roommates and dogs. When the weather got nicer I would paint outside on my roof, enjoying the color-drenched sky and breeze and commanding views while the streets of Jerusalem pulsated below, my street perpetually clogged with busses, dump trucks and residents rushing to the nearby market.

Israel, as I experienced it, was both magical and frustrating.These are paintings that respond to a landscape that is imposed upon – settled, fought over and mythologized. It is a space framed by history, politics, ideology and religion. My paintings contend with these influences as I sought hard-won moments of spiritual relief within such a crowded land.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Holidaze

Israel is a land of holidays.  Considering many Christian and Jewish holidays commemorate events that happen in this country, their celebration takes on heightened intensity and fanfare.  Pilgrims come from around the world to celebrate Christmas, Easter or Passover in the Holy Land.

The holidays provided a rhythm to my time here.  I arrived in the middle of the Jewish High Holiday season and I just observed Israeli Independence Day, which I think is the last holiday that I will experience while here.  Here are some photos and thoughts about holidays I observed:

YOM KIPPUR

Although I arrived right after Rosh Hassanah (the Jewish New Year), I was around for Yom Kippur, the most somber of holidays where Jews fast and repent for their sins.  I was hiking on that day and although the trails were mostly empty I did end up hiking for a while with an Israeli brother and sister.  He worked on submarines in the Navy and she was studying social work at Ben Gurion University.  They weren’t fasting and for lunch we picked fresh pomegranates from a grove we walked by.  Here’s a picture of what one shouldn’t do on Yom Kippur:

In the evening, I walked to a small kibbutz to try and find a place to sleep.  My hiking partners stayed below on the trail, because they were ashamed to show up to a Jewish village on Yom Kippur, hiking when they should have been praying.  When I arrived at the village, it was a ghost town.  Eventually, people began streaming out of the synagogue and I found a place to pitch my tent on the town green while the townspeople celebrated the end of the fast with big meals.

Observing holidays in Israel usually underscored my place as an outsider.  However, when I returned to the trail in the morning, my friends had left a pomegranate for me where we had parted.  I appreciated that I was able to spend the day with them, even if wasn’t a proper observation of the day.

HANNUKAH

Festival of Lights!  I live in Nachlaot, an artsy, bohemian neighborhood in Jerusalem.  I hear it used to be slummy, with its narrow streets and cobbled-together homes.  However, now it’s becoming fashionable, thanks to the process of gentrification.  Anyway, there are a lot of religious Jews in this neighborhood – a hippy, religious vibe pervades the area.  It was a magical place to walk around during Hannukah, as every window and corner glimmered with candles.  Many of the menorahs were outside or in windows for public view.

CHRISTMAS

Chrsitmas day itself was strange because it was a work day as usual in Jerusalem.  Every week on Shabbat the whole city shuts down, yet Christmas was as bustling as any other day.  On Christmas Eve a group of us went to Bethlehem.  It felt like a carnival, although there were moments of spiritual beauty as well like when went to a Lutheran service and left the church singing Silent Night by candle light.

Christmas babies at the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem:

Throughout Bethlehem, churches were filled with all types of services.  We spent time wandering into random services.  This one was a group of Indian pilgrims worshiping at a Palestinian church where Aramaic was spoken in the services.  What a cultural mash up!

PURIM

Purim is commonly described as the Jewish Halloween.  It’s a holiday that commemorates the defeat of Haman and Jewish persecution in the book of Esther.  According to the book of Esther, “Mordecai recorded these events and he sent letters to all the Jews . . . to have them celebrate annually the fourteenth and fifteenth days of the month of Adar as the time when the Jews got relief from their enemies, and as the month when their sorrow was turned into joy and their mourning into a day of celebration.  He wrote them to observe the days as days of feasting and joy and giving presents of food to one another and gifts to the poor” (Esther 9: 20 – 22).

Jerusalem can be such a serious city, but on Purim it swung to the other extreme.  It is a city of extremes and when they celebrate, they celebrate with intensity.  Lots of dancing in the streets, which is always a sign of a holiday celebrated well.

PALM SUNDAY

Over 2,000 years ago, Jesus entered the gates of Jerusalem riding a donkey, while the people of the city laid palm branches before him and cried ‘Hosanna, Hosanna.’  Not long after that, Christians began commemorating the event by processing down the Mt. of Olives and into Jerusalem.  On Palm Sunday, I had the opportunity to join people from all over the world, singing and marching together to honor Christ in the place where he claimed his divinity.

This was a Spanish group:

There were many groups of Palestinian children, which were affiliated with various churches.  Each group had their own uniform and many played drums.  Apparently, Palestinian Christians get special permission to visit Jerusalem around Easter.

Nuns:

And there’s always someone waving a flag and someone sounding the shofar at any Christian event in Israel:

PASSOVER

Passover here lasts for a week with the first day and last two days of the holiday reserved as days of rest, which look similar to the Jewish Sabbath.  The days in between are usually a time where Jews travel, relax and refrain from eating anything made with yeast in order to commemorate the Jewish exodus from Egypt and the haste with which they had to leave (which didn’t leave them time to allow the bread to rise).

Here’s a picture of bread being burned in the streets.  Jewish homes aren’t supposed to have a trace of yeast and any left over bread needs to be burned.

The night before Passover started I went to a Seder with a group of people from my church.  It was a Messianic Seder, incorporating symbolic elements of Christ as the Passover Lamb with the Jewish story of freedom from Egyptian slavery serving as a parallel to the Christian concepts of freedom from sin.

photo credit: Agata Fisher

On the night when Seders are traditionally held, I along with some  non-Jewish friends had no place to go so we ended up at a Chinese Restaurant.  It was the only thing open in Jerusalem.  Although it was empty at first, it soon filled up with other gentiles, including tourists and Asian guest workers living in Israel.  It was like an inversion of the American tradition for Jews to eat at a Chinese Restaurant on Christmas.

Photo credit: Agata Fisher

Lastly, here’s a group of Orthodox children having fun during the week of Passover.  This hike in the desert was filled with Orthodox families traversing over hills and through the river; I loved the image of women in long skirts wading up to their knees in water with hordes of children in tow.

Photo credit: Agata Fisher

EASTER

Sunrise service at the Garden Tomb:

ISRAEL INDEPENDENCE DAY

Not dissimilar to its US counterpart: parties, cookouts, displays of patriotism etc.  However, there’s an intense nightlife component that commences the night before Independence Day.  The streets were filled until early in the morning with a carnival-like atmosphere.  Here are some pictures of Independence Day at Gan Sacher, Jerusalem’s major park:

Christian Zionism in Israel

On Monday as I was walking through downtown Jerusalem, I noticed a sizeable group gathered with a colorful assortment of flags blowing in the strong wind.  Among the small American and Israeli flags were state flags from a range of US states and various foreign countries.  The crowd, composed largely of white, middle-aged Americans, were preparing for a march, holding signs that read ‘Christians United for Israel,’ ‘Israel You Are Not Alone’ and ‘We Stand With Israel.’  I ran home to grab my camera and when I returned they had begun their march, waving flags, shouting out ‘We Love Israel’ and ‘USA for Israel.’  Some man played a shaky rendition of ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ on his trumpet.  Aging men in khaki pants and baseball caps sounded the shofar and a group of Israelis dressed in white joined the group to provide some drumming.  It was a moving spectacle.

The Israelis watching the parade seemed happy.  ‘We love you too,’ some shouted in response.  People were curious, shop keepers snapped photos, whereas some seemed surprised, almost embarrassed, by this outpouring of affection as they watched from side walk cafes, eating their lunch on this otherwise quiet weekday afternoon.

Christians United for Israel describes itself on its website as the largest pro-Israel group in the US, with 900,000 members.  They are led by Pastor John Hagee and seem to have significant influence.  A member of the parade told me that the group had been addressed by Benjamin Netanyahu, the Israeli Prime Minster, the previous evening.

Evangelical Christians seem to love this place.  The other night I came across this ambulance, apparently funded by Evangelical Christians in the US and around the world.  It’s a small example of how evangelical interest in Israel largely shapes American political and financial support for this country.

This outpouring of support for Israel among Evangelicals gets it fuel from scriptures such as Gen. 12: 2 – 3: “I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”  Additionally, many Evangelicals see the Jewish habitation of Israel as a fulfillment of Biblical prophecy as described in the book of Ezekiel: “I will gather you from the nations and bring you back from the countries where you have been scattered, and I will give you back the land of Israel again” (Ez. 11:17).  In addition, the return of the Jews to Israel is understood by many as a sign of Christ’s imminent return.

An organization such as Christians United for Israel clearly illustrates this rather mainstream support for Israel among evangelicals.  However, the other week I attended a conference called Christ at the Checkpoint, which provided an alternative, or more complicated, view of Israel.  The conference was held in a hotel in Bethlehem right beyond the wall separating Israel and the Palestinian Authority.  Hosted by the Bethlehem Bible College, this conference provided a look at Israel from a viewpoint sympathetic to the Palestinian experience.  In short, the conference challenged the normative stance among evangelicals, which celebrates Israel, while often ignoring Palestinian suffering.

I didn’t attend the whole conference, but made sure to attend a series of talks about Theology of the Land.  Although many of the talks were informative, I found Munther Issac’s very personal talk most compelling.  Titled ‘A Palestinian Christian Response to Christian Zionism’ Issac spoke of how his faith in Christ helped him forgive and get beyond the anger and humiliation of constantly being subjected to checkpoints.  He preached a message of tolerance and expressed a hope for Israel to be shared by Jews and Palestinians.  In response to the Christian Zionist claims that Jews have preference over the land of Israel due to the Abrahamic covenant, Isaac rebutted that as a Christian, “I joined Israel.”  He made the case that all the children of Abraham, including Jews and Christians, have a right to the holy land, as we’re all grafted into the promises given the Jews (Romans 11).  He further criticized Christian Zionists for confusing a political state with the spiritual restoration spoken of in Ezekiel and for looking at Israel solely through the lens of prophecy rather than a lens of Christian compassion.  (If you’re interested in hearing his entire talk, you can find it on his blog http://muntherisaac.blogspot.com/, which also has a lot of information on Arab Christians in the West Bank and Gaza).

I find both the parade and the Christ at the Checkpoint conference appropriate Christian responses to the question of Israel.  Israel faces constant criticism from the international community, as well as outright hostility among their Middle East neighbors.  Christians United for Israel presented an affirmative gesture of support for a country to exist and defend itself.  Additionally, I believe there is something miraculous about the Jewish resettlement of this land.  I remember the first time I visited Israel, upon leaving Yad Vashem (their holocaust museum), I read the words of the prophet Ezekiel carved into a soaring stone archway: “I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land” (Ez. 37:14).  It’s hard to look at the suffering and scattering the Jews have suffered for thousands of years and not see God’s hand in the restoration of these people to a land that has been endemic to their spiritual and cultural identity.

However, although it’s healthy Christians celebrate this fulfillment of prophecy, we shouldn’t let our zeal blind us to injustices in this land.  Most Christian tourists that come here relish in the beauty and history of this place without noticing the suffering on both sides of the wall.  I’m glad I was able to come back to Israel and get a second look at the situation.  Christian support for Israel is important, but support doesn’t mean blind acceptance of all that a political state represents.  To support a place is to know its complexities, its contradictions and to ask hard questions.  What I appreciated about the Christ at the Checkpoint conference is the opportunity it provided for Christians to gain a fuller picture of Israel, moving beyond naiveté to a position of informed interest and involvement in both the Jewish and Palestinian experiences in this land.

Sacred Spaces

During the quiet of the sabbath in Jerusalem, I often visit churches, which are usually empty and serene.  These spaces have come to serve as a source of retreat for me.  I’m drawn to the way architecture and aesthetics create an awareness of the divine in these spaces and lead one toward reflection.  Here are some examples of moving places I have encountered in Israel.

This first image is from the Banjas in the Golan Heights of Israel.  These niches were created as part of rituals for the Greek god Pan.  Situated at the foot of Mt. Hermon among waterfalls and surging water, this area has long been associated with mysticism and the human impulse to seek the divine in nature.  I was heartened to learn that this is where Christ is believed to have affirmed his divinity through the confession of Peter – answering this ancient pursuit for truth.

Here’s another ancient sacred space – a shrine to the prophet Jeremiah, which I came across while hiking in the north of the country.  I love this dome shape – it amazes me how it has been such a consistent form in sacred architecture for so many years.  I have read about this form as a ‘shape of spiritual assent,’ which perfectly describes my reaction to it.  

Shabby-chic vibe at Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.  Copious low-hanging chandeliers and ancient walls with wood beams mix the opulence of Catholicism with the humility of Christ’s birth in a Bethlehem manger.  The small door is meant to convey a sense of humility and reverence as the visitor must bow down to enter.

This Bethlehem church is right next door to the Church of the Nativity.  It’s a lot more polished and ethereal in character than its more earthy and mysterious neighbor.

Speaking of shabby-chic, check out these pictures from the Ethiopian Church in Jerusalem.  Ghetto-fab at its best.  Note the plastic flowers and tea kettle among the decorations.

Christmas time at the Russian Orthodox Church in Jerusalem.

Imposing and dazzling grandeur at the Church of All Nations, located at the foot of the Mount Olives in Jerusalem and adjacent to the Garden of Gethsemane.

The Catholic Church shows its modernist side in these next two churches.  The first image is at Milk Grotto Church of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem.  The second image is at Domus Galilaeae International Center, situated on a hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee.  The architecture of this monastery has a futuristic element, adopting motifs of spaceships in a few of the rooms.

And finally, Jerusalem’s most iconic sacred building:

Hebron

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Hebron is one of the most contentious and violent cities in this area of Israel and the Palestinian territories.  It’s an ancient city, where Abraham purchased land to bury his wife Sarah (Gen. 23:10).  It’s also supposed that Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Rebecca and Leah were also buried here.  For this reason, it is a holy city for Muslims, Jews and Christians.  However, what is considered such a holy city doesn’t feel sacred at all, but rather resembles a bleak, war-torn environment.

Hebron is part of the Palestinian territories, but due to its religious history it has special significance for Jews, some of who have taken it upon themselves to re-settle this city.  Hence, the tension between Jewish settlers and Palestinian Muslims (who also see this as a sacred city) has fueled periodic violence, making Hebron a symbol of the worst repercussions of the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians and the difficulty of resolution.

Hebron has become a site of political tourism, and a group of former soldiers created an organization called Breaking the Silence, originally intended to inform other Israelis about the injustices they took part in, and observed as soldiers in Hebron.  As an organization they lead tours of Hebron where their mission is to educate others about the reality of Israeli occupation.  They don’t provide political answers or agendas, but rather serve as an educational resource.

Yesterday, I joined a tour of Hebron led by Breaking the Silence, along with Rabbis for Human Rights and Project Hayei Sarah.  During the one-hour bus ride from Jerusalem to Hebron, a former Israeli sniper shared with us the history of Hebron.  As mentioned, the connection between Jews and the city goes back to Biblical times, however, the earliest non-Biblical mention of Jews living in that area goes back to the 8^th century.  For many years Jews and Muslims lived in the city with varying degrees of peaceful coexistence.  However, in 1929, an Arab massacre of the Jewish community resulted in the death of 60 Jews, and the subsequent flight of Jews from the city.  It wasn’t until 1948 that Jews began to resettle the area.  For a while Jews lived in a settlement outside of the city center, which still exists, however in the late 1970s Jews began settling inside the city center, increasing tension.  Much violence ensued during the 1980s and 1990s, culminating in an attack in 1994, where Baruch Goldstein, an Israeli physician, opened fire on Muslims at prayer and killed 29.  Since then, the area has been heavily policed and divided into various sections.

The former soldier from Breaking the Silence explained how a large military presence is required in the area to protect the relatively small number of Israeli settlers.  This military presence has disrupted life for the massive majority of Palestinians that live there.  When we first arrived in Hebron, we arrived at a road which was divided with a small portion for Palestinian foot traffic and the other part for Israelis and internationals.  Upon following the road we arrived at a section of town completely off limits to Palestinians.  What had once been a bustling commercial center now looked like a ghost town, as Palestinian businesses had been forced to close.  A few families remained in the buildings above the shops, but had to enter the buildings from the rear.  In one apartment a Palestinian family sat caged in on a porch looking down upon a street on which they couldn’t walk.  Watch towers, barbed wire, makeshift memorials commemorating murdered residents, political graffiti and abandoned bus stops dotted the area.  Upon following our path we arrived at a Jewish settlement – an impressive stone building where a number of families lived together.  The inhabitants were angry that our group leaders wouldn’t let them address us.

Shortly after the settlement was a checkpoint leading to the Palestinian market.  This area was off limits to Israelis but as internationals we were allowed to enter (although at a different checkpoint they said we couldn’t because the group was largely Jewish).  The area was a typical, vibrant Arab market place; however, in the area which abutted the settlement, residents had erected a wire roof to protect them from trash and bricks that settlers would throw down upon the market below.

Upon leaving the market we visited the Tomb of the Patriarchs, a building originally built by Crusaders but now divided into half Jewish temple and half mosque.  The whole building felt as neglected and conflicted as the city.  The tombs were covered in Arabic script, but could only be viewed through gated windows.  Plastic chairs, chintzy chandleries and old space heaters didn’t exactly convey a sense of sacred space.

Upon leaving, the experience of Hebron left me unsettled.  It’s a bleak and tragic reality there, with what seems to be little hope for resolution.  I am a supporter of Israel and I can understand how the Jews have a profound spiritual and historical connection to Hebron.  However, I also see how the settlers are provocative, violent, untimely and disruptive of Palestinian life.  The military presence there has left areas of town looking ghostly and created a reality where, if deemed strategic, Palestinians residences can be taken over by the military either for a few hours or indefinitely.  It’s a messy political situation with few clear paths for resolution, however, what I appreciated from the experience was the opportunity it provided to empathize with Palestinians living under occupation.  Although I’m leaving the experience without any decided political opinions on the issue, I believe empathy is the important lesson to gain.  If anything, more empathy, and less political ideology, could help to ease this conflict.

Looking at Art in Tel Aviv

These two images are of a show by the artist duo Muntean/Rosenblum at Sommer Contemporary Art.  The artists created a setting resembling the video came ‘The Sims’ and then inhabited the space with their artwork, along with that of other artists.

Here is a pictures of one of Anna Yam’s sculptures at Braverman Gallery.

I love art museums in people’s homes.  This one was devoted to the artist Illana Goor, an eccentric, and apparently very wealthy, Israeli artist and designer still living and working.  Her artwork, along with other artists (many of who painted pictures of her) inhabited this multi-story Arabesque mansion overlooking the Mediterranean.  The whole museum felt self-aggrandizing – much of the work was second-rate and tacky – not exactly museum quality.  However, she had a strong collection of traditional African art and a precious sampling of religious wooden sculptures.

St. Peter’s Church in Jaffa:

Essenes, Agnes Martin and the desert

I have been thinking a lot about the desert recently, as I am working on a body of paintings related to my experience painting by the Dead Sea in the Judean Desert.

While at the Israel Museum recently, I viewed a display about the Essenes, a sect of Jews that lived in the desert around the time of Christ. The Dead Sea Scrolls are commonly believed to have belonged to this group of desert dwellers. The Essenes followed an ascetic lifestyle, denying themselves marriage, wealth and common comforts. They were fascinated by the book of Isaiah and messianic literature and lived a life of communal devotion, where they took part in daily ritual immersions, strictly observed the Sabbath and studied the books of the elders.

For them the desert was a place of spiritual retreat: “The Sectarians (Essenes) regarded the desolation of the desert as a symbol of purity, an eschatological paradise, and a refuge from the corruption of society and culture in the spirit of the Pentateuch and the Prophets.”

While in the desert, one feels this sense of the otherworldly. At times it feels as if one is on another planet. It’s empty – devoid of vegetation, a land of endless rocks where the sun bakes the land, turning everything into a gorgeous palette of reds, purples and browns. It’s a place where time is a bit more still, and where one feels removed from the present. The weight of existence and history emanates from the deep caverns. However, despite the hostility of the natural environment, one senses this as a sacred place, where clarity and revelation can arise. It makes sense that this is the place where the Essenes would live and where Christ would come to fast.

Agnes Martin, Aspiration, 1960

Lately I have been concerned with how to communicate this experience in my work. I have been considering the work of Agnes Martin, a painter who lived in the New Mexican desert in a house that she built with her hands. Like the experience of the desert, her work is abstract and minimal – stripped of reference, decoration and excess material. An ascetic and severe restraint marks her work. In her canvases and paintings, thin pencil lines and faint washes of paint convey forms based on the structure of the grid. A pursuit of perfection guides her activity. Yet it’s a pursuit of perfection that feels incredibly human – her lines seek to be straight and regular yet quiver with the touch of her hand. Spiritual revelation arises from this restrained, disciplined and humble attempt to look into the perfect.

Agnes Martin

The Penthouse Studio

Here’s some photos of my new rooftop studio.  It’s a shack on the roof of the building in which I live – I think formerly it was used as a greenhouse.  A bit shanty-esque, but the views of the sunset over western Jerusalem can’t be beat.  And it has a sink!

Pages from my sketchbook

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Since I have been here, I have yet to share any of my artwork on this blog.  I am enjoying the anonymity of creating art in a place where no one knows me or my work.  I feel a certain freedom and sense of space to figure things out and forge new directions in my work.  So . . . I won’t be sharing any of my paintings for a while.  At the present, I feel as if I’m finally starting to solidify a direction with the work that I will make here.  At first, I was enamored with the newness of the landscape and ran around painting anything that struck me.  I am now trying to reconcile this excitement with a focus on ‘painting’ issues.

However, although I am playing my cards close to my chest, I want to share some of my work with all of you out there.  Above I am including some drawings from my sketch books.  These drawings were done along the Israel National Trail, the Dead Sea and around Jerusalem.  Looking at them in relation to the photos on this blog, I am struck by the value of drawing as a humble gesture, directly tied to the hand and inherently interpretive.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The other day I had a rental car and decided to take a short trip to Bethlehem, which is a mere 15 minutes from Jerusalem.  I wanted to see the graffiti on “the wall” which surrounds Bethlehem, partitioning Palestinian controlled territory from Israel.  The wall is a jarring site – a huge cement barrier emphatically symbolizing the deep division and conflict in this place.

However, this ugly structure has also become the site of an impressive public arts project.  Graffiti covers the walls – text and images, usually political in nature, layering and obliterating each other to create a colorful tapestry of emotion and angst.  It’s beautiful and disturbing at the same time.

I was struck by the democratic nature of the wall; it seems as if anyone can write or paint whatever they want.  Simple, earnest phrases sit alongside large ambitious murals reaching to the top of the wall and work by celebrated artists such as Bansky inhabit the same space as anonymous scribblers.

As I walked along the wall and the depressed streets of Bethlehem, marked by conflict, physical isolation and poverty, I was moved to think that this is where Christ was born.  It was quite sad.  The Prince of Peace, the Mighty Savior, the Light of the World.  This is his hometown.  And yet, isn’t this the beauty of the incarnation – that God became flesh and dwelt among poverty and violence in order to reach his beloved?

One phrase on the wall that stayed with me is the following: “This wall may take care of the present, but it has no future.”  Although political pragmatics may necessitate this wall at the moment, I was heartened by the general sentiment of the graffiti, which reflects a yearning for peace – a time when walls are no longer necessary and people can live without fear and hatred of the other.  Maybe we’ll never see this until the New Jerusalem, when there’s a new heaven and a new earth and Christ reconciles all things.  But in the meantime, let’s hope, let’s love and let’s work for peace and reconciliation.  After all, wasn’t that the message of this man from Bethlehem?  Merry Christmas y’all!