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April 29, 2011
Adding sound to the visual arts
Multiple-award-winning Israeli artist Oren Eliav sits down with the Jewish Independent.
OLGA LIVSHIN
I met Oren Eliav on April 14 at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, where his solo exhibit Two Thousand and Eleven is currently showing. Friendly and outgoing, the artist talked to me surrounded by his paintings. A few of them were untitled architectural compositions. Others were “sort-of” portraits, all having the same title, “Listener.” The paintings seemed to be aware, almost like living persons hidden in the canvases, listening to our conversation.
“I see a painting as a being with its own presence,” Eliav told me. “That’s how I know a painting is finished. They [my paintings] are more than my creations. They have to exist on their own. They have to be here with us, or at least trying to get here.”
Unlike most artists, Eliav didn’t dream of a career in the arts. He came to his work “by accident.” After high school and the army, he enrolled in the political science program at Tel Aviv University.
“I needed some other course, so I took a multidisciplinary art program for fun,” he said. “It included art history, cinema, theatre, music. Halfway in, I realized I wanted to be in the driver’s seat. I wanted to create art, not just talk about it.”
He dropped his political science classes and began studying art full time. He received his bachelor of fine arts from Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design in Jerusalem in 2004 and his master’s of fine arts from the same institution in 2009.
As part of his art education, he participated in an international student exchange program and spent a year in New York, studying at the Cooper Union School of Art. During that year, he visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art many times, absorbing all he could from its masterpieces. In 2006, he got his first solo exhibition – at the Givon Gallery in Tel Aviv. In 2010, he received the Rappaport Prize for a Young Israeli Artist.
The Tel Aviv exhibition is his fourth solo since his graduation. The paintings in it are colorful and sophisticated, encompassing classical allusions, hidden meanings and abstract, out-of-time imagery. Some of them seem to be caught in the process of metamorphosis, from a clear image of the past to a mystery of the future. During his interview with the Independent, Eliav talked about his new show and about his approach to visual arts.
JI: Tell me about this show.
OE: This show is a part of a trilogy. The first instalment was at the Braverman Gallery in Tel Aviv last summer. It was called They’ll Never Wake Us in Time. The last instalment will happen abroad in the fall. This is the middle part.
JI: Several paintings all have the same title, “Listener.” They seem reminiscent of portraits by the Spanish Masters, but the images are obscured: by bleeding paint, foggy veils, ornamental or lacy patterns. Was this intentional?
OE: Yes. I wanted to create a sense of déjà vu and then disrupt it. Before I started this series of shows, I did a lot of research. I went to Madrid and London, visited museums and churches. I wanted the viewer to feel that he has seen these images somewhere but where? I wanted him to remember, but not exactly. It’s my attempt to reach out of time, out of history. Artistic tradition is like a runway from which I take off.
JI: You don’t really follow traditions. Your art is very modern, with influences from our troubled century.
OE: For me, art history is not a linear progression. I view traditional and contemporary art side by side. I imagine a vast hall or a cave, or even an enormous cathedral – an acoustic space full of echoes and reverberations. In this metaphorical space, I play with the idea that every painting has a sound that encompasses within itself a multitude of echoes, distortions and reverberations.
JI: Is that why they are all called “Listener”?
OE: Painting is a visual media. Acoustics, sounds are outside of it. That’s what I wanted to explore. What is outside of paintings? What can be imagined? They are listening to imaginary sounds, something nobody can hear; not us, nor them.
JI: The sounds don’t seem like music to me. They seem distorted, without harmony.
OE: For me, sound is a metaphor that allows me to paint. I often try to think, not how things look, but rather how they might sound: metal hitting on metal, a whistle, a boom or a hiss.
JI: What about the washed-out appearance, as if a classical painting is concealed under an ornamental screen?
OE: A painting is not a framed photo or a window.... For me, a painting is like a membrane between here and there, vibrating endlessly. That’s why sometimes there is no clarity, why the lines are blurred. There is no high resolution, there is only a hint of a portrait, one eye, some hair. Then I paint an ornamental pattern as a top layer. Such an image produces the illusion that there is someone there. The ornament is autonomous, too; it has its own presence. An ornament offers an opportunity to divert the eye off the traditional path, to turn unexpectedly in a different direction, disrupting expectations. I want a viewer to ask himself, What am I seeing?
JI: What about the several paintings that are untitled. They seem vaguely architectural but constructed entirely of ornaments. I can’t decide of what they remind me: gothic cathedrals or space ships. What are they?
OE: They are untitled because titles are so important to me. When I don’t perceive the right title, I leave a painting without one. A year from now, the right title might come. As to what they are, it’s up to the viewers. Some see 16th century; others see sci-fi. For me, they’re disruptions of time. They are in between: between past and future, between us and another world.
JI: From where do you get your ideas?
OE: I always try to be visually alert. I always have a camera with me. Everything can spark an idea: a book, something on the Internet, a conversation I overhear. I collect small ideas. Like radar, I always try to catch glimpses of something that might become a painting.
JI: Do you follow strict discipline or wait for inspiration?
OE: I couldn’t afford to wait for an inspiration. (Chuckle.) I’m very disciplined. An inspiration might come through work, when I’m already in my studio. It would never come otherwise. I cultivate small ideas like a gardener. I don’t wait until a tree falls from the sky, [I] just grow it from a seed.
JI: Do you have a plan when you start a painting?
OE: Yes, always. But there’s a balance between planning and chance. Every painting is an adventure. If I knew how it would end up, I would never come to the studio. It wouldn’t be interesting. In the beginning, I always need some kind of a frame or a path, what it is going to be, but then a painting starts dictating its own development.
JI: Could you stop painting? Do something else?
OE: I don’t think so. (Laughing.) I’m very bad at vacations. When I can’t paint, I cook a lot, so at least my family benefits. I need to paint. It’s not just pleasure. It’s frustration and fatigue, too; the whole package, but I can’t stop altogether. I guess painting is my way to feel complete.
JI: In your opinion, what is the necessary proportion between talent and perseverance for an artist?
OE: I don’t believe in talent. Personal vision doesn’t just come, you have to search for it.
JI: What do you like, besides painting?
OE: I like loud music, always paint with it. I like spending time with my three-year-old son. I like reading serious books. I’m reading Dr. Faustus by Thomas Mann now. Amazing book.
JI: What is your view on commercial art? Can an artist support himself with pure art?
OE: I couldn’t always support my family with my paintings. In the beginning, I worked as a waiter. I also teach visual art, but, for this series, I took time off teaching. I got lucky – this and the previous exhibition have been sold out, and every sold painting is a road to a new one.
Olga Livshin is a Vancouver freelance writer. She is available for contract work. Contact her at [email protected].
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