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Born in Brooklyn, New York in1935. Graduated Parsons Schoolof Design in the Department ofGraphic Design. Holds a BScdegree from New York Universityand an MA in Art from the CityUniversity of New York, BrooklynCollege. Before coming on aliyahhe taught painting and photographyin New York City and lectured onart in adult education programs.In Israel since 1968, Gil Goldfineserved as a director of GoldenPages and subsequentlyestablished his own graphic designand marketing communication firmthat he ran for the past twentyyears. He has been the Tel Aviv artcritic for the Jerusalem Post since1973 and has also contributed tothe International Herald Tribune,Art News and has written severalexhibition catalogs. He lives in TelAviv with his wife Myrna, who is aprofessional copywriter.

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Michael Kovner1975-2001

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Michael Kovner1975-2001

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“There are some things He said in the Book, and some things

reported of Him that He did not say. And I know what you

will say now: That if truth is one thing to me and another thing

to you, how will we choose which is truth? You don’t need to

choose. The heart already knows. He didn’t have His Book

written to be read by what must elect and choose, but by the

heart, not by the wise of the earth because maybe they don’t need

it or maybe the wise no longer have any heart, but by the

doomed and lowly of the earth who have nothing else to read

with but the heart. Becuase the men who wrote His Book for

Him were writing about truth and there is only one truth and

it covers all things that touch the heart.”

William Faulkner, The Bear


Michael Kovner 1975-2001

The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan

Chief Curator: Meir AhronsonAssistant Curator: Liat Golomb MaorAdministrative Director: Zion KubaniEducation Department: Orna RotbartAdministration: Michal Zaidman, Gaby Dahan

Exhibition: Journey — 1978–2001

Exhibition Curator: Meir AhronsonAssistant Curator: Liat GolombConstruction: Gaby Dahan

Book

Editor: Gil GoldfineDesign and Production: Ehud OrenGraphics: Nitsa BruckHebrew Translation: Jacob SnirEnglish Translation: Richard Flantz (p. 225), Hayim Goldgraber (p. 187)Hebrew Editing: Judith SternbergEnglish Editing: Angela LevinePhotography: Gideon Sela (pp. 25, 27, 30, 31, 33),Ehud Oren (pp. 35-45), Carlos Katzman(pp. 45-53), Nimrod Kovner (pp. 133-139),Shimon Z’evi (pp. 143-169), Hayim Goldgraber(pp. 4, 229)Plates: M. AvivPrinting: Eli Meir Ltd., Petah-TikvaBinding: Keter Press Ltd., Jerusalem

All measurements in centimeters, heightpreceding width.

© 2002All rights reserved to the Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan, and the artist

Acknowledgements

The present one-man show byJerusalem painter Michael Kovner is aspecial event for the Museum ofIsraeli Art, Ramat-Gan.Michael Kovner is not only presentingan overview of his works, but also theopening of a new chapter in his career.This exhibition could not have takenplace without the help of so manyhands. I want to thank the many artcollectors who lent the works in theirpossession for this exhibition.Special thanks are due to Mr. GilGoldfine, curator and art critic, for hiswriting on Kovner’s works and formaking it possible for the viewingpublic to acquaint itself with Kovner’sartistic oeuvre.Without the sustained enthusiasm andpatience of the museum staff as well asthe museum Board of Governors, thisexhibition would not have beenpossible.Additional thanks go to the membersof the various museum committees fortheir dedication and their spirit ofvolunteerism on behalf of the museumand its activities.Special thanks to Herb and EllenCohen from Washington D.C.

Meir AhronsonExhibition Curator


Table of Contents

223Meir Ahronson

The Painting no Longer Depicts a View but an Object

221Gil Goldfine

Michael Kovner

187Biographical Notes

184Selected Exhibitions

183Bibliography

Next page:Drawing, Oak Trees, Charcoal on paper, 50x70


The Painting No Longer Depicts a View but an ObjectMeir Ahronson, Winter 2001

Familiarity with Michael Kovner’s life story is a key to an understanding of his work. Kovner, born on a kibbutz, comesfrom a place where nature and the land were an integral part of his life. His army service, to some degree the basis of hismaturity, was a key factor in Kovner’s perception of the sights that he sees. His service in a select unit, the HQReconnaissance Patrol, instilled in him an analytical, and at the same time an interpretative, approach to the landscapeand to the structure of landscape. A scout learns to know the territory and the routes he is to travel with such a degree ofintimacy that he is able to go out into an area he has never visited before as if he has known it for ages. The drill with aerialphotographs or maps requires a kind of imagination and exercise that is capable of turning a two-dimensional view into athree-dimensional picture that is whole, and possesses volume and proximity to the truth. What is seen in a map in contourlines and conventional colors becomes — in the reality — mountains and valleys, uncultivated land and citrus orchards,houses and streets, and in sum — a living, dynamic place.

In the tradition of the travel painters, Michael Kovner is driven to the subject of his paintings. The land is spread outbefore him, and he, in his car, goes out into the territory, looks, learns, reads the territory’s surface, and paints. Notpreliminary drawings or sketches for work in the studio, but a full painting that examines nature. In the history of art thereare many examples of traveling painters. Artists who set out on journeys to strange and diverse places and in the course oftheir journey evokd, on canvas or paper, their impressions of the place to which they had arrived . Paintings that adocument a journey are only one kind of activity practiced by journey painters. Many painters set out on shorter journeys.A brief journey to the field beside the house or a journey to a nearby building. The building or field, in the works of thesepainters, was an excuse for an investigation of the painted object, an investigation of the light and its influence, ofvisibility during the various seasons of the year.

The need to go out of the studio to the open landscape is a real need for the artist in his investigative journey. Thecontemporary artist has abandoned this tradition in the treatment of the painted object. “Painting is dead” has been theprevalent cry for a long time. Kovner did not believe in the death of painting. He did not author an obituary or conducta funeral journey for it. With characteristic stubbornness, he continued “painting.” The authors of obituaries continuedwriting obituaries, the gravediggers continued burying, and the painters continued painting.

The painter who travels far away on journeys of discovery and the painter who remains close to his home and conductsa journey of investigation nearby represent a different approach and a different conception of painting and of the role ofart. Together they constitute links of equal importance in the long chain of traveling and investigating painters.

Unlike them, however, Michael Kovner has an additional learned and acquired ability. As in his army training, Kovnerlearns the territory. This is imprinted in his blood. The territory is not a place. The territory, or, if you like, the landscape,is a place where things happen. Everything changes in different hours of light; the long shadows change not only the viewbut also the content. The map of the cell of territory that he examines is painted not in order to enable passage throughit but as a bearer of inner contents and general contents that it projects upon the visible. Like Monet before him, Kovnerpaints the passing day. It can be a morning above the fish pools in the Beit She’an Valley or the landscape of mountainsabove the Jordan.

In the exhibition on show at the museum there are several bodies of work. It combines these bodies of work into asingle creation. True, there are those who claim that in the end the aggregate of a painter’s works always turns into a singlebody of work. In Kovner’s case, however, this phenomenon is more focused.

The painting of aerial photographs, which is so Israeli a concept, becomes something different than a painting donemerely from a bird’s eye view. In these paintings Kovner brings to bear the scout’s ability to see the territory in front ofhim translated from a flat view to a view from above. This ability, acquired by the scout, is intended to enable anunderstanding of the territory for the purpose of passage. The picture that reveals itself to the ordinary spectator, one who

223


is not skilled in a bird’s vision, can be fatal for a pedestrian. Few difficulties are seen, distances lose something of theirpower. What appears near in a flat view of the surface turns out to be a journey between crevices to hills that spread outalong the way. The use that Kovner makes of colors in these paintings, i.e., the monochrome palette, produces a cell ofterritory that is quite expressionless. The territory becomes a data reservoir. The emphases appear in the depth and in theoutline. The scout’s memory is a segmented memory. Each cell has its own data, each region has its own characteristics.The Negev, or what was once the training area, becomes engraved in the scout’s memory forever.

In contrast, the paintings of houses in Gaza — apart from the political aspect that could be attributed to them —emphasize Kovner’s ability to produce a distinctiveness for each single building. Each house is painted like a human portrait.Details which may appear marginal to the viewer become central, and details which may appear central become marginal.The house, in these paintings, receives a private personality. The coloring of these houses, apart from being faithful in somemeasure to the original, enables Kovner to emphasize the house’s personality. Contrasted with the expressionless,monochrome aerial photographs, the houses in Gaza receive a strong and dominant personality. And between these twobodies of work, Kovner paints the Jerusalem mountains. This group of works, of landscapes close to his home, centers oninterpretation of the movement of the contour lines that characterize mountains. The convolutions of the interlacingcontour lines turn into waves of color, the motion of which, and the dynamism that bursts out from them, attest to thedifficulty entailed in passage through them. In these three groups of works we can see Kovner’s devotion to examining andlearning what his eye recounts to him, and to turning it into something that contains within it what is hidden in the placesthat the eye does not see.The patroller’s ability to shift from a view towards the horizon to a bird’s eye view, and from abird’s eye view to a view towards the horizon, reveals what is hidden from the eye. This translation from one view to theother requires learning and understanding of the sight that appears to the viewer. A combination of these two sights, theview from above and the view to the horizon, gives, in the end, a single inclusive picture.

Visual memory is probably an innate talent. The soldiers selected for the reconnaissance patrols are those who havethis talent from the outset. Then, with further training, long and arduous, they acquire the skill of building the visualmemory that is a requisite for every patroller. Familiarity with the territory and the landscape replaces the map. Memorymust supply solutions both in light and in darkness. What is visible in daylight disappears at night, and only a shadow ora horizon line clarifies the entire picture for the patroller. This process of memory- building that transforms a picture intoan object is the process that Kovner goes through in his paintings. The painting no longer depicts a view but an object.The landscape is transformed from being a sight that is seen from a window or from a certain point into a gigantic object,which contains within it heights and depths, lines and stains, familiar forms and planes, and undefined forms. Thelandscape bears all that Kovner knows even with his eyes closed.

The connection between the far extremes in Kovner’s work, between the aerial photograph paintings (1978) and theJordan Valley landscapes ( 2001) is not as distant as its exploration appears on a first viewing. In a long and deep-delvingranging from portrait paintings to landscape paintings, Kovner has crystallized his whole artistic conception andstatement. The landscape view that Kovner paints in his painting Pool, Tree, Horses, Goldfish and Crane in the Sky includesthe valley that is hidden beneath the distant mountains. The vapors that rise from the valley and the mountains paint edwith a bluish hue inform us of the presence of a sea or river at the bottom of the unseen valley. The horizontal lines of theplanes of cultivated land, and the horses grazing on them, are reflected in the water of the artificial pool that appears inthe foreground of the painting. The gigantic trees hide the landscape and also hide its reflection in the water of the pool.All these, in their appearance and in the inversion of their appearance, are the data that Kovner sees/knows from hisobservation of the landscape. I have chosen this painting, one of many in the exhibition, to show the extent to which thispainting contains Kovner’s second nature. A nature that has become so deeply imprinted in him that it does notdifferentiate itself even when he engages in creating art. Perhaps in a certain way one could claim that opposite daytimenature, Kovner posits the reflection in the water of the pool as a view identical to the view of the night or the view of thepsyche. That night which blurs the details, distorts the forms, and opens the eyes of the psyche and the imagination.

222


Michael KovnerGil Goldfine

Art lives by contradicting its immediate past.

The aim of every authentic artist is not to conform to the history

of art but to release himself from it, in order to replace it with his

own history.

Harold Rosenberg, Art on the Edge

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that their relationship was complex. Abba Kovner was a

partisan-writer-poet-political activist-public speaker and a major figure in the

preservation and dissemination of Holocaust history. As a young man he

studied art in Vilna before the Nazi rise to power and the Reich's plan to

annihilate the physical and historical fabric of European Jewry.

Born in Sebastapol into a family with limited means, Abba's mother

recognized his exceptional gifts from an early age and managed to scrape

together what she could to advance his talents. Abba Kovner was speaking

and writing Hebrew at the age of fourteen. A partisan officer of a combat unit

in the Vilna ghetto who fought the war in the forests of Lithuania, Kovner was

a staunch advocate of the Zionist movement and its socialist principles. His

unwavering resolution to sustain the continuity of the Jewish people as a

vibrant civilization was intrinsically tied to his commitment to strengthening

the spiritual weave of Israel's multi-faceted fabric.

Abba Kovner was more than an accomplished poet and recipient of the

Israel Prize, the country's most prestigious award. As a political activist, and

in his persistent support of the labor movement, he was unable to cope with

the transgressions of people in high places. As a result, in 1973 after the Yom

Kippur War, he retired from public life and never spoke in public again. These

biographical details, coupled with his exceptional inclination for solving

problems along unorthodox lines, were characteristics that inevitably rubbed

off on his son.

Michael Kovner was born on Kibbutz Ein Hachoresh in 1948. His early years

dominated by the conflicting social structure that characterized the liberal

kibbutz movement at the time. As a young child he and his friends lived

through the dichotomy of isolation and participation, love and neglect,

security and dependence. Attachments were formed as a matter of

communal imperatives, and love came from unexpected quarters. Learning

to cope, dedication to ideals, camaraderie, and planned adventures were the

wellsprings of his youth. He was not an easy child. Rebellious and

rambunctious Kovner was also endowed with a resolute intellectual curiosity

and a compelling personality.

The determination and sympathetic responses to social and familial needs

that Kovner projects today were nurtured at an early age. His mother, Vitka,

who fought alongside Abba in the Vilna Ghetto and is credited with the

ghetto's first act of sabotage - she blew up a German troop train - provided

Kovner with the caring side of the humanistic coin. Now, at eighty years of

age, she continues to work as a child psychologist and remains a devoted

member of Kibbutz Ein Hachoresh. His father's passion for the arts and

social justice was well complimented by the warm and intuitive soul of his

mother a woman who unfailingly cuts through the chaff and is constantly

seeking a balance between right and wrong.

Kovner began an association with brush and pigment at the age of four.

Showing a special aptitude for the arts, he was encouraged by his parents

especially his father, who saw in Michael a possible continuation of his own

creative abilities. Like so many other young men living on the kibbutz, Kovner

was imbued with the historical spirit of the land, place and people; and the

importance of "being here, not there." Service in the IDF as a paratrooper

and then as a member of a special forces unit, his comrades-in-arms

IntroductionThere was a time, not too long ago, when the arts were the precursors of

change and their product the advancement of philosophical ideas. Today,

more and more, it is technology and the inventive wizards at the helm that is

pushing the new economy and with it the world's social agenda, to greater

heights every year, and by default, promoting change in public and artistic

resources.

Technocrats who are building smaller and faster computers, digital

highways and satellite networks, are the true inventors and creative minds of

our times. This imposing situation has transformed many artists into tech

babies seeking to redefine the traditions of the fine arts in terms of the new

technology. Via the camera, video, computer and multi-media screen art the

young generation has parlayed conceptual performance, Net art and

site-specific forms of expression into a documentary medium rather than an

expressive one. Art slowly and surely is becoming responsive to original

ideas processed by a third party. Reaching out for creative nourishment is

little more than a mouse-click away.

Nevertheless there is a battery of artists that continues to maintain a hold

on the historical traditions of painting, sculpture and printmaking as well as

on classical attitudes towards drawing. These persons are tied inexorably to

the past because for them the act of brushing pigment onto canvas is a

calling, a basic creative need borne of childhood influences and personal

attachments; ambient factors have touched their mind and spirit and provided

the fuel to advance a personal cause. The Jerusalem painter, Michael

Kovner belongs to this group.

Three decades ago, Kovner made the conscious decision to be his own

man. His path from abstraction to figurative painting was neither straight,

narrow nor short term. He was and is a sincere and determined painter,

speaking his own mind, painting his own picture. Throughout a journey that

has taken him from initial non-objective action paintings to recent

atmospheric Emek Bet Shean landscapes, Kovner has moved along several

alternative paths. When asked about his inability or disinterest in developing

a particular emblem for his art, he said his subject matter –

the landscapes and river beds and lakes of his life – are more interesting to

him than stylistic branding.

When looking at this work, we should ask ourselves a few basic questions:

for example, what influences have supplied Kovner with the raw material that

has earned him a place in the hierarchy of Israeli art? We might also ask,

variously, about his relationship with the State of Israel, Zionism, the Jewish

people, family and friends and the controversy confronting the religious and

the secular.

A narrative can almost never tell you why a work of art is effective. In some

way that remains a mystery, a painting's effect lies in its capacity to move, to

influence, to entertain, to placate, to control, to distract and to awaken the

viewer.

Although Kovner refuses to admit that his father, Abba Kovner (1918-1987),

was the overriding influence on his art, a figure so dominant one assumes

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Heavy surface passages pulsating with alternating impasto tones of cool,

warm and primary colors, convoluted designs and a confrontation with an

intransigent picture plane came together in the important act of creating a

painting Kovner could be proud of.

Looking back at Kovner's student paintings, one is impressed by his broad

acceptance and interpretations of the fiery palettes associated with the New

York Studio School as personified by his teachers. His preferences lay in an

eruptive interaction of vermilion, viridian, ultramarine and cadmiums braced

by linear black contours. His pictures from this period are mostly formalistic

chromatic exercises, where patches of pure hue would be confronted by

larger fields and minor shapes of muted tints. While these early canvases

never seem to have completely accepted non-object edicts, one discerns in

every composition a subtle attachment to bodily forms, interior chambers and

broad horizontal lines designating deep spacial illusion. Kovner has

translated this classical Dutch mannerism into a savage triptych titled "The

Queen," (p.20) a major painting created in 1974-75. Clearly based on a

mythological episode, it depicts a corpulent female figure decimated and

compressed into an eerie shack of beams and upright pillars. Although it is

unclear if Kovner was exposed to Guston's early pre-abstract expressionist

works in which social realism and the advocacy of left wing politics played

important roles, this seminal picture “The Queen” echoes Guston's “Porch

No. 2.” Painted in 1947, several years after working as a WPA (Work

Progress Authority) artist; this composition is designed around a quartet of

two dimensional figures, upended and condensed into a convergence of

building facades.2

Despite Kovner's immaturity at this stage of his voyage, there is also a

distinct rumble of the brutish, almost feral quality of Max Beckmann's classic

interiors featuring figures like “The Snake Charmer”3, painted in 1949 . Not

surprisingly, Beckmann and Guston, like Kovner himself, were individuals

whose descriptive figurative paintings meshing emotion and illusion, were

resolute in exposing the corrupting evils of tyranny and social injustice. It is

Kovner's engaging use of bows and bangles and pleasing arrangements of

convex arcs that contrast with the flagrant carnage of his imagery, harking

back to a surrealist idiom through which many abstract expressionists,

including Rothko and DeKooning, found their way to their signature styles.

On examining these early canvases, created when action painting was on

the run and Guston had already embarked on his switch-over to obtuse

narrative imagery, one discerns that Kovner continued to keep some form of

urban content hiding amidst the angst of his abstract compositions; here a

building, there a room, hall or structural beam. This pictorial ploy was

Kovner's manner of touching home. They are metaphorical compositions that

lead him back to family, friends and country. "Ha'baytah," is the familiar

Hebrew slang for "going home to Israel" and it is apparent that Kovner has

applied details within his broader imagery to attain this specific goal. Despite

his initial foray into artistic territory ruled by the notion that abstraction, and

the dissolution of the narrative painting, should or would be the consummate

grammar of artistic form, Kovner began subliminally to question the

relevance of his decisions. This self-analysis would challenge his thinking

and offer up options that lay ahead.

included men who would later take up leadership roles in the nation's public

life. Binyamin (Bibi) Netanyahu (former Israeli ambassador to the UN and

former Prime Minister), who was his tent mate, Ehud Barak (former IDF Chief

of Staff and former Prime Minister), his commander, and Amiram Levine

(former IDF General of the northern front and former Deputy Director of the

Mossad), his platoon leader. In the glory years between 1967 - 1970 when

the IDF was still exultant from its Six-Day War triumph it was for Kovner a

time for perseverance and commitment to a cause without the heroism.

Military service taught him the meaning of relationships, the importance of

responsibility, the need for a defined network and to observe the world at 360

degrees; the full circle without blinkers.

The army provided Kovner with the three years needed for maturing, time

enough to brush off the angst of adolescence. Within weeks of his discharge

he was on his way to Camp Ramah in Palmer Massachusetts where he

would spend the summer as a counselor to Jewish boys before driving

cross-country to Los Angeles to spend time with artist friends Gallia and

Yehuda Tarmo. It was Yehuda and Gallia, active in the cultural scene of

America's west coast, that furnished Kovner with his initial taste of serious

high art.

Kovner's L.A. experience was short lived but provided him with invaluable

exposure to the art galleries and museums of that sprawling metropolis. On

the way back to Israel, he was struck by a kind of insight - he would be a

painter and he would study in New York. Upon his return to Kibbutz Ein

Hachoresh he organized an art club and contracted with the painter

Avshalom Okashi to teach studio classes. By 1971, however, the Okashi

connection weakened, and it was time for Kovner to strike out on his own.

After a year on the kibbutz Kovner went to Tel Aviv where he worked to earn

money. He also studied for a time at the Avni Institute of Art - a less than

fruitful experience - and then headed back to the United States.

New York 1972-1975 (Pages 16-21)

Through an introduction from his father, he met with the eminent art historian

Meyer Shapiro, who suggested Kovner attend the New York Studio School,

where he enrolled in 1972. It was here, in the classrooms of Mercedes

Matter, Steven Sloman and Philip Guston that the young Kovner met his

destiny; he had chosen to study in an institution that not only preached the

ideals of abstract expressionism via the teaching of the New York School

guru Hans Hofmann, but also practiced hands-on methodology.

During the few short years he spent in New York Kovner attached himself

to the painter Philip Guston, an artist who has remained a defining influence

on his thoughts about art. Like Guston in his early years, Kovner also

recorded his subjects in a reductive, semi-figurative manner. At the New York

Studio School he accepted the precepts of abstract expressionism and

modernist theories of planular structure. He recognized the picture plane as

a solid surface not as a transparent window, negating the importance of

illusionistic picture making. He started to navigate large explosive canvases

that were basically pastiches in the New York School manner of painting.

These compositions vibrated with the abstract expressionist techniques of

brushing, knifing, dripping and pouring together with palette management.

219

Gil Goldfine

ehud/kovner-1pp188-221-4-2013 4/21/13 11:25 PM Page 218

his abilities proved positive. Possibly it was tied to his growing up in Israel -

the kibbutz, school, the IDF, social ideals and most of all a family dedication

to the past and the future. These highly charged activities and experiences

left little room for questions. Scholarly discourses and abstract resolutions

above and beyond those related to the axiomatic ideals of the State were not

essential forward propelling factors in the daily struggles of Israel's political

and social environments. Life was here and now, today and tomorrow. As an

artist, Kovner took the same path: direct, aggressive and confident that he

knew what he was doing. This clarity of direction was even more striking

because it came at a time, the mid –1970s, when the fine arts in Israel, like

most of the western world, were going through a period of change. Easel

painting was on the wane and the lyrical abstract style of Yosef Zaritsky,

Avigdor Stematzky and Yehezkel Streichman and their New Horizon

colleagues was being diluted by other artistic currents.

The Yodfat Gallery in Tel Aviv was garnering strength around artists like

Moshe Gershuni, Michael Druks, and Joshua Neustein and other proponents

of conceptual and performance art; traditional painting seemed to have

disappeared from the Israeli scene. Kovner felt, as his artist friend Shaul

Schatz remarked at the time, like a shoemaker, a practitioner of an art that

had vanished from the world.

In 1975, he took up a teaching post at the Bezalel Academy of Art and

Design in Jerusalem. What followed was a difficult period during which

Kovner at times felt lost. During these years, he also studied Judaism, which

only further muddled his sense of direction. In 1978, he took a major step by

quitting his teaching post, a prestigious position he might never achieve

again, and setting out on his own. His resigning was also fostered by his

remark at the time "...how can I teach something I don't know enough about."

Within a short time he began questioning himself: What should I paint?

Subject matter became an all-consuming challenge. Ideally the picture's

subject was to contrast abstract formulae, for he was aware that

non-objective imagery was borne of a painter's physical action tied to his

emotional state. As a figurative painter there had to be something tangible

that pulsated before his eyes and wanted to make him stand up and be

heard. This circuitous route that had taken six years, from early adolescence

on the kibbutz, to the States and back to Jerusalem, straightened itself at

least temporarily, as Kovner migrated directly towards landscape painting

and a metaphorical rising sun. Through this period of uncertainty and of

doubt, coupled with a feeling that an artist must face adversity and

disappointments on the road to achievement, he found his way towards a

more mature and considered style.

Lanscapes Without Horizons (Pages 24-33)

The landscape as an isolated painterly theme was not considered worthy for

independent subject matter until well into the 17th century when familiar

ancient mosaics, classical frescos, and medieval landscapes functioned as

props and background illustration. Even during the Renaissance, Italian and

Flemish masters treated the landscape as a theme subordinate to their

principal religious or genre subjects. There was an accepted protocol of an

academic nature that defined background landscapes as inventive yet

Soon after completing his studies at the New York Studio School he

returned to Israel. On the journey back his itinerary took him through the

south of France and Italy where he was exposed to the light and landscapes

of Aix en Provence and Arles, the pictorial domain of Cezanne and Van

Gogh. Moving south into Italy Kovner discovered the Renaissance masters

Piero della Francesca, Tintoretto, Botticelli and Caravaggio. Although neither

group had a direct influence on Kovner's pictorial consciousness, his

confrontation with the great traditions of Italian art convinced him that the

figurative mode of painting and not abstraction was his true metier.

The Early Years: 1976-1985 (Pages 23-59)

In 1975, when Kovner landed in Israel from his New York studies and

European travels he found himself seeking the balance between his

Jewish/Zionist conscience and his preoccupation with art which was still very

fresh and exciting but, in some respects - although Kovner would not easily

admit it - difficult to navigate. The impression is that Kovner was seeking

spiritual salvation in a quagmire of uncertainty.

At the same time a comprehensive exhibition at the Israel Museum,

Jerusalem of works by Arieh Aroch, a painter Kovner appreciated, served

to confuse Kovner even more. Here was an artist who had achieved

prominence in the local art world with an unconventional brand of painting,

one that was neither figurative nor non-objective and had all the earmarks of

a magical symbolism subtly impregnated with historical, cultural and political

imagery.

Achievement and success are at the core of a young person's psychological

support apparatus. Kovner fought hard with his ego to gain affirmation that

his past experiences provided the correct and only path. At this point, he

could not find this reassurance; despite the fact that a large exhibition of his

New York paintings mounted at the Jerusalem Artists House was positively

received. To make matters worse, he was deeply troubled that as an Israeli

and Jew he was completely unfamiliar with the content and meaning of

Judaism and the demands it makes on its followers. In his search for answers

he enrolled in a course of Judaic studies at the Shalom Hartman Institute in

Jerusalem under the tutelage of Rabbi David Hartman. Kovner immersed

himself in the teachings of Chazal, Rambam, Yeshayahu Leibowitz and

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveichik.

At this time, Kovner came to see his decision very clearly - saying to himself

"I will be a Jew or a painter." So he left the classroom behind and returned to

the studio. The die was cast; painting would be his religion and his search for

universal truths. His quest was to evolve through his eye and his art, his

palette and brush.

It is a rare development when a creative artist decides consciously to modify

his established manner and switch to an alternative track without going

through transitional stages and confronting a period during which challenging

questions about art, aesthetics and the history of culture are raised. Kovner's

confrontation with abstraction had been short-lived, punctured even before

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Michael Kovner


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Mount Zion, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60

The Vally, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60


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Michael Kovner

In the Desert from Above, Drawing, Pencil on Paper, 60X60


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Gil Goldfine

modular entities without authentic associations. In early European literature,

as indicated by Paul Zucker in his book "Styles in Painting,"4 there are very

few individualized descriptions of nature before the latter part of the 16th

century...in earlier literature (and by correlation) the comment on and

description of landscape is largely conventional and formal, inspired more by

Greek and Roman literature and the Psalms than by the writer's own visual

impressions.

My first encounter with the work of Michael Kovner was in May 1980 at his

first one-person exhibition at the Bineth Gallery in Tel Aviv, soon after David

and Rodi Bineth agreed to place him under contract. It was immediately

apparent that the canvases confronting me were by a skilled painter finding

his way in a manner that was easily identifiable with the artist's brief

encounter with the New York Studio School.

It was evident that Kovner had absorbed the theories and painterly

foundation of abstract expressionism but needed to interpolate them into an

idiosyncratic form of figurative imagery. The Bineth exhibition consisted of

large oil paintings depicting the Negev and Judean deserts from jarring

perspective views, mostly from above. Conceived from an encounter with

aerial maps he surveyed during army reserve duty, Kovner's creative spark

was ignited and he was on his way. In 1980 I described these initial

landscape paintings thus: "The modernist concept that demands respect for

the flatness of the picture plane in order to eliminate the anecdotal strain of

illusionistic art is the basis for Michael Kovner's 'Desert' airscapes, a series

of beautifully painted canvases describing large tracts of arid land."5

It was not an easy task for Kovner to translate photographs of aerial views

traditionally observed from above on a table top, into pictures to be viewed

frontally hanging on a gallery wall. These were unorthodox landscape

paintings, unfolded parcels of land without horizon lines, devoid of linear

demarcations between foreground and background and lacking the duality of

focused details and the fuzzy remnants of things far away. Yet Kovner was

able to define the Negev in an ingenious, and, for the viewer an extremely

stimulating manner. He examined the subject in the totality of its

permutations, from upended escarpments to twisting streams of sand in

depressed wadis (dry river beds) and the occasional thorn bush that clarified

the harsh brutality of a charmless topography.

In keeping with his decision to pursue figurative painting Kovner abandoned

a full spectrum for a panel of contrasting or complimentary colors. In this first

major series he preferred to maintain a subdued Corot-like palette of warm

sepias, Van Dyke browns, umber and burnt sienna, with ivory tints and a full

range of their tones derived from his response to on-site observations. In

these desert views we also witness the genesis of Kovner's love of the

ephemeral, of the scumbled surface with a crusty impasto nuance and a

visual presentation of the "almost was" but not the subject's true identity.

Similar to Kovner's figurative abstractions painted a few years before, the

images in these landscapes are not completely condensed within the frontal

picture plane, (a primary consideration of the Abstract Expressionists), but

are sections of the physical world dovetailed within the frame, and

presumptively they continue far beyond the boundaries of the canvas.

Consequently, it is a challenge for the viewer to link these pictures with

traditional and accepted concepts attached to realistic rendering. When

descriptions of panoramas are extraordinary and unfamiliar, the reality, per

se, is easily denied.

During a time of changing attitudes in which a redefinition of the boundaries

of art was being discussed and practiced, Kovner chose as his subject the

Negev desert, an Israeli myth with strong associations to the Ben-Gurion

ethos related to the future of the State. The conquest of the desert and the

greening of its acreage was a critical prerequisite for the fulfillment of the

Zionist dream. Unlike the emerging generation of avant garde artists, Kovner

was working outside the establishment and by opposing the current trends

was in fact protecting the great traditions of art.

Houses in Gaza (Pages 34-43)

A mere twelve months after his successful exhibition of the "Desertscapes"

(every canvas was sold within the first two weeks of the show), Kovner

presented a blockbuster of an exhibition titled "Houses in Gaza." On a return

trip from a painting session in the Judean Hills, a lone house in the Hebron

region ignited his imagination.(p.35). He knew instinctively that the isolated

dwelling in this place at that time was a monument to popular culture. It also

represented the antithesis of his desert views yet was, nevertheless, intrinsic

to the local landscape.

Over time, Kovner shifted from wide angled vistas of never-ending sand,

hills, rural communities and wadis to a more concentrated subject by

zooming in on the colorful geometric facades of Arab houses in the middle of

Gaza - a crowded strip of land where poverty is a way of life and optimism

an infrequent psychological condition. But Kovner chose to erase the

predominantly human presence and interpret the social and physical

environs via residential dwellings. What could be more personal than one's

home, the symbol of protection, brotherhood and community. Without

painting figures Kovner reached out to the populace by presenting the vibrant

quality of Arab culture identified by singular architectural facades and Islamic

ornament as well as traditional festive decorations such as emblems and

slogans signifying the departure of members of the community to the Haj

pilgrimage to Mecca.

The ebullient color schemes of "Houses in Gaza" are Middle Eastern to the

core. In addition to the traditional flavor of Islamic and Arab use of color in

architectural decor and paralleling the rich fantasia often found in Gazan

literature, these works are reminiscent of the Fauvist paintings of Andre

Derain and Henri Matisse, the former's Mediterranean views at St. Tropez

and Collioure and the latter's interior-exterior canvases painted in Algeria

during the early 1920s. They also echo Auguste Macke's marvelous

depictions of Tunisian street scenes from 1912. The crispness of Kovner's

hues and his categorical use of succulent peach, violet, pale plum, crimson,

cream, green and pastel tints in a single structure, set against unclouded

cobalt blue skies can be measured as a social statement. The contrasts are

not merely chromatic but visceral. These color-saturated canvases vacillate

between real life and fantasy, between dreams and fact, past and the future.

What makes these paintings unique is that Kovner is the first Israeli painter

to relate to the Arab culture with positive vibrations. Gutman, Rubin and


Lubin, amongst others, were enthusiastic about the Arab community in Eretz

Yisrael but neglected the reality of its culture by romanticizing their subjects

and eventually creating narrative paintings in which mannered figures and

landscapes reduced to rhetorical symbols predominated. In later years the

Israeli-Arab confrontation and Palestinian conflict would provide painters,

sculptors, video and conceptual artists with creative fodder for socio-political

cannon. In late 1981, Sarah Breitberg, Curator of Israeli Art at the Tel Aviv

Museum, chose to include a House in Gaza canvas in her critically acclaimed

exhibition "Turning Point."

Kovner chose not to neutralize the subject by patronizing the Gazan

homeowners. Nor did he choose to portray the situation as a provocative

political statement. Social realism is not his style nor his dictate. Having

made contact with individual families through Avi Dichter* Kovner created

paintings in which a single house was treated as an exclusive structure, a

mortar and brick personality dominated by its own balconies, shutters, gates

and walls.

The series is not about urban life or cozy neighborhoods. Each painting

represents an individual patriarch and his family, a hamula (extended family)

standing alone, braced against intruders and sheltered from the blazing

sunlight. It is always mid-day, never early morning, afternoon or night. No

working hours, children coming home from school, mothers cooking, hanging

out the wash or shopping at the market are indicated. The lack of domestic

activities is a sincere declaration of "otherness." "Houses in Gaza"

paraphrases the lives of you and me, we and them, Israelis and Arabs; using

symbolic descriptions in a most elegant and non-confrontational manner.

They project domestic concepts that were and still are true for all of us, on

each side of the border.

In 1981 I compared Kovner's "Houses in Gaza" with paintings by the

distinguished American painter Edward Hopper, who was described by

James Thrall Soby as the "poet of the inanimate." Kovner could easily carry

the same mantle. But coming to grips with the Kovner spirit alters this idea of

the inanimate for despite the fact that the solidity of these raucously colored

buildings is pictorial the underlying themes trace the fragility of time and

place and allude to the tragedies that are buried beneath the houses'

foundations. And not to be forgotten, fugitive colors, like life itself, have a

tendency to fade, and under conditions of unfiltered direct light, disappear

altogether.

Lego (Pages 44-53)

The series "Houses in Gaza" focused on the social and political arenas of our

time although prudently hiding this concept behind facades, a device

equivalent to the function of classical theater masks that transform the weak

into the strong and the kind-hearted into a baleful individual. This essential

concept resurfaces in Kovner's next exhibition titled "Images." This

uncommitted title refers to an important series of figurative compositions in

which Lego characters, buildings and props were used as models and which

the public and critics alike received with mixed feelings. Rejected by Rodi

and David Bineth, Gordon Gallery director Shaya Yariv, a faithful supporter

of the adventurous and the rebellious in the visual arts, agreed to exhibit the

works.

What could be a more truthful celebration of contemporary life than Lego,

the toy that provided an international, cross-borders generation of children

with the means to build and organize a micro-community, or build a mini

universe on an Utopian theory of equality within a bright, effervescent and

structurally sound environment. As the late Michael Sgan-Cohen (1944-1999)

wrote : "This conscious use of an indirect method of expression is the reason

for the title, 'Images'- not things themselves, but rather their images...the

seemingly simple Lego is complex and loaded with symbolism and it may

even be a metaphor and a post-modern commentary expressing doubt about

premature utopian modernism and its simplicity."6

What appears to be a nod to Pop Art is actually its converse for Kovner's

playtime episodes deal with genuine human emotions and the real world just

as the Houses in Gaza dealt with the Arab/Israeli conflict. This psychological

manifestation of substitution runs throughout these works. Despite spirited

primary reds, yellows and blues of an industrial, mechanical and commercial

bent, Kovner imbues his pictures with a sense of isolation and mystery.

Strangely they are populated by mainly male figures set in inconsequential

genre scenes. Two such works, "Death on the Seashore," (p.45) and "A

Death on the Street" (p.47) relate to the Lebanese War and its catastrophic

psychological effect on the country. The former composition shows the

shadow of an armed intruder entering the composition from the bottom left

hand corner without the slightest indication of the actual figure. Lying face

down on a sandy yellow street is a motionless body, obviously killed by the

invader from beyond the picture plane. Irony is struck by a Lego paramedic

who surveys the body without the slightest desire to help, coupled with a trio

of figuratively painted pleasure boats sailing in the blue sea beyond. These

elements, both real and hypothetical, attest to Kovner's feelings about the

conflict and his politicization of the exhibition's theme. The latter contains a

traffic stop sign prominently displayed in the center of a symmetrically

composed foreground symbolizing a border point, once again alluding to

Israel's military-political impasse at the time. Shadows are cast as if these

were real landscapes and not trivial machinations extruded from plastic.

They are somehow in the realm of "de Chirico and Edward Hopper" as

Michael Sgan-Cohen, remarked. To confirm this reference Kovner mentions

the Italian modernist explicitly: "I have tried to follow the vision of Giorgio de

Chirico as it could have been if he had painted those wonderful mannequins

of his after the emergence of Pop Art and not after the First World War." As

de Chirico's paintings play with flashes of subconscious dreams so does

Kovner's.

If we accept the Lego paintings on face value we see them as a possible

capricious act; fun and games by the sea. But these canvases, like those of

Hopper and de Chirico, have been laced with surreal overtones and the

images often border on the diabolical. The Lego story is filled here with

conflict and danger and is really describing life on the edge of existence.

Kovner's consistent use of threatening shadows for underlying psychological

tremors can be witnessed by the rolling, dangerous sea and an unmanned

sailboat, symbolic allusions to the frailty of life.*A civilian intermediary who today heads the Shin Bet - Israeli Security Services

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Gil Goldfine

Portraits and Posters (Pages 54-59)

In 1982-1983 Kovner traveled to the United States on a study grant awarded

him from the American - Israel Cultural Foundation. The art market at the

time was booming in the auction houses, but in the studios it was stuck in a

holding pattern as critics and dealers battled with postmodernist terminology

to assist public involvement in defining the anticipated styles of the '90s.

While museums and galleries had already sent Pop Art and color field

painting to their basement repositories the traditionalists were challenged by

the advancing cutting-edge concepts presented by the new boys on the

street such as Julian Schnabel, Eric Fischl, David Salle and others. But

where was Kovner in this melange of options? He equates his position with

a visit to the National Gallery in Washington D.C. After touring both the West

and East Wings of that venerable storehouse of world art Kovner felt the two

wings were totally disconnected in artistic spirit and that an artist must

choose where he stands. He was convinced that he belonged to the West

Wing, a champion of traditional western art in its representational form as

opposed to its 20th century counterpart in I.M. Pei's atrium galleries where

the likes of Newman, Kelly and Rothko share space.

Somewhere along the highways and byways of America's cultural main

street, Kovner was not only confronted by the preeminence of the National

Gallery high art but came into contact with the mass produced cinema poster

which he had adopted as motivational material for paintings he created in

Jerusalem a year earlier. However, this fascination with the hyped-up mass

media billboards and theater lobby roto-gravures was quickly diminished and

the Pop art influence, so embedded in that media, came out only peripherally

in his paintings to come.

Having been enchanted by the anatomical crispness and mythical encoding

of the poster image Kovner drifted away from the architectonic firmness of

his "Houses in Gaza" and Lego “Image” paintings and inaugurated in early

1985 a series of near didactic "Portraits" of his wife Mimi and her friend

Michal. By then, Kovner had evinced a renewed and robust interest in studio

portraiture and figure painting which had been pursued for several years by

the likes of Philip Pearlstein, Chuck Close and Lucian Freud each in his own

distinguishing hand. Of special interest to Kovner were the empirical figure

paintings by Fairfield Porter. Sgan-Cohen noted that the “Portrait” series

"...marked a major phase in Kovner's development and perhaps,

maturation...he abandoned Lego and indirect metaphorical expression and

turned not only to the human figure itself but to portraiture - the face which is

connected to the inner person, the eyes which the ancients already said were

the windows to the soul."6

The essence of portrait painting is the essence of any painting. The likeness

to the subject is less relevant to the 'neutral' observer than the iconographic

impact controlled by psychological leverage, which in turn develops an

interplay between the canvas and the spectator. One begins to make

assumptions about the personality while conjuring up subjective alternatives

regardless of whether the painter has 'captured' a likeness or not."

Kovner has been criticized for allowing emphatic decorative ornaments to

play a major role in these portraits. However, it is imperative to understand

that these oriental floral patterns are an integral part of the painting and not

a blanket of flamboyant embellishment. Highly charged, these backdrops

were influenced by observing similar subject matter in paintings by Matisse,

Bonnard and Vuillard. They move from paisley prints and Bukharan Susanis

to contemporary bolts of cotton. Intensely graphic and textural, they are

essential factors in the pictures' compositional structure. They provide a

background of undulating arabesques and geometric grids for concise

reductive skeletal contours and boldly drawn facial features. The

unhampered and dedicated line and the direct confrontation of the sitter in

these special portraits are closely tied to the flattened two dimensionality of

celebrities painted by the American Alex Katz.

Despite the fact that Kovner paints figurative pictures his paintings are

distant from works one might equate with realism, whether it be

neo-classical, romantic or surreal. His portraits are fabricated subjects in

which a painter and model encounter one another in a broad-based

anatomical and spectral dialogue, a far cry from a classical scientific or

historic inquiry. In the entire series Kovner has taken care not to over idealize

but be truthful. He portrays both Mimi and Michal in an absolute manner,

defined in pictorial terms by an indurate, inert personality ennobled by their

floral ambience. They are strongly edged, closely cropped figures attractively

brushed in broad planes of local skin tones highlighted by contours in greens,

blues or dark gray. They do not radiate charisma or enchantment. Tight

lipped and indifferent we learn little else from their demeanor.

In portrait painting the artist's character, disposition and status, however

conventional or outlandish is as much on the line as the sitter's. His integrity

is exposed to the world indirectly through his subjects, with as much honesty

as it will bear. In many respects portraiture is a form of Freudian

extrapolation. If we consider the pictures of the two women as a mirror of

Kovner's self, they confirm his stoic personality and are a manifestation of the

determined pacifist easel painter whose resolute altruism endorses a quest

for an unsentimental "I am not a camera" version of truth.

Observed through the history of portraiture from the Renaissance to the

English and American masters of the 19th century, Kovner, like his modernist

compatriots, dismisses the painted portrait as an observational document of

an isolated figure set against a dark background or placed in a nondescript

interior. There are no dense black suits and starched lace, crimson robes or

the ebb of flowing satin and silk as painted by Van Dyke, Ingres, Reynolds

and Sargent. Nor do 20th century aesthetics seek to simulate the

perfectionist ideal of Vermeer's geometric serenity. The fusion of sitter and

backdrop is a defined modernist dispatch of art history more in keeping with

Gauguin and his Pont Aven colleagues and exemplified best by his Tahitian

portraits especially “Woman with A Flower” (1891)7. Kovner also prefers a

Matissean mapping of the facial landscape and backdrop (topped up by

earlier flavors from Delacroix's Algerian Women), to the laconic ordering of

Cezanne's structured volumes or the austere, graphically described, portraits

of celebrities by Andy Warhol.

In these portraits Kovner leaves the photographic and the conceptual

notions of painting. He found himself sitting in front of the model for hours.

This experience brought him to the decision to paint directly from nature.


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Pine Tree, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 70X50


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Essential Reality1986-1995 (Pages 62-129)

The atmosphere in Israel during the mid 1980s was one of anxiety, confusion

and political strife. The 1982 Lebanese War and Israel's subsequent

presence in southern Lebanon continued to be a nagging thorn, and

terrorism a major security issue. Yet Kovner, who was serving in an elite unit

in the Israeli Defense Forces and was very familiar with the complexities of

the struggle, rejected outright any personal artistic reaction. Then as before

and until today he refused to use his paint and canvas as an illustrative

medium to describe the plight of the Jewish people or to present the

individual Israeli as a symbol of the Zionist ethos, or for that matter to depict

any other people suffering from moral or ethical conflicts.

When asked why during a discussion with Kovner, his explanation was that

he felt a need to free himself from the incessant public and political noise of

Israel's daily life in order to listen more clearly to the temperate sounds from

within himself.

One has the feeling that as the child of immigrants from war-torn Europe,

he like so many others in comparable situations, attempts to consciously

eradicate the horrors of the Holocaust period from his normal activities in the

family, with friends and at work. His father proudly stated "Every Jew should

think of himself as if he had been in Auschwitz" - an interpretation being that

internment under the most brutal conditions was a prelude to freedom. Jews

are reminded of this at the Passover Seder when on this night they see

themselves as slaves in Egypt prior to redemption as free men. For Abba

Kovner what counted was a fervent sense of survival and an obligation to

move forward, to be part of the Zionist-Socialist order. In his writing, his

poetry, and his speeches, he never forgot the past and was conditioned to

remind others of it as often as possible. Kovner, the son, although not

immune to the feelings of his father, had little interest in applying history to

his present situation; a not unfamiliar reaction, this was the antagonistic

Sabra (native Israeli) mentality surfacing in all its force. This cast of mind

was contrary to the work produced by post WWII Europeanized painters,

many Holocaust surviviors, like Naftali Bezem and Samuel Bak. The

significance of the present and the socio-political nationalistic drive has

been paramount to him and his family albeit that there has been no

indication that rejection of the past was a governing issue in Michael

Kovner's life style. Rather it was a matter relegated to second place, several

lengths behind the present and the future.

In the winter of 1984 Kovner was at a threshold in his career. Ten years

before he had abandoned the metaphysical allurement of abstract painting

with its magical brush strokes, ephemeral surfaces and conquest of

experience over knowledge and made a conscious decision to become a

figurative painter. Still holding true after thirty years is Clement Greenberg's

statement that "the tendency is to assume that the representational as such

is superior to the nonrepresentational as such; that all other things being

equal, a work of painting or sculpture that exhibits a recognizable image is

always preferable to one that does not. Abstract art is considered to be a

symptom of cultural, and even moral, decay, while the hope for 'a return to

nature' gets taken for granted by those who do the hoping..." He goes on to

say that "Art is a matter strictly of experience, not of principles, and what

counts first and last in art is quality; all other things are secondary."8

After a decade of painting topographical landscapes, Arab houses in Gaza,

Lego genre scenes and portraits of women, the time had come for Kovner to

abandon the studio and seek out the inherent qualities of painting. By

association with Greenberg's statements this meant exploring the essence of

all art from first hand experience. Although most of Kovner's paintings from

the previous decade were composed of representational images they

projected conceptual ideas forged from a mixture of intellectual analysis and

emotional soul-searching. In the spring of 1985, paint box in hand, Kovner

made his first serious sojourn into the outdoors, a day's journey that would

become part of a voyage for years to come. It was a long learning process

and in those first days Kovner felt as if, face to face with the world, he could

not even paint a tree.

Kovner rapidly became an enthusiastic "plein air" painter. Unlike the 19th

century romantics such as the Scottish watercolorist and printmaker David

Roberts whose rendering of the Holy Land provided us with visual

documentation of great importance. Nor was his style of painting allied to the

impressionist color theories expounded by Monet and Seurat or characterized

by assertive responses to the German Expressionist mien typified by works

by Schmidt-Rottluff. Neither a renderer of illusions nor an expressionist when

it comes to color, Kovner was to develop a realistic response to nature,

whereas its emotional counterpart was almost a by product. First and

foremost he underscored the visual appreciation of his subject and treated the

concept of beauty as a physiological subject.

Jerusalem Hills (East) (Pages 65-75)

Jerusalem’s impact on Kovner encompassed the idealistic, the historic

and the romantic as well as the religious baggage that went along with it.

He has described the pull of his adopted city and its surroundings as the

keystone of Jewish life and a pivotal destination he knew all too well from

his youthful years and adult experiences. His passion for it unequivocally

dictated his choice and left him with few alternatives. However, his

canvases were to vibrate with the sounds of a different drummer, not out

of miscomprehension or neglect but out of his need to recognize the

landscape for what it is and not what it represented. His direct painterly

response to the subject of Jerusalem with its sculpted hills and terraced

valleys was matched by the all-encompassing emotional empathy he

sustained for it as a landscape painter.

For many years Kovner straddled the thin line that divided the humanistic

metropolis from the realistic desert. Metaphorically speaking he was dealing

with a subject that investigated man's inventiveness, his tenacity for survival

and facility for creating a self-sustaining environment. All this was

juxtapositioned against the geological wonders formed by universal forces

before the beginning of time. Kovner also considered Jerusalem as a city

where east meets west, a water shed between the verdant plains and the arid

desert. He witnessed these spectacular sites like a bird in flight; at once

soaring to view the entire valley then diving back in a different direction, taking

in multiple views on the way down and, in a final swoop, completing a figure


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Michael Kovner

eight and landing on the bough of a tree to embrace details of bark and leaf.

Unlike his predecessors who had represented the same vistas but included

in them ghosts of biblical shepherds, speckled with Middle Eastern flavors of

grazing flocks, Arab women portaging sacks of grain, or a photogenic camel

waiting patiently, Kovner "carved" his landscapes into sculptural views of

sharp rifts and wadis. They could be compared to Cezanne's somber and

hermetic paintings of Fountainebleau forest as opposed to landscapes

executed by Corot and the Barbizon School in which familiar views were

present in a more human or bucolic vein.

Kovner's early efforts consisted of densely animated compositions in which

bits of sky, inhospitable hills, colossal jagged cliffs, buildings, trees, and

terraces are simultaneously stitched together by a myriad of unattached

roads, trails and footpaths. These elements come together in a solitary

amalgam of pure matter that approximates the tumbling rolls of flesh in a

Lucien Freud nude or the sturdy cragginess of Cezanne's visions of rural

Provence. They also embrace pictorial attitudes plied by Kovner in his

topographical Negev paintings from the late 1970s. The horizontal formats

are obvious but the scale of Kovner's pictures is vast in both their width and

depth and climatic color schemes that vary from cold violets, blues and pale

pinks connoting overcast winter skies, to sparkling orange, red and hues of

yellow for late autumn afternoons. One such painting "Tree Above Abu Tor"

recalls the evocative drama of El Greco's "View of Toledo." Here, the

sweeping upward movement of Kovner's brush reaching out to engulf the

Dormition Abbey on the Jerusalem horizon is controlled by a vigorously

articulated foreground that provides support for the dark movement of

threatening skies.

In an interview with the critic Haim Maor, Kovner stated that "...the

Jerusalem landscape is not critical [to me] in terms of its historic and

emotional content, but I simply view these landscapes as objects and they

talk to me as any other landscape with similar characteristics would...I paint

various zones in them and concentrate on things close to me and things far

away from me with the same intensity. Several perspective views appear in

the same composition so that topographical panoramas, similar to my

paintings years ago, are integrated into three quarter position views and

frontal observation points...I have tried to remain honest to the local color by

using largely monochromatic families of earth tones that provided me with

the means to come back stronger in full color later on...I see the landscape

as a one-to-one vision, not a painting derived from photographs, memory

and preliminary sketches where the completion of a picture developed

around accepted norms of aesthetics, beauty and what felt right."9

Kovner's attitude towards landscape painting has been a point of contention

for some critics and journalists who have followed his career for many years.

Michael Sgan-Cohen sees an early picture as "...a painting of Mount Zion,

which definitely bears a Zionist connotation." Sgan-Cohen goes on to say "In

them (his paintings) another borderline is added to the desert borderline - an

Israeli cultural borderline which is represented by the name of the Hotel and

the view of its swimming pool with its blue waters, hinting at modern

Hellenistic Israel located above the Valley of Hinnom, facing the desert." He

also refers to a horse and rider in a canvas titled "Observation Point" 1986

(p.72) "...as an illusion to the traditional image of the 'Shomer,' the watchman

representing the history of early Zionist self-defence." But if we take Kovner's

position at face value, Sgan-Cohen's interpretation of the imagery goes too

far and lacks metaphorical validity. The inclusion of these images in Kovner's

compositions is an integral part of his confrontation with the ambient factors

spread before him.

Kovner's romance with "plein air" painting could be described as a form of

reflecting the materialistic temperament of surfaces, the solidity of earth,

stone and vegetation. Even his skies are painted as opaque walls of blue and

lavender devoid of the atmospheric puffiness of, for example, Turneresque

"colored" air. Basically he disregards color as light and shadow by painting

embankments and natural ramparts directly with rough contouring and a

boisterous handling of color. Like the Fauves, his imagery is true only to

itself, divorced from associative content or a style with which the observer

might become romantically involved. Both object and shadow are always

reduced to tactile pigment and not permitted to become manifestations of

illusionistic mannerisms.

Unable to neglect the honesty and dedication of Kovner's realistic manner

of painting that, for many cognoscenti of that time, violated the current art

culture of abstraction and politically oriented esoterica, curators Ellen Ginton

and Ygal Zalmona included his picture "Landscape and Airplane" in "Fresh

Paint, the Younger Generation in Israeli Art," 10 a major exhibition held in

1988 at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art and the Israel Museum. Kovner was one

of the odd men out in that pluralistic show. Reflecting on the art of Eretz

Israel from the first decades of the century to 1988, and reviewing the 74

works included in the show, it is apparent that Kovner's oeuvre had somehow

side-stepped the fashions of the day and sounded more like an echo of the

European landscape painters such as Corot, Cezanne and Monet.

Metaphysical Series (Pages 65-75)

Painting the Jerusalem landscape on both sides of the watershed might be

viewed as Kovner' pictorial karma the way Mount St. Victoire was for

Cezanne; and Arles and Saint Remy were for Van Gogh. This topic would

occupy Kovner for the next 15 years with only intermittent incursions into

other subjects and motifs. As time passed Kovner released himself from

panoramic views of Jerusalem and began to search out alternative subjects,

often discovering something more intimate than the already familiar wide

tracts of land.

For a short while, somewhere between early 1989 and March 1990, Kovner

created two groups of paintings that indicated his obsession with the hilly

views surrounding Jerusalem. One group was devoted to the Mount Zion

Hotel, overlooking the Old City walls, and the second focused on the Mamilla

project, a major urban redevelopment program between the old and new

neighborhoods of the capital.

At the time these works were exhibited, I described one canvas in the Mount

Zion Hotel series as a picture of the "sacred and profane." In it Kovner blasts

asunder the colliding, warmly-toned rolling hills and limestone abutments in

the background - stitched together by linear seams dotted with lonely

cypress or thickets of oak - using vivid hues to fill architectural shapes in the

foreground.


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Gil Goldfine

View from the Workshop, Etching, 56X75


208

Michael Kovner

Daphna, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 70X50


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Gil Goldfine

This sharply edged separation seemed to express two phrases in the Yom

Kippur liturgy: "yeshivah shel maalah" and "yeshivah shel maatah,"

metaphorically alluding to the spiritual above as opposed to the humanity

below, or to carry the thought further, to God in heaven and man on earth or

perhaps nature vs. materialism. The composition is literally cut in half by the

strong diagonal of protective yellow awnings built into the hotel sun deck, the

physical and social mannerism by which Kovner severs the holy from the

irreverent. Coming down to ground zero, Kovner introduces slight but distinct

references such as puffs of smoke rising on a distant horizon as a reminder

that the Intifada was raging at the time.

The iconography in this picture is rendered somewhat confusing by an

illustrative passage showing a quintessential bourgeois wedding ceremony

taking place as the setting sun masks people swimming in the pool. (p.79)

The harshness of the building made even more austere by a shuffled

subdivision of its shadow formation, is an indelicate contrast to the

background geology. Undecipherable, and totally out of context for Kovner,

is his inclusion of two angels, one male and one female, standing on top of

the main building and surveying the terrain laid out before them. Do angels

cast shadows or are they puffs of smoke? Or do they represent Kovner's

endorsement of the people he loves?

Electric Power

For a brief period in 1990, between his confrontation with the Mount Zion

Hotel and the Mamilla project, Kovner left Jerusalem to take part by invitation

in a group effort to produce painterly interpretations of the obsolete Reading

Power Station in north Tel Aviv. This project was sponsored by the Israel

Electric Company. The three canvases Kovner prepared for this exhibition

provide the viewer with both sonnets and structure, two major requirements

for successful painting. Based on one point perspective their composition is

maintained by accurate architectural rendering, a mixture of dense metallic

tones and rustic pastel shades and a minimal rupture of the pure figurative

with a whiff of surrealist imagery.

Without regard for impressionist light, the largest canvas (p.81) contains

broadly painted depictions of massive industrial turbines in blue and violet

tones and outlined in black that seem to float down the center of the station's

cavernous interior. Several concrete pillars and horizontal beams support the

tunnel-like expanse and ceiling construction that traverse the entire span of

the station. The monumental scale of the building and its relative proportions

are achieved by the inclusion of small silhouetted figures congregating in the

background. The floor is meticulously painted in the station's original black

and white tile pattern. Realism is the order of the day until one reaches the

great hall's far end which opens like a theatrical proscenium to reveal a

barren landscape from which rises a loosely rendered narrative of Jacob's

dream: ladder, angels, blue heavens and all. This picture seems to

acknowledge the prophetic wisdom of engineer Pinchas Rutenberg who,

reading the futuristic map, built this "dream palace" in 1938.

In many respects, from the similarity in chromatic definition of architectural

structures to the azure blue sky, Kovner created this trio of major works as

an extension of his Mount Zion Hotel paintings and as a prelude to several

canvases dealing with the gentrification of the Mamilla neighborhood. Minor

imaginative passages also relate, in two additional power station paintings,

to the surreal iconography that Kovner adopted from Giorgio de Chirico. One

of these takes the form of a woman's portrait incised in black outline on the

curve of a giant, steel-gray, steam turret. For the second composition he has

flown in the two angels that stood on top of the Mount Zion Hotel allowing

them to occupy a major position in the painting's foreground. The angels,

outlined in a fiery red contour on a black field, are ensconced on an upper

floor of the power station whose coarse and crusty interiors and grated floors

are finished in black and red supported by stairs, banisters, and piping

brushed in a brilliant turquoise and greenish blue. Past the large picture

windows in the rear, framed by "twisted pipes suggesting the trunks of

benevolent pachyderms"11 as described by Angela Levine, a blazing graphic

sun, like an Egyptian hieroglyph, is seen falling into the Mediterranean.

Several years later, in 1996, Kovner was invited by the Electric Company to

create a vast wall - six by ten meters - in its Jerusalem headquarters based

on his painting of the Reading Power Station. He executed the wall in

ceramic tiles and remarked at its inauguration that he hoped the people

would remember the motivating dream behind the plant, and behind the

foresight of building such a huge station in what had then been a small town.

Mamilla

It is only a fifteen-minute walk from the Mount Zion Hotel to the Mamilla

Quarter, a small section of Jerusalem set between King David Street and

the Jaffa Gate entrance to the Old City. It was there that Kovner turned his

painter's eye to an architectural dimension, one that parallels but does not

emulate his "Houses in Gaza" series of twelve years before. This time

Kovner raises the curtain on a stage with a view of a serene neighborhood

street in which the architectural element is only one aspect of a

complicated subject.

The chromatic vibrancy of the Mount Zion Hotel renderings is carried over

into "Mamilla" 1990 (p.83), a painting that is as much a theatrical design as

it is a representational work of art. Cerulean blues, chalk lime green, whites,

pale umber and burnt orange are used to depict stone and wood structures

compressed between a sky composed of indigo, turquoise and ivory

horizontal panels and a street of mottled green, pale peach and mustard

colored paint. The time is early morning; the sun is up and the shadows cast

from figures of two men chatting in a corner and an ominous wrecking ball

on the opposite end of the composition are precisely defined. It's doom and

gloom except for Kovner's lively and zestful palette and his subjective search

for social justice and artistic harmony.

The Mamilla painting is the first instance in which Kovner has indicated his

attraction to a narrative realism peppered with surreal overtones.

Compositionally and atmospherically he has most definitely studied the

urban paintings of Hopper, who died in 1967 a decade before Kovner

entered this field. To understand the correlation between the two painters I

refer to Robert Hughes description of Hopper's work as having a "sober

painterliness." And he goes on to say "...the emptiness of his compositions,

with their emphatic blocks of shadow, their wide, flat planes of wall, sky or

road, and their unfussy, reverberant light... are suffused with human

meaning, and an inalienable sense of the here and now." But most


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Michael Kovner

Looking at the subject from an historical perspective, starting with the post

Renaissance period of genre subject matter to the present, Kovner has been

exposed to every style, mannerism and emotional condition of the female

nude imaginable. He has taken in the mythological bacchanals of Rubens,

the salacious females of Courbet and the chromatic salvos of Matisse; but

has only called on these masters' influences peripherally, neither emulating

nor competing with their approach.

Kovner has divided this series into two groups, one that poses the

girl/woman figure alone and the second where she appears together with the

painter. "Family," (p.87) a unique narrative painting is undoubtedly the first

and most complex. This work establishes the ground rules for the

psycho-drama and entangled relationships in the context of artist and

daughter, artist and wife and mother and daughter. In this picture the

"artist/father" figure has risen from his chair and prepares to leave the room.

Instead of looking towards his disenchanted spouse, he turns his head

slightly to acknowledge the presence of a young girl engrossed in a book.

Actually, in the symmetrical familial arrangement of the trio the young girl's

central position is equivalent to a wedge dividing the two adults, physically

and emotionally. It is a narrative painting that describes the here and now,

but alludes to conversations of a most personal nature that took place

several minutes prior to the pictorial enactment. And at its heart, the focus of

this painting is confrontation, petition, decision and censure. The domestic

character of the contents - tabletop cluttered with plates and pitchers,

carpeted floors and paintings on the wall - all are props in the theater of life

as a woman wrapped in an appropriately colored green dress is reluctant to

face the detached adolescent sporting a creamy rose sweater. But most of

all it is the utter apathy of the young girl, a slight, yet passive, smile on her

face, oblivious to the surrounding tension that confirms her prominent role as

the Lolita equivalent in subsequent paintings in the series.

It is difficult to relate to Kovner's interiors without acknowledging the

painterly conventions of several major artists whose contributions played an

important role in his development. There is the lavish, sometimes orientalist,

coloration of Delacroix and Bonnard, the sculpted poses akin to Gauguin's

Tahitian beauties and the psycho-sexual intensity of Balthus' interiors.

Kovner also paraphrases himself when he paints a bird's eye view of the

oriental carpet upon which the girl sits, a topographical view not unlike his

desert landscapes of fifteen years before. Then there are the upended

pieces of furniture, a nod to Cezanne's analytical presence as the decorative

combination of complimentary lines on colored shapes is for Matisse.

Kovner's encounters with his model are either in awe or at a withdrawn

distance. Lying by her side, trance like, he expresses an intense interest in

the metamorphosis of the child/woman from lithe cocoon to exquisite

butterfly. Yet, this emerging virginal flower is introspective, shy and self

absorbed, unable to free her libido from the age of anxiety. Kovner

represents himself as relaxed and deep in thought; as a detached voyeur

seated in the background, directly or indirectly reflected in a mirror image. In

some versions, he is physically absent, but his presence is realized by proxy

through the inclusion of one of his earlier paintings taken out of storage and

used as a compositional element. The Freudian cabal with its library of

subliminal preferences is not blatantly exposed but shows signs of bubbling

important, "Time and again, Hopper's work insists in its characteristically

modest way that the green fields have indeed gone or, at least, are going;

that having run out of external frontiers, Americans were faced by an

impassable frontier within the self, so that the man of action has been

replaced by the watcher, or voyeur, or nostalgist, whose act of watching

included the creative function or 'eye' of the artist."12,13 Replace Hopper, the

eye of American scene painting in the 1930s and 1940s, with Kovner, the

eye of the Israeli cum Mediterranean scene painting in the 1980s and

1990s and the similarity is apparent.

The paintings of Mamilla are connected to the enigmatic early works of

de Chirico, especially "Gare Montparnasse" (1914) and "The Mystery and

Melancholy of a Street" (1914)14 with their empty plazas and invented

classical facades. Like de Chirico and Hopper, Kovner compels the

viewer to consider the unseen, to imagine something past the painted

subject where perils lurk in the shadows, behind closed doors and

shuttered windows. Kovner's buildings in Mamilla are substitutes for

people whose lives are on the edge of destruction and displacement. The

wrecking ball is poised and ready, perhaps to confirm the inevitability of

history; or else the environmental calm before a political or military storm.

This sense of impending disaster is further intensified by a Mondrian

configuration of horizontal and vertical axis, an arrangement that

constrains the pictorial elements from active compositional movement,

thus transforming them into captured components, metaphors for a

population that has nowhere else to go.

The political statements inherent in the Mamilla paintings were prompted by

Kovner's fierce disappointment with a decision by Teddy Kollek, then Mayor

of Jerusalem, to split open the quarter like a festering wound so that the

municipality could, according to Kovner "...entice rich Americans to buy

property in Jerusalem for use during their annual holidays."

The Girl (Pages 84-93)

The first Intifada (Arab uprising, December 1987-September 1993) touched

Kovner personally when his son was stabbed on his way to school by an

Arab worker. Although at that time the violent confrontation was grinding to a

halt with the convening of the Madrid Conference, Kovner's response was to

sink into a depression. He often remarks that his emotional swings are

comparable to the molting of a snake's skin; the shadding off of one layer

only to uncover new tissue.

And so in 1991, it is no wonder that from painting in sunlight Kovner went

directly into hibernation, not to sleep out the winter but to address a problem

that had been nagging him for many years: that is, painting the figure. The

result of his self-absorption and determination to paint the nude model

resulted in Kovner coming in from the cold of his mental state and into the

warmth of his studio/apartment. For more than a year, until late 1992, he

painted a dozen interiors with a young adolescent girl at center stage; seated

or reclining in a domestic environment, nude or partially robed. With great

courage, Kovner continued his individualistic and passionate appraisal of this

delicate subject while flaunting local conventions and the accustomed norms

of Israeli easel painting.


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Gil Goldfine

disproportionate place in the composition. This spiraling vortex is repeated by

Kovner in "Sataf, Morning"(p.97) pretty much in the same configuration as

manifested in Bruegel's masterpiece 350 years before. Swooping down from

the left and curving around intersecting arcs, Sataf rises from the center of

the picture plane its presence emphasized by an abundance of forestation

and foliage embracing it. Detailed buildings sitting on the ridge invite

comparison to Bruegel's mill perched on top of the rock.

"Sataf, Morning" (1994) was painted almost 70 years after Nahum Gutman

painted "Road to Tiberias"(1927),17 yet the similarity of understanding the

landscape as genre and achieving a sense of monumental proportions is

uncanny. Both compositions are divided into three broad horizontal bands of

foreground, middle ground and background emphasized by a curving arc at

the bottom edge of the picture, showing a road in Gutman's version and an

agricultural terrace in Kovner's. The high horizon line and sliver of blue sky is

accented by the rolling dark contrasting hills, deep Vandyke brown in

Gutman's case, and a mottled viridian-blue in Kovner's. Twisting trails, wadis

and roads appear in both pictures as does a hemispherical mound in the

exact center of the painting.

The comparison between Kovner and Gutman is by no means coincidental,

but it relates only to subject matter and not painterly approach or style. The

landscape genre was extremely popular among painters (Israel Paldi,

Reuven Rubin, Ziona Tagger etc) of the Yishuv during the first decades of the

20th century. Paintings depicting the Galilean olive groves and scenes of

Jerusalem were prodigious. The reasons focused on the potential

renaissance and resurrection of the Jewish people. The landscape was a

natural subject for evoking the literalness of biblical edicts in addition to

fostering its generic matter as a Zionist metaphor. And of course the

Mediterranean light was a revelation to Jewish artists arriving here from the

incessant grayness of eastern Europe. For these pioneers, it was a renewal

of their cultural and philosophical heritage and an expression of identification

with an enterprise bigger than life.

Jerusalem Hills (West) (Pages 78-109)

Searching for several references that provided Kovner with the foundation

upon which to understand views of Sataf, Ein Karem and Baka'a, the

Jerusalem neighborhood where he lives, it is necessary to take a step back

and study "Observation Point" (1986) (p.72), an expansive landscape of a

Jerusalem hillside incorporating a horse and rider. This canvas contains the

compositional and narrative formulae for his detailed paintings of trees, a

subject that occupied major portions of his output along with the more

intimate and familiar views of his subject. He had moved in for a close-up.

To this end Kovner moves from an elevated perspective spiraling

downwards into the valley of Hinnom to a more personalized genre. Trees

are not only formal shapes in a picture's design but also become natural

elements for providing shade from the harsh sun and an umbrella for

softening the austere and stinging mid-day light. Kovner travels from very

detailed representations of a threatening "Tree on Ya'el Street" (1986)(p.109)

with chopped limbs and irascible leaves, to more pastoral versions observed

from middle ground and retreating into the distant horizon.

below the threshold of the subconscious. On the surface Kovner reveals only

the slightest inkling of sexual desire or erotic fantasy, so often promulgated

up front by painters like Schiele and Picasso - the latter being the supreme

voyeur-erotic painter of the 20th century or as Michael Gibson labeled him

"the old Minotaure of the arts"15

Seated on a decorative oriental carpet with bold geometric motifs or

overlapping, multi-colored floor mats, Kovner's young girl is described in

broad monochromatic brush strokes simplified by reductive drawing of her

anatomy. The bodily forms are recycled into near schematic components of

solid matter with an occasional contour line added to elucidate volume.

Kovner leans towards the early 20th century French and German modernists

rather than his contemporaries of the late 1980s. His figurative description of

the human body are attempts to remake the expressionist subjectiveness of

Mattise and Nolde while placing to one side the coarse ferocity of Baselitz,

the truthful rawness of Lucien Freud.

Pictorially the girl/woman subject occupies the central axis of each and

every composition. Surrounded by a confining architectural interior, it is

almost as if Kovner intended to keep her captive until maturity. In one panel

she actually peers out of a barred window. Another idiosyncratic element is

a single lemon (or a recurring generic oval shape symbolizing fertility) set

on a napkin or small end table. In general, Kovner's introspective

male/female subjects are supported by rigid sets of systemic lines outlining

the pictures' skeletal underpinnings that echo a Mondrian canon that

Kovner employed in his Mamilla paintings. Here, however, he

counterbalances the horizontal-vertical plan by inserting the classical

diagonal line of a human leg, trapezoidal tabletop or receding rectangular

shadows. Color, in the main is true to the reality of the setting. Skin tones

are tints of pale sienna, ivory white and scaled down pinks. The room

(walls, floor, room dividers, furnishings, plants and fabrics), clothing and

accessories are scrubbed and brushed in lively rainbow hues and

interspersed with tempered panels of scumbled pigment.

Back to BasicsPainting the figure, a one-off trip into uncharted territory, was just the right

thing at the right time. It provided Kovner with a hiatus, a breathing spell from

which he could gladly return to his first love: the Israel landscape. It was now

1993, the intifada was over for the time being and optimism began to creep

into the national psyche. Kovner began to find inspiration in other venues

although his attachment to Jerusalem never diminished. Having fulfilled

academic objectives and emotional criteria related to views of Jerusalem,

facing Silwan, the Old City and the Dead Sea, he now returned to outdoor

painting by rotating his easel westward to the historic Judean villages of Ein

Karem, Even Sapir and Sataf and further still to the Tel Aviv quarter of Neve

Tzedek.

An indication of fundamental laws in art comes to mind after reading an

analysis of Pieter Bruegel's painting "On the Way to Calvary" in Michael

Gibson's book "The Mill and the Cross"16 and realizing how, in some ways it

has bearing on Kovner's "Sataff Morning" as well. In a chapter titled "The

Rock" Gibson describes the vortex effect of several concentric spiraling lines

embedded in the earth from which a large phallic rock emerges to occupy a


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Michael Kovner

situated in Ramat Rachel, a suburb of Jerusalem, is a study of nature despite

the small individual tucked away between the rising trunks; an allegorical

road sign standing on the sharp edge of life's escarpment.

Rather than provide gist for surreal commentaries, one can observe

"Woods" as representative of Kovner's enduring focus on the landscapes of

Cezanne. This painting, particularly the elegant, yet wholesome handling of

boughs and shrouded limbs is reminsicent of Cezanne's survey's circa 1900,

of the forested park around Chateau Noir18. There is also an overall

composite feeling of the point-counterpoint of Cezanne's brushwork and the

non-ambivalent character of his paint application.

Something else to consider is the means whereby Kovner, like Cezanne,

employs a chromatic and corporeal balance of forces. "Olive Grove, Sataf"

(1994)(p.95), produced during the same season as "Woods," with its

orgiastic treatment of the silhouetted branches, could have been painted

from a photograph of a pistachio tree in the courtyard of Chateau Noir .

"Woods" is one of the few landscapes Kovner painted in which the horizon

line falls within the bottom quarter of the composition, an indication of the

artist studying nature's effects rather than its symbolism. Traditionally, the

presence of land is a moving element in the painter's oeuvre, whereas the

sky, the ephemeral place where God dwells, is given a mere nod. Kovner's

painterly handling of sky and foliage, especially the robust brushing of the

earthen light that waves from light sienna into dark gray-green shadows, is

an attempt to emulate, not copy, Cezanne.

Several additional canvases depict daylight views of the fertile valleys and

hills that characterize the western suburbs of Jerusalem, Bar Giora, Emek

Refayim and Sataf (the latter discussed previously). These pictures

represent a final chapter during which Kovner was physically and spiritually

tied to Jerusalem and its environs. These encounters with nature are teeming

with activity; with dense darkened forestation skirting the horizons, sparkling

open spaces contained by the rising mountains terraces stacked with olive

trees and the occasional figure working in fields of yellow scrub.

The inclusion of defined escape routes, either by the rail line skirting through

Emek Refayim, or the road vigorously snaking into the picture plane at

foreground level and coming to an end on the hilltop above Sataf, are coded

messages that Kovner was set to move on. Even the pristine reflecting pools

of turquoise and pale mauve tucked away between the lush landscapes of

Bar Giora convey signs of a natural tendency to flow from point to point

Mediterranean Landscapes (Pages 110- 115)

By now considered by many to be the pre-eminent painter of the Jerusalem

landscape, Kovner found himself in need of a change. In the summer of 1993

he was invited to spend time with a friend in Kibbutz Ga'ash on the

Mediterranean coast and soon after with another aquaintance in Tel Aviv.

During this brief change of venue Kovner was reunited with the sea and

introduced to Neve Tzedek on Tel Aviv's southern flank. This renewal with

the sea reminded him of his youthful years hiking from Ein Hachoresh across

the fields and orchards of Bet Herut and Kfar Vitkin to reach the sea at Bet

Yannai and Michmoret.

Another option is exemplified in the canvas "Tree on the Edge of Jerusalem"

(1994) (p.99), depicting a lone oak isolated and loosened from the

composition by its conspicuous position smack in the center of the picture

plane, and by the obtrusiveness of its fleshy shadow. Set in the foreground

field and true to Matissean inspiration, the leafy contour drawing echoes the

curvature of the ridge upon which it is planted. Moving past its salient pictorial

demeanor, this tree is infused with the tremulous psychological spirit of a

human being individualism detached spiritually from his or her surroundings,

it is allied to Hopper's lonely urbanites feeding off the solitude of the night or

else searching for solace on the edge of suburban life.

The idea of inanimate objects becoming metaphors for figures in the

landscape is carried over by Kovner into other paintings like "Ein Karem,

Morning."(p.103) Once again the tree, now an elliptical mass of dense

viridian pigment, standing tall like an erect phallus rising from earth to sky,

bisects the picture plane vertically, while whispy olive and citrus trees at its

base chops its trunk on a horizontal bias. This compositional device supplies

the primary subject - two humble canisters on a rooftop (one a sun heater the

other a storage tank), which are absorbed in dialogue with a mechanical

partition that forms a demarcation between people and nature, as well as

dividing private and public domains.

Kovner reverts back to his "Houses in Gaza" paintings by using props in the

guise of stuntmen to transmit a message of intimacy and of male/female

components confronting, and being confronted by, their parcel of land. His

use of the solar heater, a product that absorbs the warmth of the sun and

transforms it into energy, is analogous with man's ability to assimilate

concepts and ideas and recycle them into substance. One might suggest that

this painting describes the homestead as the combined spiritual and physical

temple of the individual and all that glorified the pioneer spirit in 19th century

America and 20th century Israel. With its concentration of olive and cypress

trees playing host to the generous number of houses, walled gardens and a

church spire, this ancient hillside on the far side of the Jerusalem water line,

epitomizes an all embracing community, a living support system for the lonely

objects on the rooftop.

Several canvases are designed around two cypress trees. These are either

isolated in the middle ground of a field which has a protective fence in the

foreground and a forested wall in the background; or else placed one in front

of the other at the edge of the Bak'a neighborhood rail link.

Painted at different times of the day, each picture absorbs the marvelous

change of seasonal sunlight in Jerusalem, from a burning autumnal orange

to a dry summer yellow ochre (p. 107). Both configurations are pronounced

metaphorical statements dealing with interpersonal relationships, attachment

and love. To carry them to their extreme, Kovner directs a secular passion

play in his own back yard with oil paints and a brush as the thespians; sets,

costumes and lighting having been contributed by nature - the script being in

the eyes of the beholder.

But Kovner does not always play the philosopher-painter. There are some

paintings that are pure picture making with no apparent innuendo. For

example "Woods"(1994(p.105)), a copse of young evergreens in full leaf


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Several canvases depicting the infinite boundaries of water as viewed

from the cliffs overlooking the Ga'ash-Wingate dunes provided Kovner with

a sense of relief as he sought to extricate himself from the circumscribed

geological and organic structuring of his previous landscapes, near and far.

He even went so far as to embrace the simplest romantic idiosyncrasy in

his description of light and shimmering reflections on a placid sea, not to

mention the last rays of daylight fanning out from the silhouetted shapes of

lonely clouds.

His immediate reaction to Neve Tzedek was one of utter dismay. Although

he had obtained his first industrial/architectural experience at the Reading

power station, Neve Tzedek was a Mediterranean cityscape quite unlike his

beloved Judean hills, the Mount of Olives, Sataf and Ein Karem. It was

comprised of monotonous concrete and white stucco houses, terracotta tiles

and black asphalt edged on their top quadrant by optimistic blue slivers of

sea and sky.

The compressed skyline and the density of structures were alien to

Kovner, who had been largely committed in recent years to painting open

spaces and the natural elements of the environment that enclosed them.

And now, those unabbreviated horizons and Kovner's characteristic

morphology of trees and rocks, both in pulse and shape, were being

replaced by an altered state. By understanding the complexity of the arena

he entered, and reacting to its realities, Kovner was able to transform the

cognitive reality of houses, roofs and streets into a rhythmic syncopation of

rectangles, triangles and parallelograms.

Life in the city, in all its complexities, is not translated in Kovner's paintings

of Neve Tzedek. They neither relay the cultural smack that appeared in

previous architectural series nor do they correspond to his landscapes of

Sataf and Ein Karem which were also depictions of communities, albeit

quasi-agricultural ones. It seems that Kovner was captivated by the structural

geometry of the city as viewed from slightly above as he moves through the

layers of buildings in the same way that a 16th century Flemish painter would

view his world: every detail in its place and as precise as technique could

allow, considering the scale and proportion of the object; the density and

compression of the buildings, being a cogent reference to Braque's early

Cubist paintings of l'Estaque19.

I would even venture to say that this set of paintings echoes Kovner's

topographic views of the desert, his first successful series exhibited in 1979.

The compositional fluidity and aqueous nature of the shifting desiccated

landscape is reconstituted into sharp angles and shapes. Kovner goes even

further by proposing outlines on each major building in the picture plane as if

he were delineating a series of cultivated terraces. These outlines retain a

similar thickness throughout regardless of the distance a structure might

recede into the background field.

This peculiarity only strengthens Kovner's view of a landscape not of an

urban community. Truth without nature would be unbearable for Kovner and

so he punctures every composition with a cluster of trees. Social and cultural

issues are not as great or important as those proposed in "Houses in Gaza"

the "Mount Zion Hotel" or "Lego" series and are therefore relegated, if at all

to a very minor position.Yagi, Drawing, (Detail), Charcoal on Paper, 70X50


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Woman Sitting, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 60X40

Daphna, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60

Yael, Drawing (detail), Charcoal on Paper, 50X40


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The End of A Dream (Pages 122- 129)

By now, Kovner had become the archetypal nomad, moving from sea to

valley and from shore to plateau in search of an ideal. From the cliffs of

Ga'ash and the roofs of Neve Tzedek, Kovner moved north to the Bet

Shean valley, to Kibbutz Bet Alpha (where his wife Mimi was born and

raised). Bet Shean - where the chalutzim (early pioneers) battled the

elements and redeemed the land - was being developed by the needs of an

expanding society.

It was critical for Kovner at this point to focus on the past and the things that

impressed him as a younger man growing up in an agrarian society. He

reached out to the farm for meaningful images and renewed his fascination

with cows whose iconography, for Kovner, symbolizes the ideals upon which

the state of Israel was born and developed. And "Heron with Spread Wings,"

for instance, climbing unobstructed into the air above the kibbutz pond,

signifies man's ongoing quest for independence and for unbounded immunity

from the evils of confinement and suppression. Sharing the same field and

water with the cow, the bird was not only chosen as a contrasting pictorial

element in texture, color and scale, but as a symbol of the country's need to

remain agile in its resolve to migrate into the future. To this end, beast and

fowl, as icons of history, have entered into a symbiotic relationship based on

endurance and adaptability. As if directed to do so, these benign creatures

face the painter, promoting a feeling of serenity and without showing the

slightest indication of an aggression. Their antithesis, the slender white form

of an egret with spindly legs and elongated neck provides comic relief as they

stand before the sculptural masses of their barnyard companions (p.123).

Unlike the Jersey cows he would paint a few years afterwards, these

Herefords are described as monochromatic monoliths with hardly any

indication of their anatomical volumes.

Kovner was now well into his late 40s, and his position as an accomplished

painter of landscapes and local genre was secure. And yet, he felt, as

expressed in a catalogue of his work published in 1995, that things were not

so settled after all; he could feel a change coming, a premonition later

realized in the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin. At this time, he was

determined to sustain his search for an utopian truth through art. Each and

every Kovner painting, in each and every series, rings with this impulse. The

pictorial perspectives that vacillate between realistic views of Jerusalem and

near hard edge portraits of Mimi and Michal, appear to some as a sign of

indecision and indifference; to others, as an indication of confusion and

intellectual game playing.

In actuality it is Kovner's fascination with the changing faces of

substance that drives him to seek adventure in his painting.

Kovner's friend and confidant, the writer Dan Tsalka remarked that looking

at a Kovner painting is taking part in an adventure; like a lion hunt. It is

unclear, though, whether Kovner will kill the lion, or the lion will kill him. As

Hemingway said, art is an adventure and no one knows how it will end.

The authenticity of something, someone or someplace is relegated to scientific

fact or social order. It is the Kovners of this world who recycle these

unquestionable and indisputable considerations into something else, called art.

During the same interim period, when Kovner spent time at Bet Shean, he

painted a number of canvases in which water was the focus of his interest.

Two such paintings "Boat on a Yellow Sea," (p.129) and "Boat in a Blue Sea"

(p.127) seriously echo "Knife in the Water" (1962), a new wave post-war

Polish cinema encounter directed by Roman Polanski , whose screenplay

contains obvious sexual and political overtones. Although Kovner's anxieties

sail in different waters the paintings are filled with images of angst and terror.

The boat as a solitary vessel without any other craft in the frame is alarming.

It presents a dislocation of sorts or a deliberate form of abandonment. Motion

also is negligible as the sailboat appears to be mired in cultivated swampland

rather than gliding along on the surface of clear lake water. The ambiguities

continue with the fact that no other land mass is evident other than a distant

horizon, a feature that indicates forced isolation by the presence of two people

being transported into the abyss of an uncertain, future life beyond. Sails are

rendered as sharpened blades slicing a watery quilt tied together by

interlocking multicolor swatches and swaths.

To reinforce this reflective condition mention should be made of another

painting from the same period titled "My Brother" (Achi) (p.125). The subject

matter of this canvas is rather complicated because Kovner, returning to Ein

Hachoresh even for a short spell, was pulled into a time warp machine, finding

himself simultaneously harnessing images from both imaginary situations and

real incidents - a virtual combination of the present and the past and

essentially of life and death. Once again, manifestations of the de Chirico

parlance had surfaced in Kovner's paintings.

Dedicated to Kovner's childhood friend Achiyahu, killed in a plane crash

years before while serving in the military, this painterly homage to friendship

is actually a visual memorandum whose subjects are dreams and innocence.

And so the fecund orange tree, theatrically lit by effervescent moonlight,

casting its full reflection in the lake below undoubtedly signifies place (the

Emek) and an unforgettable fertile past. A small hut alludes to the secret

hideaway where the two young friends would retreat and spend hours playing

“let’s pretend.” A combination of cool ebony and deep cerulean panels of water

contains a solitary vessel with two passengers, similar to the imagery in "Boat

on a Yellow Sea." As a narrative detail they are reliving an adventure. In

mythological terms the friends are preparing to cross the River Styx to a better

world beyond and to eternal life.

The relative seclusion and remoteness of the figures relate to Kovner's

anxiety and his melancholy state of mind. At the time he painted this canvas

he was still unsure of his direction. But without having doubts, new things

cannot appear.

Portscapes (Pages 132-139)

The port of Haifa - a destination where east meets west and the line of

demarcation that Jews struggled to cross in the early days of the State. Kovner

sees the port as a man-made installation between the sky and the sea, the

natural elements that bound an industrial compound, but more so a harbor of

safe passage.

The many Byzantine vessels that plied the routes from Anatolia to Alexandria

also attest to the historical importance this land played as a land route in the


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the operations of nature." Gowing proceeds to say that Turner's pictures

indeed became increasingly barren of the kind of substance that had furnished

traditional landscape. The descriptive detail and the reticent skills of his earlier

works were assumed or neglected. He was intent on the scheme and the effect

of a picture, and intent on outdoing whichever master it had come from. The

pictorial idea was imaginatively recreated, with a summary force that seemed

to put the original in the shade.

Fresh from his years of painting Jerusalem landscapes and the urban

condition Kovner, like Turner 150 years earlier, challenged the duality of reality

and imagination in his canvases of the Haifa and Ashdod ports. His painterly

approach to water, industrial structures and ships leapfrogged the classical

mannerisms of an emotive Jakob Van Ruisdael or a mythological Claude

Lorrain to find solace in the moderns like Andre Derain and Raoul Dufy.

Kovner's traditional handling of color in landscapes, predominantly resting on

local hues that elucidated the essential characteristics of a subject, was

abandoned as he entertained different ideas at the port. Although maintaining

a figurative base, these paintings absorbed an expressive quality not seen

before in his work. In actuality, Kovner challenged his past achievements by

grafting direct vision onto his imaginative powers.

Very possibly this change came about because of the subject at hand. He

could not very well render the massive bow of a cargo ship with the feathering

technique he might have used to depict a tree in full foliage or the variegated

colors of a Jerusalem hillside. In Haifa and Ashdod, Kovner's proletarian and

social-minded spirit met his painterly objectives face to face. In all probability it

was this dramatic realization that the concrete and steel of the port

transcended its role as a mere structural environment for commercial purposes

supplying a complex background that contained the sum and substance of all

that he witnessed and heard as a child in his parents' home and the socialist

environment that nurtured him.

The physical Jerusalem landscapes of his formative years transformed into

paintings later was his way of creating a scrapbook of memories. In Haifa it

was the recording of principles that dealt with integrity, morality and historic

responsibility. The pictorial elements: ships, tugboats, docks, quays, cranes

water, sky etc. were the means to that end. This same internal strife and

search for self-awareness would emerge when Kovner returned to experience

his personal history in the cow sheds and hay fields of Kibbutz Ein Hachoresh;

it would later manifest itself on his travels to Bet Shean Valley where he

confronted the elegiac landscapes of old Eretz Yisrael.

In the past we have been reluctant to accept a landscape painting as a

visual description of reality. Society has been conditioned by the historical

events of the past century and a half to view everything from the inside out.

Every work of art we are told must supply answers. Whether they be related

to science or emotional experiences. Or else, a work must be an expression

of self or the community; transmit conceptual ideas, or investigate

associative elements while exploring the possibility, for example, that the

icons and glyphs introduced by an artist are endorsements of a particular

social and political stand.

Comparing Kovner's landscapes to his portscapes it becomes apparent

almost immediately that he relates to the angularity and geometry of an

development of trade between the mighty Egyptian Empire and the powerful

civilizations of ancient Assyria and Persia. The military aspect of the Haifa port

was of equal importance.

The Jewish return to Palestine-Eretz Yisrael, a dry arid land skirted by a

mighty sea and covered by clear blue skies couldn't be more antithetical than

the onerous existence of Jews in the cities and shtetls of Eastern Europe, or

the exacting village life in North Africa. The construction of breakwaters and

the inauguration of a new port in Tel Aviv was a sign of a people's vitality upon

returning to its ancient home.

The homecoming was neither by ground transport nor by air; for the

multitudes it was by sea. Haifa, the sprawling robust mountainside city

providing the protective bay into which boats from the west would enter

became the symbol of safety and of shelter for the remnants of a people. It was

the docking and disembarking, of delivering oneself into the embrace of

humanity in an inhumane world. This beautiful bay and the natural sweeping

coastline became the equivalent of the biblical safe city. As Kovner points out

in "Portscapes," while describing the running of the British blockade of

Palestine in the mid 1940s, "...the sea became the bridge and the port became

their final harbor. The port was transformed from a dream, from a place of

refuge and rest, into the last vantage point in the struggle for existence and

rescue."

But the port of Haifa, and further down the coast the port of Ashdod (and by

proxy the Red Sea port of Eilat), became synonymous with the concept of

freedom. For in time (together with the airports) they provided the wherewithal

for individuals living in this sovereign state to exercise their democratic right to

come and go as they pleased. It meant freedom of movement for many who

hardly knew the meaning of the words.

Kovner painted "Portscapes" between 1997 and 1999, as a joint effort with

his close friend and colleague Jan Rauchwarger. The scope of this group of

works covers distant views from the top of Mount Carmel (p.115) into the bay

as it sweeps towards the fortress walls of Acre onto observational close-up of

ships, cranes and quays. Unlike the roads and terraces in his dramatic

delineation of Haifa's multiethnic districts, the port of Ashdod is viewed from the

city center towards a flat, distant, horizon.

The canvases, drawings and etchings of the ports are different from any other

series previously painted by Kovner. These are harsh and up-front descriptions

of a masculine apparatus; no holds barred picture making describing the

confluence of concrete bulwarks and unyielding gargantuan container ships

with the transparency of water and air.

Looking back into the history of art it is interesting to surmise where Kovner

came from. It is instructive to look back to J.M.W. Turner as one of the

progenitors of modern art, and note how he confronted awkward subjects. In a

monograph, "Turner: Imagination and Reality"20 the critic and painter Lawrence

Gowing describes how, during the last 20 years of the "prophet's" life the

barriers between imagination and reality vanished. In fact, Gowing notes that

the whole condition of painting was in question, breaking down under Turner's

relentless pressure. His manner of painting was founded on an axiom derived

from classical sources, which, as Fuseli put it: "The less the traces appear of

the means by which a work (of art) has been produced, the more it resembles


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Gil Goldfine

There are other canvases that continue to bond him with Guston. "Barge in

Red" (p.134) and "Danish Ship at the Quay of Tears" are two additional

examples that come to mind. Both indicate a certain pre-occupation with the

physicality of brushstrokes. The former contains a sky of calamine pink, red

and pale blue of Gustonian proportions. In the latter, Kovner's simple

stacking of objects, his rasping use of pigment and reconstruction of the real

world into illustrated physical surfaces are all about Guston of the 1970s.

When Kovner set out to paint the port series he didn't know that he would

be compelled to search out a pictorial style that echoes the Impressionists'

views of the outdoors in which the effects of light and shadow and time of the

day are a function of narrative truths.

When Kovner can't resist the temptation of the naturalism he aspires to, he

exposes his wild side, a trait not often divulged by this most reserved of

painters. We witnessed this persona in his Gazan buildings and "Lego"

paintings and, to some extent, his decorated portraits of women. Several port

paintings embrace the Expressionist's sum and substance of color. Favored

color combinations of the German expressionists Franz Marc and Max

Pechstein have replaced Kovner's mainline attempt to preserve a vision of

reality, or, as close as possible to something that is an impression of it. The

broadly brushed bands of a striking bright yolk orange, fiery red and viridian

lines surrounding black silhouettes of "Orange Barge with Cargo Ship" warm

up the surface and enclose a knifelike shape of ocean blue. A rather dense

opaque rectangle of pasty white provides the curtain in front of which all this

is happening.

And so, as the mighty cargo ships sail into a warm Israel sunset, we are

reminded that Kovner's paintings are first and foremost portraits. Whether

they be vehicles for describing natural events, creating an impression by

exchanging light for volume and weight; or else tantalizing the viewer with a

subjective engagement of savage colors. They are essentially the delineation

of a place whose features are enhanced and refined by artistic mechanisms

yet diffused by the historical and cultural themes.

A Harvest of Memories (Pages 140-157)

The face of the land that Kovner loved as a child was becoming obscured

by housing, roads and industry. He felt a desperate need to record something

of the present in order to remember the past. His choice of subjects was the

cow, orange groves and hay stacks.

Ever since childhood, Kovner has admired cows, his admiration for them

growing rather than diminishing. One picture in this series, “The Cattle Shed

of Ein Hachoresh” (p.149), depicts a solitary Hereford painted in shiny hues

of reddish orange, plum-purple and black reflecting the setting sun in the

Emek. Quietly ruminating, entrenched, alone and seemingly abandoned.,

this prodigious, melancholy mound of flesh and bone anchored to the earth

echoes the history of Eretz Yisrael, indefatigable human behavior and a

commitment to an ideal, not to be easily swayed. Monuments to the machine

age, the cows are secure in their station and undisturbed by their

surroundings. They are also emblems of industry, assuming the form of a

biological machine dedicated to uninterrupted production of milk, providing

the sustenance for infants to grow into children and children into adults in the

industrial site as he would to the curvilinear markings of his views of nature.

He is less concerned with color and light as Turner might have been in his

fleeting portrayals of Venetian canals or Francesco Guardi's atmospheric

iridescences of similar vistas. For Kovner the elements of water, air, mist,

shadows and sunlight were liberated from their scientific and naturalistic

makeup so that he could reinvent them as passages of color, line and shape.

Color was a function of design and compositional balance, faithful only to

itself and not to its generic or analytical properties. "Containers and Black

Prow" and "The Unloading Wharf" are pictures that illustrate this

Kovneresque departure from the ephemeral to the unwavering.

Compositionally built on a 90 degree angled grid, each and every shape and

line - rectangles, squares and parallelograms - conforms to a statistical,

pre-planned panel.

The rare diagonal occurs in the delineation of a prow or shadow, but that

too is tucked away into the overall scheme of things. The mapping of these

canvases is neo-plastic in their configuration. Applying a formula of vertical

and horizontal grating very much like that of a classic Mondrian - even to the

he extent that Kovner adheres to the same limited use of the primary colors

red, yellow and blue, albeit intensifying his own hues to a stronger range of

rust reds, yellow oranges and cobalt blues. In "The Unloading Wharf," chalk

white containers and bales are textured with minimal swaths of gray to

balance the implied architectonic nature of the form. In "Containers," the

contoured yellow boxes appearing in the foreground and placed before and

adjacent to red and blue shapes of the same proportion but in different scale,

create surface tensions that remind one of the floating squares in abstract

expressionist canvases by Hans Hofmann.

With "Portscapes" Kovner extends for the first time his aptitude for

chromatic invention by approaching the subject from a number of different

avenues. "Cargo Ship and Cranes" was painted at different times of the day

as if he, like Monet, faced the haystacks in mid-day or the Rouen Cathedral

at dusk. And by recalling Bonnard, Kovner demonstrates a capacity for

linking conflicting families of color - primary and secondary, warm and cool,

dark and light, intense and delicate, descriptive and abstract - without

regressing into a baroque style of painting.

A pink sky illuminates the ship's face and its bulky cargo perceived in bright

orange, crimson and magenta volumes resting in a sea of pale turquoise

subdued even further by paths of mottled white. The cropped pieces of a

tugboat in the foreground combine a rose madder hull with a gray-violet

cockpit and a sprawling black deck. The long arms of the mechanical cranes

provide linear relief to a mass of seafaring steel, as they mirror a giant spider

reaching out towards its prey. A second interpretation of "Cargo Ships and

Cranes" (p.137,136) is much more daring in its use of color; Kovner slashes

the giant hulls with deep green and under-painted orange splotches, trimmed

with an edge of pale fuchsia and fire red.

Like voices from the past, the foreground images of wharf, tugboat details

and prow of another ship seem to be eerie mutations of the impenetrable

surfaces and pictorial sensitivities of Philip Guston's last paintings,

demonstrating that Kovner 25 years down the road has maintained a

closeness with the spirit of his mentor.


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Michael Kovner

Cargo Ship, Etching, 11.7X14.8


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Gil Goldfine

same fashion that farming communities develop into towns, towns into cities

and cities into countries.

Returning once again to the meadows, animals, workshops and orange

groves of Kibbutz Ein Hachoresh, was for Kovner like homing in on the

nest after circling above it for twenty-five years. Its importance was much

deeper than recalling the past, and certainly of greater importance than

the memories he accumulated and returned with. It was here that his

journey as an artist began. It was where his father, first instructed him in

the art of painting and the meaning of an Utopian aesthetic. Another

recurring theme in his parental sphere was the importance of belonging to

the Jewish people and rekindling its spiritual, intellectual and aesthetic fire

through the Zionist-Socialist ideology. It was also here that his mother

Vitka gently and confidently endowed Michael with a strong psychological

center imbuing in him a sense of self and responsibility to the individual

and community.

And it was here that he came to love the agricultural enterprise, the

notions of growing produce and of being self sufficient, of surveying the

fields and the sheds, smell of freshly cut hay, and the memory of his first

love, a young girl he took to the hay stacks and to the orange groves at

night. and an appreciation of hard work as a prelude to achieving goals.

The kibbutz as a social and political ideal was the encapsulation of the

Utopia Kovner searched for throughout his painting. Kovner yielded to the

past with a passion resulting in three distinctive groups of paintings:

"Pardesim," "Cowshed" and "Bales of Hay" that in actuality he saw as

one theme which he called "Just Another Day with a Blue Morning Sky."

His initial preference was to visit the cowshed and renew the encounter

of years before when he painted cows and herons as partners. From early

childhood Kovner (p.148) remembered these bovine creatures as

spectacular animals. In fact he strongly believes that all people have a

subconscious affection for cows, for they possess the inherent physical

and behavioral qualities that people find easy to admire. On this stay at

Ein Hachoresh Kovner describes a family of cows herded under the roofs

of the yard or languishing in the shade of the eaves. They are grouped as

sculptural compositions whose mass is supported by a graphic pattern of

black and white amorphic shapes on their bodies which form a rhythmic

tempo, and create a cohesive unit between surface and anatomical

description.

His fascination with cows and his continued respect for them, developed

over the years as he came to understand their fortitude, patience and

servitude. Described by Kovner's brush as stoic mounds of silvery gray

flesh, these studies transform animals into humankind; into individuals

with personality traits all their own. While hardly an economic asset, for

Kovner the cow represents an ideal. As he has said, the new age of

organic, pre-processed food is upon us and one shipload of powdered

milk from the United States would equal a year's milking of all the cows

in Israel!

Kovner's portraits of cows are also quite different from those of Avraham

Ofek who reduced their grand scale to two dimensional symbols and

neutralized them into beasts of burden that supported either biblical

episodes or the contemporary proletariat/socialist cause.

From his bovine friends, Kovner moved on to the kibbutz's "Pardes," the

grapefruit and orange orchards perceived by Kovner as a virtual cornucopia,

a horn of plenty that advanced from pale and arid sand dunes to a Garden of

Eden, a green belt in Israel's Sharon plateau. Once there he immersed

himself wholeheartedly into painting more than a dozen canvases whose

subjects, both distant and close-up, comprised row upon row of thriving trees,

choreographed in a full scale of viridian laden with ripe oranges either

flashing in the sunlight or flickering in the shadows of dark cucumber green

as day turned to evening. Visually, Kovner guides the viewer in and out of

near-black shadows into lively leaf greens and pale olive patches anchored

to tinted sienna and ochre earth. His handling of paint in his reading of the

"Pardes" comes closest to an impressionistic dappling of color and constitute

an analytical investigation of light more thorough than any other group of

pictures he had painted untill then. Monet's descriptions of lithe women in

summer dress, casting marvelous pale violet and cool gray shadows on

grassy knolls come to mind in several of these canvases, especially those in

which relative close ups of trees are divided by ochre paths and striped with

brilliant patches of daylight meandering amongst a confluence of trees.

The over abundance of fruit in these paintings appears to be an

exaggerated effort by Kovner to reassure himself with the knowledge that this

is the way it was when he was a child. And as we have come to accept in

child psychology, exaggeration is an accepted norm. More than anything, the

subject matter reflects Kovner's Israeliness. His enthusiasm for the "Pardes,"

like his fascination with cows, is a revival of Zionist imagery; indicative of a

creative past and what the future could hold. Until today, the Jaffa orange

retains a strong brand awareness in European countries, especially the

United Kingdom where a good percentage of housewives refer to a Jaffa as

the generic term for an orange.

From the dappling light of the orchard, Kovner turned his attention to the

subject of harvesting hay, its stacking and storage, ultimately exhibited at the

Bineth Gallery in Tel Aviv. From the initial paintings in the series - a collection

of exterior barns and bins packed with bales of hay, painted in a sprightly

range of yellows (from canary and ochre to chrome and lemon), one moves

to Kovner's final summation (p.157); a composition in which two thirds of the

rectangle is a field of yolk yellow over-painted by tints of pale olive. The

remaining one-third is painted pale-sky blue mottled with systematically

brushed passages of transparent white. A vertical dark blue line isolates one

field from the next and symbolically describes, in a most abstract manner, the

traditional challenge of man's reliance on God's mercy or his tribal need to

generate sustenance by his won hands.

From the painterly point of view, it is evident that Kovner, (like the late

American painter Richard Diebenkorn whose work he admires), invested

many hours balancing the various hues and shades of yellow by diligent

over-painting and under-glazing. By controlling the intensity, transparency

and proportions of colors and forms, Kovner succeeded in his objective to

render the greatest possible effect of a bountiful harvest by means of

moderately blanched surfaces reflecting summer sunlight.


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Michael Kovner

The presence of people is the one thing missing in the trio of subjects he

painted at Ein Hachoresh in late 2000. One can assume that Kovner's

fixation on painting cows, oranges and hay is a deliberate psychological act

of substitution. The inclusion of laborers, supervisors and other interested

parties would only have created a narrative theme rather than the

emblematic paintings he wished to produce. In a sense, all of these paintings,

whether they focus on the orange groves or hay stacks, are about the

harvest, that great autumn time of joy gathering up the yield of the season

gone by, a season that connects man to the oldest myths and his most basic

needs

The Lakes (Pages 158-169)

Like a recurring dream, Kovner sees himself constantly returning to the

landscapes of Israel. Looking back, the voyage began with topographical

views of the Negev and Judean Hills, then continued to Jerusalems, Sataf

and Ein Karem, Ga'ash, Neve Tzedek, and his birthplace kibbutz Ein

Hachoresh with stopovers for recording Gaza, Legoland, Mount Zion Hotel

and Mamilla projects, ports, portraits, kibbutz and family life. And most

recently, the Bet Shean Valley.

Situated along the spine of the Syrian-African rift valley, the countryside

around Bet Shean is punctured by the remnants of an ancient past and the

machinery of a modern age. Situated on the Via Maris, the historic road

connecting Egypt with Mesopotamia and adjacent to the Jordan River south

of the Sea of Galilee, archaeological excavations carried out in Bet Shean's

city center have uncovered a Stone Age settlement as well as indications of

Canaanite, Egyptian and Greek settlements. In Roman times it served as a

major center for commercial and military access to Syria and the Empire's

northern provinces. Jewish presence in Bet Shean dates to the Israelite

period down to the uncovering of a synagogue mosaic in kibbutz Bet Alpha

from the Talmudic period during the 5th to 6th centuries A.D., 100 years

before the Arab conquest. Although the ancient walls and shards are proof

of an ancestral home Kovner relates to their importance only peripherally,

for his primary motivation for returning to the Galilee is to focus purely on

painting, capturing the effects of light on land and water in a climate that was

neither desert nor Mediterranean. Being who he is, the place also signified

the Jewish people's return to Eretz Yisrael in the 20th century and the

reclamation of the land by Zionist pioneers. So strong are his convictions

that on two pictures he has scrawled the phrase Lu Yeh'he, Lu Yeh'he, taken

from a popular Hebrew song (If Only, If Only...) identified with a concept of

hope and of resurrecting past achievements as a beacon for the present and

future.

From numerous visits to Kibbutz Bet Alpha, home to his wife’s family,

Kovner was quite familiar with the region, yet managed to retain a romantic

relationship with its history as well as its geographic surroundings as if he had

confronted it for the first time. Kovner was captivated by several views close

to Bet Shean and their scope for atmospheric picture making, an emotional

attachment that resulted in the creation of some two-dozen canvases painted

in 2000-2001.

Kovner's journeys to the Bet Shean Valley landed him each time facing one

of two vistas. It was either at Kibbutz Hamadia or Kibbutz Maoz Chaim, both

looking eastwards towards the mountains of Gilad in Jordan. He chose his

valley landscapes for the pleasing confluence of their basic elements of land,

water and sky representing a flat opaque foreground, a placid reservoir (fish

pond) in the middle ground and a solid mountain range topped by sky in the

background. He has thoroughly captured the individual and collective

characteristics of these three elements from several angles with a

consideration for seasonal differences and times of day.

This major group of oil paintings is epitomized by Kovner's translation of

light, its psychological temperament and its reflective powers. Characterized

by a pastoral serenity with little to fear from man or beast, Kovner makes sure

not to be over zealous in his poetic analysis of this idyllic Eden. He prefers to

describe the countryside with decisively brushed horizontal panels of color

blended with over-painted passages of subtle tonalities. He uses these broad

avenues of robust pigment to accommodate the extended patches of land

and sky as well as the intermittent details of trees and scrub which quite often

bear a resemblance to Camille Corot's ush Italian landscapes from the late

1820s. By maintaining an alla prima candor throughout his Bet Shean

oeuvre, Kovner patently rejected an impressionist method of fragmenting

pigment to suggest the spontaneity of reflected light, a capricious

characteristic derived through a filtered prism he found difficult to adopt.

Upon visiting the Bet Shean area repeatedly over an extended period of

time one would be captivated by the significant color changes reflected by

the lofty Gilad Mountains. Depending on the season and time of day this flat

topped range, forming Jordan's natural western border with Israel, rejoices in

a wonderful sweep of a changing palette from translucent blue to dusky burnt

orange. Even the morning sun rising over its leveled plateau provide ample

light, albeit hazy, to delineate the deep, shadowy, chasms and shear cliffs of

its risky precipice.

By working outdoors and aiming at an accurate transcription of his subject,

Kovner's renderings and colors are naturalistic surveys that project the visual

sensations of his initial experience. If one were to compare his work to music

they would definitely identify with the intrepid registers of a Brahms

symphony more than the structured score for a Bach fugue or the muted

tones of a Debussy quartet. This correlation to romanticism relates to

Kovner's emotional reactions to his subject and his rejection of the purely

rational. And so his paintings of the mountains, grasslands and sky of the

Bet Shean Valley are the inevitable manifestations of his imaginative

powers over the intellect. With the exception of an occasional canvas, they

are the result of a decisive spiritual encounter and should not be confused

with interpretations based on an academic understanding of color, shape

and line.

Possible contradictions result when the viewer is confronted by dreamlike

violets, strawberry pinks and lemon yellow skies or a reddish-orange lake

providing nourishment for several wandering white cows. The point is that

Kovner paints the larger view and obscure details as he feels them and pays

chromatic homage to the singleness of their splendor.

The key to understanding Kovner's painterly approach is an understanding

of his descriptions of the body of water in each picture. Acting as a mediator,


195

Gil Goldfine

Mandarine Tree, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60

Cows, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60


194

Michael Kovner

Dina, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 60X40


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Gil Goldfine

the lake marks a horizontal axis separating the physical attributes of land and

sky while absorbing a variety of amorphous, rather vague reflections,

converting liquid into powdery translucent sheeting and solid ultramarine

plating. A mythological significance promotes the lake as a mirror, a

reflection of the soul. And to catch the golden fish is to understand the secret

of the spirit.

Two canvases of the same vista, with only marginal variations of pictorial

details, are idiosyncratic of the entire series. Each picture (p.164,165),

boasting its own seasonal and daily subtleties, is an image frozen in time,

a conceptual thumbprint of what one would expect of a bucolic valley

landscape. Through a series of angular breaks in the foreground's

waterside knoll the viewer enters a picture plane perforated by vertical

strokes depicting scattered foliage and undergrowth initiated by small

flowers and green scrub and concluded with a linear formation of two trees

that propels one's vision from the glassy surface of the pond to the

multi-hued mountains in the background.

Later on, the midday sun blanches the green valley into a diluted shadow

of its earlier richness. And as the sun does an about face in the late afternoon

the placid surface of the pond takes on an impenetrable indigo color

encircled by an interlocking pattern of dense purple, olive, Naples yellow and

a spectrum of greens.

Kovner created a few isolated canvases that drift from the typical Bet Shean

parameters. Within this group "View from Hamadia, Nightfall"(p.166), is a

remarkable presentation of the subject in which Kovner reversed his

dedicated range of local colors and focussed on an expressionist palette. Still

painting from nature, however, Kovner witnessed a change in the light one

evening that transformed the truth into an explosion of rainbow proportions

resulting in an orange-pink lake, violet trees outlined in striking turquoise,

plum colored mountains and an olive green sky harboring several gray

clouds. These broadly brushed shapes are disrupted by two immobile cows

drinking at the lakeside, illuminated by an apparent moonbeam striking their

backs and a stand of trees on the far shore casting their shadows into the

water's creamy surface. By reducing the landscape to three or four major

shapes, and seeking to maintain an harmonious balance of the color

intensities, Kovner has created a special painting that hovers somewhere

between a Milton Avery landscape and a Mark Rothko abstraction.

Kovner's final work at Bet Shean, created in early summer of 2001, is a

group of six square format paintings that are actually trio of diptychs

assembled one on top of each other. Each pair describes a detailed portion

of the Hamadia landscape and its reflection in the pond. This striking sextet

is a Kovner tour de force for he has expended all his energies and responses

of the past two years into these panels. And more than ever he has taken

licenses that untill these works were kept at a minimum.

Two of the three upper paintings zoom in on a dense crop of trees that take

on monumental proportions - evergreens spreading their spidery boughs and

leaves like an umbrella over the lake and landscape. Kovner's appetite for

understanding the intrinsic attributes of natural phenomena has led him to

describe the slightest anomaly with the same penetrating eye. And so the

shimmering reflections of the trees and sky in the lake portions of the

diptychs, are complemented by an mixture of abstract swipes and splashes

of color that suggest rather than specify a school of fish, birds and a bolt of

yellow sun framing two ducks idling by.

Even at the beginning of the 21st century a figurative landscape painter will

find it nearly impossible to reject absolutely the impressionist theories and

modes of expressing light and atmospheric conditions. Although Kovner

subliminally garnered inspiration from Claude Monet's watery passages

painted at Giverny there is little doubt that the echoes of Philip Guston's

abstractions from the early 1960s still reverberate in his palette and the

technique of applying paint. In his interpretation of the lake Kovner's fusion of

dappled rhythmic shapes with scruffy rectangular patches of azure blue,

violet, olive, ultramarine and black, layered over a scrubbed ground of

calamine and beige eeriely approximates the mannerism in Guston's canvas

"The Three" painted in 19642.

What makes these diptychs very special is their duality of purpose, their

independence and interdependence. Chromatically, compositionally and

most important spiritually, they attain an ideal harmony as three groups of

two or of six individual pictures. There are times when Kovner frees himself

from "anecdotal story" lines and optical truths, and devotes himself to the

pure values of painting and the emotional sensations of sight. Art for art's

sake! As his parting shot to Bet Shean Kovner has created one of his most

unique and remarkable assessments of nature in his more than two decades

as a dedicated landscape painter.

New York (Pages 170-176)

At the beginning of 2000, in the midst of his treks to Bet Shean, Kovner

decided to take up an offer by friends to share a studio in New York. Kovner's

return to the Big Apple was planned for a stay of three months a year in two

installments. He arranged with his close colleagues Jan Rawchwerger, Zvi

Lachman and Ofer Lellouche to lease a studio on an annual basis in the

industrial area of Queens, a section of the city crammed with underused and

derelict warehouses, trade and commercial buildings, with a scant view of the

East River. Clearly visible is the fortress-like profile of midtown Manhattan on

the opposite shore. The physical layout and interior peculiarities of the studio

provided Kovner with a number of alternate observational positions; points of

departure for recording diverse views of the immediate environment touched

by the cityscape beyond. Facing this line of sturdy structures, typifying a

robust way of life in an urban setting, granted him an ideal perspective to

reflect on the significance of labor and a respect for physical work as a

rationale for funneling man's energy into meaningful activity. Essentially it

was an opportunity to equate the concepts inherent in his earlier agrarian

socialist milieu in Israel with a corresponding urban climate. It was also a time

to reacquaint himself with the city where he first applied pigment to canvas

28 years before.

An important characteristic of the studio was a large "picture" window.

Through scores of small panes, each held in place by thin metal mullions, it

provided a direct panoramic view of Long Island City with Manhattan in the

distance. Several panels, either broken or replaced with plastic or vinyl,

created atypical and often bizarre reflections of light. Or when missing


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Michael Kovner

completely the empty rectangle provided Kovner with a peek into the

harshness of the real world unfiltered by the aberrations of a glass curtain.

Because of this specific architectural feature Kovner's paintings of the first

season were a mixture of either quasi-abstract compositions or clearly defined

interpretations of the city. Like a camera with a variable zoom lens, his brush

would shift easily from painting a detailed frontal narration of the great

commercial warehouses and office blocks facing him, to close-up modeling of

pure light smacking the window panes at different times of the day.

Isolating the City Bank tower and graphically "playing" with its Gulliverian

dimensions was a visual anchor and device that he would repeat itself in

several canvases. As an architectural mammoth it controlled Kovner's long

distance view and, because of its size, he was able to be selective in what

he chose to illustrate. At times, opting for the prerogative of a creative

observer he ignored its presence totally. Picking up reflections from the sky

and greenish tones from the river, the City Bank building became at once an

inflated blue rectangle of Hollywood horror movie proportions or modified into

a cluster of sparkling rectangles oscillating between rich ultramarine, sky

blue, turquoise and transparent powdery blue tints identifying with the

pictorial grammar of Paul Klee's decorative miniatures.

To concentrate on the inanimate brutality of concrete, steel and glass was

to neglect the humanistic factor critical in Kovner's oeuvre from his earliest

attempts. In order to maintain a grip on the element of flesh and blood,

without necessitating the inclusion of a figurative narrative, Kovner positioned

fruit, usually a pair of lemons, on a thin foreground plank as a metaphor for

the coming together of two souls in an unfamiliar place. To complicate the

issue, their proximity to each other, as peel kisses peel, is extremely

suggestive and could connote an allusion to the artist's libidinal desires or as

a note of deep melancholia.

A similar manifestation appears in Kovner's seminal painting from 1994,

"Pensive Child" (p.117). Prodded by Balthusian sensuality, a flimsily dressed,

pre-pubescent girl probes her conflicts and tensions between childhood and

maturity. In this subdued and contemplative portrait, Kovner sees her as

angelic, illuminated by crackled rays of light transmitted by the reflection of a

cover from a pedestrian canister. Her search is not only broadened but made

implicit by several lemons Kovner has placed before her, his erotic reference

to fruit nurtured by the warm sun - round, firm, ripe and temporarily sealed -

yet alive and brimming with piquant juices.

From another vantagepoint the lemons refer to a popular fruit of the

Mediterranean basin - home for Kovner - and its characteristic bouquet,

beautifully described by Lawrence Durrell in "Bitter Lemons," his lyrical book

about life in Cyprus.

The sterile windowsill with the up-front protective panel of foreground

light, appears in just about every one of Kovner's "Queenscapes," and

invariably holds subject matter of a symbolic or allegorical nature. After the

lemons comes a still life consisting of a vase and two organically shaped

glasses of varying sizes, upright and detached from one another while

their colors echo the cropped blue rectangle of the City Bank skyscraper

behind them. This mini still life is Kovner's coded message describing his

contemplation of family and, similar to the lemon, an indication of his

attachment to home. Yet, a disparity arises when one becomes aware that

the drawing promotes a striking ambivalence in the interrelationship of the

pieces. The objects are not imbued with anthropomorphic images as one

might expect to observe in a painting of kitchenware doing a jig by Yosl

Bergner or with the intimacy of solemn objects in a Morandi composition,

but marked by a cool palette of resolute steel and glass amplified by their

disregard for each other's presence.

Painting Light and Air

Most, but not all, of Kovner's New York studio canvases are interior-exterior

compositions close in character to those painters whom Kovner appreciates

including Pierre Bonnard and contemporary Israeli artist Liliane Klapisch.

Early morning hours in the studio provided Kovner with a mottled light

source where only traces of the world outside could be discerned. What is

visible is a syncopation of reflected, refracted and absorbed light hitting the

variegated transparent surface of the small windowpanes. The canvases that

resulted from Kovner's exposure to this phenomenon, "Cubist

window"(p.173) and "Sunrise Through the Window"(p.173) for example, are

exercises in the chromatic balancing of scrubbing and dappling pigment

(Naples yellow, burnt orange and a myriad blending of pastel tints) that

attempt to define light in its purest painterly form.

As the day progressed and the sun moved overhead and westward,

Kovner was faced with the challenge of recording the aggregate of

buildings, elevated trains and billboards in close proximity to the studio.

Unlike his selective compositions of the City Bank building the results were

composite assessments of the city. Using a painterly manner that

combined a graceful cross-brushing of local color he achieved the illusions

of billowing clouds (that echoed a mannerism adopted by Alfred Sisley in

his perception of sky in paintings at Marley-le-Roi and Sevres around

(1875)21 hovering over a complex arrangement of flattened interlocking

geometric panels describing the architectural subject. The harsh

distinctions Kovner makes between his techniques of applying pigment

coupled with a biting variance in color densities are surprisingly tolerable.

There is no visible contradiction or painterly hyperbole in his decision to

combine overt expressive passages with analytical ones. He favors neither

Impressionist doctrine nor the canon of sfumato realism. What he does

demand of himself is the prompting of a gnawing search for natural beauty

that lies beneath the outer shell of his subject matter, and an ability to

translate that beauty in personal artistic truths.

But standing true to his colors, Kovner was unwilling to include individuals,

figures or groups of people as an artifice for stacking his landscapes with an

emotional or social dimension. To this end we are presented with - to

paraphrase Robert Hughes, a city as condenser of loneliness - silent,

dramatic and decidedly urban views whose allure reflects the Hopperian

idiom without affectation or unnecessary emotional nuance. Kovner carves

the city streets, roofs and waterways with a direct demarcation of color and

shape that is singularly striking. Conscious attempts to echo the American

master's descriptions of a metropolitan genre are created through a

poeticized manifestation of light and shadow in a non-precisionist

architectural framework. But because Kovner's paintings are medium to long


191

Gil Goldfine

Musrara, Etching, 20x50

views the inclusion of a human presence, considered an essential element in

Hopper's art, is not only impossible but also unnecessary. In this respect,

Kovner has absorbed and regurgitated a mannerism comparable to his

Jerusalem landscapes.

Several interior-exterior compositions are contained within a distinct

vertical format suggesting that Kovner's subject is the window's physical

features not its employment as a transparent proscenium. What transpires

is a search for abstract, non- narrative qualities rather than the reproduction

of a horizontal skyline. This convention is as old as the history of art itself,

and practiced by Richard Diebenkorn in his last panels of deconstructed

landscapes and cityscapes.


Closing the First Quarter of a Century

It would be difficult to find a declaration that clarifies Michael Kovner's oeuvre more than Harold Rosenberg's statement that

"Art lives by contradicting its immediate past." After each period of his painterly life Kovner has looked back with a critical

eye and, depending on what he observed, moved energetically ahead by challenging his own "immediate past" and by not

embracing the work of others as his standard.

For more than two decades Kovner has immersed himself in a study of his milieu: Kibbutz Ein Hachoresh, Jerusalem, Tel

Aviv, Jaffa, Bet Shean and New York. He has used his brush and palette to create visual assessments of the physical world

he confronted driven by an emotional pulse that often raced in "passionate" time. Through various life experiences that have

ignited spark after spark, he has explored the manifold conflicts inherent in abstract and representational painting; the

desert as a chromatic carpet; Arab culture by way of architecture; Jerusalem, the schizophrenic capital cloaked in natural

and political garb; society via playtime; family and the woman as a portrait; the lake as a mirror of time and place. And more

recently, New York, an escapist capital that has granted him breathing time and an injection of the pictorial stuff needed to

move forward.

The Al Aksa Intifada,begining in October, 2000, has been raging for well over a year. It has been and, according to political

pundits, will continue for months to come. A time of stress and political uncertainty and dominated by a fear for one's own

mortality the harbinger of death lies concealed around every corner. For both the individual and the larger community,

getting through the simplest tasks leads to the inevitable – doubt and concern for this troubled region.

In defiance of the situation and with his usual reticence, Kovner has clearly created some of his strongest paintings to date

during the past year. Notably, his Bet Shean canvases are courageous personal statements that transcend the

representational peculiarities of a landscape. The physical descriptions of noble trees and immutable lakes, mountains and

variegated valleys are the natural foundations upon which Kovner propells art into life and proclaims that this is my land,

my history, my future - and most important, this is my internal as well as external landscape.

Kovner is convinced that art lacking integrity and candor is destined to fall into surface banality. To sustain this belief he

adopted long ago a code of action that required him to investigate and explore the true nature of subject matter before

embarking on a voyage to transform its physical attributes into an artistic dimension. As a consequence, Kovner's canvases

rarely acquired a sense of spontaneous perception. Time and place were never treated as ambient factors but elements

that required his utmost attention and reflection. Today, like yesterday and undoubtedly tomorrow, Kovner's determination

to drink from the source will continue to provide him with the spiritual nourishment that has established him as one of Israel's

pre-eminent figurative painters.

Man is a mold of his country's landscape.Shaul Tchernikovsky

190

Michael Kovner


189

References

1. Rosenberg, Harold, Art on the Edge, Martin Secker & Warburg Ltd, London, 19762. Feld, Ross and Hopkins, Henry T., Philip Guston, George Braziller, New York, 19803. Selz, Peter, Max Beckmann, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 19644. Zucker, Paul, Styles in Painting, A Comparative Study, Dover Publications, New York, 19635. Goldfine, Gil, Jerusalem Post, May, 19806. Sgan-Cohen, Michael, Michael Kovner, Bineth Gallery, Israel, 19957. Prather, Marla and Stuckey, Charles F, eds., Gauguin: A Retrospective, Park Lane Publishers, New York, 19898. Greenberg, Clement, Art and Culture, S.J. Reginald Saunders Company, Toronto, 19619. Maor, Haim, Landscapes of the Soal, Hotam, March, 1988

10. Ginton, Ellen and Zalmona Yigal, Fresh Paint, TAMA and Israel Museum, 198811. Levine, Angela. Jerusalem Post, January, 199012. Hughes, Robert, Nothing if Not Critical: Selected Essays on Art and Artists, Penguin Books, 199213. Levin, Gail, Edward Hopper: The Art and the Artist, W.W. Norton & Co., New York and London, 198014. Far, Isabella, De Chirico, Harry N. Abrams Inc., New York, 196815. Gibson, Michael Francis, International Herald Tribune, March, 200116. Gibson, Michael Francis, The Mill and the Cross, Editions Acatos, Lausanne, 200017. Sotheby’s, International and Israeli Art, Catalogue, April, 200118. Reff, Theodore et al., Cezanne: The Late Works, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 197719. Leymaire, Jean, Braque, Skira, 196120. Gowing, Lawrence, Turner: Imagination and Reality, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 196621. Stevens, MaryAnne, ed., Alfred Sisley, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1992

Additional Bibliography

Fischer, Yona, From Landscape to Abstraction-From Abstraction to Nature, Israel Museum, 1972Foundation Beyeler Basel, Catalog, Prestel, 1997Freeman, Judy et al, The Fauve Landscape, Abbeville Press, New York, 1990Hughes, Robert, American Visions: The Epic History of Art in America, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1997Milton Avery, The Late Paintings, Harry N. Abrams Inc., New York, 2001Morphet, Richard, Encounters, National Gallery, London, 2000Rubin, William S., Dada, Surrealism and Their Heritage, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1968The Art of Richard Diebenkorn, California, Whitney Museum, 1997

Gil Goldfine


188

Daphna sitting, Drawing,Pencil on paper, 70x50

Michael Kovner


187

Biographical Notes

1948 Born in Hadera, Israel, to Abba and Vitka Kovner. Raised on Kibbutz(collective settlement) Ein-HaChoresh.

1954-1966 Elementary and Secondary Education on Kibbutz Ein-HaChoresh.

1955 Accompanies Vitka, his mother, on a trip to Europe to meet his father who wasabsent from Israel for a year. A seven year old boy discovers the world of art.

1958 A birthday gift of oil paints and an art lesson from his father jump starts anartistic career.

1964-1965 Studies painting with artist Yochanan Simon in Herzliya (a coastal town northof Tel-Aviv).

1966-1967 Following High School graduation, works with youth groups outside theKibbutz.

1967 During the Six-Day War (June 1967) returns to the Kibbutz to take charge, withfellow Kibbutz youth, of all agricultural work while most of the Kibbutz adultsare mobilized for the war.

1967-1970 Military service in an elite army unit.

1970 Following military service travels to the USA with army buddies. Following avisit with family friends in Los Angeles, California, makes a crucial decision topursue art as a vocation and to take up his studies in New York rather than inIsrael.

1970 Meets Mimi Makover, his future bride.

1971 Works as a security guard for Arkia Airlines while studying in evening classes atthe Avni Institute.

1972-1975 Studies at the New York Studio School. Influenced by the teachings of PhilipGuston, Jack Tworkow and Mercedes Mattar.

1973 Returns to Israel for the Yom Kippur War (October-December 1973).

1974 Despite the terrible loss of many friends during the war, comes to the painfuldecision to return to his studies at the New York Studio School, and with otheradvanced students under the guidance of a talented young painter, StevenSloman, forms a group that works independently, often in the countryside or atthe seashore, critiquing each other’s work.

1975 Returns with Mimi to Israel (via Spain, Southern France, and Italy) and embarkson a life of an artist, albeit not yet fully formulated.

kovner/Nitsa new pp 178-187 4/21/13 6:22 PM Page 10

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Mounts first exhibition of his New York works at the Jerusalem Artists’ House.

Joins Bezalel Academy of Art and Design as an art instructor, and theAmerican-Israel Cultural Foundation scholarship committee.

1976 Marries Mimi Makover. Jointly decide to make Jerusalem their permanenthome.

1977 First child is born — a son, Amikam.

Studies Judaism with Rabbi David Hartman at the Shalom Hartman Institute inJerusalem.

1978-1980 Explores new artistic directions with a series of bird’s-eye-view landscapespainted from aerial photographs, and desert vistas painted in the outdoors.Begins his relationship with the Bineth Gallery in Tel-Aviv. Mounts twosuccessful shows at the Gallery — desert paintings and an exhibition ofdrawings.

1981 A second son is born, named Nimrod.

Bineth Gallery exhibits a new series, “Houses in Gaza”.

Exhibits in the Tel-Aviv Museum group show “Turning Point”.

The Israel Museum in Jerusalem acquires a painting “House Painted withFlowers” for its collection.

1982-1984 Inspired by his two sons playing with the Lego building blocks, exhibits his“Lego” series at Tel-Aviv’s Gordon Gallery. Bineth Gallery refuses the Legoseries and terminates its relation with Kovner.

1985 Returns to Bineth Gallery in Tel-Aviv with an exhibition of his portraits of wifeMimi and friend Michal.

1986 Expands from his tiny studio in family residence into a more spacious work areain Jerusalem’s north eastern neighborhood of Pisgat Zeev.

1988 Exhibits at Bineth Gallery his series “Jerusalem Hills”. First major initiative ofpainting directly in nature.

1990 Exhibits at Bineth Gallery his follow-up series “Jerusalem Scenes”.

Acquires a small two-room apartment in the Katamonim section of Jerusalemfor a permanent studio space.


185

1992 Exhibits at Bineth Gallery “A Girl in a Room”, painting his son’s youngadolescent girl-friend.

1994 Returns to landscape painting. Develops close friendship with artist JanRauchwerger. Touring together in Romania along with sculptor Zvi Lachman.Continues with Jan to London and then to Holland to view the Cezanne andVermeer exhibits.

1987-1994 During this period is strongly effected by several family related tragedies,including the death of his father, poet Abba Kovner. He is thus preoccupiedwith death, which is fully explored in a series of paintings titled “Sataf” that havenever been exhibited.

1995 Bineth Gallery mounts an exhibition “End of ’95”, an exploration of the BeitShean Valley — its reservoirs, fishponds, birds and cows.

Publishes a large catalogue of works, 1985-1995.

1996-1997 Exhibitions in New York, Washington D.C. and in New Haven, Connecticut.

1998 Together with artist friend Jan Rauchwerger paints the port of Ashdod. Thepaintings are exhibited in Museums in Haifa and Ashdod.

1999-2000 Paints the golden landscape of his childhood at Kibbutz Ein-HaChoresh —orchards, haystacks and cows.

Exhibition at the Bineth Gallery is titled “Just Another Day”. Concurrentexhibits of these works are shown in Jerusalem and Tel-Aviv.

2000 D.K. GraubArt Publishers Ltd., Jerusalem publishes “Portscapes” and puts outa limited edition of etchings “Port”, interlaced with Hebrew poems aboutseaports.

2000-2001 Returns to the Beit Shean Valley; deals with the relationship between water andsky, and paints the fish ponds and reservoirs in a series entitled “Lakes”.

Jan Rauchwerger asks Kovner to share a studio in New York City, where he nowworks for three months each year.

2002 Meir Ahronson, curator of The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan, suggests anexhibit of all works entitled “Landscape”.


One-Man Exhibitions

1975 “Paintings from New-York”, Artist’s House, Jerusalem

1978 “Landscape Drawings: A Bird’s Eye View”, Bineth Gallery,

Tel-Aviv

1979 “Desert”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

1981 “Houses in Gaza”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

1983 “Images”: Paintings according to “Lego”, Gordon Gallery,

Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

1985 “Meet an Israeli Artist”, Israel Museum, Jerusalem

“Portraits”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

1988 “Landscapes”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

1990 “Jerusalem Scenes”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

1992 “A Girl in a Room”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

1995 “End of 1995”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

1996 “Eretz”, N.A.F.I. Gallery, New York

1997 “Eretz”, Yale University, New Haven

1998 “Eretz — Landscapes of Israel”, Ann Loeb Bronfman

Gallery, Washington, DC, co-sponsored by the Embassy of

Israel for the 50th anniversary of the State of Israel

1998 “Port”, Haifa Museum, Ashdod Museum (catalogue)

2000 “Orchards”, Artspace, Jerusalem

“Haystacks”, Bineth Gallery, Tel Aviv

2001 “The Human Side”, The David Yellin College of

Education, Jerusalem

2002 “Journey 1978-2002”, The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat

Gan (book)

Collections

Jewish Museum, New York

Israel Museum, Jerusalem

Tel Aviv Museum of Art

Haifa Museum

The Open Museum, Tefen

The President’s Residence, Jerusalem

Fellowships

1984 Awarded fellowship to study in New York by the

American-Israeli Cultural Foundation.

Group Exhibitions

1981 “Israeli Prints from the Burston Graphic Center”, The

Israel Museum, Jerusalem (catalogue)

1981 “A Turning Point”, Twelve Israeli Artists, Tel-Aviv

Museum of Art, Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

1983 “The Negev in Israeli Art”, Ben Gurion University of the

Negev (catalogue)

1987 “Towards a New Realism”, The Ashdot-Ya’acov Museum,

Kibbutz Ashdot -Ya’acov (catalogue)

1988 “Fresh Paint”, the Younger Generation in Israeli Art,

Tel-Aviv Museum of Art, Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

1991 “Mountains Round About”, Jerusalem in Israeli

Printmaking from the Seventies and the Eighties,

Exhibition sponsored by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs

and the Ministry of Education and Culture (catalogue)

1992 “Tribute to Ayala Zacks”, Israel Museum, Jerusalem

1994 “The Printer’s Imprint”, Twenty Years of the Jerusalem

Print Workshop, The Israel Museum, Jerusalem

(catalogue)

1995 “Autumn Gallery”, The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat-Gan

1996-7 “The Jewish Continuity”, Jewish Museum, New York

1997 “Landscapes”, The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat-Gan

1998 “50/50” — Fifty Israeli Artists for Israel’s Fiftieth

Anniversary, Jewish Museum, San Francisco

2001 “Collection +”, The Israel Museum, Jerusalem

2001 “Drawing Aspects in Print”, Jerusalem Artists House,

Jerusalem

Public Works

Mural — “Denmark” High School in Jerusalem, oil on wood,

3.4 x 5 m., 1979

Mural — Electric Company, Jerusalem, Painting on ceramic tiles,

6 x 4 m., 1997

Mural — Beit-Ha’Oved, Haifa, Painting on ceramic tiles, 2.5 x 20 m.,

1998

Selected Exhibitions

184


Bibliography

Articles and ReviewMeir Ronen, Jerusalem Post, 9 January 1976.Gil Goldfine, “Israeli Situation”, Jerusalem Post, 23 May 1980.Gil Goldfine, “Of time and place”, Jerusalem Post, 13 November

1981.Gil Goldfine, “Story versus art”, Jerusalem Post, 22 April 1983.Gil Goldfine, “Kovner’s women”, Jerusalem Post, 29 November

1985.Gil Goldfine, “Painter’s painter”, Jerusalem Post, March 1988.Angela Levine, “Elegic Landscape”, Jerusalem Post, September

1989.Gil Goldfine, “Two sides of Jerusalem”, Jerusalem Post, 2 March

1990.Gil Goldfine, “Group love”, Jerusalem Post, 1 June 1990.Gil Goldfine, “Mirror, mirror on the flock”, Jerusalem Post, 3 July

1992.

Angela Levine, “Cathedrals of the 20th century”, Jerusalem Post,13 October 1995.

Julia Dahl, New Haven Advocate, 12 June 1997.Aviva Kampner, “Coloring Israel in her golden year”, Washington

Jewish Week, 9 April 1998.Angela Levin, Jerusalem Post, 24 July 1998.Le Monde Diplomatique, German Edition, Berlin, January 2002.

BooksThe Jewish Spirit – A Celebration in Stories & Art, edited by

Ellen Frankel, published by Stewart, Tabori & Chang, NewYork 1997, pp. 122, 127.

Yair Mazor, Asher Reich: Portrait of a Hebrew Poet (withworks of art by Michael Kovner), Univerity of WisconsinPress, Madison 2002.

183


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‰‰ÈÈ„„ÓÓ — ¢ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ‡˘Â ÏÚ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ¢CDÍÂÈÁ‰ „¯˘Ó ¨ÌÈ„ÏÈ ˙ÂÈÎÂ˙Ï Û‚‡‰ ¨

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— ¢˙ÂÓ‡Â ‰¯È˘ ÔÈ· ÁÈ˘–Â„¢CDÍÂÈÁ‰ „¯˘Ó ¨ÌÈ„ÏÈ ˙ÂÈÎÂ˙Ï Û‚‡‰ ¨

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182

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±ππ∂≠∑˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ¨È„Â‰È‰ ÔÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ‰ ¨¢˙È„Â‰È ˙ÂÈÎ˘Ó‰¢

±ππ∑˙ÈÏ‡¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‚ ˙Ó¯ ÔÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢ÌÈÙÂ¢

±ππ∏˙È„Ó Ï˘ ÌÈ˘ÈÓÁ‰ Ï·ÂÈ Ï‚¯Ï ÌÈÏ‡¯˘È ÌÈÓ‡ ÌÈ˘ÈÓÁ — ¢μ∞Øμ∞¢

Â˜ÒÈÒ¯Ù–ÔÒ ¨È„Â‰È‰ ÔÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ‰ ¨Ï‡¯˘È

≤∞∞±ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ï‡¯˘È ÔÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢´ ÛÒÂ‡¢

®‚ÂÏË˜© ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÌÈÓ‡‰ ˙È· ¨¢ÂÈ˘ÎÚ Ï‡¯˘È· ÌÂ˘È¯ — ÌÈÓ˘¯¢

˙̇ÂÂÈÈ¯̄ÂÂ··ÈÈˆ̂ ˙̇ÂÂ„„ÂÂ··ÚÚ

μ ¨ıÚ ÏÚ ÔÓ˘ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˜¯Ó„ ¯ÙÒ ˙È·· ¯È˜ ¯ÂÈˆx±π∑π ¨ßÓ ≥Æ¥∞

¥ ¨‰˜ÈÓ¯˜ ÈÁÈ¯‡ ÏÚ ¯ÂÈˆ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÏÓ˘Á‰ ˙¯·Á — È˙ÂÓ‡ ¯È˜x±ππ∑ ¨ßÓ ∂

≤∞ ¨‰˜ÈÓ¯˜ ÈÁÈ¯‡ ÏÚ ¯ÂÈˆ ¨‰ÙÈÁ ¨„·ÂÚ‰ ˙È· — È˙ÂÓ‡ ¯È˜x±ππ∏ ¨ßÓ ≤Æμ

ÌÌÈÈ˜̃ÚÚÓÓ

±π∏¥˙Â·¯˙Ï Ï‡¯˘È–‰˜È¯Ó‡ Ô¯˜ ÌÚËÓ Ï¢ÂÁ· ˙ÂÓÏ˙˘‰ ˜ÚÓ

181

˙Â¯Á· ˙ÂÎÂ¯Ú˙


±ππ≤˙˜ÒÂÚ ‰¯„Ò‰ Æ˜ÓÂÚÏ È˘Â‡‰ ÛÂ‚‰ ˙‡ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÔÁ· ¨‰Â˘‡¯Ï Æ˙¯‚·˙Ó ‰¯Ú ¨Â· ˙„È„È ˙‡ ¯ÈÈˆ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

Â‚ˆÂ‰ ˙Â„Â·Ú‰ Æ‰˙˘Ó‰ ‰˙ÂÓ„Ï ‰¯Ú‰ ÔÈ·Â ˙·Ï ·‡ ÔÈ· ¨Ï„ÂÓÏ ¯ÈÈˆ ÔÈ·˘ ÌÈ·Î¯ÂÓ‰ ÌÈÒÁÈ‰ ˙ÈÈ‚ÂÒ·

Æ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚·

±ππ¥Ì˙Â„È„È ÆÌÈ·ÂË ÌÈ„È„ÈÏ ÌÈÈ˘‰ ÂÎÙ‰ ÌÈ˘‰ ÌÚ Æ¯‚¯ÂÂÎÂ‡¯ Ô‡È ÔÓ‡· ˘‚ÙÂ ÛÂ ˙ÂÂÓ˙ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ·˘ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

˙‡ ˙Â‡¯Ï È„Î „ÏÂ‰ÏÂ ÔÂ„ÂÏÏ Ì‚ ÂÚÒ Ô‡ÈÂ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÆÔÓÁÏ È·ˆ ÏÒÙ‰ ÌÚ ‰ÈÓÂ¯Ï ÚÒÓ ˙Â·˜Ú· ‰˜ÊÁ˙‰

Æ¯ÈÓ¯ÂÂ Ô‡ÊÒ Ï˘ ˙ÂÎÂ¯Ú˙‰

±π∏∑≠±ππ¥Ï˘ ÂÈ·‡ — ‰ÁÙ˘Ó È·Â ÌÈ·Â¯˜ ÌÈ¯·Á Ï˘ ÌÈ„·Â‡ ÌÚÂ ÌÈÈ˘˜ ÌÚ ˙Â„„ÂÓ˙‰‰ ÔÓÈÒ· Â„ÓÚ ÂÏ‡ ÌÈ˘

¯˘‡ ¨Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÏÚ ÌÓÂ˘È¯ ˙‡ Â¯È˙Â‰ ÂÏ‡ ÏÎ Æ‰Ú˜·· Ï·ÁÓ ˙ÙÈ˜˙· ¯˜„ Ì˜ÈÓÚ Â·Â ¨ÂÓÏÂÚÏ ÍÏ‰ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

Æ‰‚ˆÂ‰ ‡Ï ÌÏÂÚÓ˘ ¨¢ÛËÒ‰¢ ˙Â¯ÈˆÈ‰ ˙¯„Ò· ˙ÂÂÓ‰ ˙Ï‡˘· ˜ÂÒÚÏ ‰·¯‰

±ππμÈˆÂÏÁ‰ ÌÂÏÁ‰ ·Ï — ¢˘Ù ÈÙÂ¢ — Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚ· ˙Â¯ÙÂ ÌÈ¯ÂÙÈˆ ¨ÌÈ‚„ ˙ÂÎÈ¯· ¨ÌÈÓ È¯‚‡Ó ¯ÈÈˆ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

Æ±ππμ ÛÂÒ· ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· Â‚ˆÂ‰ ˙Â„Â·Ú‰ ÆÈÓÈÓ Â˙˘‡ Ï˘ ‰˙Â„ÏÈ ÛÂ Ì‚Â ÈÂÈˆ‰

–Ô‚Ò Ï‡ÎÈÓ ˙‡Ó ÛÈ˜Ó ¯Ó‡Ó· ‰ÂÂÏ ‰Ê ‚ÂÏË˜ Æ±π∏μ≠±ππμ ÌÈ˘· ÂÈ˙Â„Â·ÚÏ ÒÁÈÈ˙‰˘ ‚ÂÏË˜ ¯Â‡Ï ‡ˆÈ

Æ±πππ ˙˘· ¯ËÙ ¯˘‡ — „È„ÈÂ ¯ÈÈˆ ¨·˘Á ˙ÂÓ‡ ¯˜ÂÁ — Ô‰Î

±ππ∂≠±ππ∑¨Ë˜ÈËÂ˜ ˙È„Ó·˘ Ô·ÈÈ‰–ÂÈ·Â ÔÂË‚È˘ÂÂ· ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· Ï‡ÎÈÓ Ï˘ ˙ÂÎÂ¯Ú˙ ˘ÂÏ˘ ÂÓÈÈ˜˙‰ ÂÏ‡ ÌÈ˘·

Æ·¢‰¯‡

±ππ∏ÌÈÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ· Ì‰È˙ÂÂÓ˙ Â‚ˆÂ‰ ˙‡Ê ˙Â·˜Ú·Â ¨‰ÙÈÁÂ „Â„˘‡ ÈÏÓ ˙‡ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ¯ÈÈˆ ¯‚¯ÂÂÎÂ‡¯ Ô‡È ÌÚ „ÁÈ

Æ„Â„˘‡·Â ‰ÙÈÁ·

ÌÚ ¨¯˙ÂÈ ÌÈÚ ‰„Â·Ú ÌÂ˜ÓÏ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ˙‡ ÂÎÙ‰ ¯Â‡‰Â ·Á¯Ó‰ ˙ÙÒÂ˙ ÆÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ˙‡ ·ÈÁ¯‰ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

ÆÂÈ¯ÂÈˆ ˙‡ ‚Èˆ‰Ï ¯˙ÂÈ ‰·ÂË ˙Â¯˘Ù‡

±πππ≠≤∞∞∞¨Â˙Â„Ú ÈÙ ÏÚ Æ˙Â¯ÙÂ ¯ÈˆÁ ˙ÂÓÈ¯Ú ¨ÌÈÒ„¯Ù — ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ıÂ·È˜· Â˙Â„ÏÈ Ï˘ ·‰Ê‰ ÈÓÈ ÛÂ ˙‡ ¯ÈÈˆ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

‡¯˜ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÆÁÈ¯‰ ˙˘ÂÁ˙·Â ÈÏ‡ÂÊÈÂÂ‰ ÈÂÓÈ„· ÂÈ¯ÂÈˆ ˙‡ ÔÈÚË‰Ï — ‰ÓÂ¯‡ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰Â˘‡¯Ï Â„È· ‰˙Ú ‰ÏÚ

Æ·È·‡–Ï˙·Â ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· ˙ÈÓÊ–Â· Â‚ˆÂ‰ ÂÈ˙Â„Â·Ú Æ¢ÏÂÁ Ï˘ ÌÂÈ Ì˙Ò¢ Ì˘· ÂÊ ÌÈÙÂ ˙ÎÂ¯Ú˙Ï

¯Â‡Ï ‡ˆÈ ˙ÈÓÊ–Â· ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ó¢Ú· ¯Â‡Ï ‰‡ˆÂ‰ Ë¯‡·Â‡¯‚ Æ˜Æ„ ˙‡ˆÂ‰· ¨¢ÏÓ ÈÙÂ¢ ¯ÙÒ‰ ¯Â‡Ï ‡ˆÈ

ÌÈÏÓ· ˙˜ÒÂÚ‰ ˙È¯·Ú ‰¯È˘· ˙·ÏÂ˘Ó ÌÈËÈ¯Á˙ ˙¯„Ò Â·Â ¨¢ÏÓ¢ Ì˘‰ ˙‡ ‡˘Â‰ ÌÈËÈ¯Á˙ ¯ÙÒ

Æ˙ÂÙÒ·Â

≤∞∞∞≠≤∞∞±ÌÈ¯‚‡Ó‰ ˙‡Â ÌÈ‚„‰ ˙ÂÎÈ¯· ˙‡ ¯ÈÈˆ ¨ÌÈÈÓ˘Ï ÌÈÓ ÔÈ· ÒÁÈ‰ ˙Ï‡˘· ˜ÒÚ ¨Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚÏ ¯ÊÁ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

Æ¢ÌÈÓ‚‡¢ ‰ÈÂ¯˜‰ ‰¯„Ò·

Æ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ‰˘· ÌÈ˘„ÂÁ ‰˘ÂÏ˘Î „·ÂÚ ‡Â‰ ÌÂÈÎÂ ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ÂÈ„ÂËÒÏ Û¯Ëˆ‰Ï ÂÓÓ ˘˜È· ¯‚¯ÂÂÎÂ‡¯ Ô‡È

≤∞∞≤˙Â˜ÒÂÚ‰ ÂÈ˙Â¯ÈˆÈ ˙‡ ‚Èˆ‰Ï Ï‡ÎÈÓÏ ÚÈˆ‰ ¨ÔÂÒÂ¯‰‡ ¯È‡Ó ¨˙ÈÏ‡¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‚ ˙Ó¯ ÔÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ ¯ˆÂ‡

Æ≤∞∞± „Ú ±π∑∏ ÌÈ˘‰Ó ¢ÛÂ‰¢ ‡˘Â·

180


±π∑μ¯˘‡· ‰¯Â¯· ‰ËÏÁ‰ Ï‡ÎÈÓ Ï·È˜ ¨®˙Ù¯ˆ–ÌÂ¯„Â ‰ÈÏËÈ‡ ¨„¯ÙÒ Í¯„© Ï‡¯˘ÈÏ Ï‡ÎÈÓÂ ÈÓÈÓ Ï˘ Ì·Â˘ ˙Ú·

Ï˘ ‰˙ÏÈÁ˙ ÂÊ ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ¨‰ËÏÁ‰‰ Û‡ ÏÚ Æ‡ˆÂÓ ‡ÏÏ Í¯„ Â¯Â·Ú ‰È‰ Ë˘ÙÂÓ‰ ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ∫˙È˙ÂÓ‡‰ ÂÎ¯„Ï

ÆÔÓ‡Î ˙È‡ÓˆÚ‰ ÂÎ¯„ ˙‡ ˘ÙÈÁ ‰ÎÏ‰Ó·˘ ¨ÌÈ˘ ˘ÂÏ˘ ‰Î˘Ó˘ ÌÈË·Ï ˙ÙÂ˜˙

‰ÈÓ„˜‡ — ¢Ï‡Ïˆ·¢· „ÓÏÏ ÔÓÊÂ‰ ‡Â‰ ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· ÌÈÓ‡‰–˙È·· ‰ÓÈÈ˜˙ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈÓ ÂÈ¯ÂÈˆ Ï˘ ‰ÎÂ¯Ú˙

Æ˙Â‚ÏÓ Ô˙ÓÏ ËÂÙÈ˘‰ ˙Â„ÚÂÂ· ¯·Á ˘Ó˘Ï ÂÓÓ ‰˘˜È· ˙Â·¯˙Ï Ï‡¯˘È–‰˜È¯Ó‡ Ô¯˜ Æ·ÂˆÈÚÂ ˙ÂÓ‡Ï

±π∑∂≠±π∑∑‰˙Â‡ ÍÏ‰Ó· ÆÌ˜ÈÓÚ ¯ÂÎ·‰ Ì· „ÏÂ ÔÎÓ ¯Á‡Ï ‰˘Î ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· Ì˙È· ˙‡ ÂÚ·˜Â Â‡˘È ÈÓÈÓÂ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

ÆÔÓË¯‰ „ÈÂ„ ·¯‰ ÌÚ ˙Â„‰È È„ÂÓÈÏ· Ï‡ÎÈÓ Ú˜˘ ‰ÙÂ˜˙

±π∑∏≠±π∏∞¯ÈÂÂ‡ ÈÓÂÏˆ˙ ˙‡¯˘‰· ¯ÈÈˆ Ì˙Â‡ ¨¯ÂÙÈˆ‰ Ë·ÓÓ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ Ï˘ ‰¯„Ò· ÌÈ˘„Á ‰¯ÈˆÈ ÈÂÂÈÎ ÔÁ· Ï‡ÎÈÓ

¨˙ÒÒÂ·Ó ‰È¯Ï‚ ÈÏÚ· ¨ËÈ· È„Â¯Â „Â„ ÆÌ‚Èˆ‰Ï ËÈÏÁ‰ ‡Â‰Â ¨˜ÂÙÈÒ Ï˘ ‰„ÈÓ Â· ÂÚË ÂÈ‚˘È‰ Æ‡·ˆ· ‰‡¯˘

Â¯Á· Ì‰ ÆÌÈ¯ÈÚˆ ÌÈÓ‡ ¯Á‡ Â¯˙Â ¨Ò˜Ù ‰·Â‰‡ ÌÚ ˙ÂÙ˙Â˘· ¨·È·‡–Ï˙· ‰È¯Ï‚‰ ˙·Á¯‰ ÈÙ· Â„ÓÚ

˙ÎÂ¯Ú˙Â ¢ÏÚ Ë·Ó· ¯·„Ó ÈÙÂ¢ ˙ÎÂ¯Ú˙ ∫ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ ˙ÂÎÂ¯Ú˙ È˙˘ ÂÏ ÂÎ¯ÚÂ ‰È¯Ï‚‰ È¯ÈÈˆÓ „Á‡Î Ï‡ÎÈÓ·

ÆÌÈÓÂ˘È¯

±π∏±Û¯ˆÏ ˘˜·˙ Ï‡ÎÈÓ Æ¢‰ÊÚ· ÌÈ˙·¢ — ÂÏ˘Ó ‰˘„Á ‰¯„Ò ‰‚Èˆ‰ ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚ Æ„Â¯ÓÈ ¨È˘‰ Â· „ÏÂ

‰˙‡¯ ¨‚¯·ËÈÈ¯· ‰¯˘ ¨‰ÎÂ¯Ú˙‰ ˙¯ˆÂ‡ Æ·È·‡–Ï˙ ÔÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ· ‰ÓÈÈ˜˙‰˘ ¢˙¯Á‡ ÁÂ¯¢ ˙ÎÂ¯Ú˙Ï ˙ÂÂÓ˙

ÂÙÒÂ‡Ï ˘Î¯ ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· Ï‡¯˘È ÔÂ‡ÈÊÂÓ Æ˙ÈÏ‡¯˘È‰ ˙ÂÓ‡‰ „È˙Ú· ÌÈÓ˙ÒÓ‰ ÌÈÂÂÈÎ‰ „Á‡ ˙‡ Â˙„Â·Ú·

Æ‰¯„Ò‰Ó ‰ÂÓ˙

±π∏≤≠±π∏¥ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ ˙¯„Ò Ï‡ÎÈÓ ‚Èˆ‰ ¨®ÌÈ¯Â‚Ó‰–¯„Á ÁË˘·Â© ÂÈ· ÈÈÁ· „·Î ÌÂ˜Ó ÂÒÙ˙˘ ¨Â‚Ï‰ ˙ÂÈ·Â˜ ˙‡¯˘‰·

Æ¯·Â˜ ÌÚ ‰˙Â¯˘˜˙‰ ‰ÓÈÈ˙Ò ‰Ê ·Ï˘·Â ¨Ì˙Â‡ ‚Èˆ‰Ï ‰·¯Ò ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚ Æ·È·‡–Ï˙· ¢ÔÂ„¯Â‚ ‰È¯Ï‚¢·

±π∏¥˙ÂÚ„ÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÁÂÏ ˙‡¯˘‰· ¨ÌÈ„ÓÓ ÈÏÂ„‚ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ ˙¯„Ò ÌÚ ¯ÊÁ Ì˘Ó ¨Ï¢ÂÁ· ÌÈ„ÂÓÈÏ ˙‚ÏÓÏ ‰ÎÊ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

ÆÌÏÂÚÓ ‰‚ˆÂ‰ ‡Ï ‰¯„Ò‰ Æ„ÂÂÈÏÂ‰ Ï˘

±π∏μ˙ÈˆÁÓÎ ÆÏÎÈÓÂ ÈÓÈÓ Ï˘ ÌÈË¯Ë¯ÂÙ‰ ˙ÎÂ¯Ú˙ ˙‡ ‰‚Èˆ‰ ®¯˘˜‰ ˙‡ ˘„ÈÁÂ ·˘ ‰ÓÚ© ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚

ÆÚ·Ë‰ ÔÓ ˙ÂÂÓ˙ ¯ÈÈˆÏ Â˙Â‡ ‰ÚÈ‰Â ‰·˘ ÂÊ ‰¯„Ò ÆÛÂÒ‰ „ÚÂ ‰ÏÈÁ˙Ó ¨Ï„ÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÁÎÂ· Â¯ÈÂˆ ÌÈË¯Ë¯ÂÙ‰

±π∏∂≠±π∏∏¯ÈÈˆÏ ÏÁ‰Â ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È Ï˘ ÈÁ¯ÊÓ–ÔÂÙˆ‰ ˜ÏÁ· ÂÈ„ÂËÒ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ¯Î˘ ¨Â˙È· ¯„Á· ‰„Â·Ú Ï˘ ÌÈ˘ ¯˘Ú ¯Á‡Ï

ÁË˘Ï ‡ˆÈ — ÛÂ ¯ÂÈˆ Ï˘ ˙ÈÒ‡Ï˜‰ ˙¯ÂÒÓ‰ ÈÙ ÏÚ „·Ú ‡Â‰ Æ‰È˙Â·È·ÒÂ ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È Ï˘ ÌÈÏÂ„‚ ÌÈ„·

Æ‰„Â‰È È¯‰ ˙Â‡¯Ó ˙‡ ÁÈˆ‰Â

±π∏∏Æ·È·‡–Ï˙· ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È È¯ÂÈˆ Ï˘ ‰ÎÂ¯Ú˙ ‚Èˆ‰

±ππ∞Í‡ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ‡˘Â ˙‡ ‰ÎÈ˘ÓÓ ˙‡Ê ‰¯„Ò Æ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· ¢ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˙Â‡¯Ó¢ ‰‡¯˜˘ ‰ÎÂ¯Ú˙ ‚Èˆ‰

Æ˙¯Á‡ ˙Â‡¯ ˙„Â˜Ó

‰˜ÂˆÓ ˙ÂÎ˘ ¨ÌÈÂÓË˜‰ ˙ÂÎ˘· ‰Ë˜ ÌÈ¯„Á È˘ ˙¯È„ — ÂÓˆÚ Ï˘Ó ÂÈ„ÂËÒÏ ÒÎ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ‰˘ ‰˙Â‡·

ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È–ÌÂ¯„·

179


ÌÈÈÙ¯‚ÂÈ· ÌÈÂÈˆ

±π¥∏–ÔÈÚ ıÂ·È˜· Ï„‚ ‡Â‰ Æ¯Â¯Á˘‰ ˙ÓÁÏÓ ÍÏ‰Ó· ‰¯„Á· „ÏÂ ¨¯·Â˜ ‰˜ËÈÂÂ ‡·‡ Ï˘ ¯ÂÎ·‰ Ì· ¨Ï‡ÎÈÓ

ÆıÂ·È˜· Û˙Â˘Ó‰ ÍÂÈÁ‰ ÔÓÈÒ· ‰„ÓÚ Â˙Â„ÏÈ Æ˘¯ÂÁ‰

±πμ¥≠±π∂∂Æ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ¨ÂˆÂ·È˜· ÔÂÎÈ˙·Â È„ÂÒÈ· „ÓÏ

±πμμ¨ıÈÂÂ˘· ÌÈÏÂÈË ÂÎ¯Ú Ì‰ Æ‰˘Î Í˘Ó· ı¯‡‰Ó ¯„Ú˘ ¨ÂÈ·‡ ˙‡ ˘Â‚ÙÏ ‰ÙÂ¯È‡Ï ÂÓ‡ ÌÚ ÚÒ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

‰¯‡˘ ÂÊ ˙·ˆÚÓÂ ˙˘‚¯Ó ‰ÈÂÂÁÂ ¨˙ÂÓ‡‰ ÌÏÂÚ ˙‡ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ‰ÏÈ‚ ¨Ú·˘ Ô· Â˙ÂÈ‰· ¨Ì˘ Æ˙Ù¯ˆ·Â ‰ÈÏËÈ‡·

ÆÍÏÈ‡Â Ô‡ÎÓ ÂÂ¯ÎÈÊ· ‰˙Â¯Á

±πμ∏ÍÂ˙· Æ‰· ˘Ó˙˘‰Ï „ˆÈÎ „ÓÏ Â˙Î¯„‰·Â ¨ÔÓ˘ ÈÚ·ˆ ˙Î¯Ú ÂÈ·‡Ó Ï‡ÎÈÓ Ï·È˜ È¯È˘Ú‰ Â˙„ÏÂ‰ ÌÂÈ „Â·ÎÏ

ÆÂÂ¯˘ÈÎ ÏÚ ‰„ÈÚ‰˘ ˙¯ÎÈ ˙ÂÓ„˜˙‰ ÔÈ‚Ù‰ ¯ˆ˜ ÔÓÊ

±π∂¥≠±π∂μÂÈ‰ ÔÂÓÈÒ ÌÚ ÌÈ˘‚ÙÓ‰ Æ‰ÈÏˆ¯‰· ÔÂÓÈÒ ÔÁÂÈ ÔÓ‡‰ Ï˘ Â˙Î¯„‰ ˙Á˙ ¯ÂÈˆ „ÂÓÏÏ ÏÈÁ˙‰ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

ÌÏÂÚ ÌÚ ˙Â¯ÎÈ‰ Ï‡ÎÈÓÏ Í¯Ú ‡Â‰Â ¨‰ÈÓ· ˙„ÁÂÈÓ ˙ÂÈ˘È‡Â ·Â˘Á ÔÓ‡ ‰È‰ ÔÂÓÈÒ Æ„Â‡Ó ÌÈÈ˙ÂÚÓ˘Ó

Æ˜‡¯·Â È˜ÒÈ„˜ ¨ÈÈÏ˜ — ÂÈ¯ÈÈˆ È¯ÈÁ·Ó ‰ÓÎ ÌÚÂ ‰ÙÂ¯È‡· ˙È¯„ÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÓ‡‰

±π∂∂≠±π∂∑¨ÂˆÂ·È˜Ï ·˘ ÌÈÓÈ‰ ˙˘˘ ˙ÓÁÏÓ ıÂ¯Ù· ÆıÂ·È˜Ï ıÂÁÓ Ô˜· ®¢¯ÈÚˆ‰ ¯ÓÂ˘‰¢© ‰ÚÂ˙‰ ˙Â¯È˘· „·Ú Ï‡ÎÈÓ

ÂÏÏ‰˘ „Ú ¨ÌÈ¯‚Â·Ó‰ ˙„Â·Ú ˙‡ Â˘Ú ÌÈÈ˘„ÂÁ Í˘Ó· ÆÌÈÈ‡Ï˜Á‰ ÌÈÙÚ‰ ÏÂÚ· Â‡˘ ¯Á‡ ¯ÈÚˆ ÌÚ „ÁÈÂ

Æ·¯˜‰ ˙Â„˘Ó Â·˘

±π∂∑≠±π∑∞˙ÂÏÈÚÙÏ ˘¯„ ‰ÎÏ‰Ó·Â ¨‰˘˙‰‰ ˙ÓÁÏÓ ˙ÙÂ˜˙ ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ‰ÙÂ˜˙‰ Æ˙¯Á·ÂÓ ‰„ÈÁÈ· ˙¯È˘ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

Æ¯ÂÈˆ· ˜ÂÒÈÚ ÏÎ ÂÓÓ ‰ÚÓ˘ ˙È·ÈÒËÈ‡

±π∑∞ÈÓÈÓ ÌÚ ˘‚ÙÓ‰ — „Á‡‰ ∫ÂÈÈÁ „È˙Ú ˙‡ Â·ˆÈÚ˘ ÌÈÚÂ¯È‡ È˘ Â˘Á¯˙‰ È‡·ˆ‰ ˙Â¯È˘‰Ó Â¯Â¯Á˘ ÌÚ

‰ÓÎ ÌÚ ÏÈÈË˘ ˙Ú· ˙È‡˜È¯Ó‡ ˙ÂÓ‡ Ï˘ ÌÏ˘ ÌÏÂÚ ÈÂÏÈ‚ — È˘‰ ¨Â˙˘‡Ï ‰ÎÙ‰ ÌÈÓÈÏ˘ ¨¯·Â˜Ó

Ï˘ ‰¯˘ÂÚ ˙‡ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÈÙ· ÂÙ˘Á ÒÏß‚‡–ÒÂÏ· ÂÈ·‡ Ï˘ ÌÈ„È„È È˘ Æ˙È¯·‰–˙Âˆ¯‡· ‰„ÈÁÈÏ ÂÈ¯·ÁÓ

˙ÂÎ‰‰ ˙¯‚ÒÓ· Æ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· „ÓÏÈÂ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰È‰È ‡Â‰ ∫‰ËÏÁ‰ ˘·È‚Â ı¯‡Ï ·˘ ‡Â‰Â ¨·¢‰¯‡· ˙ÂÓ‡‰

˙¯·Á· ÁË·‡ÓÎ „·Ú Ì˘ ¨·È·‡–Ï˙· ‰˘ ¯¯Â‚˙‰ ‰È¯Á‡ÏÂ ¨ıÂ·È˜Ï ˙ÙÒÂ ‰˘ Í˘ÓÏ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ·˘ ¨„È˙ÚÏ

Æ¢È·‡¢ ÔÂÎÓ· ·¯Ú È„ÂÓÈÏ· ÚÂ·˘· ÌÈÈÓÚÙ ¯ÂÈˆ „ÓÏÂ ¢ÚÈ˜¯‡¢

±π∑≤≠±π∑μÏˆ‡ ÌÂ˘È¯ „ÓÏÂ ·Â˜¯ÂË ˜ß‚Â ÔÂËÒ‡‚ ÙÈÏÈÙ ÌÈÓ‡· ˘‚Ù Ì˘ ¨¢ÏÂ˜Ò ÂÈ„ÂËÒ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ¢· „ÓÏ Ï‡ÎÈÓ

ÍÂ· ÂÓˆÚ ‡ˆÓ ¨ÍÎÏ ÛÒÂ· Æ‰˙Ù˘ ˙‡ ˘ÂÎ¯Ï È„ÎÂ ‰¯Ê‰ ı¯‡Ï Ï‚˙Ò‰Ï È„Î ÔÓÊÏ ˜˜Ê ‡Â‰ Æ¯ËÓ Ò„Ò¯Ó

Æ‰ÙÂ¯È‡ ˙Â·¯˙ ÈÙÏÎ ÌÈ‡˜È¯Ó‡‰ Â˘Á˘ ‰ÈÈÁ„‰ ÏÂÓÂ Ë¯‡–ÙÂÙ‰Â Ë˜¯ËÒ·‡‰ ¨ÌÊÈÏ‡ÂËÙÒÂ˜‰ ÏÂÓ

ÆÔÓ‡Î ÂÂ¯˘ÈÎ ÏÈ˘·‰ ¨Ï‚Ò˙‰˘ Ú‚¯Ó

±π∑≥ ¯·ÂË˜Â‡„Â‡Ó ˙¯ÒÈÈÓ ‰ÙÂ˜˙ ÂÊ ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ÆÈÓÈÓ ÌÚ „ÁÈ ¨‰ÓÁÏÓÏ ‰ˆ¯‡ ¯ÊÁ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÆÌÈ¯ÂÙÈÎ‰ ÌÂÈ ˙ÓÁÏÓ ‰ˆ¯Ù

ÆÂÈ„ÂÓÈÏ ˙‡ ÌÈÈÒÏÂ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈÏ ·Â˘Ï ‰ËÏÁ‰‰ Â· ‰ÏÓ‚ Â˙Â¯È˘ ˙Ú· ÆÂÈ¯·ÁÓ ÌÈ·¯ ÂÏÙ ‰ÎÏ‰Ó·˘ ¨ÂÈÈÁ·

¯Á‡Ï Æ‰ÓÁÏÓ‰ ˙ÂÓÂ‡¯ËÏÂ ˜˘Ï ÌÈ¯·Á ·ÂÊÚÏÂ ÌÂ˜Ï ‰È‰ ‰˘Â¯ÈÙ ÔÎ˘ ¨‰˘˜Â ˙·‡ÂÎ ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ÂÊ ‰ËÏÁ‰

ÁÈË·ÓÂ ¯ÈÚˆ ¯ÈÈˆ Ï˘ Â˙Î¯„‰ ˙Á˙ ¨ÌÈ¯˘ÎÂÓ ÌÈ„ÈÓÏ˙ ˙ˆÂ·˜ Ï‡ ¯·Á ¢ÏÂ˜Ò ÂÈ„ÂËÒ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ¢Ï Â·Â˘

‰È˙Â˙Â‡ ‰˙ ¯ÙÒ‰ ˙È· ÏÚ ‰ˆÂ·˜‰ ˙ÚÙ˘‰ ÆÈ‡ÓˆÚ ÔÙÂ‡· „Â·ÚÏ ‰‚‰ ‰ˆÂ·˜‰ ÆÔÓÂÏÒ Ô·ÈËÒ Ì˘·

Æ˙Â·¯ ÌÈ˘ Í˘Ó·

178


‰‡Ó‰ Ï˘ ÔÂ˘‡¯‰ Ú·¯‰ ÛÂÒ ˙‡¯˜Ï

˙ÓÈÈ˜˙Ó ˙ÂÓ‡‰ÆÆÆ¢ ∫‰ÈÙÏ ‚¯·ÊÂ¯ „ÏÂ¯‰ Ï˘ ÂÊ ¯˘‡Ó ¯·Â˜ Ï‡ÎÈÓ Ï˘ Â˙¯ÈˆÈ ˙‡ ¯˙ÂÈ ·ÂË ‰¯È‰·Ó‰ ‰¯„‚‰ ‡ÂˆÓÏ ‰È‰È ‰˘˜

ÚÒÙ ÂÈÈÚÏ ‰Ï‚˘ ‰ÓÏ Ì‡˙‰·Â ¨˙È˙¯Â˜È· ÔÈÚ· ÂÓˆÚ ÔÁ·Â ¯·Â˜ ·˘ ÌÈÈ˙¯ÈˆÈ‰ ÂÈÈÁ· ‰ÙÂ˜˙ ÏÎ ı˜Ó Æ¢ÆÆÆÈ„ÈÈÓ‰ ‰¯·Ú ˙ÏÈÏ˘ È„È–ÏÚ

Æ·ÈÈÁÓ Ë¯„ËÒÎ ÌÈ¯Á‡ ÌÈÓ‡ Ï˘ Ì‰È˙Â„Â·Ú ˙‡ ıÓ‡Ï ÈÏ·Ó ¨ÍÎ· ˜·„ ‡Â‰ Æ¢È„ÈÈÓ‰ Â¯·Ú¢ ÏÚ ¯‚˙ ˙‡È¯˜ ÍÂ˙ ¨‰ÓÈ„˜ ˙Âˆ¯Á·

Æ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈÂ Ô‡˘–˙È· ¨ÂÙÈ ¨·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ıÂ·È˜ ∫‰·Â¯˜‰ ‰·È·Ò‰ „ÂÓÈÏ· ÂÓˆÚ ¯·Â˜ Ú˜È˘ ‰˘ ÌÈ¯˘ÚÓ ‰ÏÚÓÏ

˙Âˆ‡ÂÓ‰ Â·Ï ˙ÂÓÈÚÙ È„È–ÏÚ ÚÂÓ ‡Â‰˘Î ¨˘‚Ù Â˙Â‡ ÈÊÈÙ‰ ÌÏÂÚÏ ˙ÈÏ‡ÂÊÈÂ ˙Â˘¯Ù ˜ÈÚ‰Ï È„Î Ú·ˆ·Â ÏÂÁÎÓ· ˘ÂÓÈ˘ ‰˘Ú ‡Â‰

Æ˙Â¯ÚÂÒ ˙ÂÙÂ˜˙ ÌÚ ˘‚ÙÓ· ÌÈ˙ÚÏ

˙‡ ¨ÈËÓÂ¯Î ÁÈË˘Î ¯·„Ó‰ ˙‡ ¨È‚ÂˆÈÈÏ Ë˘ÙÂÓ‰ ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ÔÈ· ÌÈ·¯‰ ÌÈ„Â‚È‰ ˙‡ ÔÁ· ‡Â‰ ÆıÂˆÈ ¯Á‡ ıÂˆÈ Â˙Èˆ‰ ÂÈÈÁ· ˙ÂÁ˙

Í¯„ ‰¯·Á‰ ˙‡ ¨˙ÈËÈÏÂÙ ‰ÙÈÏÁÂ ÛÂ ˙¯„‡ ‰ËÂÚ‰ ˙È¯ÙÂÊÈÎÒ‰ ¯ÈÚ‰ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˙‡ ¯˜Á ‡Â‰ Æ‰¯ÂË˜ËÈÎ¯‡‰ Í¯„ ˙È·¯Ú‰ ˙Â·¯˙‰

‰˜ÈÚ‰˘ ¢˙ÈËÒÈÙ˜Ò‡¢ ‰¯È· ‰˙Â‡ — ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ¯ÈÚ‰ ¯Á‡ ‰˜Á˙Ó ‡Â‰ ‰Â¯Á‡ÏÂ ¨Ë¯Ë¯ÂÙ‰ Í¯„ ‰˘È‡‰Â ‰ÁÙ˘Ó‰ ˙‡ ¨˜Á˘Ó ÔÓÊ

Æ‰‡Ï‰ ÚÂÏ È„Î ÍÎ ÏÎ ÌÈˆÂÁ‰ ÌÈÓ¯Â‚ È˘ — ˙ÈÏ‡ÂÊÈÂ ‰ÈÂÂÁÂ ÔÓÊ ˜ÒÙ ÂÏ

˙Â‡„Â–È‡ Ï˘ ‰ÙÂ˜˙ ¨ÌÈÁÓÂÓ ˙Ú„Ï ¨È‰ÂÊ Æ®≤∞∞∞ ¯·ÓËÙÒ Ê‡Ó© ‰˘Ó ‰ÏÚÓÏ ¯·Î ˙ÂÏÏÂ˙˘Ó ¢‡ˆ˜‡–Ï‡¢ ˙„‡ÙÈ˙È‡ ˙Â·‰Ï

È˘Â˜ ‰ÏÈ‰˜ÏÂ „ÈÁÈÏ Æ‰ÈÙ ÏÎÏ ¯·ÚÓ ·¯Â‡ ˙ÂÂÓ‰ È¯‰˘ ¨ÌˆÚ˙‰ È˘È‡‰ ÔÂÁËÈ·Ï ˘˘Á‰ ÆÌÈ˘ Â‡ ÌÈ˘„ÂÁ Í˘Ó‰Ï ‰ÈÂÙˆ˘ ¨˙ÈËÈÏÂÙ

Ì‡‰ ‰ÈÈ‰˙Â ˜ÂÙ˜ÈÙ Ï˘ ˙Â˘ÂÁ˙ ‡È‰ ˙ÚÓ–È˙Ï·‰ ‰‡ˆÂ˙‰ ÆÍ˘Ó˙Ó‰ ˙ÂÓÈÚ‰ ÌÚÂ ˙ÂËÂ˘Ù‰ ÌÂÈÓÂÈ‰ ˙ÂÓÈ˘Ó ÌÚ „„ÂÓ˙‰Ï ·¯

ÆÂ¯ÂÊ‡· ÌÈÏÓ¯Â ÌÈÈÁÏ ˙ÂÂ˜Ï „ÂÚ Ô˙È

˙Â˜ÊÁ‰ ˙Â¯ÈˆÈ‰ ÔÓ ‰ÓÎ ‰Â¯Á‡‰ ‰˘‰ ÍÏ‰Ó· ¯·Â˜ ¯ˆÈ ¨ÂÏ ÈÈÈÙÂ‡‰ ˜ÂÙÈ‡‰ ˙‡ ˙ÂÏ‚Ï ÍÈ˘ÓÓ ‡Â‰˘Î ¨‰ÒÈ¯˙Ó ‰„ÓÚ ÍÂ˙Ó

ÈÂÂ˜Ó ¨ÌÈÏÈˆ‡ ÌÈˆÚ ÆÛÂ Ï˘ Â„ÂÁÈÈ ËÂË¯˘Ï ¯·ÚÓÂ ÏÚÓ ˙‚¯ÂÁ‰ ‰ˆÈÓ‡ ˙È˘È‡ ‰¯‰ˆ‰ Ì‰ ÂÏ˘ Ô‡˘–˙È· È„· Æ‰Î „Ú ÂÏ˘ ¯˙ÂÈ·

ÂÊ ¨Èˆ¯‡ È‰ÂÊ ∫ÊÈ¯ÎÓÂ ˙ÂÓ‡Ï ÌÈÈÁ ¯·Â˜ ˜ÈÚÓ ÌÈÈÚ·Ë ˙Â„ÂÒÈ Ì˙Â‡ ÏÎ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· — ÌÈ˜ÓÚ ÏÏ˘Â ÌÈ¯‰ ¨ÌÓÂÈ˜· ÌÈ„ÈÓ˙Ó‰ ÌÈÓ

ÆÈÓÈÙ‰Â ÈÂˆÈÁ‰ ÈÙÂ Â‰Ê — ÏÂÎÏ ÏÚÓÂ ¨È„È˙Ú Â‰Ê ¨ÈÏ˘ ‰È¯ÂËÒÈ‰‰

˜ÂÁ¯‰ ¯·Ú· ¯·Î ıÓÈ‡ ‡Â‰ ¨ÂÊ ‰ÂÓ‡ ˜ÊÁÏ È„Î Æ˙ÈÁË˘ ˙ÂÈÏ· Ï‡ ¯„¯„˙‰Ï ‰Â„È ·Ï ÌÂ˙Â ‰¯˘ÂÈ ˙ÏÂË ˙ÂÓ‡˘ ÚÎÂ˘Ó ¯·Â˜

ÈÂËÈ· Ï˘ „ÓÓ ÌÈÈÊÈÙ‰ ÌÈË¯ÙÏ ‰˜È ÂÎÏ‰Ó·˘ ÚÒÓÏ ‚ÈÏÙÈ Ì¯Ë· ¨‡˘Â‰ Ï˘ È˙ÈÓ‡‰ ÂÚ·Ë· ˘Â¯„ÏÂ ¯Â˜ÁÏ ÂÓÓ Ú·˙˘ ¨‰ÏÂÚÙ ÒÂÙ„

Ì¯Â‚ Â¯Â·Ú ÂÂÈ‰ ‡Ï ÌÏÂÚÓ ÌÂ˜ÓÂ ÔÓÊ Æ˙ÈËÂÙÒ ‰ÈÈ‡¯ Ï˘ ‰˘ÂÁ˙ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÂÈ„·· ˙¯ÎÈ ˙Â¯È„ ÌÈ˙ÚÏ ˜¯ ¨ÍÎÓ ‡ˆÂÈ ÏÚÂÙÎ ÆÈ˙ÂÓ‡

˙Â˘ÈÁ· ¯·Â˜ ÍÈ˘ÓÈ ¨¯ÁÓ Ì‚ È‡„ÂÂ·Â ÏÂÓ˙‡ ÂÓÎ ¨ÌÂÈ‰ Æ·Ï‰ ˙ÓÂ˘˙Â ˙Ú„‰ ÏÂ˜È˘ ‡ÂÏÓ ˙‡ ÂÓÓ ÂÚ·˙˘ ÌÈËÓÏ‡ Â˘ÓÈ˘ ‡Ï‡ ¨ÈÏÂ˘

ÆÏ‡¯˘È· È·ÈË¯Â‚ÈÙ‰ ¯ÂÈˆ‰ È¯ÈÎ·Ó „Á‡Ï Â˙Â‡ ‰ÎÙ‰˘ ÁÂ¯‰ ¨Â˙¯ÈˆÈ· ˙ÓÚÙÓ‰ ÁÂ¯‰ ˙‡ ÔÈÊÓ‰ ¯Â˜Ó‰ ÔÓ ˙Â˙˘Ï ÂÏ ˙ÈÈÈÙÂ‡‰

177

¢ÆÂ˙„ÏÂÓ ÛÂ ˙È·˙ ‡Â‰ Ì„‡‰¢

È˜Ò·ÂÁÈ¯˘Ë ÏÂ‡˘

Kovner/Nitsa pp 96-177 4/2013 4/17/13 3:38 PM Page 82

∑†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞≥†¨ÒÈË ˙È˜Á˘≥±X±∂∏ıÈÏÂ˜ „Â„Â ÈÓÚ†ÛÒÂ‡

Tenis player, 2003, Oil on canvas, 168X137Collection of Naomi and David Kolitz

176


≤ ∞ ∞ ≥ ≠ ≤ ∞ ∞ ± ˜ ¯ Â È – Â È

175

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨¯˜Â··†Ô·Ï‰†˙È·‰X±≥∞ÈË¯Ù ÛÒÂ‡

The White House in the Morning, 2001, Oil on canvas, 130X150Private Collection


174

±∑∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞≥ ¨Ë¯Ù†¨ÌÈÂÓÈÏ ÌÚ ÔÂÏÁX±≥∞ÔÈÈË˘„ÏÙ Ï‡ÎÈÓÂ È¯ÂÏ ÛÒÂ‡

Window with Lemons, detail, 2003, Oil on canvas, 130X170Collection of Lori and Michael Feldstein


Sunshine in the window, 2001, Oil on canvas, 120X150

≤ ∞ ∞ ≥ ≠ ≤ ∞ ∞ ± ˜ ¯ Â È – Â È

173

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨ÔÂÏÁ·†‰ÁÈ¯ÊX±≤∞


¯·Â˜ ËÈÏÁ‰ ¨Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚ È„· ÏÚ ‰„Â·Ú‰ ÍÏ‰Ó· ¨≤∞∞∞ ˙˘ ˙È˘‡¯·

Ô‡ÈÏ ¯·Á ‡Â‰ Æ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ÂÈ„ÂËÒ Û˙Â˘Ó· ¯ÂÎ˘ÏÂ ÌÈ¯·Á ˙Úˆ‰Ï ˙ÂÚÈ‰Ï

‰˘· ÌÈ˘„ÂÁ ‰˘ÂÏ˘ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ˙Â‰˘Ï ÔÎ˙Â ¨ÔÓÁÏ È·ˆÂ ˘ÂÏÏ ¯ÙÂÚ ¨¯‚¯ÂÂÎÂ‡¯

ÊÂÎÈ¯ Â·˘ ¨ÒÈÂÂ˜· È˙ÈÈ˘Ú˙ ¯ÂÊ‡· ÔÎÂ˘ ¯Î˘˘ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ÆÌÈ¯Â˜È· È˘Ï ÂÏˆÂÙ˘

Û˜˘ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ÔÂÏÁÓ Æ˙Â¯¯ÂÙ˙‰ È„Î „Ú ÌÈÁÊÂÓ ÌÈÒÁÓÂ ‰ÈÈ˘Ú˙ È·Ó Ï˘ ÏÂ„‚

¨ÔË‰Ó Ï˘ ‰ÊÎ¯Ó ˙ÈÏÏˆ· ¯Â¯È·· ÔÈÁ·‰Ï Ô˙ÈÂ ¨¢¯ÂÂÈ¯–ËÒÈ‡¢‰ ÔÓ ¯ˆ ÁÏÙ

¯ÙÒÓ ¯·Â˜Ï ˜ÙÈÒ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ Ï˘ ÈÓÈÙ‰ ‰·Ó‰ ÆÌÈÁÈ¯ˆ ¯È˙Ú ¯ˆ·ÓÎ ‰˙¯Âˆ˘

‰·È·Ò‰ Ï˘ ÌÈÂ˘ ˙Â‡¯Ó „ÂÚÈ˙Ï ‡ˆÂÓ ˙„Â˜ ÂÂÈ‰˘ ¨ıÂÁ‰ Ï‡ ˙ÈÙˆ˙ ˙Â„Â˜

ÌÈ˜ˆÂÓ‰ ÌÈ·Ó‰ Â˜· ˙ÂÂ·˙‰‰ ÆÚ˜¯· ¯ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ÚÈ˜¯‰–Â˜ ¯˘‡Î ¨‰·Â¯˜‰

‡È‰ Æ˙Â·Â‚˙ ˙¯˘¯˘ ‰˙Èˆ‰ ˙È·¯Â‡ ‰·È·Ò· È·ÈÒËÈ‡ ÌÈÈÁ Á¯Â‡ ÌÈÈÈÙ‡Ó‰

¨‰„Â·Ú‰ Ï˘ ‰˙Â·È˘Á· ¯‰¯‰ÏÂ ¯ÂÊÁÏ È„Î ˙ÈÏ‡È„È‡ ‰·ÈË˜ÙÒ¯Ù ¯·Â˜Ï ‰˜ÈÚ‰

˘Â‡ ˙ÂÁÂÎ ÒÂÈ‚Ï ÚÈÓÎ ¨˙ÈÊÈÙ‰ ‰„Â·ÚÏ ‡ÏÈÓÓ ˘Á¯˘ „Â·Î‰ ˙‡ ‰˜ÊÈÁÂ

ÌÈ‚˘ÂÓ‰ ˙‡ ÏÈË‰Ï ˙ÂÓ„Ê‰ Ô‡Î ‰˙¯˜ ‰˘ÚÓÏ Æ˙ÂÚÓ˘Ó ˙ÏÚ· ‰ÏÂÚÙÏ

ÆÌ‡Â˙ È·¯Â‡ ÌÈÏ˜‡ ÏÚ ˙Ó„˜ÂÓ‰ ˙ÈËÒÈÏ‡ÈˆÂÒ–˙È‡Ï˜Á‰ Â˙·È·Ò· ÌÈÚÂ·Ë‰

˙ÂÚÈÒÙ ÚÒÙ ‰·˘ ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ÌÚ Â˙Â¯ÎÈ‰ ˙‡ ˘„ÁÏ ˙Â¯˘Ù‡‰ ÂÏ ‰˙È ¨ÛÒÂ·

ÆÔÎÏ Ì„Â˜ ÌÈ˘ ‰ÂÓ˘Â ÌÈ¯˘Ú ¨¯ÈÈˆÎ ˙ÂÂ˘‡¯

Ô˙Ò‰ ˙ÈÎÂÎÊ Ï˘ ÌÈË˜ ÌÈÏÙ Í¯„ ÆÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰Ó ·Â˘Á ˜ÏÁ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó ÏÂ„‚ ÔÂÏÁ

¨ÌÈÏÙ‰ ÔÓ ‰ÓÎ ÆÔË‰Ó Ú˜¯·Â ¢ÈËÈÒ „ÏÈÈ‡–‚ÂÏ¢ Ï˘ ‰ÙÂ Û˜˘ Ì„Ú·ÓÂ ¨¯Â‡‰

˙ÂÁÈÎ˘ È˙Ï· „Â‡Ó ˙ÂÈÂÙ˜˙˘‰ Â¯ˆÈ ¨ÏÈÈÂÂ· Â‡ ˜ÈËÒÏÙ· ÂÙÏÁÂ‰ Â‡ ÌÈ¯Â·˘ ÂÈ‰˘

‰ˆˆ‰ ¯·Â˜Ï ¯˘Ùœ‡˘ ˜È¯ Ô·ÏÓ ¯ˆÂ ¨ÏÏÎ· ÌÈÏÙ ÂÈ‰ ‡Ï Â·˘ ÌÂ˜Ó· Æ¯Â‡‰ Ï˘

Æ˙ÈÎÂÎÊ‰ ÍÒÓ Ï˘ ‰ˆÈˆÁ‰ ‡ÏÏ ¨‰˘˜‰ ˙Â‡ÈˆÓ‰ ÌÏÂÚ Ï‡

‰Â˘‡¯‰ ˙Â‰˘‰ ˙ÙÂ˜˙Ó ÂÈ¯ÂÈˆ ÂÈ‰ ¨ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ Ï˘ „ÁÂÈÓ‰ ‰·Ó‰ ÏÏ‚·

ÂÓÎ Æ¯ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ·ËÈ‰ ˙¯„‚ÂÓ ˙Â˘¯Ù Â‡ ˙ÂÈË˜¯ËÒ·‡ ÏÂÎÈ·Î ˙Â¯ÈˆÈ Ï˘ ˙·Â¯Ú˙

Ï˘ Ë¯ÂÙÓ ¯Â‡È˙Ó ˙ÂÏ˜· Ú ÂÏÂÁÎÓ ‰È‰ ¨˙ÂÙÏÁ˙Ó ˙Â˘„Ú ˙ÏÚ· ‰ÓÏˆÓ

¨¯Â‰Ë ¯Â‡ Ï˘ ·È¯˜˙· ·ÂˆÈÚ Ï‡ ÏÂÓÓ˘ ÌÈ„¯˘Ó‰ ÈÏ„‚ÓÂ ÌÈÒÁÓ‰ ˙Â˙ÈÊÁ

Æ˙ÂÂ˘‰ ÌÂÈ‰ ˙ÂÚ˘· ÔÂÏÁ‰ ˙ÂÈ‚Â‚ÊÏ ˜˘Â‰

ÌÚ ˙ÈÙ¯‚ ‰¯Âˆ· ˜Á˘ÓÂ ¢˜·ÈËÈÒ¢‰ ÔÈÈ· ˙‡ „„Â·Ó ¯·Â˜ ÌÈ„· ¯ÙÒÓ·

˘·Î ¨˙ÈÂË˜ËÈÎ¯‡ ‰ËÂÓÓ ÂÓÎ Æ˜ÊÁ ÈÏ‡ÂÊÈÂ Ô‚ÂÚ Ï·˜Ï È„Î ¨ÌÈÓÂˆÚ‰ ÂÈ„ÓÓ

È·ÈË˜ÏÒ ˙ÂÈ‰Ï ÂÏ ¯˘Ùœ‡ ÂÏ„Â‚Â ¨ÌÈ˜Á¯ÓÏ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ‰ÈÈ‡¯‰ ·È˙ ˙‡ ‰·Ó‰

È˙¯ÈˆÈ‰ ÔÂ·˙Ó‰ Ï˘ ‰Ù„Ú‰· ¯Á· ÌÈ˙ÚÏ Æ¯‡˙Ï ıÙÁ Ì˙Â‡˘ ÌÈË¯Ù‰ ˙¯ÈÁ··

Æ‰·Ó‰ ˙ÂÁÎÂÓ ÔÈËÂÏÁÏ ÌÏÚ˙‰Â

Ï„‚Ó ˙‡ ÂÎÙ‰ ¯‰‰ ÔÓ ˜Â¯È ÈÂÂ‚ ÌÚ „ÁÈ ÌÈÓ˘‰ ÔÓ ˙ÂÈÂÙ˜˙˘‰ ·ÂÏÈ˘

ı·˜ÓÏ Â‡ ¨È„ÂÂÈÏÂ‰ ‰ÓÈ‡ Ë¯Ò Ï˘ ˙ÂÈˆ¯ÂÙÂ¯Ù ÏÚ· ÏÂÁÎ Ô·ÏÓÏ ¢˜·ÈËÈÒ¢‰

˙Â„Â·Ú· ÆÛÂ˜˘ ÏÁÏÁÎ ÔÂÂ‚Â ÊÈ˜¯ÂË ¨¯È˘Ú ÏÂÁÎ ÔÈ· ÌÈ„„Â˙Ó‰ ÌÈ¯‰ÂÊ ÌÈ·ÏÓ

¯ÈÈˆÓ‰ ÈÈÏ˜ ÏÂ‡Ù Ï˘ ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ˙Ù˘ Ï˘ ˜Â„˜„‰ ÌÚ ˙Â‰„Ê‰‰ ˙¯ÎÈ ‰Ï‡

Æ˙ÂÈ·ÈË¯Â˜„ ˙Â¯ÂË‡ÈÈÓ

¯È˙Â‰Ï ‰Ú·˙ ¨˙ÈÎÂÎÊÂ ‰„ÏÙ ¨ÔÂË· ˙ÒÓ Ï˘ ˙ÓÓÂ„‰ ˙ÂÈÏËÂ¯·· ˙Â„˜Ó˙‰‰

ÆÂÎ¯„ ˙È˘‡¯Ó ¯·Î ¯·Â˜ ˙¯ÈˆÈ· ÈËÈ¯˜ Ì¯Â‚ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó‰ ¨È˘Â‡‰ Ì¯Â‚‰ ˙‡ ¯ÂÁ‡Ó

ÁÈ˘ ‰ÂÓ˙· ÏÂÏÎÏ ˜˜„ÊÈ˘ ÈÏ·Ó ¨È˘Â‡‰ ËÓÏ‡· ËÂÏ˘Ï Í¯„ ¯·Â˜ ˘ÙÈÁ Ô‡Î

Û„Ó È·‚ ÏÚ — ÌÈÂÓÈÏ È˘ ÏÏÎ Í¯„· — È¯Ù ˙Á‰· ‡ˆÓ ÔÂ¯˙ÈÙ‰ ÆÈ·ÈË¯Â‚ÈÙ

ÌÂ˜Ó· ˙ÂÈÁ‡ ˙ÂÓ˘ È˙˘ ÔÈ· ˘‚ÙÓÏ ‰¯ÂÙËÓÎ ˘Ó˘Ó‰ ¨‰ÂÓ˙‰ ˙Ó„œ̃ · ¯ˆ

ÂÊ ‰ÙÈÏ˜‰ ˙˜˘‰ È„Î „Ú ¨˙Â¯ÈÙ‰ ˙· œ̃̄ ÌˆÚÓ ˙Î·˙ÒÓ ‰ÈÈ‚ÂÒ‰ Æ¯ÎÂÓ ‡ÏÂ ¯Ê

ÔÈÈˆÏ Â‡ ÔÓ‡‰ Ï˘ Â„È·ÈÏ‰ ˙Â˜Â˘˙ ÏÚ ÊÓ¯Ï ‰ÏÂÎÈ‰ ¨‰˜ÊÁ ‰ÈËÒ‚ÂÒ ˙¯ˆÂÂ ¨ÂÊÏ

Æ‰˜ÂÓÚ ‰ÈÏÂÎÏÓ ÈÓÓÒ

‰„ÏÈ¢ ¨®±±∑ ßÓÚ© ±ππ¥ ˙˘Ó ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÔÂÚË‰ Â¯ÂÈˆ· ÌÈÈ˜˙Ó ‰ÓÂ„ ·ˆÓ

¨‰¯‚· Ì¯Ë ̆‰¯Ú ˙È‡¯ ÒÂËÏ· Ï ̆˙ÂÈÏ‡ÂÒÒ‰ ÔÓ ˙·‡Â˘‰ ‰ÂÓ˙· Æ¢˙Â·˙Ó

˙Â„ÏÈ ÔÈ·˘ ÏÈ‚Ï ÌÈÂÂÏ˙Ó‰ Á˙Ó‰ ˙‡Â Ë˜ÈÏÙÂ˜‰ ˙‡ ˙ÁÂ· ‰ÂÓ˙‰ ÆÏÈÏ˜ „‚··

¯‡ÂÓ‰ ¨Í‡ÏÓ ÔÈÚÓ ‰¯Ú· ¯·Â˜ ‰‡Â¯ ¯‰¯Â‰Ó‰Â ˜ÙÂ‡Ó‰ Ô˜ÂÈ„‰ ¯ÂÈˆ· Æ˙Â¯‚·Ï

ÏÂ·È˜ ÈÏÎ Ï˘ ‰ÒÎÓ ÍÂ˙Ó ¯Â‡‰ ˙ÂÙ˜˙˘‰· Ô¯Â˜Ó˘ ˙Â¯·˘ ÌÈÈ¯˜ È„È–ÏÚ

ÌÈÂÓÈÏ ¯ÙÒÓ È„È–ÏÚ ¨ÈÂÏ‚· ÌÈ‚ˆÂÓ Û‡Â ¨ÌÈÓˆÚÂÓ ‰ÈÈ‰˙‰Â ˘ÂÙÈÁ‰ ÆÈÓ˙Ò

È¯Ù — ˘Ó˘‰ ÌÂÁÓ ÔÂÊÈ‰ È¯Ù‰ Ï‡ ˙ÈËÂ¯‡ ‰ÈÙ‰ Ô‡Î ˘È Æ‰ÈÙÏ ÌÈÁÂÓ‰

ÆÚ˜Ù˙‰Ï ÌÈˆÈÓ ÚÙÂ˘Â ÒÒÂ˙Â ÈÁ Í‡ — ˙ÈÓÊ ˙ÂÁÙÏ ¨ÌÂ˙ÁÂ Ï˘· ¨˜ˆÂÓ ¨Ï‚Ï‚Ú

ÂÈ˙ÂÏÚÓ ÔÂÂ‚ÓÂ ¨¯·Â˜ Ï˘ Â˙È· ¨ÔÂÎÈ˙‰–ÌÈ‰ Ô‚‡· ·Â‰‡ È¯Ù ‡Â‰ ÔÂÓÈÏ‰ ¨˙¯Á‡ ‰ÈÈ‡¯ ˙ÈÂÂÊÓ

ÆÔÈÒÈ¯Ù˜ È‡‰ ÏÚ ÌÈÈÁ· ˜ÒÂÚ‰ ¨¢ÌÈ¯Ó ÌÈÂÓÈÏ¢ Ï¯Â„ Ò¯ÂÏ Ï˘ Â¯ÙÒ· ·È‰¯Ó ¯Â‡È˙ È„ÈÏ ‡·

È¯ÂÈˆÓ „Á‡ ÏÎ· ËÚÓÎ ÚÈÙÂÓ ¨¯Â‡ Ï˘ ÔÂ‚Ó‰ ÈÓ„˜‰ ÏÙ‰ ÌÚ ¨ÈÏÈ¯ËÒ‰ ÔÂÏÁ‰ Ô„‡

ÚÈÙÂÓ ÌÈÂÓÈÏ‰ „ˆÏ Æ˙È¯Â‚Ï‡ ‰ÊÈÓ¯ Â‡ ˙ÂÈÏÓÒ Â·ÂÁ· ÔÓÂË ˜ÙÒ ‡ÏÏÂ ¨ÒÈÂÂ˜· Â¯ÈÂˆ˘ ÛÂ‰

¨˙ÂÈ‚¯Â‡ ˙Â¯Âˆ ÈÏÚ· Ì‰ ÌÈÏÎ‰ ÆÌÈ˙˘Ó ÌÈÏ„‚· ˙ÈÎÂÎÊ ÈÏÎ È˘Â ˙ˆˆ ÏÏÂÎ‰ ¨ÌÓÂ„

˙ÂÓ ̇ÆÚ˜¯· ¢˜·ÈËÈÒ¢‰ Ï ̆ÏÂÁÎ‰ Ô·ÏÓÏ ÌÈÓÂ„ ÌÈÂÂ‚· ÌÈÚÂ·ˆÂ ¨‰ÊÓ ‰Ê ÌÈ„¯ÙÂÓÂ ÌÈÙÂ˜Ê

¨‰ÁÙ˘Ó ˙Â„Â‡ ÂÈ¯Â‰¯‰ ˙‡ Û˘ÂÁ‰ ¨¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÔÙˆÂÓ ¯„˘ ÔÈÚÓ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó ÂÊ ˙Ë˜ÂÓ ÌÓÂ„

Æ˙È·‰ Ï‡ ¯˘˜‰ ÏÚ ÚÈ·ˆÓ ¨ÔÂÓÈÏÏ ‰ÓÂ„·Â

ÔÈ·˘ ÌÈÈ„„‰‰ ÌÈÒÁÈ· ˙ÂÈËÏÂÂÈ·Ó‡Ï ÌÈÚ„ÂÂ˙Ó Â‡ ¯˘‡Î ˙¯ˆÂ ‰ÙÈ¯Á ‰ÓÈÏ‰–È‡

˙ÂÙˆÏ Ô˙È ̆ÈÙÎ ¨ÌÈÈÙ¯ÂÓÂÙÂ¯Ë‡ ÌÈÈÂÓÈ„· ÌÈÒÂÓÚ ÌÈ‡ ÌÈË˜ÈÈ·Â‡‰ Æ¯ÂÈˆ‰ È·‚ ÏÚ ÌÈÓˆÚ‰

ÌÈˆÙÁ Ï˘ ˙ÂÈÓÈËÈ‡ Ì‰· ÔÈ‡Â ¨¯‚¯· ÏÒÂÈ ÁÒÂ ÊÈÏÚ „Â˜È¯· ÌÈ‡ˆÂÈ‰ Á·ËÓ–ÈÏÎ Ï˘ ¯ÂÈˆ·

Ï˘ ‰¯˜ ‰ËÏ‡Ù· ÌÈÈÈÙÂ‡Ó Ì‰ ÆÈ„‡¯ÂÓ Ï˘ ˙ÂÈˆÈÊÂÙÓÂ˜ ÌÈÈÈÙ‡Ó‰ „Â·Î È¯¯ÂÚÓÂ ÌÈÈ‚È‚Á

ÆÈ˘‰ Ï˘ Â˙ÂÁÎÂÓ „Á‡‰ ÈÏÎ‰ Ï˘ ˙ÂÓÏÚ˙‰ ÌÈ¯ˆÂÈ‰ ¨ÌÈ˘˜Â ˙ÈÎÂÎÊÂ ‰„ÏÙ ÈÚ·ˆ

¯ÈÂÂ‡Â ¯Â‡ ¯ÂÈˆ

ÌÈÈÙÂ‡· ÌÈ·Â¯˜‰ ıÂÁ–ÌÈÙ ˙ÂÈˆÈÊÂÙÓÂ˜ Ì‰ ¨ÌÏÂÎ ‡Ï ÈÎ Ì‡ ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ È¯ÂÈˆ ˙È·¯Ó

˙¯ÈÈˆ‰Â ¯‡Â· ¯ÈÈÙ È˙Ù¯ˆ‰ ¯ÈÈˆ‰ Ì‰ÈÈ· ¨ÍÈ¯ÚÓ ¯·Â˜˘ ÌÈ¯ÈÈˆ Ì˙Â‡ Ï˘ Ì‰È˙Â„Â·ÚÏ

Æ˘ÈÙ‡Ï˜ Ô‡ÈÏÈÏ ÂÓÊ ˙· ˙ÈÏ‡¯˘È‰

˜¯ ÔÈÁ·‰Ï Ô˙È Â„Ú·˘ ¨¯ÓÂÓ ¯Â‡ ¯Â˜Ó ¯·Â˜Ï ÂÓÈÊ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ· ˙ÂÓ„˜ÂÓ‰ ¯˜Â·‰ ˙ÂÚ˘

‰ÎÓ‰ ¨ËÏ˜Â ¯·˘ ¨Û˜˙˘Ó ¯Â‡ Ï˘ ‰ÚÏ·‰ ‰‰ÊÓ ÔÈÚ‰ ÆÔÂˆÈÁ‰ ÌÏÂÚ‰ Ï˘ ÌÈ¯ÈÈ˘·

˙ÚÙ˘‰· Â¯ˆÂ˘ ÌÈ„·‰ ÆÔÂÏÁ‰ ˙‡ ÌÈ·ÈÎ¯Ó‰ ÌÈË˜‰ ÌÈÏ‡Ù‰ Ï˘ ÌÈÙÂ˜˘‰ ÌÈÁË˘Ó·

ÌÈÏÈ‚¯˙ Ì‰ — ®±∑≥ ßÓÚ© ¢ÈËÒÈ·Â˜ ÔÂÏÁ¢Â ¢ÔÂÏÁ· ‰ÁÈ¯Ê¢ ∫ÔÂ‚Î — ÂÊ‰ ‰ÚÙÂ˙Ï ‰ÙÈ˘Á‰

ÈÚ·ˆ Ï˘ ÌÈ‚ÂÊÈÓ ¯ÂÙÒ ÔÈ‡Â ÛÂ¯˘ ÌÂ˙Î ¨ÈÏÂÙ‡ ÏÂÁÎ© ËÓ‚ÈÙ ˙ÙÒÂ‰Â „Â¯È‚ Ï˘ ÌÈÈËÓÂ¯Î

Æ¯˙ÂÈ· ˜˜ÂÊÓ‰ È¯ÂÈˆ‰ ÔÙÂ‡· ¯Â‡ ¯È„‚‰Ï Â„ÚÂ˘ ¨®ÏËÒÙ

Ï˘ ¯‚˙‡‰ ÈÙ· ¯·Â˜ „ÓÚÂ‰ ¨‰·¯ÚÓ ‰ÏÂÏÒÓ· ‰Ú ˘Ó˘‰Â ¨ÌÂÈ‰ Ì„˜˙‰˘ ÏÎÎ

„Â‡Ó ·Â¯˜ ÂÓ˜ÂÓ˘ ˙ÂˆÂÁ‰ ÈËÏ˘Â ¨˙Â‰·‚ÂÓ‰ ˙·Î¯‰ ˙ÂÏÈÒÓ ¨ÌÈÈÈ·‰ È¯Â· œ̂Ó „ÂÚÈ˙

‰Î¯Ú‰ ‰‡ˆÂ˙‰ ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ¨¢˜·ÈËÈÒ¢‰ ÔÈÈ· Ï˘ ˙ÂÈ·ÈË˜ÏÒ‰ ˙ÂÈˆÈÊÂÙÓÂ˜· ÂÓÎ ‡Ï˘ ÆÂÈ„ÂËÒÏ

Ú·ˆ Ï˘ ˙ÂÚ¯Â ˙Â·ÏÂˆ ˙ÂÁÈ˘Ó ‰·ÏÈ˘˘ ¯ÂÈˆ ˙˜ÈÎË· ˘Ó˙˘‰ ¯·Â˜ Æ¯ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ˙·Î¯ÂÓ

ÈÏÒÈÒ „¯ÙÏ‡ ıÓÈ‡˘ ÌÊÈ¯ÈÈÓÏ „‰© ÌÈÚ ÈÏ‚ Ï˘ ‰ÈÏ˘‡‰ ˙‡ ‚È˘‰ Ì˙¯ÊÚ·Â ¨ÈÏ˜ÂÏ

Æ®¯·ÒÂ ‡Â¯–‰Ï–‰Ï¯Ó· ±∏∑μ ˙˘Ó ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ· ¨ÌÈÓ˘‰ ˙‡ ÂÏ˘ Â˙ÒÈÙ˙·≤±ÌÈÚ ÈÏ‚ Ì˙Â‡

˙¯ÈˆÈÏ ÂÈ„ÁÈ ÌÈ¯·Á˙ÓÂ ¨ÂÁË˘Â‰˘ ÌÈÈ¯ËÓÂ‡È‚ ÌÈÏ‡Ù Ï˘ ˙·Î¯ÂÓ ˙È·˙Ï ÏÚÓ ÌÈÙÁ¯Ó

ËÓ‚ÈÙ‰ ˙Á‰ ˙Â˜ÈÎË ÔÈ· ¯·Â˜ ‰˘Ú˘ ‰˘˜Â‰ ‰Á·‰‰ Æ¯‡Â˙Ó‰ ÈÂË˜ËÈÎ¯‡‰ ‡˘Â‰

Æ‰ÙÈ ‰ÏÂÚ ¨ÚÈ˙ÙÓ ÔÙÂ‡· ¨ÂÏ‡ È˘ Ï˘ ·ÂÏÈ˘ — ÌÈÚ·ˆ‰ ˙ÂÒÈÁ„· ˙ÈÂˆÈ˜ ˙ÂÂ˘ ÌÚ „·· „·

ÆÌÈÈËÈÏ‡ ÌÈÚË˜ ÌÚ ÌÈÈÂÏ‚ ÌÈÈ·ÈÒ¯ÙÒ˜‡ ÌÈÚË˜ ‚ÊÓÏ Â˙ËÏÁ‰· ˙ÈÏ‡ÂÊÈÂ ‰¯È˙Ò ÔÈ‡

ÆÌÊÈÏ‡È¯‰ ˙‡ ˘„˜Ó ‡Ï Ì‚ ˙Ú· ‰·Â ¨˙ÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÓÈ‡‰ ‰È¯Ë˜Â„‰ ˙‡ ÛÈ„ÚÓ ÂÈ‡ ¯·Â˜

ÈÂ·Á‰ ÈÚ·Ë‰ ÈÙÂÈ‰ ¯Á‡ ·˜Â‰ ˘ÂÙÈÁ‰ ˙‡ ¯¯ÂÚÏ ÂÓˆÚÓ ˘¯Â„ Â˙Â‡ ÌÈ‡ˆÂÓ Â‡˙È˙ÂÓ‡ ˙Ó‡Ï ‰Ê ÈÙÂÈ Ì‚¯˙Ï ˙ÏÂÎÈ‰ ˙‡Â ¨ÂÈ‡˘ÂÓ Ï˘ ˙ÈÂˆÈÁ‰ ˙ÙËÚÓÏ ˙Á˙Ó

Æ˙È˘È‡Í¯„Î ¨ÌÈ˘‡ ˙ÂˆÂ·˜ Â‡ ˙ÂÈÂÓ„ ¯ÂÈˆ· ÏÂÏÎÏ ˘˜·Ó ÂÈ‡ ¨ÂÈÚ·ˆ „ˆÏ ÔÓ‡ ·ˆÈ‰ ¨¯·Â˜

˙¯„‚‰ ÈÙ ÏÚ ¨˙Â„È„· Ï˘ ÈÂ·ÈÚÎ ¯ÈÚ· ÌÈÊÂÁ Â‡ ÆÈ˙¯·Á Â‡ È˘‚¯ „ÓÓ· ÂÈÙÂ ˙‡ ÔÈÚË‰Ï

ÔÙÂ‡ ˙‡ ÌÈÙ˜˘Ó ÂÈÈÈÙ‡Ó˘Î ¨ÈËÓ¯„Â Ë˜˘ ‡Â‰ Ï·˜˙Ó‰ È·¯Â‡‰ ÛÂ‰ ÔÎÏÂ ¨ÊÂÈ Ë¯·Â¯

˙‡ ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ˙Â·ÂÁ¯ ˙‡ ÛÏ‚Ó ¯·Â˜ Æ¯˙ÂÈÓ È˘‚¯ Ò‡ÂÈ Â‡ ‰·ÈÁ ÈÂÏÈ‚ ‡ÏÏ ∫È¯ÙÂ‰‰ ÈÂËÈ·‰

ÔÂÈÒÈ‰ ÆÌ„ÂÁÈÈ· ÌÈÓÈ˘¯Ó‰ ‰¯ÂˆÂ Ú·ˆ Ï˘ ¯È˘È ‰„¯Ù‰–Â˜ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ¯‰‰ ˙‡Â ˙Â‚‚‰

˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ¯ˆÂ ˙ÈËÈÏÂÙÂ¯ËÓ‰ ¯ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ÌÈ‡˜È¯Ó‡‰ ¢ÌÈ¯ËÒÓ¢‰ È¯Â‡È˙ ˙‡ ¯ÎÊ‡Ï Ú„ÂÓ‰

ÂÈ¯ÂÈˆÂ ˙ÂÈ‰ Æ˙˜ÈÂ„Ó È¯Ó‚Ï ‰È‡˘ ˙ÈÂË˜ËÈÎ¯‡ ˙¯‚ÒÓ ÍÂ˙· ÏˆÂ ¯Â‡ Ï˘ ˙ÈË‡ÂÙ ‰ÏÏÎ‰

ËÓÏ‡ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó‰ ¨˙È˘Â‡‰ ˙ÂÁÎÂ‰ È¯‰ ¨¯·Î˘Ó ˙Â„ÓÚÂ ˙ÂÙ˜˘‰ Ï˘ Ô„Ò‰ Ì‰ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘

¯·Â ̃‰Ê‰ Ô·ÂÓ· Æ‰ˆÂÁ ‡Ï ÏÏÎ ‡È‰ ¨˙È¯˘Ù‡–È˙Ï· ˜ ̄‰È‡ ¨¯ÙÂ‰ Ï ̆Â˙ÂÓ‡· È˙Â‰Ó ‰Î

ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ÈÙÂ ˙¯„Ò ˙‡ „Â‡Ó ¯ÈÎÊÓ‰ ÔÂ‚Ò ÏÎÈÚÂ ÚÈÓË‰

Ï˘ ‡˘Â‰˘ ÁÈ‰Ï ˙¯˘Ù‡Ó‰ ‰„·ÂÚ ¨ÈÎ‡ ËÓ¯ÂÙ· Â¯ˆÂ ıÂÁ–ÌÈÙ ˙Â¯ÈˆÈ ¯ÙÒÓ

˘ÂÙÈÁ‰ ‰ÏÂÚ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ÔÓ ÆÛÂ˜˘ ÍÒÓ·Î Â· ˘ÂÓÈ˘‰ ‡ÏÂ ¨ÌÈÈÊÈÙ‰ ÔÂÏÁ‰ ÈÈÈÙ‡Ó ‡Â‰ ¯·Â˜

‰˜È˙Ú ‡È‰ ÂÊ ‰ÒÈÙ ̇ÆÈ˜ÙÂ‡‰ ÚÈ˜¯‰–Â ̃˙‡ ˘„ÁÓ ‡Â¯·Ï ÔÂˆ¯‰ ‡ÏÂ ¨˙ÂË˘ÙÂÓ ˙ÂÈÂÎÈ‡ ¯Á‡

Æ˙ÂÓ‡‰ Ï˘ ‰È¯ÂËÒÈ‰‰ ÈÓÈÎ

172


171


≤∞∞≥≠≤∞∞± ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ

2001–2003York,New

170

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞≤Ø≥†¨‰ÓÂ„‡ ˙ÈÊÁX±≥∞

Red Façade, 2002/3, Oil on canvas, 130X150


Ì È Ó È Â Â ˜ Ó

169


168



167

∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨Û¯ÂÁ†¨‰È„ÓÁ·†ÌÈ‚„†˙ÂÎÈ¯·∑±X±∞∞Fishpond, Hamadiya, Winter, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X170

∂†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨ÌÈÈÓ˘·†‰„ÈÒÁÂ†·‰Ê†‚„†¨ÌÈÒÂÒ†¨ıÚ†¨‰ÎÈ¯· ∫ÌÈ‡·‰ ÌÈ„ÂÓÚ·X±∞∞X±±∞Next Pages: Pond, Tree, Horses, Goldfish and Stork in the Sky, 2001, Oil on canvas, 110X100X6


166

±∂∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨‰È„ÓÁ†¯‚‡Ó·†‰ÚÈ˜˘X±∞∞Sunset on Hamadiya’s Reservoir, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X160



165

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨¯˜Â·†¨„ÚÏ‚†È¯‰†ÏÂÓ†‰ÎÈ¯·X±≤∞ÈË¯Ù ÛÒÂ‡

A Pond Opposite Gilad Mountains, Morning, 2001, Oil on canvas, 120X150Private Collection

Kovner/Nitsa pp 96-177 4/2013 4/17/13 3:43 PM

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨ıÈ˜·†‰ÎÈ¯·X±≤∞ÔÂÊ„ÈÂ„ Ô¯ÚÂ ‰ÒÈÏ ÛÒÂ‡

Pond in the Summer, 2001, Oil on canvas, 120X150Collection of Lisa and Eran Davidson

164

Kovner/Nitsa pp 96-177 4/2013 4/17/13 3:34 PM


163


„Ú–È˜Â¯È Ï˘ ‰ÙÂÙˆ ‰˘¯ÂÁ· ÌÈ„˜Ó˙Ó ÌÈÂÈÏÚ‰ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ˙˘ÂÏ˘ ÍÂ˙Ó ÌÈÈ˘

Ì‚‡‰ ÏÚ ˙ÎÎÂÒ ‰ÈÈ¯ËÓÎ Ì˙ÂÂÏÚ ˙‡Â Ì‰ÈÙÚ ˙‡ ÌÈ˘¯ÂÙ‰ ¨˜Ú ˙ÂÈˆ¯ÂÙÂ¯Ù ÈÏÚ·

Ï˘ ˙ÈÓÈÙ‰ ˙Â‰Ó‰ ˙‡ ÔÈ·‰ÏÂ ÏÈÎ˘‰Ï ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ˜ÊÁ‰ ÔÂ·‡È˙‰ ÆÛÂ‰ ÏÚÂ

‰ÈÈ‡¯ ‰˙Â‡· ¯˙ÂÈ· ‰¯ÈÚÊ‰ ‰ÈÏÓÂ‡‰ ˙‡ Ì‚ ¯ÈÈˆÏ Â˙Â‡ ÏÈ·ÂÓ ¨Ú·Ë· ˙ÂÚÙÂ˙

ÔÂÎÈËÙÈ„‰ Ï˘ ÌÈÓ‰ ¯ÂÊ‡· ÌÈÓ˘‰Â ÌÈˆÚ‰ Ï˘ ˙ÂˆˆÓ‰ ˙ÂÈÂÙ˜˙˘‰‰ Æ˙¯„ÂÁ

˜Ê·‰Â ÌÈ¯ÂÙÈˆ ¨ÌÈ‚„ ˙˜‰Ï ÏÚ ÌÈÊÓ¯Ó‰ ¨Ú·ˆ ÈÊ˙ Ï˘ ˙·Â¯Ú˙ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ÂÓÏ˘Â‰

ÆÌÈÏˆÚ ÌÈÊÂÂ¯· È˘ „ÎÂÏ‰ ‰·Â‰ˆ ˘Ó˘ Ï˘

˙ÂÁ„Ï È·ÈË¯Â‚ÈÙ‰ ÛÂ‰ ¯ÈÈˆ ‰˘˜˙È ˙Á‡Â ÌÈ¯˘Ú‰ ‰‡Ó‰ Ï˘ ‰˙ÏÈÁ˙· ÂÏÈÙ‡

ÛÂ‰ È‡˙ ¨¯Â‡‰ ÈÂËÈ·Ï Ô˙˘È‚ ˙‡Â ˙ÂÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÓÈ‡‰ ˙ÂÈ¯Â‡È˙‰ ˙‡ ÏÎÂ ÏÎÓ

‰ÂÓ „ÂÏ˜ Ï˘ ÌÈÓ‰ ÈÚË˜Ó ®˙È˙¯Î‰–˙˙© ‰‡¯˘‰ ÌÓ‡ ‚ÙÒ ¯·Â˜ Æ‰¯ÈÂÂ‡‰Â

Ú·ˆ‰ ˙Á‰ ÔÙÂ‡·Â ÂÏ˘ ÌÈÚ·ˆ‰ ˙ËÏ‡Ù·˘ ˜ÙÒ ËÚÓÎ ÔÈ‡ Í‡ ¨È¯‡ÂÂÈß‚· Â¯ÈÂˆ˘

Æ˙ÂÓ„˜ÂÓ‰ ÌÈ˘˘‰ ˙Â˘Ó ÔÂËÒ‡‚ ÙÈÏÈÙ Ï˘ ˙Â¯ÁÂ‡Ó‰ ˙ÂË˘Ù‰Ï „‰ ‡ˆÓ

˙Â¯ÓÂÓ ˙Â¯Âˆ ‰Á‡Ó ‡Â‰ ÌÈÓ‰ ‰ÂÂ˜ÓÏ ¯·Â˜ ˜ÈÚÓ˘ ‰ÈˆË¯Ù¯ËÈ‡·

Ì˙Â‡˘ ¨¯ÂÁ˘Â ÔÈ¯Ó–‡¯ËÏÂ‡ ¨ÏÂ‚Ò ¨È¯ÂÊ‡–ÏÂÁÎ· ÌÈÈ·ÏÓ ÌÈÓ˙Î ÈÂÙÈˆ ÌÚ ˙ÂÈ·ˆ˜

·¯˜˙Ó ‡Â‰ ÂÊ Í¯„·Â ¨ß‚È·Â ÛÈ¯Á „Â¯ÂÂ Ï˘ „¯Â‚Ó ÒÈÒ· ÏÚ ‰ÂÈÏÚ ‰·Î˘Î ÁÈÓ ‡Â‰

¨¢‰˘Ï˘‰¢ Â˙ÂÓ˙· ÔÂËÒ‡‚ Ï˘ ÌÈÓÊÈ¯ÈÈÓÏ „Â‡Ó≤Æ±π∂¥–· ‰¯ÈÂˆ˘

ÌÓˆÚÏ ÌÈ„ÓÂÚ Ì˙ÂÈ‰ — ˙ÈÏ‡Â„‰ ˙ÈÏÎ˙‰ ‡Â‰ ÌÈÂÎÈËÙÈ„‰ ˙‡ „ÁÈÈÓ‰ ¯·„‰

¨˙ÂÈÁÂ¯‰ „ÁÂÈÓ·Â ¨‰ÈˆÈÊÂÙÓÂ˜‰ ¨˙ÂÈËÓÂ¯Î‰ ˙ÈÁ·Ó ÆÔÈÏÓÂ‚ ˙Â˜ÈÊ ÌÈÓÈÈ˜Ó Ì‚ Í‡

Ì˘È Æ‰ÂÓ˙ Ï˘ ˙Â„ÈÁÈ ˘˘Î Â‡ ˙Â‚ÂÊ ‰˘ÂÏ˘Î ˙ÈÏ‡È„È‡ ‰ÈÂÓ¯‰ ÌÈ‚È˘Ó Ì‰

˙ÈËÙÂ‡‰ ˙Ó‡‰ ÔÓÂ ÈÏËÂ„˜‡‰ ¯ÂÙÈÒ‰ ÈË¯ÙÓ ÂÓˆÚ ¯¯Á˘Ó ¯·Â˜ Ì‰·˘ ÌÈÓÊ

ÔÚÓÏ ˙ÂÓ‡ Æ‰Ï‚‰ ‰‡¯Ó‰ Ï˘ È˘‚¯‰ ÂÓÂ˘È¯ÏÂ ¯ÂÈˆ Ï˘ ¯Â‰Ë‰ Í¯ÚÏ ¯ÒÓ˙ÓÂ

ÔÓ ‡È‰˘ ¨ÛÂÏÂ Ú·ËÏ ˙Â˘¯Ù ¯·Â˜ ¯ˆÈ Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜¯ÙÏ ÌÂÈÒ‰ ˙ÈÈ¯È· °˙ÂÓ‡‰

ÈÙ ÏÚ ˙Î¯‡˙Ó‰ ‰¯ÈÈ¯˜ ªÛÂ ¯ÈÈˆÎ ÂÏ˘ ‰¯ÈÈ¯˜· ÔÂÈˆÏ ¯˙ÂÈ· ˙ÂÈÂ‡¯‰Â ˙ÂÈ„ÂÁÈÈ‰

Æ¯˙ÂÈÂ ÌÈ¯Â˘Ú È˘Milton Avery, Sea and Sand Dunes, 1955Oil on canvas 40x60 cm.

162

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨Ë¯Ù ¨˙Â·Â‰ˆ†˙ÂÚ·‚Â†‰ÎÈ¯·X±∞∞

Pond and Yellow Hills, detail, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X150



161

±≥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨˙Â˙˘Ï†Â‡·†ÌÈÒÂÒX±±∞ÈË¯Ù ÛÒÂ‡

Horses Came to Drink, 2001, Oil on canvas, 110X130Private Collection


ÚÒÓ‰ ÏÁ‰ ¨¯ÂÁ‡Ï Ë·Ó· ÆÏ‡¯˘È ÈÙÂ Ï‡ ·˘ ÂÓˆÚ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ‰‡Â¯ ¨¯ÊÂÁ ÌÂÏÁ ÂÓÎ

¨˘Ú‚ ¨Ì¯Î–ÔÈÚÂ ÛËÒ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· ÍÈ˘Ó‰Â ¨‰„Â‰È È¯‰Â ·‚‰ Ï˘ ÌÈÈÙ¯‚ÂÙÂË‰ ˙Â‡¯Ó·

¨‰ÊÚ· ÌÈ˙·‰ ˙‡ „Ú˙Ï ¯ˆÚ Í¯„· Æ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ıÂ·È˜ Â˙„ÏÂ‰ ˘¯ÚÂ ˜„ˆ–‰ÂÂ

¨‰ÁÙ˘Ó ÈÈÁÂ ıÂ·È˜ ¨ÌÈË¯Ë¯ÂÙ ¨ÌÈÏÓ ¨‡ÏÈÓÓ Ë˜ÈÂ¯ÙÂ ÔÂÈˆ–¯‰ ÔÂÏÓ ¨¢„ÏÂ‚Ï¢

ÆÔ‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚ· Ì‚ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰Ù ‰Â¯Á‡ÏÂ

Ï˘ ÂÈ„È¯˘ ÌÈˆ·Â˘Ó ‰ÈÙÂ·Â ¨È˜È¯Ù‡–È¯ÂÒ‰ ¯·˘‰ ¯Èˆ ÏÚ ˙ÎÂ˘ Ô‡˘–˙È·

ÌÈ‰ Í¯„ ÏÚ ˙Ó˜ÂÓÓ Ô‡˘–˙È· ÆÈ¯„ÂÓ‰ Ô„ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ÔÂÎÈÓ‰ ÈÈÂÏÈ‚ „ˆÏ ¨ÌÂ„˜ ¯·Ú

Ô„¯È‰ ¯‰Ï ÍÂÓÒ ¨‰ÈÓËÂÙÂÒÓ ÌÚ ÌÈ¯ˆÓ ˙‡ ‰¯·ÈÁ˘ ®ÒÈ¯‡Ó ‰ÈÂ© ˙È¯ÂËÒÈ‰‰

˙‡ ÂÙ˘Á ¯ÈÚ‰ ÊÎ¯Ó· ÂÎ¯Ú˘ ˙ÂÈ‚ÂÏÂ‡ÈÎ¯‡ ˙Â¯ÈÙÁ Æ˙¯ÎÏ ÌÂ¯„Ó Ï˙Ù˙Ó‰

˙È¯ˆÓ‰ ¨˙ÈÚÎ‰ ˙ÂÙÂ˜˙‰Ó Ì‚ ÂÓÎ ¨Ô·‡‰ ˙ÙÂ˜˙Ó ˙ÂÈÂ·˘ÈÈ˙‰ Ï˘ ÔÓÂÈ˜

‰ËÈÏ˘Ï ‡ˆÂÓ ˙„Â˜ÎÂ ¯ÁÒÓ ˙ÓÂˆÎ ¯ÈÚ‰ ‰˘ÓÈ˘ ˙ÈÓÂ¯‰ ‰ÙÂ˜˙· Æ˙ÈÂÂÈ‰Â

‰˙È˘‡¯ Ô‡˘–˙È·· ˙È„Â‰È‰ ˙ÂÁÎÂ‰ Æ˙ÂÈÂÙˆ‰ ˙ÂÈˆÈ·Â¯Ù·Â ‰È¯ÂÒ· ˙È‡·ˆ

‰‡ÓÎ ¨®‰¯ÈÙÒÏ ˙È˘È˘≠˙È˘ÈÓÁ‰ ‰‡Ó‰© „ÂÓÏ˙‰ ˙ÙÂ˜˙· Æ˙ÈÏ‡¯˘È‰ ‰ÙÂ˜˙·

ÂÏ˘ ÒÙÈÒÙ‰ ˙Ùˆ¯˘ ¨˙ÒÎ ˙È· ‰˙·È·Ò· ÌÈÈ˜˙‰ ¨È·¯Ú‰ ˘Â·ÈÎ‰ ÈÙÏ ‰˘

ÌÂ˜Ó‰ ˙ÂÈ‰ ÏÚ ÌÈ„ÈÚÓ ÌÈÒ¯Á‰Â ÌÈ˜È˙Ú‰ ˙Â¯È˜‰˘ ˙Â¯ÓÏ Æ‡ÙÏ‡ ˙È·· ‰Ù˘Á

Æ˙ÈÏÂ˘ ˙Â·È˘Á ¯·Â˜ Ì‰Ï ÒÁÈÈÓ ¨¯·Ú· ˙È·Â ÔÎ˘Ó

Ï˘ Ë˜Ù‡‰ ˙„ÈÎÏ — ¯ÂÈˆ· ˙Â„˜Ó˙‰ ‡Â‰ Ô‡˘–˙È·Ï Â·Â˘Ï È˘‡¯‰ ÚÈÓ‰

˙‡ Â¯ÈÎ‰· ÆÈÂÎÈ˙–ÌÈ ÂÈ‡ Ì‚Â ¯·„Ó ÂÈ‡˘ ÌÈÏ˜‡· ÌÈÓ‰ ÏÚÂ ı¯‡‰ ÏÚ ¯Â‡‰

¯˙‡ ÂÈ˙ÂÙ˜˘‰ ˙ÓˆÂÚ ˙‡ ÆÔÂÈˆ–˙·È˘ ˙‡ ÌÂ˜Ó· ‰‰ÊÓ ‡Â‰˘ ‡ÏÙ ÔÈ‡ ¨Â˙ÂÈ˘È‡

È¯ÏÂÙÂÙ‰ ‰¯È˘Ó ÌÈÁÂ˜Ï‰ ¨¢È‰È ÂÏ ¨È‰È ÂÏ¢ ÌÈÏÈÓ‰ ˙‡ ··¯˘ Ì‰ÈÏ‡˘ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ È˘·

‰ÂÂ‰Ï ÔÓÈÒÎÂ ˙Â‡Î ¯·Ú‰ È‚˘È‰ ˘Â„ÈÁÏ ‰ÂÂ˜˙ ‡Ë·Ó‰ ¯È˘ — ¯Ó˘ ÈÓÚ Ï˘

Æ„È˙ÚÏÂ

È¯Â‚Ó ÌÂ˜Ó ¨‡ÙÏ‡ ˙È· ıÂ·È˜· ÂÈ¯Â˜È· ÍÂ˙Ó ¨·ËÈ‰ ¯·Â˜ ¯ÈÎ‰ ¯ÂÊ‡‰ ˙‡

ÌÚÂ Â¯·Ú ÌÚ ÈËÓÂ¯ ¯˘˜ ¯Ó˘Ï Â„È· ‰ÏÚ ˙‡Ê ÏÎ·Â ÆÂ˙˘‡ ÈÓÈÓ Ï˘ ‰˙ÁÙ˘Ó

˙Â‡¯Ó‰Ó ÌÒ˜Â‰ ¯·Â˜ Æ‰Â˘‡¯ ‰˘È‚Ù ˙‡Ê ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ÂÏÈ‡Î ¨˙ÈÙ¯‚Â‡È‚‰ ‰·È·Ò‰

·È‰ ‰Ê ˘‚ÙÓ Æ‰¯ÈÂÂ‡ È¯ÂÈˆÏ ÌÈ˜ÈÚÓ Ì‰˘ ˙ÂÓ„Ê‰‰ÓÂ Ô‡˘–˙È· ·È·Ò ÂÙ˜˘˘

Æ≤∞∞±≠≤∞∞∞ ÌÈ˘· Â¯ÈÈÂˆ˘ ÌÈ„· È¯ÒÈ¯˙ È˘Î

ÍÂ˙Ó ˙Á‡· ·ˆÈÈ˙‰Ï ÌÚÙ ÏÎ· Â˙Â‡ ÂÏÈ·Â‰ Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚÏ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÂÈ˙ÂÁÈ‚

‰Á¯ÊÓ ˙ÂÂÙ ˙Â„Â˜‰ È˙˘ ªÌÈÈÁ–ÊÂÚÓ ıÂ·È˜Â ‰È„ÓÁ ıÂ·È˜ — ˙ÈÙˆ˙ ˙Â„Â˜ È˙˘

ÆÔ„¯È‰–¯·Ú·˘ „ÚÏ‚‰ È¯‰ Ï‡

ÌÈÓ ¨‰Ó„‡ — ÌÈÈÒÈÒ· ÌÈËÓÏ‡ Ï˘ ·ÂÏÈ˘‰ Ï˘· ˜ÓÚ‰ ÈÙÂ ˙‡ ¯Á· ¯·Â˜

˙ÂÎÈ¯·© Ú‚Â¯ ÌÈÓ ¯‚‡Ó ¨ÌÂÓÚÂ ÁË˘ÂÓ ÈÓ„˜ ‰ÂÓ˙ ˜ÏÁ ÌÈ‚ˆÈÈÓ‰ — ÌÈÓ˘Â

Ì˜ÓÂÚ ‡ÂÏÓ· ÒÙ˙ ‡Â‰ ÆÚ˜¯· ¨ÌÈÓ˘ ‰ÈÏÚÓ˘ ‰ÙÂˆ¯ ÌÈ¯‰ ˙¯˘¯˘Â ¨ÊÎ¯Ó· ®ÌÈ‚„

‰ÓÎÓ ‰Ï‡‰ ÌÈËÓÏ‡‰ ˙˘ÂÏ˘ Ï˘ ÌÈÈˆÂ·È˜‰Â ÌÈÈÏ‡Â„ÈÂÂÈ„È‡‰ ÌÈÈÈÙ‡Ó‰ ˙‡

ÆÌÂÈ‰ ˙ÂÚ˘Â ‰˘‰ ˙ÂÂÚ È„È–ÏÚ ÌÈÓ¯‚‰ ÌÈÈÂÈ˘Ï ˙ÂÒÁÈÈ˙‰ ÍÂ˙ ¨˙ÂÈÂÂÊ

¯·Â˜ Ô˙Â˘ ÌÂ‚¯˙‰ ˙‡ ‰·ÂÁ· ˙ÓÏ‚Ó ÔÓ˘–˙Â„Â·Ú Ï˘ ÂÊ ‰·Â˘Á ‰ˆÂ·˜

˙ÂÂÓ˙‰ Æ‰ÓÈÙ ˙ÂÂ·˙‰‰ ˙ÓˆÂÚ ˙‡Â ÂÏ˘ È‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ‰ ËÓ¯ÙÓË‰ ˙‡ ¨¯Â‡Ï

¯·Â˜ Í‡ ¨‰ÈÁ È„È· ‡ÏÂ Ì„‡ È„È· ‡Ï ¨˙Ú¯ÙÂÓ ‰È‡˘ ˙ÈÏ¯ÂËÒÙ ‰ÂÂÏ˘· ˙ÂÏ·ÂË

ÛÂ‰ ˙‡ ¯‡˙Ï ÛÈ„ÚÓ ‡Â‰ ÆÈÏÈ„È‡‰ Ô‚‰ Ï˘ ÈË‡ÂÙ‰ ÁÂ˙È· ¯˙È–˙Â‡˜ ÈÙÓ ¯Ó˘

˙Â·Á¯‰ ˙ÂÚÈ¯È‰ ˙‡ ÌÈÎÓÂ˙‰ ÌÈËÓ‚ÈÙ ÈÊÚ ÌÈÈ˜ÙÂ‡ ÌÈÏÙ Ï˘ ˙Âˆ¯Ó ˙ÂÁÈ˘Ó·

ÌÚÙ ‡Ï ÆÌÈÁÈ˘Â ÌÈˆÚ Ï˘ ÌÈÙÏÁ˙Ó‰ ÌÈË¯Ù‰ ˙‡ Ì‚ ÂÓÎ ¨ÌÈÓ˘Â ı¯‡ Ï˘

ÌÈ¯È˘Ú‰ ÛÂ‰ È¯Â‡È˙· ®±∏∑μ≠±∑π∂© Â¯Â˜ ÏÈÓ‡˜ ˙‡ ‰Ï‡ ÌÈË¯Ù ÌÈ¯ÈÎÊÓ

‰ÁÂ„ ¨Ô‡˘–˙È·· Â˙¯ÈˆÈ ÏÎ Í¯Â‡Ï ˙ËÏÁÂÓ ˙ÂÎ ÏÚ Â¯ÓÂ˘· Æ±∏≤∞ Ï˘ ‰ÈÏËÈ‡Ó

˙˘ÂÁ˙ ¯ˆÈÈÏ È„Î ÔÂÂ‚ È˜È˜ÏÁ Ï˘ ˙ÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÓÈ‡‰ ‰„Â˙Ó‰ ˙‡ ÈÂÏ‚ ÔÙÂ‡· ¯·Â˜

ÆÛ˜˙˘Ó ¯Â‡

‡Ï˘ Ô˙È ‡Ï ˙Î˘Ó˙Ó ‰ÙÂ˜˙ ÈÙ ÏÚ Ô‡˘–˙È·· ÌÈ¯ÊÂÁ ÌÈ¯Â˜È· ÍÏ‰Ó·

Æ„ÚÏ‚‰ È¯‰ Ï˘ ÌÈ‡˘È‰ ˙Â„¯ÂÓ‰Ó ÌÈÙ˜˘‰ Ú·ˆ‰ ÈÈÂÈ˘ Ï˘ ÌÓÒ˜Ï ÒÙ˙È‰Ï

ÌÚ Ô„¯È Ï˘ ÈÚ·Ë‰ È·¯ÚÓ‰ ‰ÏÂ·‚ ˙‡ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó ¨‰ÁÂË˘ ‰Ó¯· ÌÈÈ˙ÒÓ‰ ¨‰Ê ÒÎ¯

Ï˘ ‰·È‰¯Ó Ú·ˆ ˙ÓÈÏ‚ ‰Ê ÒÎ¯ ‰ËÂÚ ¨ÌÂÈ‰ ˙Ú˘ÏÂ ‰˘‰ ˙ÂÚÏ Ì‡˙‰· ÆÏ‡¯˘È

ÏÚÓ ‰ÏÂÚ‰ ˘Ó˘‰ ÆÈÏÂÏÙ‡ ÛÂ¯˘ ÌÂ˙Î „ÚÂ ˜È¯·Ó ÏÂÁÎÓ ¨˙ÙÏÁ˙Ó ‰ËÏ‡Ù

ÒÎ¯‰ Ï˘ ÌÈ˜ÂÓÚ‰ ÂÈ˙Â„¯ÂÓ ˙‡ ‰ÂÂ˙ÓÂ ¨ÍÈ·‡ ÈÎ Ì‡ ¨¯Â‡ Ï˘ ÚÙ˘ ˙˜ÙÒÓ „ÚÏ‚Ï

ÆÌÂ‰˙ ˙·¯Â‡ ÂÓÎ Ì‰·

¯·Â˜ ˙Â„Â·Ú ˙‡ ÌÈÎÙÂ‰ ‡˘Â‰ Ï˘ ˜ÈÂ„Ó ÈÂËÈ·Ï ˙ÂÂÂÎ˙‰‰Â ÛÂ· ¯ÂÈˆ‰

Ì‡ Æ˙ÈÂ˘‡¯‰ Â˙ÈÈÂÂÁ Ï˘ ˙ÈÏ‡ÂÊÈÂÂ‰ ‰˘ÂÁ˙‰ ˙‡ ˙Ù˜˘Ó‰ ˙ÈËÒÈÏ¯ÂË ‰¯È˜ÁÏ

ÌÈÏÈÏˆ‰ „ÚœÓ ˙‡ ¯˙ÂÈ ‰·¯‰ ˙Ó‡Â˙ ‡È‰ È¯‰ ¨‰˜ÈÊÂÓÏ Â˙„Â·Ú ˙‡ ˙ÂÂ˘‰Ï Ô˙È

˙‡ Â‡ Í‡· Ï˘ ‰‚ÂÙ Ï˘ ÌÈ˙·Â˙Ó‰ ÌÈÂÂ˙‰ ˙‡ ¯˘‡Ó ˙ÈÒÓ‰¯· ‰ÈÂÙÓÈÒ Ï˘

ÈËÓÂ¯ ÏÈÏˆ ÌÚ ‰ÏÂÚ‰ ‰Ó‡˙‰‰ ÆÈÒÈ·„ ˙‡Ó ‰ÈÈÚÈ·¯ Ï˘ ÌÈÈ˘È¯Á‰ ÌÈÏÈÏˆ‰

˙ÂÈÏÂÈˆ¯Ï Ô˙Â ‡Â‰˘ Ë‚‰ ˙‡Â ‡˘ÂÏ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ˙È˘‚¯‰ Â˙·Â‚˙ ˙‡ ˙Ù˜˘Ó

˙ÈÁ·· Ì‰ Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚ ÈÓ˘Â ‡˘„‰ ÈÁË˘Ó ¨ÌÈ¯‰‰ È¯ÂÈˆ ¨ÍÎ˘ ÔÂÂÈÎÓÂ Æ‰ÙÂ¯ˆ‰

˙Â„Â·Ú‰ ˙È·¯Ó ÆË˜ÏËÈ‡‰ ÏÚ ˘‚¯‰ ˙ÂÂÈÏÚ ¨ÔÂÈÓ„‰ ÔÂÁˆÈ Ï˘ ÚÓ È˙Ï· ÈÂÏÈ‚

ÏÚ ˙Ú˘‰ ‰ÈˆË¯Ù¯ËÈ‡ Ô‰Ï ˜ÈÚ‰Ï Ô˙È ‡ÏÂ ¨ÚÈ¯ÎÓ ÈÁÂ¯ ˘‚ÙÓ Ï˘ ¯ˆÂ˙ Ô‰

ÆÂ˜Â ‰¯Âˆ ¨Ú·ˆ Ï˘ ˙ÈÓ„˜‡ ‰·‰

·Â‰ˆ ÌÚ ÏÂ‚Ò ÈÂÂ‚· ÌÈÓ˘ ÌÚ ˙ÓÂÚÓ ‰ÙÂˆ‰ ¯˘‡Î ¨˙Â¯È˙Ò ˙Â¯ˆÂ ÌÈ˙ÚÏ

ÆÔ·Ï ÔÚ·ˆ˘ ˙ÂËËÂ˘Ó ˙Â¯Ù Ï˘ ÔÂ‡Óˆ ˙‡ ‰ÂÂ¯Ó‰ ÌÂ˙Î ÌÈÓ ‰ÂÂ˜Ó ÌÚ Â‡ ¨ÈÂÓÈÏ

Ô˙ÂÂ ÌÈÂ˘‰ ÌÈË¯Ù‰ ˙‡Â ‰·Á¯‰ ‰ÂÓ˙‰ ˙‡ ¯ÈÈˆÓ ¯·Â˜˘ ¨ÍÎ· ıÂÚ ¯·Ò‰‰

Æ„ÁÂÈÓ‰ Ì¯‰ÂÊÏ ÈËÓÂ¯Î ÈÂËÈ· ÍÎ·

ÌÈÓ‰ ÈÙÂ‚ Ï˘ ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ÔÙÂ‡ ÁÂ˙È ‡Â‰ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ˙È¯ÂÈˆ‰ Â˙˘È‚ ˙·‰Ï Á˙ÙÓ‰

˙ÂÂÎ˙‰ ˙‡ „È¯ÙÓ‰ È˜ÙÂ‡ ¯Èˆ ÌÈÂÂ˙Ó ‰ÎÈ¯·‰ Â‡ Ì‚‡‰ ÆÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ÔÓ „Á‡ ÏÎ·

ÔÂÂ‚Ó ÌÈÓ‰ ÈÂÂ˜Ó ÌÈËÏÂ˜ ÍÎ ÍÂ˙· ÆÍÂÂ˙ÓÎ ÏÚÂÙ ‰˘ÚÓÏÂ ¨ÌÈÓ˘Â ı¯‡ Ï˘ ˙ÂÈÊÈÙ‰

ÈÚ·ˆ· „ÈÁ‡ ÈÂÙÈˆ ÏÚ· ˜È¯·Ó È˙˜·‡ ‚¯‡ÓÏ ÏÊÂ ˙Â¯ÈÓÓ‰ ˙ÂÈÙ¯ÂÓ‡ ˙ÂÈÂÙ˜˙˘‰

Æ˜ÙÂ‡Ó ÏÂÁÎ

Ô‰·Â ¨‰‰Ê ˙ÈÙˆ˙ ˙„Â˜Ó Â˘Ú˘ ¨˙Â„Â·Ú È˙˘ ÔÈÈÙ‡Ï ˙ÂÏÂÎÈ ‰ÏÂÎ ‰¯„Ò‰ ˙‡

˙ÂÚ·Â‰ ˙ÂÈÓˆÚ‰ ˙ÂÈÂ˜„· ‰‡˙Ó ‰ÂÓ˙ ÏÎ Æ‰ÂÓ˙‰ ÈË¯Ù· ÌÈÈ¯ÚÊÓ ÌÈÈÂÈ˘ ˜¯

Ï˘ ÈÏ‡ÂËÙÒÂ˜ Ì˙ÂÁ Â‡ ÔÓÊ· ‡Ù˜˘ ÈÂÓÈ„ ÔÈÚÓ ‡È‰Â ¨ÌÂÈ‰ ˙Ú˘ÓÂ ‰˘‰ ˙ÂÚÓ

ÆÚ‚Â¯ ˜ÓÚ Ï˘ ÛÂ ˙ÂÓ˙Ó ÂÏ ˙ÂÙˆÏ ¯ÂÓ‡ Ì„‡˘ ‰Ó

¨¯ÂÈˆ‰ Ï˘ Â·Á¯Ó Ï‡ ‰ÙÂˆ‰ ÒÎ ‰ÂÓ˙‰ ˙Ó„˜· ˙ÂÂ˘Ó ˙ÂÈÏÂÏ˙ Í¯„

‰ÁÈÓˆÂ ˙¯ÊÙ˙Ó ‰ÂÂÏÚ ˙Â¯‡˙Ó ÂÏ‡ ˙ÂÁÈ˘Ó Æ˙ÂÈÎ‡ ˙ÂÁÈ˘Ó È„È–ÏÚ ¯¯ÂÁÓ‰

ÆÌÈˆÚ È˘ Ï˘ ÈÂÂ˜ ‰·Ó· ÌÈÓÈÈ˙ÒÓ‰ ¨˜Â¯È Í·ÒÂ ÌÈË˜ ÌÈÁ¯Ù· ˙„˜ÂÓ ‰ÎÂÓ

˙ÈÂÂ‚–·¯‰ ˙ÂÈÂÚ·ˆ‰ Ï‡ ‰ÎÈ¯·‰ Ï˘ ‚‚ÂÊÓ‰ ÁË˘Ó‰ ÔÓ ˙Â‡Õ¯‰ ˙‡ ÌÈ˜È˙ÚÓ ‰Ï‡

ÆÚ˜¯·˘ ÌÈ¯‰‰ Ï˘

Â¯˘ÂÚ Ï˘ ¯ÂÂÈÁ ÏˆÏ ˜Â¯È‰ ˜ÓÚ‰ ˙‡ ÌÈ¯‰ˆ‰ ˘Ó˘ ˙ÎÙÂ‰ ¯˙ÂÈ ¯ÁÂ‡Ó

ÔÂÂ‚· Ú‚Â¯‰ Ì‚‡‰ ÈÙ ÌÈÚ·ˆ ÚÂ˜˘Ï ˘Ó˘‰ ‰˙Ù Ì¯Ë· ¨·¯Ú ˙ÂÙÏ ÆÌ„Â˜‰

˙˘˜Â ÈÏÂÙ‡–·Â‰ˆ ¨˙ÈÊ ¨ÒÂÁ„ ÏÂ‚Ò Ï˘ ˙Â·Ï˙˘Ó ˙Â¯Âˆ Û˜ÂÓ‰ ¨¯È„Á È˙Ï· Â‚È„È‡

Æ˜Â¯È ÈÂÂ‚ Ï˘ ‰ÓÏ˘

–˙È· ˜ÓÚ ‰‡¯ÓÓ ˙Â‚¯ÂÁ‰ ®±∂∑ ¨±∂∂ ßÓÚ© ˙Â„„Â· ˙ÂÂÓ˙ ¯ÙÒÓ ¯ˆÈ ¯·Â˜

‰Ó‚Â„Î ¢‰È„ÓÁÓ Ë·Ó¢ ‰ÂÓ˙‰ ˙„ÁÈÈ˙Ó ÂÊ ‰ˆÂ·˜ ÍÂ˙· ÆÂÏ ÈÒÂÙÈË‰ Ô‡˘

„˜Ó˙‰Â ¨ÂÏ ÔÓ‡ ‰Î ‡Â‰˘ ÈÏ˜ÂÏ‰ ÌÈÚ·ˆ‰ ÔÂÂ‚Ó ÏÚ ¯·Â˜ ¯˙ÈÂ ‰·˘ ¨‰Èˆ‡ÂËÈÒÏ

„Ú ‰È‰ ‡Â‰ „Á‡ ·¯Ú Í‡ ¨ÛÂ· ¯ÈÈˆÏ ÍÈ˘Ó‰ ¨ÂÎ¯„Î Æ˙ÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÒ˜‡ ‰ËÏ‡Ù·

Ì‚‡ Â˙‡ˆÂ˙˘ ¨ı¯Ù˙Ó ÈÂÚ·ˆ Ï‚Ï ‰ÁÂÈ‰ ˙Â‡ÈˆÓ‰ ˙‡ ÍÙ‰ ¯˘‡ ¨¯Â‡· ÈÂÈ˘Ï

˙ÈÊ ˜Â¯È· ÌÈÓ˘Â ÛÈÊ˘ ÈÂÂ‚· ÌÈ¯‰ ¨ÛÈ¯Á ÊÈ˜¯ÂË· ÌÈ˘‚„ÂÓ ÌÈÏÂ‚Ò ÌÈˆÚ ¨„Â¯Â–ÌÂ˙Î

È˙˘ È„È–ÏÚ ˙Â¯·˘ ˙Â·Á¯ ˙ÂÁÈ˘Ó· Â¯ÈÂˆ˘ ˙Â¯Âˆ‰ ÆÌÈ¯ÂÙ‡ ÌÈÚ ¯ÙÒÓ Ì‰·Â

¨Ô·‚ ÏÚ ˙ÏÙÂ‰ Á¯È ¯Â‡ Ô¯˜· ˙Â¯‡ÂÓ Ô‰Â ¨ÌÈÓ‰ ˙Ù˘ ÏÚ ˙Â˙Â˘‰ ˙ÂÁÈÈ ˙Â¯Ù

ÌÈÓ‰ ÁË˘Ó ÈÙ ÏÚ ‰˙ÈÏÏˆ ˙‡ ‰ÏÈËÓ ‰˜ÂÁ¯‰ ‰„‚· ÌÈˆÚ ˙ˆÂ·˜ ¯˘‡Î

ÈÂÓ¯‰ ÔÂÊÈ‡ ÏÚ ‰¯ÈÓ˘Â ˙ÂÈ¯˜ÈÚ ˙Â¯Âˆ Ú·¯‡ Â‡ ˘ÂÏ˘ È„ÎÏ ÛÂ‰ ÌÂˆÓˆ ÆÌ¯˜ÂÓ‰

Ï˘ ÌÈÎÊ‰ ÌÈÙÂ‰ ÔÈ· Ì˘ È‡ ˙ÙÁ¯Ó‰ ¨˙„ÁÂÈÓ ‰ÂÓ˙ ÌÈ¯ˆÂÈ ÌÈÚ·ˆ‰ ˙ÓˆÂÚ Ï˘

ÆÂ˜˙Â¯ ˜¯Ó Ï˘ Ë˘ÙÂÓ‰ ÔÈ·Ï È¯·ÈÈ‡ ÔÂËÏÈÓ

‰ˆÂ·˜ ÂÊ Æ≤∞∞± ıÈ˜ Ï˘ Â˙È˘‡¯· ‰¯ˆÂ Ô‡˘–˙È·· ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ‰Â¯Á‡‰ Â˙„Â·Ú

ÌÈ‰·‚˙Ó‰ ÌÈÂÎÈËÙÈ„ ‰˘ÂÏ˘ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó‰ ¨®±∂π ¨±∂∏ ßÓÚ© ÌÈÚ·Â¯Ó ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ ‰˘È˘ Ï˘

Â˙ÂÙ˜˙˘‰ ˙‡Â ‰È„ÓÁ ÛÂÓ ÚË˜ ËÂ¯ËÂ¯Ù· ¯‡˙Ó ˙ÂÂÓ˙ „Óˆ ÏÎ Æ‰Ê ÏÚÓ ‰Ê

˙ÂÈ‚¯‡‰ ÏÎ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ÊÎÈ¯ Â·˘ ¨·È‰¯Ó ÁÂÎ Ô‚ÙÓ Ì‰ ˙ÂÂÓ˙‰ ˙˘˘ Æ˙ÂÎÈ¯··

ÔÓ ‰ÏÂÚ‰ ÌÂÁ‰ ˙‡ „Ú˙Ó ‡Â‰ Ô‡Î Æ˙ÂÂ¯Á‡‰ ÌÈÈ˙˘· ‡ˆÓ˘ ˙Â·Â˘˙‰ ˙‡Â

Æ˙Á˙Ó ÌÈÓ‰ Ô‚‡· ÌÈÓ˘‰ Ï˘ ˙Âˆ‰ ˙ÂÙ˜˙˘‰‰ ˙‡Â ÏÚÓÓ ÌÈÓ˘‰ Ï‡ ı¯‡‰

ÚÓ ÂÊ ‰¯„ÒÏ „Ú˘ ˙ÂÈ˙ÂÓ‡ ˙ÂÈÂ¯ÈÁ ÂÓˆÚÏ ÏË ¯·Â˜ ‰Ï‡ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ· ¨ÍÎÓ ‰¯˙È

ÆÔÈËÂÏÁÏ ËÚÓÎ Ô‰Ó

160


159


ÌÈÓ ÈÂÂ˜Ó

LakesThe

158

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨˙Â¯ÙÂ†‰È„ÓÁ†¯‚‡ÓX±∞∞

Hamadiya’s Reservoir and Cows, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X150


˙ Â Â ¯ Î È Ê ‰ Û È Ò ‡

157

±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨¯ÂÁ˘†ÏÂ˙ÁÂ†Ô·˙ÓX±≥∞Barn and Black Cat, 2000, Oil on canvas, 130X150


156

±∞∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨·Â‰Ê†Ô·˙Ó ∫Ì„Â˜ Û„·X∏∞

Previous page: Golden Barn, 2000, Oil on canvas, 80X100

±¥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨ÏÂÁÎ†„ÂÓÚ†ÌÚ†Ô·˙ÓX±∞∞Barn with Blue Pole, 2000, Oil on canvas, 100X140


˙ Â Â ¯ Î È Ê ‰ Û È Ò ‡

153

¥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨˙Â¯ÙÂ†¯ÈˆÁ†˙ÂÓÈ¯ÚXμ∞ÔÒ¯ÂÒ†Ò‚ÈÓ˜†˙Â¯†ÛÒÂ‡

Haystacks and Cows, 2000, Oil on canvas, 50X40Collection of Ruth Cummings Sorensen


Richard Diebenkorn, Untitled Unload, 1978Pasted paper on paer 13.5x9.45 in.

You must become an ignorant man again and see

the sun again with an ignorant eye and see

clearly in the idea of it.”

Wallace Stevens

˙¯ÒÁ ÔÈÚ· ˘Ó˘· ËÈ·‰ÏÂ ¯ÂÊÁÏ ¨¯Â· ˙ÂÈ‰ÏÂ ·Â˘Ï ÍÈÏÚ¢

Æ¢‰·˘ ‰‡È„È‡‰ ˙‡ ˙Â¯È‰·· ˙Â‡¯ÏÂ ¨˙Ú„

Ò·ÈËÒ ÒÏÂÂ

152


˙ Â Â ¯ Î È Ê ‰ Û È Ò ‡

151

π≥†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨‰ÁÈ¯Ê·†˙Â¯ÙX∑μCows at Sunrise, 2000, Oil on canvas, 75X93


150

∏∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨¯˜Â··†˙Ù¯X∑∞Cowshed in the Morning, 2000, Oil on canvas, 70X80


˙ Â Â ¯ Î È Ê ‰ Û È Ò ‡

149


148

μ∞†¨¯ÈÈ†ÏÚ†ÈÂÚ·ˆ†ÔÂ¯ÙÈÚ†¨±πμ≥†¨‰¯ÙX≥∞

Cow, 1953, Pencil on Paper, 30X50

±¥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨˙Ù¯·†˙Â¯ÙX∏∞

Cows in the Shed, 2000, Oil on canvas, 80X140


˙ Â Â ¯ Î È Ê ‰ Û È Ò ‡

147

±∞∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨˙ÂÈÏÂÎ˘‡†ıÚXπ∞Grapefruit Tree, 2000, Oil on canvas, 90X100


˙ Â Â ¯ Î È Ê ‰ Û È Ò ‡

145

±∞∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨È¯Ù†ÒÂÓÚ†ıÚXπ∞ÔÓ¯ÓÈ‡†·Â·Â†Ô¯Ù†ÛÒÂ‡

A Tree with Plenty of Oranges, 2000, Oil on canvas, 90X100Collection of Fran and Bob Immerman


144

∏∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨ÌÂ„‡·†Ò„¯ÙX∑∞Orange Grove in Red, 2000, Oil on canvas, 70X80


˙ Â Â ¯ Î È Ê ‰ Û È Ò ‡

143

≥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨ÌÈ˘Â¯·†È˘Xμ∞ÔÓ¯ÓÈ‡†·Â·Â†Ô¯Ù†ÛÒÂ‡

Two Cypresses, 2000, Oil on canvas, 50X30Collection of Fran and Bob Immerman


ÁÂ˙ÈÙ‰Â ÔÈÈ·‰ ˙ÙÂ˙ ˙ÓÁÓ Â˜Á„Â ÂÎÏ‰ „ÏÈÎ ¯·Â˜ ·‰‡ ‰˙Â‡ ı¯‡‰ ÈÙ

Æ¯·Ú‰ ˙‡ ¯Ó˘Ï È„Î ‰ÂÂ‰‰ ÔÓ Â‰˘Ó ÁÈˆ‰Ï ˘‡Â ËÚÓÎ Í¯Âˆ ˘Á ‡Â‰ ÆÈ˙ÈÈ˘Ú˙‰

Æ¯ÈˆÁ‰ ˙ÂÓÈ¯ÚÂ Ò„¯Ù‰ ¨‰¯Ù‰ ∫Ì‰ ÍÎ Ì˘Ï ¯Á·˘ ÌÈ‡˘Â‰

¨ÌÈ˘‰ ÌÚ ˙ÁÙ ‡Ï ‰Ê ÒÁÈÂ ¨˙Â¯Ù‰ Ï‡ ‰ˆ¯Ú‰ Ï˘ ÒÁÈ ‰ÏÈ‚ Â˙Â„ÏÈ· „ÂÚ

˙„„Â· ‰¯Ù ˙¯‡˙Ó ¨¢˘¯ÂÁ‰ ÔÈÚ· ˙Ù¯‰¢ ¨ÂÊ ‰¯„Ò· ˙Á‡ ‰ÂÓ˙ ÆÌˆÚ˙‰ ‡Ï‡

¯ÂÁ˘Â ÛÈÊ˘ ÏÂ‚Ò ¯˘‡Î ¨Ì„Ó„‡ ÌÂ˙Î Ï˘ ÌÈ˜È¯·Ó ÌÈÂÂ‚· ¢„¯ÂÙ‰¯‰¢ ÚÊ‚Ó

‰˘ÂËÂ ‰„„Â· ¨˙Á· ‰¯È‚ ‰ÏÚÓ ¨˙·ˆÈ ‡È‰ Ì˘ Æ˜ÓÚ· ‰ÚÈ˜˘‰ ˙‡ ÌÈÙ˜˘Ó

Ï˘Ó ‡Â‰ ‰Ó„‡· Ô‚ÂÚÓ‰ ˙ÂÓˆÚÂ ¯˘· Ï˘ ‰Ê‰ ˜Ú‰ ÈÏÂÎÏÓ‰ ˘Â‚‰ Æ‰‡¯ÓÏ

Ô˙È ‡Ï ‰Ê ˘Â‚ ÆÌÈÏ‡È„È‡Ï ˙Â·ÈÂÁÓÏ ¨˙ÚÎ È˙Ï·‰ ÁÂ¯Ï ¨Ï‡¯˘È–ı¯‡ ˙Â„ÏÂ˙Ï

¨‰ÎÎÒ· ÁË·Ï ˙Â¯Ù‰ ˙Â·˘ÂÈ ¨‰ÂÎÓ‰ Ô„ÈÚ· ÌÈÈÂˆÓ Â‡Â ˙ÂÈ‰ ÆÏ˜· ÂÓÂ˜ÓÓ ÊÈÊ‰Ï

‰ÂÎÓÎ ˙Â„˜Ù˙ÓÂ ˘ÂÚÈ˙‰ Ô„ÈÚ ˙‡ ˙ÂÏÓÒÓ Ô‰ ‰ÓÂ„ ÔÙÂ‡· Æ‰·È·Ò‰Ó ˙Â‚ÂÓ

˜ÂÈ˙Ï ‰˘Â¯„‰ ‰ÂÊ˙‰ ˙˜ÙÒ‡Ï ¨˙ÂÏ„ È˙Ï· ·ÏÁ ˙ÂÈÂÓÎ ¯ÂˆÈÈÏ ˙„ÚÂÈÓ‰ ˙È‚ÂÏÂÈ·

˙ÂÎÙÂ‰ ˙ÂÈ‡Ï˜Á ˙ÂÏÈ‰˜ Â·˘ ÔÙÂ‡‰ Â˙Â‡· ˘ÓÓ — ¯‚Â·ÓÂ „ÏÈ ˙ÂÈ‰Ï Ï„‚È˘ È„Î

Æ˙Âˆ¯‡Ï ÌÈ¯ÚÂ ¨ÌÈ¯ÚÏ ˙Â¯ÈÈÚ ¨˙Â¯ÈÈÚÏ

˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ıÂ·È˜ Ï˘ ÌÈÒ„¯Ù‰ Ï‡Â ÌÈÈÁ‰ ÈÏÚ· Ï‡Â ˙Â„˘‰ Ï‡ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ Â·Â˘

˘ÓÁÂ ÌÈ¯˘Ú Í˘Ó· ÂÈÏÚÓ ‚Á˘ ¯Á‡Ï ¨Ô˜‰ ÏÚ ˙˘„ÂÁÓ ˙Â˙ÈÈ·˙‰ ÔÈÚÓ Â¯Â·Ú ‰È‰

¨ÌÓˆÚ ˙ÂÂ¯ÎÈÊ‰ ÔÓ Ì‚ È‡„ÂÂ·Â ¨¯ÂÎÊÏ ÔÂˆ¯‰ ÔÓ ‰·¯‰· ‰˜ÂÓÚ ¯·„‰ ˙Â·È˘Á ÆÌÈ˘

Ï·È˜ Ô‡Î ˜ÂÈ„· Æ¯ˆÂÈ Ì„‡Î ÂÚÒÓ ÏÁ‰ ¨¯Á‡ ÌÂ˜Ó· ‡ÏÂ ¨Ô‡Î Æ·˘ Ì˙‡Â ÛÒ‡ Ì˙Â‡

‰˜ÈË˙Ò‡ Ï˘ ‰˙ÂÚÓ˘Ó·Â ¯ÂÈˆ‰ ˙Î‡ÏÓ· ¨¯·Â˜ ‡·‡ ¨ÂÈ·‡Ó ÔÂ˘‡¯ ¯ÂÚÈ˘

È„Â‰È‰ ÌÚÏ ˙ÂÎÈÈ˙˘‰‰ Ï˘ ‰˙Â·È˘Á ‰È‰ ÂÈ¯Â‰ ˙È·· ÛÒÂ ÈÊÎ¯Ó ‡˘Â Æ˙ÈÙÂËÂ‡

˙È„Â‰È‰ ‰˜ÈË˙Ò‡‰Â ˙ÂÈÏ‡ÂË˜ÏËÈ‡‰ ¨˙ÂÈÁÂ¯‰ ˙‡Â˘Ó Ï˘ ˙˘„ÂÁÓ‰ ‰˙ˆ‰‰Â

‰˜ËÈÂ ‰˜ÈÚ‰ ‰Ê‰ ÌÂ˜Ó· Æ‰ÓÈ˘‚Ó‰ ˙ÈËÒÈÏ‡ÈˆÂÒ‰ ‰ÚÂ˙‰ Ï˘ ‰ÈÈ‡¯‰ ˙ÈÂÂÊÓ

¨ßÈ‡ß‰ ˙˘ÂÁ˙ ˙‡ Â· ‰˜ˆÈ ÍÎ ÆÔÂÁËÈ··Â ˙ÂÈ„Ú· ¨‰·Ï ˜ˆÂÓ È‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ ÒÈÒ·

¨È‡Ï˜Á‰ ÏÚÙÓ‰ Ï‡ ‰·‰‡‰ Â· ÂÁ˙Ù˙‰ Ô‡Î Æ‰ÏÈ‰˜ÏÂ ÌÈ„ÈÁÈÏ ˙ÂÈ¯Á‡ ÂÈÏÚ Ï·˜Ó‰

Æ˙Â˙Ù¯·Â ˙Â„˘· „Â„Ï ÛÁ„‰ ÔÎÂ ÌÈ¯Á‡· ˙ÂÏ˙‰–È‡ÏÂ ÈÓˆÚ‰ ¯ÂˆÈÈÏ ‰Î¯Ú‰‰

‰˙Â‡ ‰¯ÈÚˆ ‰¯Ú — ‰Â˘‡¯‰ ‰·‰‡‰ ÔÂ¯ÎÈÊ· Â‚ÙÒ ¯ˆ˜˘ È¯Ë‰ ¯ÈˆÁ‰ ˙ÂÁÈ¯

‰ÎÂ¯Î ‰¯ËÓ ÏÎ ˙‚˘‰˘ ¨‰·‰‰ ‰ÓÙÂ‰ Ô‡Î Æ˙ÂÏÈÏ· Ò„¯ÙÏ Â‡ ˘˜‰ Ô·˙ÓÏ Á˜Ï

‰˙Â‡ ‰ÈÙÂËÂ‡‰ ˙ÈˆÓ˙ ‰˘ÚÓÏ ‰È‰ ÈËÈÏÂÙÂ È˙¯·Á Ï‡È„È‡Î ıÂ·È˜‰ Æ‰˘˜ ‰„Â·Ú·

Æ˙È˙ÂÓ‡‰ ÂÎ¯„ ÏÎ Í˘Ó· ¯·Â˜ ˘˜È·

∫ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ Ï˘ ˙ÂÂ˘ ˙ÂˆÂ·˜ ˘ÂÏ˘ ‰·È‰˘ ‰˜Â˘˙· ¯·Ú‰ ÌÒ˜Ï ÚÎ ¯·Â˜

‡¯Â˜ ‡Â‰˘ ˙Á‡ ‰„ÈÁÈÎ ‰‡Â¯ ‡Â‰ ÔÏÂÎ ˙‡ Æ¢¯ÈˆÁ ˙ÂÏÈ·Á¢Â ¢˙Â˙Ù¯¢ ¨¢ÌÈÒ„¯Ù¢

Æ¢ÏÂÁÎ ¯˜Â· ÌÚ ÏÂÁ Ï˘ ÌÂÈ Ì˙Ò¢ ‰Ï

¯ÈÈˆ ¯˘‡Î ¨ÔÎÏ Ì„Â˜ ÌÈ˘ ÏÁ‰˘ ˘‚ÙÓ ˘„ÁÏÂ ˙Â˙Ù¯· ¯˜·Ï ÛÈ„Ú‰ ‰ÏÈÁ˙

‰ÈÁ ‰˙Â‡ — ‰¯Ù‰ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ¯ÎÂÊ Â˙Â„ÏÈ ¯Á˘ Ê‡Ó Æ˙ÂÙ˙Â˘Î ˙ÂÙ‡Â ˙Â¯Ù

–˙˙ ‰·ÈÁ Ì„‡‰ È· ÏÎÏ ÈÎ ‰ÁË·· ÔÈÓ‡Ó ‡Â‰ ‰˘ÚÓÏ Æ‡ÏÙÂÓ ¯ÂˆÈÎ — ˙ÈÏ·Ò

È˘Â˜ ˘È‡Ï ÔÈ‡˘ ¨ÂÏ‡Î ˙ÂÈ˙Â‚‰˙‰Â ˙ÂÈÙÂ‚ ˙ÂÈÂÎÈ‡· ÂÁÈ Ô‰ ÔÎ˘ ¨˙Â¯ÙÏ ˙Ú„ÂÓ

˙ˆ·Â˜Ó‰ ˙Â¯Ù Ï˘ ‰ÁÙ˘Ó ¯‡˙Ó ‡Â‰ ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ· ÌÚÙ‰ Â˙Â‰˘· ÆÔ˙Â‡ ÍÈ¯Ú‰Ï

¨˙ÂÈÏÂÒÈÙ ˙Â¯ÈˆÈÎ ˙Â¯‡Â˙Ó ˙Â¯Ù‰ Æ®±¥π ßÓÚ© ÌÈ·Ê¯Ó‰ Ïˆ· ˙ˆ·Â¯ Â‡ ˙ÂÎÎÒ ˙Á˙

˙Â¯Âˆ ÆÔ·ÏÂ ¯ÂÁ˘· ˙ÂÈÙ¯ÂÓ‡ ˙Â¯Âˆ Ï˘ ÈÙ¯‚ ·ˆ˜Ó ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ˙ÎÓ˙ Ô‰Ï˘ ‰ÒÓ‰˘

ÆÈÓÂË‡‰ ¯Â‡È˙Ï ÁË˘Ó‰ ˙¯Âˆ ÔÈ· ‰˜ˆÂÓ ˙Â„Á‡ ˙Â¯ˆÂÈÂ ¨ÈÓ˙È¯ ·ˆ˜ ˙Â˜ÈÚÓ ‰Ï‡

¨Ô‰ÈÙÏÎ ÂÏ˘ „ÈÓ˙Ó‰ „Â·Î‰ ÒÁÈÂ ¨˙Â¯Ù ÂÈÏÚ ˙ÂÎÏ‰Ó˘ Í˘Ó˙Ó‰ ÌÒ˜‰

‰ÚÎ‰‰ ˙‡Â Ô˙ÂÏ·Ò ˙‡ ¨ÔÁÂ¯ ÊÂÚ ˙‡ ÔÈ·‰Ï „ÓÏ Ô‰·˘ ÌÈ˘ ÍÏ‰Ó· ÂÁ˙Ù˙‰

¯˘· Ï˘ ˙È‡ÂËÒ ˙ÈÏÂÏ˙Î ˙ÂËË¯Â˘Ó Ô‰ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÂÏÂÁÎÓ ˙Á˙ ÆÔ˙Â‡ ˙ÈÈÙ‡Ó‰

˙ÏÚ· ˙Ï„· ˙ÂÈ˘È‡Ï ‰˙ÎÈÙ‰ È„Î „Ú ˘Â‡ ÁÂ¯ ‰ÈÁ· ÁÈÙÓ ‡Â‰Â ¨ÛÂÒÎ ¯ÂÙ‡

Æ‰Ï˘Ó ˙ÂÂÎ˙

¯ÈÚ‰˘ ÈÙÎ ÆÏ‡È„È‡ Â¯Â·Ú ˙ÏÓÒÓ ‰¯Ù‰ ÆÈÏÎÏÎ ÒÎ ‰¯Ù· ‰‡Â¯ ÂÈ‡ ¯·Â˜

ÁÂÏ˘Ó Â·˘ ¨˘‡¯Ó „·ÂÚÓÂ È‚¯Â‡ ÔÂÊÓ Ï˘ ˘„Á Ô„ÈÚ Ï˘ ÂÁ˙Ù· ÌÈÈÂˆÓ Â‡ ¨¯·Ú·

Ï˘ ·ÏÁ‰ ˙·Â˙ ÍÒÏ ÏÂ˜˘ ‰È‰È ·¢‰¯‡Ó ·ÏÁ ˙˜·‡ ˙ÒÂÓÚ ˙Á‡ ‰È‡ Ï˘

°‰ÓÏ˘ ‰˘ Í˘Ó· Ï‡¯˘È· ˙Â¯Ù‰

Ô‰È„ÓÓ ˙‡ ÔÈË˜‰˘ ¨˜ÙÂ‡ Ì‰¯·‡ ¯ÈÈˆ˘ ‰Ï‡Ó ÌÈÂ˘ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ˙Â¯Ù‰ È¯ÂÈˆ

Ô˙ÓÂ¯˙˘ ¨˙Â„È·ÎÓ ˙ÂÈÁÎ Ô˙Â‡ Ï¯Ë ‰˘ÚÓÏÂ ¨ÌÈÈ„ÓÓ–Â„ ÌÈÈÙ¯‚ ÌÈÏÓÒÏ ÌÈÏÂ„‚‰

‰·˘ÁÓ‰ Ï˘ ÂÓÊ–Ô· ÒÂ˙‡· Â‡ ˙ÂÈÎ¢˙ ˙Â„ÂÊÈÙ‡ ¯ÙÒÓ· ‰ÈÂˆÓ ‰„ÈÁÈ‰

Æ˙È¯ËÏÂ¯Ù–˙ÈËÒÈÏ‡ÈˆÂÒ‰

Ò„¯Ù‰

˙Â˜Â¯È ˙ÂÚÂˆ¯ ÂÚËÈ Ô‰·˘ ¨ÔÂ¯ÓÂ˘Ï ÌÈ‰ ÔÈ· ˙Âˆ·Â¯‰ ˙ÂÓÓÂ˘Â ˙Â¯ÂÂÈÁ ÏÂÁ ˙ÂÚ·‚

ÆÈÏ‡¯˘È–ı¯‡‰ ·Á¯Ó‰ ÍÂ˙· Ô„Ú–Ô‚ ˙˜ÏÁ ÔÈÚÓÏ ÔÂ¯˘‰ ˙‡ ÂÎÙ‰ ¨Ò„¯Ù ÈˆÚ Ï˘

·Â¯˜ Ë·Ó· ¨ÂÈ‰ Ì‰È‡˘Â˘ ÌÈ„· ¯˘Ú–ÌÈ˘Ó ‰ÏÚÓÏ ¯ÈÈˆÂ ¯·Â˜ ÏÓÚ ÂÏÏ‰ ÌÈ˘·

¨ÌÈ˜Â¯È Ï˘ ‰‡ÏÓ ‰Ï˜Ò· Â·ˆÂÚ˘ ¨ÌÈÚÙÂ˘ Ò„¯Ù ÈˆÚ Ï˘ ˙Â¯Â˘ ˙Â¯Â˘ — ˜ÂÁ¯Â

ÂÏˆ· ·¯Ú‰ „¯ÂÈ ˙Ú ÌÈˆˆÓ Â‡ ˘Ó˘‰ ¯Â‡· ÌÈ¯È‰ÊÓÂ ÌÈÏ˘· ÌÈÊÂÙ˙· ÌÈÒÂÓÚ

ÌÈ¯ÂÁ˘ ÌÈÏÏˆ ÍÂ˙ Ï‡ ÔÂ·˙Ó‰ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ÍÈ¯„Ó ÈÏ‡ÂÊÈÂ ÔÙÂ‡· Æ˜Â¯È‰ Ï˘ ‰‰Î‰

‰Ó„‡· ÌÈ‚ÂÚÓ‰ ¯ÂÂÈÁ ˙ÈÊ ÈÓ˙Î Ï‡Â ÔÚ¯ ˜Â¯È Í·Ò Ï‡ Â˙Â‡ ÏÈ·ÂÓ Ì˘ÓÂ ¨ËÚÓÎ

Æ¯˜Â‡Â ‰ÈÈÒ ÈÂÂ‚·

¨˙ÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÓÈ‡ ˙ÂÈÂ‚·¯Ï „Â‡Ó ·¯˜˙Ó Ò„¯Ù‰ ˙‡ ¢Â˙‡È¯˜¢· Ú·ˆ· ÏÂÙÈË‰

˙ˆÂ·˜ ÏÎÏ ‰‡ÂÂ˘‰· ¨¯Â‡‰ Ï˘ ¯˙ÂÈ· ˙È„ÂÒÈ‰ ˙ÈËÈÏ‡‰ ‰¯È˜Á‰ ˙‡ ‰ÂÂ‰ÓÂ

‰˘È‡ ¯‡˙Ó‰© ‰ÂÓ ˙‡ ÌÈ¯ÈÎÊÓ ‰¯„Ò‰ È¯ÂÈˆÓ ‰ÓÎ Æ‰Ê Ú‚¯Ï „Ú ¯ÈÈˆ˘ ˙ÂÂÓ˙

˙Ú·‚ ÏÚ ‰¯ÂÙ‡ ‰¯˜ ˙ÈÏÏˆÂ ¯ÂÂÈÁ ÏÂ‚Ò· ‰Ù‰ÙÈ Ïˆ ‰ÏÈËÓ‰ ıÈ˜ ˙ÏÓ˘· ‰Î¯

¨¯˜Â‡ ÔÂÂ‚· ÌÈÏÈ·˘ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ˜ÏÂÁÓ ·È¯˜˙· ÌÈˆÚ‰ ¯ÂÈˆ Ì‰·˘ ÂÏ‡ ¯˜ÈÚ· ¨®‡˘„

Æ®±¥¥ ßÓÚ© ÌÈˆÚ‰ Í·Ò ÍÂ˙· ÌÈÏ˙Ù˙Ó‰ ÌÈ¯‰ÂÊ ÌÂÈ ¯Â‡ ÈÓ˙Î Ï˘ ˙ÂÚÂˆ¯· ¯ËÂÚÓ‰

ÌÁÏ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÔÂÂÎÓ ıÓ‡ÓÎ ˙È‡¯ ‰Ï‡ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ· ÌÈˆÚ‰ ÏÚ È¯Ù‰ ˙ÚÙ˘

˙ÈÈ‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ· Â„ÓÏ ¯·Î˘ ÈÙÎ Æ„ÏÈ ‰È‰ ‡Â‰ ¯˘‡Î ‰È‰ ÌÓ‡ ÍÎ˘ ‰ÚÈ„È· ÂÓˆÚ

˙‡ ‡˘Â‰ ‡Ë·Ó ¯Á‡ ¯·„ ÏÎÏ ¯·ÚÓ Æ˙Ï·Â˜Ó ‰Ó¯Â ‡È‰ ‰¯„‡‰‰ — ÌÈ„ÏÈ‰

Ú„Â˘ ÌÒ˜‰ Ì‚ ÂÓÎ ¨¢Ò„¯Ù¢Ï ÒÁÈ· ˙‚ÙÂÓ‰ ˙Â·‰Ï˙‰‰ Æ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ˙ÂÈÏ‡¯˘È‰

ÈÂÙˆ „ÂÚ˘ ‰Ó ÏÚÂ È˙¯ÈˆÈ‰ ¯·Ú‰ ÏÚ ÌÈÚÈ·ˆÓÂ ÈÂÈˆ‰ ÔÂÊÁ‰ ˙ÈÈÁ˙ Ì‰ ¨ÂÈÏÚ ˙Â¯ÙÏ

Ï˘ ˙Â¯ÈÙ‰ È˜ÂÂ˘· ÈÏ‡¯˘È‰ ÊÂÙ˙‰ Ï˘ Â„ÓÚÓ ¯È¯˘ ÔÈÈ„Ú ¨ÌÂÈ‰Ï ÔÂÎ Æ„È˙Ú·

Æ¢ÂÙÈ ÈÊÂÙ˙¢ Ì˘‰ ˙Á˙ ‰ÙÂ¯È‡

¨¯ÈˆÁ‰ ˘Â·ÈÎ Ï‡ Â·Ï ˙ÓÂ˘˙ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ‰Ùœ‰ Ò„¯Ù‰ Ï˘ ¯ÓÂÓ‰ ¯Â‡‰ ÔÓ

˙Â‡¯Ï ‰È‰ Ô˙È Ô‡Î ¯ˆ˜˘ ˙ÂÂÓ˙‰ ÏÂ·È ˙‡ ÆÂ˙ÒÁ‡ ÔÙÂ‡ Ï‡Â ÂÙÂÒÈ‡ Ï‡

Æ¢ÏÂÁÎ ¯˜Â· ÌÚ ÏÂÁ Ï˘ ÌÂÈ Ì˙Ò¢ Ì˘‰ ˙‡ ‰‡˘˘ ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· ‰ÎÂ¯Ú˙·

Â¯ÈÂˆ˘ ¨¯ÈˆÁ ˙ÂÏÈ·Á· ÌÈ˘Â„‚ ÌÈÓÒ‡Â ÌÈ·˙Ó ÛÒÂ‡ Ì‰ ‰¯„Ò· ÌÈÂ˘‡¯‰ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ‰

Æ®ÔÂÓÈÏÂ ÌÂÈÓ„˜–·Â‰ˆ „ÚÂ ¯˜Â‡Â ¯ÂÂÈÁ ·Â‰ˆÓ© ÒÒÂ˙ ÌÈ·Â‰ˆ ÔÂÂ‚Ó·

ÌÈ˘ÈÏ˘ È˘ ‰·˘ ®±μ∑ ßÓÚ© ‰¯ÈˆÈ ∫ÌÎÒÓ‰Â ÈÙÂÒ‰ ·Ï˘Ï ¯·Â˜ ¯·Ú Ô‡ÎÓ

¯˙Â‰ „·‰ ˘ÈÏ˘ ª¯ÂÂÈÁ ˙ÈÊ ÈÂÂ‚· ÏÚÓ Ú·ˆ˘ ÔÂÓÏÁ–·Â‰ˆ Ï˘ ‰„˘ Ì‰ „·‰ ÔÓ

È˜ÙÂ‡ ‰‰Î ÏÂÁÎ Â˜ ªÛÂ˜˘ ˙ÏÎ˙ Ï˘ ÌÈ¯·ÚÓ· ÌÈÓ˙ÎÂÓ — ¯ÂÂÈÁ ÏÂÁÎ· ÌÈÓ˘ —

¯‚˙‡‰ ˙‡ ¯˙ÂÈ· Ë˘ÙÂÓ‰ ÔÙÂ‡·Â ÈÏÓÒ Á¯Â‡· ¯‡˙ÓÂ Â‰˘ÓÓ „Á‡ ‰„˘ „È¯ÙÓ

˙Â¯Â˜Ó ¯ˆÈÈÏ È‡Ó˜‰ Á¯Î‰‰ ˙‡ Â‡ ¨Ï‡‰ ÈÓÁ¯ ÏÚ ÍÓÒ‰ Ì„‡‰ Ï˘ È˙¯ÂÒÓ‰

ÆÂÈÙ‡ ˙ÚÈÊ· ÔÂÊÓ

„¯ßˆÈ¯ ÁÂÓ‰ È‡˜È¯Ó‡‰ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰ÓÂ„·© ¯·Â˜ ÈÎ ¯ÎÈ ¨˙È¯ÂÈˆ Ë·Ó ˙„Â˜Ó

ÌÚ Ì˙ÂÓÈÚ·Â ÌÈÂ˘‰ ·Â‰ˆ‰ ÈÂÂ‚ ÔÂÊÈ‡· ˙Â·¯ ˙ÂÚ˘ ÚÈ˜˘‰ ®ÂÈÏÚ ·Â‰‡‰ ¨Ô¯Â˜·È„

˙Â¯Âˆ‰Â ÌÈÚ·ˆ‰ ˙ÈÈˆ¯ÂÙÂ¯Ù·Â Â˙ÂÙÈ˜˘· ¨ÔÂÂ‚‰ ˙ÓˆÂÚ· ‰ËÈÏ˘Ï ˙Â„Â‰ ÆÏÂÁÎ‰

˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ¨¯Èˆ˜ ˙ÚÙ˘ Ï˘ ÈÏÓÈÒ˜Ó‰ ÈÂËÈ·Ï ÚÈ‚‰Ï ∫Â˙ÓÈ˘Ó· ¯·Â˜ ÁÈÏˆ‰

ÆÊÚ‰ ˘Ó˘‰ ¯Â‡ ˙‡ Û˜˘Ó‰ ˜ÙÂ‡ÓÂ ¯È‰· ÌÈÙ ÁË˘Ó

‡ÂˆÓÏ Ô˙È ‡Ï ÌÈÈÙÏ‡ ˙˘ ÛÂÒ ˙‡¯˜Ï ˘¯ÂÁ‰ ÔÈÚ· Â¯ÈÂˆ˘ ÌÈ‡˘Â‰ ˙˘ÂÏ˘·

Ï˘ ÔÂÂÎÓ Ë˜‡ ‡È‰ ¯ÈˆÁ·Â ÌÈÊÂÙ˙· ¨˙Â¯Ù· ˙Â„˜Ó˙‰‰˘ ¨ÁÈ‰Ï Ô˙È Æ˘Â‡ ˙ÂÈÂÓ„

‰˙ÈÈ‰ ÔÈÈÚÏ ÌÈÚ‚Â ¯‡˘ Â‡ ÌÈÁ˜ÙÓ ¨ÌÈ„·ÂÚ Ï˘ Ì˙ÏÏÎ‰ Æ˙È‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ ‰¯Ó‰

¨‡È‰ ‰˘ÂÁ˙‰ ÆÌÈÈÏÓÒ ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ ˜ÈÙ‰Ï Û‡˘ ¯·Â˜ ÂÏÈ‡Â ¨ÌÈÈ·ÈË‡¯ ÌÈ‡˘Â ˙¯ˆÂÈ

ÌÈ¯‡˙Ó Ì‰˘ ÔÈ·Â ÌÈÊÂÙ˙‰ È˙ÒÂ·· ÌÈ„˜Ó˙Ó Ì‰˘ ÔÈ· ¨ÌÈ¯ÂÈˆ‰ Ì˙Â‡ ÏÎ˘

Ï˘ ˙¯˘Â‡Ó ÂÈ˙Ò ˙ÙÂ˜˙ ‰˙Â‡ ¨ÛÈÒ‡‰ ÈÓÈ ¯ÂÙÈÒ ˙‡ ¯ÙÒÏ ÌÈ‡· ¨¯ÈˆÁ ˙ÂÓÈ¯Ú

ÌÈÓÂ„˜‰ ÌÈÒÂ˙ÈÓ‰ Ï‡ ˘Â‡–È· ˙¯˘˜Ó‰ ‰ÂÚ ª‰ÂÚ ÌÂ˙ ˙‡¯˜Ï ÌÈÏÂ·È ÛÂÒÈ‡

ÆÌ˙ÂÓ„ È· Ï˘ ¯˙ÂÈ· ÌÈÈÒÈÒ·‰ ÌÈÎ¯ˆ‰ Ï‡Â ¯˙ÂÈ·

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141

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∂∞†¨¯ÈÈ†ÏÚ†ÌÁÙ†¨ÌÂ˘È¯†¨˙Ù¯x¥∞

∂∞†¨¯ÈÈ†ÏÚ†ÌÁÙ†¨ÌÂ˘È¯†¨‰¯Ùx¥∞

∑∞†¨¯ÈÈ†ÏÚ†ÌÁÙ†¨ÌÂ˘È¯†¨¯ÈˆÁ†˙ÂÏÈ·Áxμ∞

Entrance to the Orchard, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60

Orchard in Avichaiel, Drawing,Charcoal on Paper, 40X60

Cow Shed, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60

Cow, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 40X60

Haystacks, Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 50X70


≤∞∞∞≠±ππ∏ ¨˙ÂÂ¯ÎÈÊ‰ ÛÈÒ‡

1998–2000Memories,ofHarvest

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Michael Kovner 1975-2001

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Transcript of Michael Kovner 1975-2001