Michael Kovner 1975-2001

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Kovner soft cover (2cm)

Michael Kovner The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan

Kovner soft cover (2cm)

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Gil Goldfine Born in Brooklyn, New York in 1935. Graduated Parsons School of Design in the Department of Graphic Design. Holds a BSc degree from New York University and an MA in Art from the City University of New York, Brooklyn College. Before coming on aliyah he taught painting and photography in New York City and lectured on art in adult education programs.

In Israel since 1968, Gil Goldfine served as a director of Golden Pages and subsequently established his own graphic design and marketing communication firm that he ran for the past twenty years. He has been the Tel Aviv art critic for the Jerusalem Post since 1973 and has also contributed to the International Herald Tribune, Art News and has written several exhibition catalogs. He lives in Tel Aviv with his wife Myrna, who is a professional copywriter.

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Michael Kovner 1975-2001

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Michael Kovner 1975-2001

The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan

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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

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Michael Kovner 1975-2001

The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan Chief Curator: Meir Ahronson Assistant Curator: Liat Golomb Maor Administrative Director: Zion Kubani Education Department: Orna Rotbart Administration: Michal Zaidman, Gaby Dahan Exhibition: Journey — 1978–2001 Exhibition Curator: Meir Ahronson Assistant Curator: Liat Golomb Construction: Gaby Dahan Book Editor: Gil Goldfine Design and Production: Ehud Oren Graphics: Nitsa Bruck Hebrew Translation: Jacob Snir English Translation: Richard Flantz (p. 225), Hayim Goldgraber (p. 187) Hebrew Editing: Judith Sternberg English Editing: Angela Levine Photography: 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. Aviv Printing: Eli Meir Ltd., Petah-Tikva Binding: Keter Press Ltd., Jerusalem All measurements in centimeters, height preceding width. © 2002 All rights reserved to the Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan, and the artist

Acknowledgements The present one-man show by Jerusalem painter Michael Kovner is a special event for the Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat-Gan. Michael Kovner is not only presenting an overview of his works, but also the opening of a new chapter in his career.

This exhibition could not have taken place without the help of so many hands. I want to thank the many art collectors who lent the works in their possession for this exhibition.

Special thanks are due to Mr. Gil Goldfine, curator and art critic, for his writing on Kovner’s works and for making it possible for the viewing public to acquaint itself with Kovner’s artistic oeuvre.

Without the sustained enthusiasm and patience of the museum staff as well as the museum Board of Governors, this exhibition would not have been possible.

Additional thanks go to the members of the various museum committees for their dedication and their spirit of volunteerism on behalf of the museum and its activities.

Special thanks to Herb and Ellen Cohen from Washington D.C. Meir Ahronson Exhibition Curator

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Table of Contents 223 Meir Ahronson The Painting no Longer Depicts a View but an Object

221 Gil Goldfine Michael Kovner

187 Biographical Notes

184 Selected Exhibitions

183 Bibliography

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

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The Painting No Longer Depicts a View but an Object Meir Ahronson, Winter 2001 Familiarity with Michael Kovner’s life story is a key to an understanding of his work. Kovner, born on a kibbutz, comes from a place where nature and the land were an integral part of his life. His army service, to some degree the basis of his maturity, was a key factor in Kovner’s perception of the sights that he sees. His service in a select unit, the HQ Reconnaissance Patrol, instilled in him an analytical, and at the same time an interpretative, approach to the landscape and to the structure of landscape. A scout learns to know the territory and the routes he is to travel with such a degree of intimacy 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 aerial photographs or maps requires a kind of imagination and exercise that is capable of turning a two-dimensional view into a three-dimensional picture that is whole, and possesses volume and proximity to the truth. What is seen in a map in contour lines 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 out before him, and he, in his car, goes out into the territory, looks, learns, reads the territory’s surface, and paints. Not preliminary drawings or sketches for work in the studio, but a full painting that examines nature. In the history of art there are many examples of traveling painters. Artists who set out on journeys to strange and diverse places and in the course of their journey evokd, on canvas or paper, their impressions of the place to which they had arrived . Paintings that a document 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 these painters, was an excuse for an investigation of the painted object, an investigation of the light and its influence, of visibility 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. The contemporary artist has abandoned this tradition in the treatment of the painted object. “Painting is dead” has been the prevalent cry for a long time. Kovner did not believe in the death of painting. He did not author an obituary or conduct a funeral journey for it. With characteristic stubbornness, he continued “painting.” The authors of obituaries continued writing 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 conducts a journey of investigation nearby represent a different approach and a different conception of painting and of the role of art. 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, Kovner learns 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 view but also the content. The map of the cell of territory that he examines is painted not in order to enable passage through it but as a bearer of inner contents and general contents that it projects upon the visible. Like Monet before him, Kovner paints the passing day. It can be a morning above the fish pools in the Beit She’an Valley or the landscape of mountains above the Jordan.

In the exhibition on show at the museum there are several bodies of work. It combines these bodies of work into a single creation. True, there are those who claim that in the end the aggregate of a painter’s works always turns into a single body 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 done merely from a bird’s eye view. In these paintings Kovner brings to bear the scout’s ability to see the territory in front of him translated from a flat view to a view from above. This ability, acquired by the scout, is intended to enable an understanding of the territory for the purpose of passage. The picture that reveals itself to the ordinary spectator, one who 223

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is not skilled in a bird’s vision, can be fatal for a pedestrian. Few difficulties are seen, distances lose something of their power. What appears near in a flat view of the surface turns out to be a journey between crevices to hills that spread out along the way. The use that Kovner makes of colors in these paintings, i.e., the monochrome palette, produces a cell of territory that is quite expressionless. The territory becomes a data reservoir. The emphases appear in the depth and in the outline. 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 some measure 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 two bodies of work, Kovner paints the Jerusalem mountains. This group of works, of landscapes close to his home, centers on interpretation of the movement of the contour lines that characterize mountains. The convolutions of the interlacing contour lines turn into waves of color, the motion of which, and the dynamism that bursts out from them, attest to the difficulty entailed in passage through them. In these three groups of works we can see Kovner’s devotion to examining and learning what his eye recounts to him, and to turning it into something that contains within it what is hidden in the places that 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 a bird’s eye view to a view towards the horizon, reveals what is hidden from the eye. This translation from one view to the other requires learning and understanding of the sight that appears to the viewer. A combination of these two sights, the view 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 have this talent from the outset. Then, with further training, long and arduous, they acquire the skill of building the visual memory that is a requisite for every patroller. Familiarity with the territory and the landscape replaces the map. Memory must supply solutions both in light and in darkness. What is visible in daylight disappears at night, and only a shadow or a horizon line clarifies the entire picture for the patroller. This process of memory- building that transforms a picture into an 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. The landscape 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 the Jordan Valley landscapes ( 2001) is not as distant as its exploration appears on a first viewing. In a long and deep-delving ranging from portrait paintings to landscape paintings, Kovner has crystallized his whole artistic conception and statement. The landscape view that Kovner paints in his painting Pool, Tree, Horses, Goldfish and Crane in the Sky includes the valley that is hidden beneath the distant mountains. The vapors that rise from the valley and the mountains paint ed with a bluish hue inform us of the presence of a sea or river at the bottom of the unseen valley. The horizontal lines of the planes of cultivated land, and the horses grazing on them, are reflected in the water of the artificial pool that appears in the 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 his observation of the landscape. I have chosen this painting, one of many in the exhibition, to show the extent to which this painting contains Kovner’s second nature. A nature that has become so deeply imprinted in him that it does not differentiate itself even when he engages in creating art. Perhaps in a certain way one could claim that opposite daytime nature, Kovner posits the reflection in the water of the pool as a view identical to the view of the night or the view of the psyche. That night which blurs the details, distorts the forms, and opens the eyes of the psyche and the imagination.

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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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Introduction There 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

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 220

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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.

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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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

Lanscapes Without Horizons

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.

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

(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 218

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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 215

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

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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 *A civilian intermediary who today heads the Shin Bet - Israeli Security Services

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.

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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 213

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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Essential Reality 1986-1995 (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 211

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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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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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?

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 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 207

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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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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

The Girl

(Pages 84-93)

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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.

"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.

Back to Basics

Jerusalem Hills (West) (Pages 78-109)

Painting 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.

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.

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 205

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.

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.

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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

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.

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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.

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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.

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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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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

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 200

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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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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

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same fashion that farming communities develop into towns, towns into cities and cities into countries.

neutralized them into beasts of burden that supported either biblical episodes or the contemporary proletariat/socialist cause.

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.

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.

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

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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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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, 196

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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 193

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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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 192

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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.

Musrara, Etching, 20x50

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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

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References 1. Rosenberg, Harold, Art on the Edge, Martin Secker & Warburg Ltd, London, 1976 2. Feld, Ross and Hopkins, Henry T., Philip Guston, George Braziller, New York, 1980 3. Selz, Peter, Max Beckmann, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1964 4. Zucker, Paul, Styles in Painting, A Comparative Study, Dover Publications, New York, 1963 5. Goldfine, Gil, Jerusalem Post, May, 1980 6. Sgan-Cohen, Michael, Michael Kovner, Bineth Gallery, Israel, 1995 7. Prather, Marla and Stuckey, Charles F, eds., Gauguin: A Retrospective, Park Lane Publishers, New York, 1989 8. Greenberg, Clement, Art and Culture, S.J. Reginald Saunders Company, Toronto, 1961 9. Maor, Haim, Landscapes of the Soal, Hotam, March, 1988 10. Ginton, Ellen and Zalmona Yigal, Fresh Paint, TAMA and Israel Museum, 1988 11. Levine, Angela. Jerusalem Post, January, 1990 12. Hughes, Robert, Nothing if Not Critical: Selected Essays on Art and Artists, Penguin Books, 1992 13. Levin, Gail, Edward Hopper: The Art and the Artist, W.W. Norton & Co., New York and London, 1980 14. Far, Isabella, De Chirico, Harry N. Abrams Inc., New York, 1968 15. Gibson, Michael Francis, International Herald Tribune, March, 2001 16. Gibson, Michael Francis, The Mill and the Cross, Editions Acatos, Lausanne, 2000 17. Sotheby’s, International and Israeli Art, Catalogue, April, 2001 18. Reff, Theodore et al., Cezanne: The Late Works, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1977 19. Leymaire, Jean, Braque, Skira, 1961 20. Gowing, Lawrence, Turner: Imagination and Reality, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1966 21. 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, 1972 Foundation Beyeler Basel, Catalog, Prestel, 1997 Freeman, Judy et al, The Fauve Landscape, Abbeville Press, New York, 1990 Hughes, Robert, American Visions: The Epic History of Art in America, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1997 Milton Avery, The Late Paintings, Harry N. Abrams Inc., New York, 2001 Morphet, Richard, Encounters, National Gallery, London, 2000 Rubin, William S., Dada, Surrealism and Their Heritage, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1968 The Art of Richard Diebenkorn, California, Whitney Museum, 1997

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Biographical Notes

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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 was absent 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 an artistic career.

1964-1965

Studies painting with artist Yochanan Simon in Herzliya (a coastal town north of Tel-Aviv).

1966-1967

Following High School graduation, works with youth groups outside the Kibbutz.

1967

During the Six-Day War (June 1967) returns to the Kibbutz to take charge, with fellow Kibbutz youth, of all agricultural work while most of the Kibbutz adults are 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 a visit with family friends in Los Angeles, California, makes a crucial decision to pursue art as a vocation and to take up his studies in New York rather than in Israel.

1970

Meets Mimi Makover, his future bride.

1971

Works as a security guard for Arkia Airlines while studying in evening classes at the Avni Institute.

1972-1975

Studies at the New York Studio School. Influenced by the teachings of Philip Guston, 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 painful decision to return to his studies at the New York Studio School, and with other advanced students under the guidance of a talented young painter, Steven Sloman, forms a group that works independently, often in the countryside or at the seashore, critiquing each other’s work.

1975

Returns with Mimi to Israel (via Spain, Southern France, and Italy) and embarks on a life of an artist, albeit not yet fully formulated.

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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 the American-Israel Cultural Foundation scholarship committee.

1976

Marries Mimi Makover. Jointly decide to make Jerusalem their permanent home.

1977

First child is born — a son, Amikam.

Studies Judaism with Rabbi David Hartman at the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem.

1978-1980

Explores new artistic directions with a series of bird’s-eye-view landscapes painted from aerial photographs, and desert vistas painted in the outdoors.

Begins his relationship with the Bineth Gallery in Tel-Aviv. Mounts two successful shows at the Gallery — desert paintings and an exhibition of drawings.

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 with Flowers” 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 Lego series and terminates its relation with Kovner.

1985

Returns to Bineth Gallery in Tel-Aviv with an exhibition of his portraits of wife Mimi and friend Michal.

1986

Expands from his tiny studio in family residence into a more spacious work area in Jerusalem’s north eastern neighborhood of Pisgat Zeev.

1988

Exhibits at Bineth Gallery his series “Jerusalem Hills”. First major initiative of painting 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 Jerusalem for a permanent studio space.

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1992

Exhibits at Bineth Gallery “A Girl in a Room”, painting his son’s young adolescent girl-friend.

1994

Returns to landscape painting. Develops close friendship with artist Jan Rauchwerger. Touring together in Romania along with sculptor Zvi Lachman.

Continues with Jan to London and then to Holland to view the Cezanne and Vermeer 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 preoccupied with death, which is fully explored in a series of paintings titled “Sataf” that have never been exhibited.

1995

Bineth Gallery mounts an exhibition “End of ’95”, an exploration of the Beit Shean 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. The paintings 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”. Concurrent exhibits of these works are shown in Jerusalem and Tel-Aviv.

2000

D.K. GraubArt Publishers Ltd., Jerusalem publishes “Portscapes” and puts out a limited edition of etchings “Port”, interlaced with Hebrew poems about seaports.

2000-2001

Returns to the Beit Shean Valley; deals with the relationship between water and sky, 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 now works for three months each year.

2002

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Meir Ahronson, curator of The Museum of Israeli Art, Ramat Gan, suggests an exhibit of all works entitled “Landscape”.

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Selected Exhibitions One-Man Exhibitions

Group Exhibitions

1975

“Paintings from New-York”, Artist’s House, Jerusalem

1981

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 1988

Israel Museum, Jerusalem (catalogue) 1981 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

“Landscapes”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

1990 “Jerusalem Scenes”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

“A Turning Point”, Twelve Israeli Artists, Tel-Aviv Museum of Art, Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

“Meet an Israeli Artist”, Israel Museum, Jerusalem “Portraits”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

“Israeli Prints from the Burston Graphic Center”, The

“Fresh Paint”, the Younger Generation in Israeli Art, Tel-Aviv Museum of Art, Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

1991

“Mountains

Round

About”,

Jerusalem

in

Israeli

1992

“A Girl in a Room”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv

Printmaking from the Seventies and the Eighties,

1995

“End of 1995”, Bineth Gallery, Tel-Aviv (catalogue)

Exhibition sponsored by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs

1996 “Eretz”, N.A.F.I. Gallery, New York

and the Ministry of Education and Culture (catalogue)

1997

“Eretz”, Yale University, New Haven

1992

1998

“Eretz — Landscapes of Israel”, Ann Loeb Bronfman

1994 “The Printer’s Imprint”, Twenty Years of the Jerusalem

Gallery, Washington, DC, co-sponsored by the Embassy of

Print Workshop, The Israel Museum, Jerusalem

Israel for the 50th anniversary of the State of Israel

(catalogue)

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)

1995

“Tribute to Ayala Zacks”, Israel Museum, Jerusalem

“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

Collections Jewish Museum, New York

Public Works

Israel Museum, Jerusalem

Mural — “Denmark” High School in Jerusalem, oil on wood,

Tel Aviv Museum of Art Haifa Museum The Open Museum, Tefen The President’s Residence, Jerusalem

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

Fellowships 1984

Awarded fellowship to study in New York by the American-Israeli Cultural Foundation.

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Bibliography Articles and Review Meir 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.

183

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.

Books The Jewish Spirit – A Celebration in Stories & Art, edited by Ellen Frankel, published by Stewart, Tabori & Chang, New York 1997, pp. 122, 127.

Yair Mazor, Asher Reich: Portrait of a Hebrew Poet (with works of art by Michael Kovner), Univerity of Wisconsin Press, Madison 2002.

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ƘƄ ¨‰¯ÈˆÈ ˙Â˘ ±∞∞ ¨˙Èχ¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡· ÛÂ ȯÂȈ ¨Ï‡¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡· ÌÈÙÂ Ʊπ∏¥ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ó¢Ú· ¯Â‡Ï ‰‡ˆÂ‰ ˯‡·Â‡¯‚ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÒÙ„‰‰ ˙„Ò ¨‰Ó‡ÂÙ — ¯·Â˜ ‡·‡ ¨ÌÈËȯÁ˙ — ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ Æ±π∏∏ Ʊππμ ¨±π∏μ≠πμ ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ ¨Ô‰Î–Ô‚Ò Ï‡ÎÈÓ ¨≤∞∞∞ ¨‰ÁÂ˙Ù‰ ‰ËÈÒ¯·È‡‰ ¨ÈÏÏÎ ‡Â·Ó ˙ÂÓ‡‰ ˙„ÏÂ˙ ¨È¯Â˘ÈÓ ˜Èχ Ʊ∏≥≠≤∞∑ ßÓÚ Æ≤∞∞∞ ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÒÙ„‰‰ ˙„Ò ¨ÏÓ ‡˘Â· ÌÈ¯È˘ ´ ÌÈËȯÁ˙ ¯ÙÒ ¨ÏÓ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ó¢Ú· ¯Â‡Ï ‰‡ˆÂ‰ ˯‡·Â‡¯‚ ƘƄ ¨ÏÓ Ï˘ ˙‡˜ÂÈ„ ¨¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ Æ≤∞∞∞ ¨˙Èχ¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‚ ˙Ó¯ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨‰·È˘ÙÒ¯˯ — ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ ¨ÔÈÈÙ„Ï‚ ÏÈ‚ Æ≤∞∞≤ ˙ËÈÒ¯·È‡ ¨Ò¯ÈÙÙ ¨ÌÈ˘È˘‰ ˙Â˘· ‰¯È˘‰ ∫ȯÂÁ‡‰ ·˘ÂÓ· ‰·‰‡ ¨¯ÂÊÓ ¯È‡È ˙ÂÓ‡ ˙Â„Â·Ú ˙ÈÈÂÂÏ· ˙ÈÓ·χ ‰¯Â„‰Ó Æ≤∞∞≤ ¨·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨·È·‡–Ï˙ Ư·Â˜ χÎÈÓ ˙‡Ó

Ʊπ∑∂ ¯‡ÂÈ π ¨˙Â¯Á‡ ˙ÂÚÈ„È ¨¢ÌÈÓ‡‰ ˙È·· ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ¢ ¨ÏË ÌÈ¯Ó Æ±π∑∂ ¯‡ÂÈ π ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢ÌÈÓ‡‰ ˙È·· ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ¢ ¨‰ÂÓψ χ‚È Æ±π∑∂ ¯‡ÂÈ ±μ ¨¯Ó˘Ó‰ ÏÚ ¨Æ¯Æ‡ Ʊπ∑∂ ¯‡ÂÈ ±∂ ¨¯·„ ¨¢˘‡Â‚ „ˆ· ÔÂ˙Ó¢ ¨¯Ò˜ÏÙ ‰ˆÈ ÌÈÈÁ ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ ∫ÌÈÓ‡ È˘ ‚ÈˆÓ ‰˜Ïˆ Ô„ ¨¯Â˜È· ÒÈ˯΢ ¨‰˜Ïˆ Ô„ Æμ∏≠∂± ßÓÚ ¨±π∑∏ ¨±∑ ˙¯·ÂÁ ¨ÏÂÒÈÙ ¯ÂȈ ¨¢È˜ÒÂÏ Æ±π∑π ¯‡ÂÈ μ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢ÒÈË‡Ó Ï˘ ÂÁ¯¢ ¨Ï‚‡ ÏÁ¯ Ʊπ∏∞ È‡Ó π ¨˙Â¯Á‡ ˙ÂÚÈ„È ¨¢‰ÏÚÓÏÓ ¯·„Ó‰¢ ¨Í¯· Ì„‡ Ʊπ∏± ¯·Â˘‡ ≥∞ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ Ï˘ ÌÈ˙·‰¢ ¨Ï‚‡ ÏÁ¯ Ʊπ∏± ¯·Ó·Â ¨¯·„ ¨¢˙ÈχËȯ‡ Ú·ˆ ˙ÊËÒ˜‡¢ ¨Ë¯ÂÙÂÙ¯ ‰ÈÏË Æ±π∏± ¯·Ó·Â ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢„ÂÎÏÓ Â‡ ˙¯Á‡ Á¯¢ ¨Ï‡˘–Ô· ‰˘Ó Ʊπ∏± ¯·Ó·Â ±≥ ¨˙Â¯Á‡ ˙ÂÚÈ„È ¨¢˜˙ÂÓ ¯ÂȈ¢ ¨Í¯· Ì„‡ Ʊπ∏± ¯·Ó·Â ±≥ ¨ı¯‡‰ ¨¢¯˙ÂÓ‰ Ï·‚ ÏÚ¢ ¨Í¯Â·Ó ÌÈÒÈ Ʊπ∏± ¯·Ó·Â ≤∞ ¨˙Â¯Á‡ ˙ÂÚÈ„È ¨¢Á¯‰ ˙·˘Â ԇϢ ¨‡Ó„˜–¯· χÂÓÚ Æ±π∏± ¯·Ó·Â ≥∞ ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ¨¢‰ÊÚ Ï˘ „ÏÈÒÈ„‰¢ ¨˙·Ë ÌÂÁ Ʊπ∏≥ Ïȯه ≤≤ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢‰ÈÏ˘‡ ȯˆÂÈÎ ÌÈÏψ¢ ¨Ï‚‡ ÏÁ¯ Ʊπ∏≥ Ïȯه ≤∑ ¨˙È˘‡¯ ˙¯˙ÂÎ ¨¢‰ÓÓ„ Ï˘ Ô„Ú Ô‚¢ ¨Ô¯Â‡–˙· ‰ÈÁ˙ Ʊπ∏μ ¯·Ó·Â ¨·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨¢ËÂ˘Ù ¯ÂÙÈÒ¢ ¨ÔÂ˙È‚ „„ Ʊπ∏μ ¯·Ó·Â ≤± ¨˙¢„Á ¨¢ÈÓÈËȇ ÈΉ ·Â¯˜ ÈΉ¢ ¨Ôȷ¯ È˙¯ Ʊπ∏∑ ÈÂÈ ±≤ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢Ï·Ϸ‰ ˙Â‚·Â ˙Â·ÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÎÊ·¢ ¨¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ Æ±π∏∏ ı¯Ó ¨·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨¢¯˙ÂÈ ˙ÂÙ¢Á¢ ¨ÔÂ˙È‚ „„ Ʊπ∏∏ ı¯Ó ¥ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨¢Ï˘ÓÎ ÌÈÙÂ¢ ¨Ô‰Î–Ô‚Ò Ï‡ÎÈÓ Æ±π∏∏ ı¯Ó ±∏ ¨Ì˙ÂÁ ¨¢˘Ù‰ ÈÙÂ¢ ¨¯Â‡Ó ÌÈÈÁ Ʊπ∏∏ ı¯Ó ≤μ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢ÈÓÏ˘Â¯È È‡¢ ¨È¯Â˘ÈÓ ˜Èχ Ʊπ∏π ¯·ÓËÙÒ ¨ı¯‡‰ ¨¢ÛÂ‰Â Ì„‡‰¢ ¨¯ÈϘ ‰Ï‡ Ʊπ∏π ¯·ÓËÙÒ ≤≤ ¨ı¯‡‰ ¨¢Âʉ ˙ÈÙÂ‰ ˙ÂÈ˘Ù‰¢ ¨¯ÈÓ˙ ÈÏË Æ±ππ≤ ÈÂÈ ≤∂ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢¯È„ ÔÊ — ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ¢ ¨¯Â˘¯È„ È˙¯ Ʊππ≤ ÈÏÂÈ ∂ ¨ÂÈ„ÂËÒ ¨¢˙ÂÓ‡‰ Á¯ Է‰ ¨·‡‰¢ ¨¯Â‡Ó ÌÈÈÁ Ʊππ≤ ÈÏÂÈ ±≤ ¨ı¯‡‰ ¨¢˙È˘Â‡‰ ˙ÂÓ„‰ χ ¯ÊÂÁ¢ ¨¯ÈÓ˙ ÈÏË ÆÌ˙ÂÁ ¨¢ÌȯÂÒ‡ ÌÈÓ Ï‡ ¯˘˜¢ ¨¯Â‡Ó ÌÈÈÁ Ʊππ∂ ¯‡ÂÈ ≤∂ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨¢ÈÙÂÈÏ È„ÈÓ˙ ·Ú¯¢ ¨ÈχگÊÈ ÌÈ¯Ó Æ±ππ∂ ¯‡Â¯·Ù ≤≥ ¨ı¯‡‰ ¨¢±π∏μ≠±π∑μ ÌȯÂȈ ¨¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ — ÌÈ‚ÂÏ˘¢ ¨¯Âˆ ÈÊÂÚ Æ±ππ∏ ÈÏÂÈ ≤∂ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨˙·¯˙ ¨¢ıÏÓÂÓ ¨¯·Â˜Â ¯‚¯Â·¯ ¨ÏÓ¢ ¨Í¯· Ì„‡ Æ≤∞∞∞ È‡Ó μ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨˙¯ÙÒ ¨¢‰˙È·‰¢ ¨ÔÂÓ„‡ ‰ÓÏ˙ Æ≤∞∞∞ È‡Ó μ ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ÏÎ ¨¢ÔÂÏÈÒ ÒÂËÓ¢ ¨ÔÈÈˢ¯Â· ¯Â¯„ Æ≤∞∞∞ È‡Ó ±π ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ÏÎ ¯·ÎÚ ¨¢˙¯‚ÒÓ·¢ ¨Ù¯ „„ Æ≤∞∞± ¯·Ó·Â ±∂ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ÏÎ ¯·ÎÚ ¨¢˙¯‚ÒÓ·¢ ¨‰ÒÈÂÒ Ë¯·Ï‡

˙ÂÂȇ¯ Ʊπ∏∞ È‡Ó ≤ ¨·È¯ÚÓ ¨¢¯·„Ó· ¯Â‡‰¢ ¨Ò˜ÂÙ ˙ȯ˘ Ʊπ∏∑ ¯·ÓËÙÒ ± ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ¨ÂÏ˘ χ¯˘È ¨¢ÛÏÂÁ‰ Ï˘ ‰ÈÚ·‰ ˙·ÎÂ΢ ¨¯Ù˜ ÂÈÊ Æ±ππ∞ ¯·ÓËÙÒ ≤∂ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨¢ÂÓˆÚ ˙‡Â ÌÈÈÁ‰ ˙‡ ÌÈÏÏÂÊ¢ ¨ÌÂÏ· ‰Ïȉ Ʊππ∞ ¯·Â˘‡ ≤∂ ¨¯·„ ¢¯ÂÂÈÚ‰ ϯ‚‰¢ ¨˜Á˘–ÔȘÙÈÏ ÈÏË Æ±ππ≥ ı¯Ó ≤ ¨˙Â¯Á‡ ˙ÂÚÈ„È ÛÒÂÓ ¨ÌÈÓÈ ∑ ¨¢Ú¯ ¯˜Â·¢ ¨ÔÓÙ‰–¯Ï‚ȯ ‰Ï‡È¯‡ Ʊππ≥ È‡Ó ∑ ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ÏÎ ¨¢‡·‡ Ï˘ Ô·‰¢ ¨Â˜ÒÂÓ Ï‡‚È Æ≤∞∞∞ È‡Ó ≤∂ ¨ı¯‡‰ ÛÒÂÓ ¨¢ÈÏ˘ χÎÈÓ¢ ¨È¯ÂÏ ‰·È·‡

‰È„Ó ÍÂÈÁ‰ „¯˘Ó ¨ÌÈ„ÏÈ ˙ÂÈÎÂ˙Ï Û‚‡‰ ¨CD — ¢ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ‡˘Â ÏÚ ÌȯÂȈ¢ Æ˙·¯˙‰Â Æ®Á¢ËÓ© ˙ÈÎÂÈÁ ‰È‚ÂÏÂÎËÏ ÊίӉ ¨CD — ¢‰Î¯Ú˙· ÌÈ¯È˘¢ Ʊπ∏≥ ¨˙„ÏÈ· ÌÈ·ÈËÂÓÓ ÌÈÚÙ˘ÂÓ‰ ÌȯÂȈ ‡˘Â· ¢˘„Á ·¯Ú¢ Ʊπ∏∏ ¨Ï‡¯˘È Ϙ ¨¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ ÌÚ ÔÂȇ¯ — ¢È·‡ ˙È·¢ Ʊππ≥ È‡Ó ±¥ ¨ÛÂ· ¯ÂȈ — ¢Ï‡¯˘È ·ÂË ¯˜Â·¢ Ʊππ∂ ¯‡Â¯·Ù ¥ ¨ßπμ È‰Ï˘ — ¢Ï‡¯˘È ·ÂË ¯˜Â·¢ Ʊππ∑ È‡Ó ≤∞ ¨ÔÓ‡ ¯Î‰ ¨Jerusalem On Line ÍÂÈÁ‰ „¯˘Ó ¨ÌÈ„ÏÈ ˙ÂÈÎÂ˙Ï Û‚‡‰ ¨CD — ¢˙ÂӇ ‰¯È˘ ÔÈ· ÁÈ˘–„¢ Æπ∏ ¯‡ÂÈ ≤∂ ¨˙·¯˙‰Â Æ≤∞∞∞ ¨Ï‡¯˘È Ϙ ¨ß‡ ˙˘¯ ¨¯ˆ ‰„¯Â ÌÚ ‰ÁÈ˘ – ¢·¯Ú „Ú ¯˜Â·Ó¢ ÌÚ Ê¢ÙÏ˙ ÔÂÚ„‚ ¨¯·Á ßÙ¯٠¨ıȷ˜ȷ¯ ¨¯·Â˜ ∫ÌÈÓ‡ ˘‚ÙÓ ¢Ô¯ˇÈ˙ ‰Ù˜¢ Æ≤∞∞± ¨≥≥ ıÂ¯Ú ¨ÏÓÒ ÌÚÂ

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Page 4

˙¯Á· ˙ÂίÚ˙ ˙ÂÈ˙ˆÂ·˜ ˙ÂίÚ˙

„ÈÁÈ ˙ÂίÚ˙

®‚ÂÏ˘© ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ï‡¯˘È Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢ÔÂËÒ¯· ˙„ÒÓ ÌÈχ¯˘È ÌÈÒÙ„‰¢

±π∏±

ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ÌÈÓ‡‰ ˙È· ¨¢˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈÓ ÌȯÂȈ¢

±π∑μ

®‚ÂÏ˘© ¨˙ÂÓ‡Ï ·È·‡–Ï˙ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ÆÌÈχ¯˘È ÌÈÓ‡ ±≤ ¨¢˙¯Á‡ Á¯¢

±π∏±

·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢¯ÂÙȈ‰ Ë·ÓÓ ÌÈÙÂ ÈÓÂ˘È¯¢

±π∑∏

®‚ÂÏ˘© ·‚· ÔÂȯ‚–Ô· ˙ËÈÒ¯·È‡ ¨¢Ï‡¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡· ·‚‰¢

±π∏≥

·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢¯·„Ó¢

±π∑π

®‚ÂÏ˘© ·˜ÚÈ ˙„˘‡ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨ÌÚÏ ˙ÂÓ‡ ¨¢˘„Á ÌÊÈχȯ ˙‡¯˜Ï¢

±π∏∑

®‚ÂÏ˘© ·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢‰ÊÚ· ÌÈ˙·¢

±π∏±

˙ÂÓ‡Ï ·È·‡–Ï˙ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨˙Èχ¯˘È‰ ˙ÂÓ‡· ¯ÈÚˆ‰ ¯Â„‰ ¨¢È¯Ë Ú·ˆ¢

±π∏∏

®‚ÂÏ˘© ·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨Ô„¯Â‚ ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢Â‚Ï¢ ÈÙ–ÏÚ ÌȯÂȈ ¨¢ÌÈÓψ¢

±π∏≥

ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ï‡¯˘È Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¯ÚÂ‰ Û‚‡ ¨¢Èχ¯˘È ÔÓ‡ ÌÚ ˘‚ÙÓ¢

±π∏μ

®‚ÂÏ˘© ÌÈÚ·˘‰ ˙Â˘Ó Èχ¯˘È‰ ÒÙ„‰· ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨¢‰Ï ·È·Ò Ìȯ‰¢

±ππ±

·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢ÌÈ˯˯ÂÙ¢

˙·¯˙‰Â ÍÂÈÁ‰ „¯˘Ó ıÂÁ‰ „¯˘Ó ˙ÂÒÁ· ‰Î¯Ú˙ ¨ÌÈÂÓ˘‰Â

·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢ÌÈÙÂ¢

±π∏∏

®‚ÂÏ˘©

·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˙ÂÂÓ˙¢

±ππ∞

ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ï‡¯˘È Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢‰ÏÈ‡Ï ˙¯·‚¢

±ππ≤

·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢ÂÈ„ÂËÒ· ‰¯Ú¢

±ππ≤

¨Ï‡¯˘È Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÒÙ„‰‰ ˙„ÒÏ ‰˘ Ìȯ˘Ú ¨¢ÒÙ„‰ Ì˙ÂÁ¢

±ππ¥

®‚ÂÏ˘© ·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢πμ È‰Ï˘¢

±ππμ

˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ¨N.A.F.I. ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢ı¯‡¢

±ππ∂

±ππμ

Ô·Èȉ–ÂÈ ¨ÏÈÈ ˙ËÈÒ¯·È‡ ¨¢ı¯‡¢

±ππ∑

˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ¨È„‰ȉ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ‰ ¨¢˙È„Â‰È ˙ÂÈ΢Ӊ¢ ±ππ∂≠∑

ÔÂË‚È˘Â ¨ÔÓÙ¯· ·ÂÏ Ô‡ ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢Ï‡¯˘È–ı¯‡ ÈÙÂ — ı¯‡¢

±ππ∏

®‚ÂÏ˘© ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˙Èχ¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‚ ˙Ó¯ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢ÂÈ˙Ò‰ ÔÂÏÒ¢

˙Èχ¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‚ ˙Ó¯ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢ÌÈÙÂ¢

±ππ∑

®‚ÂÏ˘© „„˘‡ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨‰ÙÈÁ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢ÏÓ¢

±ππ∏

˙È„Ó Ï˘ ÌÈ˘ÈÓÁ‰ Ï·ÂÈ Ï‚¯Ï ÌÈχ¯˘È ÌÈÓ‡ ÌÈ˘ÈÓÁ — ¢μ∞Øμ∞¢

±ππ∏

ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÒÈÈÙÒ˯‡ ¨¢ÌÈÒ„¯Ù¢

≤∞∞∞

·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ËÈ· ‰È¯Ï‚ ¨¢ÌȯȈÁ¢

˜ÒÈÒ¯Ù–ÔÒ ¨È„‰ȉ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ‰ ¨Ï‡¯˘È ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ï‡¯˘È Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢´ ÛÒ‡¢

≤∞∞±

®‚ÂÏ˘© ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÌÈÓ‡‰ ˙È· ¨¢ÂÈ˘ÎÚ Ï‡¯˘È· ÌÂ˘È¯ — ÌÈÓ˘¯¢

ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÔÈÏÈ „„ ˘¢Ú ÍÂÈÁÏ ‰ÏÏÎÓ‰ ¨¢È˘Â‡‰ „ÓÓ‰¢

≤∞∞±

®¯ÙÒ© ˙Èχ¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‚ ˙Ó¯ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¨¢≤∞∞≤≠±π∑∏ ÚÒÓ· ÔÓ‡¢

≤∞∞≤

˙Âȯ·Ȉ ˙„·Ú

ÌÈÙÒ‡

±π∑π ¨ßÓ ≥Æ¥∞ x μ ¨ıÚ ÏÚ ÔÓ˘ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˜¯Ó„ ¯ÙÒ ˙È·· ¯È˜ ¯ÂȈ

˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ¨˙È„Â‰È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ‰

±ππ∑ ¨ßÓ ∂ x ¥ ¨‰˜ÈÓ¯˜ ÈÁȯ‡ ÏÚ ¯ÂȈ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨ÏÓ˘Á‰ ˙¯·Á — È˙ÂÓ‡ ¯È˜

ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ï‡¯˘È Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ

±ππ∏ ¨ßÓ ≤Æμ x ≤∞ ¨‰˜ÈÓ¯˜ ÈÁȯ‡ ÏÚ ¯ÂȈ ¨‰ÙÈÁ ¨„·ÂÚ‰ ˙È· — È˙ÂÓ‡ ¯È˜

˙ÂÓ‡Ï ·È·‡–Ï˙ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ‰ÙÈÁ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ

ÌȘÚÓ ˙·¯˙Ï Ï‡¯˘È–‰˜È¯Ó‡ Ô¯˜ ÌÚËÓ Ï¢ÂÁ· ˙ÂÓÏ˙˘‰ ˜ÚÓ

181

±π∏¥

ÔÙ˙ ¨ÁÂ˙Ù‰ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ‰ ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨‡È˘‰ ˙È· ÛÒ‡

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Page 5

˙˜ÒÂÚ ‰¯„Ò‰ ƘÓÂÚÏ È˘Â‡‰ Û‚‰ ˙‡ χÎÈÓ ÔÁ· ¨‰¢‡¯Ï Æ˙¯‚·˙Ó ‰¯Ú ¨Â· ˙„È„È ˙‡ ¯ÈȈ χÎÈÓ Â‚ˆÂ‰ ˙„·ډ Ɖ˙˘Ó‰ ‰˙ÂÓ„Ï ‰¯Ú‰ ÔÈ·Â ˙·Ï ·‡ ÔÈ· ¨Ï„ÂÓÏ ¯ÈȈ ÔÈ·˘ ÌȷίÂÓ‰ ÌÈÒÁȉ ˙ÈÈ‚ÂÒ· Æ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚·

±ππ≤

Ì˙Â„È„È ÆÌÈ·ÂË ÌÈ„È„ÈÏ ÌÈÈ˘‰ ÂÎÙ‰ ÌÈ˘‰ ÌÚ Æ¯‚¯Â·¯ Ô‡È ÔÓ‡· ˘‚Ù ÛÂ ˙ÂÂÓ˙ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ·˘ χÎÈÓ ˙‡ ˙‡¯Ï È„Î „ωϠԄÂÏÏ Ì‚ ÂÚÒ ԇȠχÎÈÓ ÆÔÓÁÏ È·ˆ ÏÒÙ‰ ÌÚ ‰ÈÓÂ¯Ï ÚÒÓ ˙·˜Ú· ‰˜ÊÁ˙‰ ƯÈӯ ԇÊÒ Ï˘ ˙ÂίÚ˙‰

±ππ¥

Ï˘ ÂÈ·‡ — ‰ÁÙ˘Ó È·Â Ìȷ¯˜ Ìȯ·Á Ï˘ ÌÈ„·Â‡ ÌÚ ÌÈÈ˘˜ ÌÚ ˙„„ÂÓ˙‰‰ ÔÓÈÒ· „ÓÚ Âχ ÌÈ˘ ¯˘‡ ¨Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÏÚ ÌÓÂ˘È¯ ˙‡ ¯È˙‰ Âχ ÏΠƉژ·· Ï·ÁÓ ˙ÙȘ˙· ¯˜„ ̘ÈÓÚ Â·Â ¨ÂÓÏÂÚÏ Íω χÎÈÓ Æ‰‚ˆÂ‰ ‡Ï ÌÏÂÚÓ˘ ¨¢ÛËÒ‰¢ ˙¯Ȉȉ ˙¯„Ò· ˙ÂÂÓ‰ ˙χ˘· ˜ÂÒÚÏ ‰·¯‰

±π∏∑≠±ππ¥

ȈÂÏÁ‰ ÌÂÏÁ‰ ·Ï — ¢˘Ù ÈÙÂ¢ — Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚ· ˙¯Ù ÌȯÂÙȈ ¨ÌÈ‚„ ˙ÂÎȯ· ¨ÌÈÓ È¯‚‡Ó ¯ÈȈ χÎÈÓ Æ±ππμ ÛÂÒ· ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· ‚ˆÂ‰ ˙„·ډ ÆÈÓÈÓ Â˙˘‡ Ï˘ ‰˙„ÏÈ ÛÂ Ì‚Â ÈÂȈ‰

±ππμ

–Ô‚Ò Ï‡ÎÈÓ ˙‡Ó ÛÈ˜Ó ¯Ó‡Ó· ‰ÂÂÏ ‰Ê ‚ÂÏ˘ Ʊπ∏μ≠±ππμ ÌÈ˘· ÂÈ˙„·ÚÏ ÒÁÈÈ˙‰˘ ‚ÂÏ˘ ¯Â‡Ï ‡ˆÈ Ʊπππ ˙˘· ¯ËÙ ¯˘‡ — „È„È ¯ÈȈ ¨·˘Á ˙ÂÓ‡ ¯˜ÂÁ — ԉΠ¨Ë˜ÈË˜ ˙È„Ó·˘ Ô·Èȉ–ÂÈ·Â ÔÂË‚È˘Â· ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· χÎÈÓ Ï˘ ˙ÂίÚ˙ ˘ÂÏ˘ ÂÓÈȘ˙‰ Âχ ÌÈ˘· Æ·¢‰¯‡

±ππ∂≠±ππ∑

ÌÈ‡ÈÊÂÓ· ̉È˙ÂÂÓ˙ ‚ˆÂ‰ ˙‡Ê ˙·˜Ú·Â ¨‰ÙÈÁ „„˘‡ ÈÏÓ ˙‡ χÎÈÓ ¯ÈȈ ¯‚¯Â·¯ Ô‡È ÌÚ „ÁÈ Æ„Â„˘‡·Â ‰ÙÈÁ·

±ππ∏

ÌÚ ¨¯˙ÂÈ ÌÈÚ ‰„Â·Ú Ì˜ÓÏ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ˙‡ ÂÎÙ‰ ¯Â‡‰Â ·Á¯Ó‰ ˙ÙÒÂ˙ ÆÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ˙‡ ·ÈÁ¯‰ χÎÈÓ ÆÂȯÂȈ ˙‡ ‚Ȉ‰Ï ¯˙ÂÈ ‰·ÂË ˙¯˘Ù‡ ¨Â˙Â„Ú ÈÙ ÏÚ Æ˙¯Ù ¯ÈˆÁ ˙ÂÓÈ¯Ú ¨ÌÈÒ„¯Ù — ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ı·Ș· Â˙„ÏÈ Ï˘ ·‰Ê‰ ÈÓÈ ÛÂ ˙‡ ¯ÈȈ χÎÈÓ ‡¯˜ χÎÈÓ ÆÁȯ‰ ˙˘ÂÁ˙·Â ÈχÂÊȉ ÈÂÓÈ„· ÂȯÂȈ ˙‡ ÔÈÚË‰Ï — ‰Ó¯‡ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰¢‡¯Ï „ȷ ‰˙Ú ‰ÏÚ Æ·È·‡–Ï˙·Â ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· ˙ÈÓʖ· ‚ˆÂ‰ ÂÈ˙Â„Â·Ú Æ¢ÏÂÁ Ï˘ ÌÂÈ Ì˙Ò¢ Ì˘· ÂÊ ÌÈÙÂ ˙ίÚ˙Ï

±πππ≠≤∞∞∞

¯Â‡Ï ‡ˆÈ ˙ÈÓʖ· ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨Ó¢Ú· ¯Â‡Ï ‰‡ˆÂ‰ ˯‡·Â‡¯‚ ƘƄ ˙‡ˆÂ‰· ¨¢ÏÓ ÈÙÂ¢ ¯ÙÒ‰ ¯Â‡Ï ‡ˆÈ ÌÈÏÓ· ˙˜ÒÂÚ‰ ˙ȯ·Ú ‰¯È˘· ˙·ÏÂ˘Ó ÌÈËȯÁ˙ ˙¯„Ò Â·Â ¨¢ÏÓ¢ Ì˘‰ ˙‡ ‡˘Â‰ ÌÈËȯÁ˙ ¯ÙÒ Æ˙ÂÙÒ·Â Ìȯ‚‡Ó‰ ˙‡Â ÌÈ‚„‰ ˙ÂÎȯ· ˙‡ ¯ÈȈ ¨ÌÈÈÓ˘Ï ÌÈÓ ÔÈ· ÒÁȉ ˙χ˘· ˜ÒÚ ¨Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚÏ ¯ÊÁ χÎÈÓ Æ¢ÌÈÓ‚‡¢ ‰È¯˜‰ ‰¯„Ò·

≤∞∞∞≠≤∞∞±

Ƙ¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ‰˘· ÌÈ˘„ÂÁ ‰˘ÂÏ˘Î „·ÂÚ ‡Â‰ ÌÂÈΠ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ÂÈ„ÂËÒÏ Û¯Ëˆ‰Ï ÂÓÓ ˘˜È· ¯‚¯Â·¯ Ô‡È ˙˜ÒÂÚ‰ ÂÈ˙Â¯ÈˆÈ ˙‡ ‚Ȉ‰Ï χÎÈÓÏ ÚȈ‰ ¨ÔÂÒ¯‰‡ ¯È‡Ó ¨˙Èχ¯˘È ˙ÂÓ‡Ï Ô‚ ˙Ó¯ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ ¯ˆÂ‡ Æ≤∞∞± „Ú ±π∑∏ ÌÈ˘‰Ó ¢ÛÂ‰¢ ‡˘Â·

≤∞∞≤

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Page 2

¯˘‡· ‰¯Â¯· ‰ËÏÁ‰ χÎÈÓ Ï·È˜ ¨®˙Ù¯ˆ–̯„ ‰ÈÏËȇ ¨„¯ÙÒ Í¯„© χ¯˘ÈÏ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÈÓÈÓ Ï˘ Ì·Â˘ ˙Ú· Ï˘ ‰˙ÏÈÁ˙ ÂÊ ‰˙Èȉ ¨‰ËÏÁ‰‰ Û‡ ÏÚ Æ‡ˆÂÓ ‡ÏÏ Í¯„ Â¯Â·Ú ‰È‰ ˢÙÂÓ‰ ¯ÂȈ‰ ∫˙È˙ÂÓ‡‰ Âί„Ï ÆÔӇΠ˙ȇӈډ Âί„ ˙‡ ˘ÙÈÁ ‰Îωӷ˘ ¨ÌÈ˘ ˘ÂÏ˘ ‰Î˘Ó˘ ÌÈË·Ï ˙Ù˜˙

±π∑μ

‰ÈÓ„˜‡ — ¢Ï‡Ïˆ·¢· „ÓÏÏ ÔÓʉ ‡Â‰ ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· ÌÈÓ‡‰–˙È·· ‰ÓÈȘ˙ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈÓ ÂȯÂȈ Ï˘ ‰Î¯Ú˙ Æ˙‚ÏÓ Ô˙ÓÏ ËÂÙÈ˘‰ ˙„Ú· ¯·Á ˘Ó˘Ï ÂÓÓ ‰˘˜È· ˙·¯˙Ï Ï‡¯˘È–‰˜È¯Ó‡ Ô¯˜ ƷˆÈÚ ˙ÂÓ‡Ï ‰˙‡ Íωӷ Æ̘ÈÓÚ ¯Âη‰ Ì· „ÏÂ ÔÎÓ ¯Á‡Ï ‰˘Î ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· Ì˙È· ˙‡ ÂÚ·˜Â ‡˘È ÈÓÈÓ χÎÈÓ ÆÔÓ˯‰ „È„ ·¯‰ ÌÚ ˙„‰È È„ÂÓÈÏ· χÎÈÓ Ú˜˘ ‰Ù˜˙

±π∑∂≠±π∑∑

¯È‡ ÈÓÂψ˙ ˙‡¯˘‰· ¯ÈȈ Ì˙‡ ¨¯ÂÙȈ‰ Ë·ÓÓ ÌȯÂȈ Ï˘ ‰¯„Ò· ÌÈ˘„Á ‰¯ÈˆÈ ÈÂÂÈÎ ÔÁ· χÎÈÓ ¨˙ÒÒÂ·Ó ‰È¯Ï‚ ÈÏÚ· ¨ËÈ· Ȅ¯ „„ Æ̂Ȉ‰Ï ËÈÏÁ‰ ‡Â‰Â ¨˜ÂÙÈÒ Ï˘ ‰„ÈÓ Â· ÂÚË ÂÈ‚˘È‰ Ƈ·ˆ· ‰‡¯˘ ¯Á· ̉ ÆÌȯÈÚˆ ÌÈÓ‡ ¯Á‡ ¯˙ ¨Ò˜Ù ‰·Â‰‡ ÌÚ ˙ÂÙ˙¢· ¨·È·‡–Ï˙· ‰È¯Ï‚‰ ˙·Á¯‰ ÈÙ· „ÓÚ ˙ίÚ˙ ¢ÏÚ Ë·Ó· ¯·„Ó ÈÙÂ¢ ˙ίÚ˙ ∫ÌȯÂȈ ˙ÂίÚ˙ È˙˘ ÂÏ ÂίÚ ‰È¯Ï‚‰ ȯÈÈˆÓ „Á‡Î χÎÈÓ· ÆÌÈÓÂ˘È¯

±π∑∏≠±π∏∞

Û¯ˆÏ ˘˜·˙ χÎÈÓ Æ¢‰ÊÚ· ÌÈ˙·¢ — ÂÏ˘Ó ‰˘„Á ‰¯„Ò ‰‚Ȉ‰ ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚ Ƅ¯ÓÈ ¨È˘‰ Â· „ÏÂ ‰˙‡¯ ¨‚¯·ËÈȯ· ‰¯˘ ¨‰Î¯Ú˙‰ ˙¯ˆÂ‡ Æ·È·‡–Ï˙ Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ· ‰ÓÈȘ˙‰˘ ¢˙¯Á‡ Á¯¢ ˙ίÚ˙Ï ˙ÂÂÓ˙ ÂÙÒÂ‡Ï ˘Î¯ ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· χ¯˘È Ô‡ÈÊÂÓ Æ˙Èχ¯˘È‰ ˙ÂÓ‡‰ „È˙Ú· ÌÈÓ˙ÒÓ‰ ÌÈÂÂÈΉ „Á‡ ˙‡ Â˙„·ڷ Ɖ¯„Ò‰Ó ‰ÂÓ˙

±π∏±

ÌȯÂȈ ˙¯„Ò Ï‡ÎÈÓ ‚Ȉ‰ ¨®Ìȯ‚Ӊ–¯„Á Áˢ·Â© ÂÈ· ÈÈÁ· „·Î ÌÂ˜Ó ÂÒÙ˙˘ ¨Â‚ω ˙Âȷ˜ ˙‡¯˘‰· Ư·Â˜ ÌÚ ‰˙¯˘˜˙‰ ‰ÓÈÈ˙Ò ‰Ê ·Ï˘·Â ¨Ì˙‡ ‚Ȉ‰Ï ‰·¯Ò ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚ Æ·È·‡–Ï˙· ¢Ô„¯Â‚ ‰È¯Ï‚¢·

±π∏≤≠±π∏¥

˙ÂÚ„ÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÁÂÏ ˙‡¯˘‰· ¨ÌÈ„ÓÓ ÈÏ„‚ ÌȯÂȈ ˙¯„Ò ÌÚ ¯ÊÁ Ì˘Ó ¨Ï¢ÂÁ· ÌÈ„ÂÓÈÏ ˙‚ÏÓÏ ‰ÎÊ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ÆÌÏÂÚÓ ‰‚ˆÂ‰ ‡Ï ‰¯„Ò‰ Æ„ÂÂÈω Ï˘

±π∏¥

˙ȈÁÓÎ ÆÏÎÈÓ ÈÓÈÓ Ï˘ ÌÈ˯˯ÂÙ‰ ˙ίÚ˙ ˙‡ ‰‚Ȉ‰ ®¯˘˜‰ ˙‡ ˘„ÈÁ ·˘ ‰ÓÚ© ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚ Æڷˉ ÔÓ ˙ÂÂÓ˙ ¯ÈÈˆÏ Â˙‡ ‰ÚÈ‰Â ‰·˘ ÂÊ ‰¯„Ò ÆÛÂÒ‰ „Ú ‰ÏÈÁ˙Ó ¨Ï„ÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÁÎÂ· ¯Èˆ ÌÈ˯˯ÂÙ‰

±π∏μ

¯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 ¯ÂȈ Ï˘ ˙È҇Ϙ‰ ˙¯ÂÒÓ‰ ÈÙ ÏÚ „·Ú ‡Â‰ ƉÈ˙·ȷÒ ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È Ï˘ ÌÈÏ„‚ ÌÈ„· Ɖ„Â‰È È¯‰ ˙‡¯Ó ˙‡ ÁȈ‰Â

±π∏∂≠±π∏∏

Æ·È·‡–Ï˙· ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È È¯ÂȈ Ï˘ ‰Î¯Ú˙ ‚Ȉ‰

±π∏∏

͇ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ‡˘Â ˙‡ ‰ÎÈ˘ÓÓ ˙‡Ê ‰¯„Ò Æ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· ¢ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˙‡¯Ó¢ ‰‡¯˜˘ ‰Î¯Ú˙ ‚Ȉ‰ Æ˙¯Á‡ ˙‡¯ ˙„˜Ó

±ππ∞

‰˜ÂˆÓ ˙Â΢ ¨ÌÈÂÓ˘‰ ˙Â΢· ‰˘ Ìȯ„Á È˘ ˙¯È„ — ÂÓˆÚ Ï˘Ó ÂÈ„ÂËÒÏ ÒÎ χÎÈÓ ‰˘ ‰˙‡· ÆÌÈÏ˘Â¯È–Ì¯„·

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Page 3

ÌÈÈÙ¯‚ÂÈ· ÌÈÂȈ –ÔÈÚ ı·Ș· Ï„‚ ‡Â‰ Ư¯Á˘‰ ˙ÓÁÏÓ Íωӷ ‰¯„Á· „ÏÂ ¨¯·Â˜ ‰˜ËÈ ‡·‡ Ï˘ ¯Âη‰ Ì· ¨Ï‡ÎÈÓ Æı·Ș· Û˙¢Ӊ ÍÂÈÁ‰ ÔÓÈÒ· ‰„ÓÚ Â˙„ÏÈ Æ˘¯ÂÁ‰

±π¥∏

Æ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ¨ÂˆÂ·È˜· ÔÂÎÈ˙·Â È„ÂÒÈ· „ÓÏ

±πμ¥≠±π∂∂

¨ıÈ¢· ÌÈÏÂÈË ÂÎ¯Ú Ì‰ Ɖ˘Î ͢ӷ ı¯‡‰Ó ¯„Ú˘ ¨ÂÈ·‡ ˙‡ ˘Â‚ÙÏ ‰ÙÂ¯È‡Ï ÂÓ‡ ÌÚ ÚÒ χÎÈÓ ‰¯‡˘ ÂÊ ˙·ˆÚÓ ˙˘‚¯Ó ‰ÈÂÂÁ ¨˙ÂÓ‡‰ ÌÏÂÚ ˙‡ χÎÈÓ ‰ÏÈ‚ ¨Ú·˘ Ô· Â˙Âȉ· ¨Ì˘ Æ˙Ù¯ˆ·Â ‰ÈÏËȇ· ÆÍÏȇ ԇÎÓ Â¯ÎÈÊ· ‰˙¯Á

±πμμ

ÍÂ˙· Ɖ· ˘Ó˙˘‰Ï „ˆÈÎ „ÓÏ Â˙ί„‰·Â ¨ÔÓ˘ ÈÚ·ˆ ˙Î¯Ú ÂÈ·‡Ó χÎÈÓ Ï·È˜ È¯È˘Ú‰ Â˙„ω ÌÂÈ „·ÎÏ ÆÂ¯˘ÈÎ ÏÚ ‰„ÈÚ‰˘ ˙¯ÎÈ ˙ÂÓ„˜˙‰ ÔÈ‚Ù‰ ¯ˆ˜ ÔÓÊ

±πμ∏

Âȉ ÔÂÓÈÒ ÌÚ ÌÈ˘‚ÙÓ‰ ƉÈψ¯‰· ÔÂÓÈÒ ÔÁÂÈ ÔÓ‡‰ Ï˘ Â˙ί„‰ ˙Á˙ ¯ÂȈ „ÂÓÏÏ ÏÈÁ˙‰ χÎÈÓ ÌÏÂÚ ÌÚ ˙¯Îȉ χÎÈÓÏ Í¯Ú ‡Â‰Â ¨‰ÈÓ· ˙„ÁÂÈÓ ˙ÂÈ˘È‡Â ·Â˘Á ÔÓ‡ ‰È‰ ÔÂÓÈÒ Æ„Â‡Ó ÌÈÈ˙ÂÚÓ˘Ó Æ˜‡¯·Â ȘÒÈ„˜ ¨ÈÈϘ — ÂȯÈȈ ȯÈÁ·Ó ‰ÓÎ ÌÚ ‰Ù¯ȇ· ˙È¯„ÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÓ‡‰

±π∂¥≠±π∂μ

¨ÂˆÂ·È˜Ï ·˘ ÌÈÓȉ ˙˘˘ ˙ÓÁÏÓ ı¯ٷ ÆıÂ·È˜Ï ıÂÁÓ Ô˜· ®¢¯ÈÚˆ‰ ¯Ó¢‰¢© ‰ÚÂ˙‰ ˙Â¯È˘· „·Ú χÎÈÓ ÂÏω˘ „Ú ¨Ìȯ‚·Ӊ ˙„Â·Ú ˙‡ Â˘Ú ÌÈÈ˘„ÂÁ ͢ӷ ÆÌÈȇϘÁ‰ ÌÈÙÚ‰ ÏÂÚ· ‡˘ ¯Á‡ ¯ÈÚˆ ÌÚ „ÁÈ Ʒ¯˜‰ ˙„˘Ó ·˘

±π∂∂≠±π∂∑

˙ÂÏÈÚÙÏ ˘¯„ ‰Îωӷ ¨‰˘˙‰‰ ˙ÓÁÏÓ ˙Ù˜˙ ‰˙Èȉ ‰Ù˜˙‰ Æ˙¯Á·ÂÓ ‰„ÈÁÈ· ˙¯È˘ χÎÈÓ Æ¯ÂȈ· ˜ÂÒÈÚ ÏÎ ÂÓÓ ‰ÚÓ˘ ˙È·ÈÒËȇ

±π∂∑≠±π∑∞

ÈÓÈÓ ÌÚ ˘‚ÙÓ‰ — „Á‡‰ ∫ÂÈÈÁ „È˙Ú ˙‡ ·ˆÈÚ˘ ÌÈÚ¯ȇ È˘ ¢Á¯˙‰ ȇ·ˆ‰ ˙Â¯È˘‰Ó ¯¯Á˘ ÌÚ ‰ÓÎ ÌÚ ÏÈÈˢ ˙Ú· ˙ȇ˜È¯Ó‡ ˙ÂÓ‡ Ï˘ ÌÏ˘ ÌÏÂÚ ÈÂÏÈ‚ — È˘‰ ¨Â˙˘‡Ï ‰ÎÙ‰ ÌÈÓÈÏ˘ ¨¯·Â˜Ó Ï˘ ‰¯˘ÂÚ ˙‡ χÎÈÓ ÈÙ· ÂÙ˘Á ÒÏß‚‡–ÒÂÏ· ÂÈ·‡ Ï˘ ÌÈ„È„È È˘ Æ˙ȯ·‰–˙ˆ¯‡· ‰„ÈÁÈÏ Âȯ·ÁÓ ˙ÂΉ‰ ˙¯‚ÒÓ· Ƙ¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· „ÓÏÈ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰È‰È ‡Â‰ ∫‰ËÏÁ‰ ˘·È‚ ı¯‡Ï ·˘ ‡Â‰Â ¨·¢‰¯‡· ˙ÂÓ‡‰ ˙¯·Á· ÁË·‡ÓÎ „·Ú Ì˘ ¨·È·‡–Ï˙· ‰˘ ¯¯Â‚˙‰ ‰È¯Á‡Ï ¨ıÂ·È˜Ï ˙ÙÒÂ ‰˘ ͢ÓÏ Ï‡ÎÈÓ ·˘ ¨„È˙ÚÏ Æ¢È·‡¢ ÔÂÎÓ· ·¯Ú È„ÂÓÈÏ· Ú·˘· ÌÈÈÓÚÙ ¯ÂȈ „ÓÏ ¢ÚȘ¯‡¢

±π∑∞

ψ‡ ÌÂ˘È¯ „ÓÏ ·Â˜¯ÂË ˜ß‚ ÔÂËÒ‡‚ ÙÈÏÈÙ ÌÈÓ‡· ˘‚Ù Ì˘ ¨¢ÏÂ˜Ò ÂÈ„ÂËÒ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ¢· „ÓÏ Ï‡ÎÈÓ Í· ÂÓˆÚ ‡ˆÓ ¨ÍÎÏ ÛÒÂ· Ɖ˙Ù˘ ˙‡ ˘ÂÎ¯Ï È„Î ‰¯Ê‰ ı¯‡Ï Ï‚˙Ò‰Ï È„Î ÔÓÊÏ ˜˜Ê ‡Â‰ ƯËÓ Ò„Ò¯Ó Æ‰Ù¯ȇ ˙·¯˙ ÈÙÏÎ Ìȇ˜È¯Ó‡‰ ¢Á˘ ‰ÈÈÁ„‰ ÏÂÓ ˯‡–ÙÂى ˘¯ËÒ·‡‰ ¨ÌÊÈχÂËÙÒ˜‰ ÏÂÓ ÆÔӇΠÂ¯˘ÈÎ ÏÈ˘·‰ ¨Ï‚Ò˙‰˘ Ú‚¯Ó

±π∑≤≠±π∑μ

„Â‡Ó ˙¯ÒÈÈÓ ‰Ù˜˙ ÂÊ ‰˙Èȉ ÆÈÓÈÓ ÌÚ „ÁÈ ¨‰ÓÁÏÓÏ ‰ˆ¯‡ ¯ÊÁ χÎÈÓ ÆÌȯÂÙÈΉ ÌÂÈ ˙ÓÁÏÓ ‰ˆ¯Ù ÆÂÈ„ÂÓÈÏ ˙‡ ÌÈÈÒÏ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈÏ ·Â˘Ï ‰ËÏÁ‰‰ · ‰ÏÓ‚ Â˙Â¯È˘ ˙Ú· ÆÂȯ·ÁÓ ÌÈ·¯ ÂÏÙ ‰Îωӷ˘ ¨ÂÈÈÁ· ¯Á‡Ï ƉÓÁÏÓ‰ ˙ÂÓ‡¯ËÏ ˜˘Ï Ìȯ·Á ·ÂÊÚÏ ÌÂ˜Ï ‰È‰ ‰˘Â¯ÈÙ Ô΢ ¨‰˘˜Â ˙·‡ÂÎ ‰˙Èȉ ÂÊ ‰ËÏÁ‰ ÁÈË·Ó ¯ÈÚˆ ¯ÈȈ Ï˘ Â˙ί„‰ ˙Á˙ ¨Ìȯ˘ÎÂÓ ÌÈ„ÈÓÏ˙ ˙ˆÂ·˜ χ ¯·Á ¢ÏÂ˜Ò ÂÈ„ÂËÒ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ¢Ï ·¢ ‰È˙Â˙‡ ‰˙ ¯ÙÒ‰ ˙È· ÏÚ ‰ˆÂ·˜‰ ˙ÚÙ˘‰ ÆÈ‡ÓˆÚ ÔÙ‡· „·ÚÏ ‰‚‰ ‰ˆÂ·˜‰ ÆÔÓÂÏÒ Ô·ÈËÒ Ì˘· Æ˙·¯ ÌÈ˘ ͢ӷ

±π∑≥ ¯·Â˘‡

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‰‡Ó‰ Ï˘ Ô¢‡¯‰ Ú·¯‰ ÛÂÒ ˙‡¯˜Ï ˙ÓÈȘ˙Ó ˙ÂÓ‡‰ÆÆÆ¢ ∫‰ÈÙÏ ‚¯·ʯ „ϯ‰ Ï˘ ÂÊ ¯˘‡Ó ¯·Â˜ χÎÈÓ Ï˘ Â˙¯ÈˆÈ ˙‡ ¯˙ÂÈ ·ÂË ‰¯È‰·Ó‰ ‰¯„‚‰ ‡ÂˆÓÏ ‰È‰È ‰˘˜ ÚÒÙ ÂÈÈÚÏ ‰Ï‚˘ ‰ÓÏ Ì‡˙‰·Â ¨˙È˙¯Â˜È· ÔÈÚ· ÂÓˆÚ ÔÁ·Â ¯·Â˜ ·˘ ÌÈÈ˙¯ÈˆÈ‰ ÂÈÈÁ· ‰Ù˜˙ ÏÎ ı˜Ó Æ¢ÆÆÆÈ„ÈÈÓ‰ ‰¯·Ú ˙ÏÈÏ˘ È„È–ÏÚ Æ·ÈÈÁÓ Ë¯„ËÒÎ ÌȯÁ‡ ÌÈÓ‡ Ï˘ ̉È˙Â„Â·Ú ˙‡ ıÓ‡Ï ÈÏ·Ó ¨Íη ˜·„ ‡Â‰ ƢȄÈÈÓ‰ ¯·Ú¢ ÏÚ ¯‚˙ ˙‡È¯˜ ÍÂ˙ ¨‰ÓÈ„˜ ˙ˆ¯Á· Ƙ¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ԇ˘–˙È· ¨ÂÙÈ ¨·È·‡–Ï˙ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ¨˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ı·Ș ∫‰·Â¯˜‰ ‰·È·Ò‰ „ÂÓÈÏ· ÂÓˆÚ ¯·Â˜ Ú˜È˘ ‰˘ Ìȯ˘ÚÓ ‰ÏÚÓÏ ˙ˆ‡ÂÓ‰ Â·Ï ˙ÂÓÈÚÙ È„È–ÏÚ ÚÂÓ ‡Â‰˘Î ¨˘‚Ù Â˙‡ ÈÊÈÙ‰ ÌÏÂÚÏ ˙ÈχÂÊÈ ˙Â˘¯Ù ˜ÈÚ‰Ï È„Î Ú·ˆ·Â ÏÂÁÎÓ· ˘ÂÓÈ˘ ‰˘Ú ‡Â‰ Æ˙¯ÚÂÒ ˙ÂÙ˜˙ ÌÚ ˘‚ÙÓ· ÌÈ˙ÚÏ ˙‡ ¨ÈËÓ¯ΠÁÈˢΠ¯·„Ó‰ ˙‡ ¨È‚ˆÈÈÏ Ë˘ÙÂÓ‰ ¯ÂȈ‰ ÔÈ· ÌÈ·¯‰ ÌȄ‚È‰ ˙‡ ÔÁ· ‡Â‰ ÆıˆÈ ¯Á‡ ıˆÈ Â˙Ȉ‰ ÂÈÈÁ· ˙ÂÁ˙ ͯ„ ‰¯·Á‰ ˙‡ ¨˙ÈËÈÏÂÙ ‰ÙÈÏÁ ÛÂ ˙¯„‡ ‰ËÂÚ‰ ˙È¯ÙÂÊÈÎÒ‰ ¯ÈÚ‰ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È ˙‡ ¯˜Á ‡Â‰ Ɖ¯Â˘ËÈί‡‰ ͯ„ ˙È·¯Ú‰ ˙·¯˙‰ ‰˜ÈÚ‰˘ ¢˙ÈËÒÈÙ˜Ò‡¢ ‰¯È· ‰˙‡ — ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ ¯ÈÚ‰ ¯Á‡ ‰˜Á˙Ó ‡Â‰ ‰¯Á‡Ï ¨Ë¯Ë¯ÂÙ‰ ͯ„ ‰˘È‡‰Â ‰ÁÙ˘Ó‰ ˙‡ ¨˜Á˘Ó ÔÓÊ Æ‰‡Ï‰ ÚÂÏ È„Î ÍÎ ÏÎ ÌȈÂÁ‰ ÌÈӯ‚ È˘ — ˙ÈχÂÊÈ ‰ÈÂÂÁ ÔÓÊ ˜ÒÙ ÂÏ ˙‡„–ȇ Ï˘ ‰Ù˜˙ ¨ÌÈÁÓÂÓ ˙Ú„Ï ¨È‰ÂÊ Æ®≤∞∞∞ ¯·ÓËÙÒ Ê‡Ó© ‰˘Ó ‰ÏÚÓÏ ¯·Î ˙ÂÏÏÂ˙˘Ó ¢‡ˆ˜‡–χ¢ ˙„‡ÙÈ˙ȇ ˙·‰Ï È˘Â˜ ‰Ïȉ˜Ï „ÈÁÈÏ Æ‰ÈÙ ÏÎÏ ¯·ÚÓ ·¯Â‡ ˙ÂÂÓ‰ ȯ‰˘ ¨ÌˆÚ˙‰ È˘È‡‰ ÔÂÁËÈ·Ï ˘˘Á‰ ÆÌÈ˘ ‡ ÌÈ˘„ÂÁ Í˘Ó‰Ï ‰ÈÂÙˆ˘ ¨˙ÈËÈÏÂ٠̇‰ ‰Èȉ˙ ˜ÂÙ˜ÈÙ Ï˘ ˙¢ÂÁ˙ ‡È‰ ˙ÚÓ–È˙Ï·‰ ‰‡ˆÂ˙‰ Æ͢Ó˙Ó‰ ˙ÂÓÈÚ‰ ÌÚ ˙ÂËÂ˘Ù‰ ÌÂÈÓÂȉ ˙ÂÓÈ˘Ó ÌÚ „„ÂÓ˙‰Ï ·¯ ÆÂ¯Âʇ· ÌÈÏÓ¯Â ÌÈÈÁÏ ˙ÂÂ˜Ï „ÂÚ Ô˙È ˙˜ÊÁ‰ ˙¯Ȉȉ ÔÓ ‰ÓÎ ‰¯Á‡‰ ‰˘‰ Íωӷ ¯·Â˜ ¯ˆÈ ¨ÂÏ ÈÈÈÙ‡‰ ˜ÂÙȇ‰ ˙‡ ˙ÂÏ‚Ï ÍÈ˘ÓÓ ‡Â‰˘Î ¨‰Òȯ˙Ó ‰„ÓÚ ÍÂ˙Ó ÈÂÂ˜Ó ¨ÌÈÏȈ‡ ÌÈˆÚ ÆÛÂ Ï˘ „ÂÁÈÈ ËÂ˯˘Ï ¯·ÚÓ ÏÚÓ ˙‚¯ÂÁ‰ ‰ˆÈÓ‡ ˙È˘È‡ ‰¯‰ˆ‰ Ì‰ ÂÏ˘ Ô‡˘–˙È· È„· ƉΠ„Ú ÂÏ˘ ¯˙ÂÈ· ÂÊ ¨Èˆ¯‡ ȉÂÊ ∫ÊȯÎÓ ˙ÂÓ‡Ï ÌÈÈÁ ¯·Â˜ ˜ÈÚÓ ÌÈÈÚ·Ë ˙„ÂÒÈ Ì˙‡ ÏÎ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· — ÌȘÓÚ ÏÏ˘Â Ìȯ‰ ¨ÌÓÂȘ· ÌÈ„ÈÓ˙Ó‰ ÌÈÓ ÆÈÓÈى ÈˆÈÁ‰ ÈÙÂ Â‰Ê — ÏÂÎÏ ÏÚÓ ¨È„È˙Ú Â‰Ê ¨ÈÏ˘ ‰È¯ÂËÒȉ‰ ˜ÂÁ¯‰ ¯·Ú· ¯·Î ıÓȇ ‡Â‰ ¨ÂÊ ‰ÂÓ‡ ˜ÊÁÏ È„Î Æ˙ÈÁˢ ˙ÂÈÏ· χ ¯„¯„˙‰Ï ‰„È ·Ï ÌÂ˙ ‰¯˘ÂÈ ˙ÏÂË ˙ÂÓ‡˘ ÚÎÂ˘Ó ¯·Â˜ ÈÂËÈ· Ï˘ „ÓÓ ÌÈÈÊÈÙ‰ ÌÈ˯ÙÏ ‰˜È ÂÎωӷ˘ ÚÒÓÏ ‚ÈÏÙÈ Ì¯Ë· ¨‡˘Â‰ Ï˘ È˙ÈÓ‡‰ ÂÚ·Ë· ˘Â¯„Ï ¯Â˜ÁÏ ÂÓÓ Ú·˙˘ ¨‰ÏÂÚÙ ÒÂÙ„ ̯‚ Â¯Â·Ú ÂÂȉ ‡Ï ÌÏÂÚÓ Ì˜Ó ÔÓÊ Æ˙ÈËÂÙÒ ‰Èȇ¯ Ï˘ ‰˘ÂÁ˙ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÂÈ„·· ˙¯ÎÈ ˙¯Ȅ ÌÈ˙ÚÏ ˜¯ ¨ÍÎÓ ‡ˆÂÈ ÏÚÂÙÎ ÆÈ˙ÂÓ‡ ˙¢ÈÁ· ¯·Â˜ ÍÈ˘ÓÈ ¨¯ÁÓ Ì‚ ȇ„· ÏÂÓ˙‡ ÂÓÎ ¨ÌÂȉ Ʒω ˙Ó¢˙ ˙Ú„‰ ÏÂ˜È˘ ‡ÂÏÓ ˙‡ ÂÓÓ ÂÚ·˙˘ ÌÈËÓχ ¢ÓÈ˘ ‡Ï‡ ¨ÈÏ¢ Æχ¯˘È· È·È˯‚ÈÙ‰ ¯ÂȈ‰ ȯÈÎ·Ó „Á‡Ï Â˙‡ ‰ÎÙ‰˘ Á¯‰ ¨Â˙¯ÈˆÈ· ˙ÓÚÙÓ‰ Á¯‰ ˙‡ ÔÈÊÓ‰ ¯Â˜Ó‰ ÔÓ ˙Â˙˘Ï ÂÏ ˙ÈÈÈÙ‡‰

¢ÆÂ˙„ÏÂÓ ÛÂ ˙È·˙ ‡Â‰ Ì„‡‰¢ ȘҷÂÁÈ¯˘Ë χ˘

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Tenis player, 2003, Oil on canvas, 168X137 Collection of Naomi and David Kolitz

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±∂∏ X±≥∑†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞≥†¨ÒÈË ˙È˜Á˘ ıÈϘ „„ ÈÓÚ†ÛÒ‡ 176

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≤∞∞≥≠≤∞∞± ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ

The White House in the Morning, 2001, Oil on canvas, 130X150 Private Collection 175

±≥∞ X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨¯˜Â··†Ô·Ï‰†˙È·‰ È˯٠ÛÒ‡

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Window with Lemons, detail, 2003, Oil on canvas, 130X170 Collection of Lori and Michael Feldstein

±≥∞ X±∑∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞≥ ¨Ë¯Ù†¨ÌÈÂÓÈÏ ÌÚ ÔÂÏÁ ÔÈÈˢ„Ï٠χÎÈÓ ȯÂÏ ÛÒ‡ 174

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≤∞∞≥≠≤∞∞± ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ

Sunshine in the window, 2001, Oil on canvas, 120X150 173

±≤∞ X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨ÔÂÏÁ·†‰ÁȯÊ

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¯·Â˜ ËÈÏÁ‰ ¨Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚ È„· ÏÚ ‰„·ډ Íωӷ ¨≤∞∞∞ ˙˘ ˙È˘‡¯· Ô‡ÈÏ ¯·Á ‡Â‰ Ƙ¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ÂÈ„ÂËÒ Û˙¢ӷ ¯Â΢Ï Ìȯ·Á ˙Úˆ‰Ï ˙ÂÚÈ‰Ï ‰˘· ÌÈ˘„ÂÁ ‰˘ÂÏ˘ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ· ˙‰˘Ï ÔÎ˙ ¨ÔÓÁÏ È·ˆÂ ˘ÂÏÏ ¯ÙÂÚ ¨¯‚¯Â·¯ ÊÂÎȯ ·˘ ¨ÒȘ· È˙ÈÈ˘Ú˙ ¯Âʇ· Ô΢ ¯Î˘˘ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ÆÌȯ˜ȷ È˘Ï ÂψÂÙ˘ Û˜˘ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ ÔÂÏÁÓ Æ˙¯¯ÂÙ˙‰ È„Î „Ú ÌÈÁÊÂÓ ÌÈÒÁÓ ‰ÈÈ˘Ú˙ È·Ó Ï˘ Ï„‚ ¨ÔˉÓ Ï˘ ‰ÊÎ¯Ó ˙ÈÏψ· ¯Â¯È·· ÔÈÁ·‰Ï Ô˙È ¨¢¯ÂÂȯ–ËÒȇ¢‰ ÔÓ ¯ˆ ÁÏÙ ¯ÙÒÓ ¯·Â˜Ï ˜ÙÈÒ ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ Ï˘ ÈÓÈÙ‰ ‰·Ó‰ ÆÌÈÁȯˆ ¯È˙Ú ¯ˆ·ÓÎ ‰˙¯Âˆ˘ ‰·È·Ò‰ Ï˘ ÌÈ¢ ˙‡¯Ó „ÂÚÈ˙Ï ‡ˆÂÓ ˙„˜ ÂÂȉ˘ ¨ıÂÁ‰ χ ˙ÈÙˆ˙ ˙„˜ ÌȘˆÂÓ‰ ÌÈ·Ó‰ ˜· ˙Â·˙‰‰ ÆÚ˜¯· ¯ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ÚȘ¯‰–˜ ¯˘‡Î ¨‰·Â¯˜‰ ‡È‰ Æ˙·‚˙ ˙¯˘¯˘ ‰˙Ȉ‰ ˙È·¯Â‡ ‰·È·Ò· È·ÈÒËȇ ÌÈÈÁ Á¯Â‡ ÌÈÈÈÙ‡Ó‰ ¨‰„·ډ Ï˘ ‰˙Â·È˘Á· ¯‰¯‰Ï ¯ÂÊÁÏ È„Î ˙ÈχȄȇ ‰·È˘ÙÒ¯Ù ¯·Â˜Ï ‰˜ÈÚ‰ ˘Â‡ ˙ÂÁÂÎ ÒÂÈ‚Ï ÚÈÓÎ ¨˙ÈÊÈÙ‰ ‰„·ÚÏ ‡ÏÈÓÓ ˘Á¯˘ „·Ή ˙‡ ‰˜ÊÈÁ ÌÈ‚˘ÂÓ‰ ˙‡ ÏÈË‰Ï ˙Âӄʉ ԇΠ‰˙¯˜ ‰˘ÚÓÏ Æ˙ÂÚÓ˘Ó ˙ÏÚ· ‰ÏÂÚÙÏ Æ̇Â˙ È·¯Â‡ ÌÈϘ‡ ÏÚ ˙Ó„˜ÂÓ‰ ˙ÈËÒÈχȈÂÒ–˙ȇϘÁ‰ Â˙·È·Ò· ÌÈÚ·ˉ ˙ÂÚÈÒÙ ÚÒÙ ‰·˘ ¨¯ÈÚ‰ ÌÚ Â˙¯Îȉ ˙‡ ˘„ÁÏ ˙¯˘Ù‡‰ ÂÏ ‰˙È ¨ÛÒÂ· ÆÔÎÏ Ì„Â˜ ÌÈ˘ ‰ÂӢ Ìȯ˘Ú ¨¯ÈȈΠ˙Â¢‡¯ Ô˙Ò‰ ˙ÈÎÂÎÊ Ï˘ ÌÈ˘ ÌÈÏ٠ͯ„ ÆÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰Ó ·Â˘Á ˜ÏÁ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó Ï„‚ ÔÂÏÁ ¨ÌÈÏÙ‰ ÔÓ ‰ÓÎ ÆÔˉÓ Ú˜¯·Â ¢ÈËÈÒ „ÏÈȇ–‚ÂÏ¢ Ï˘ ‰ÙÂ Û˜˘ Ì„Ú·Ó ¨¯Â‡‰ ˙ÂÁÈ΢ È˙Ï· „Â‡Ó ˙ÂÈÂÙ˜˙˘‰ ¯ˆÈ ¨ÏÈÈ· ‡ ˜ÈËÒÏÙ· ÂÙÏÁ‰ ‡ Ìȯ·˘ Âȉ˘ ‰ˆˆ‰ ¯·Â˜Ï ¯˘Ùœ‡˘ ˜È¯ Ô·ÏÓ ¯ˆÂ ¨ÏÏη ÌÈÏÙ Âȉ ‡Ï ·˘ ̘ӷ Ư‡‰ Ï˘ Æ˙ÈÎÂÎʉ ÍÒÓ Ï˘ ‰ˆÈˆÁ‰ ‡ÏÏ ¨‰˘˜‰ ˙‡ȈӉ ÌÏÂÚ Ï‡ ‰¢‡¯‰ ˙‰˘‰ ˙Ù˜˙Ó ÂȯÂȈ Âȉ ¨ÂÈ„ÂËÒ‰ Ï˘ „ÁÂÈÓ‰ ‰·Ó‰ ÏÏ‚· ÂÓΠƯÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ·Ëȉ ˙¯„‚ÂÓ ˙Â˘¯Ù ‡ ˙ÂÈ˘¯ËÒ·‡ ÏÂÎÈ·Î ˙Â¯ÈˆÈ Ï˘ ˙·Â¯Ú˙ Ï˘ ˯ÂÙÓ ¯Â‡È˙Ó ˙ÂϘ· Ú ÂÏÂÁÎÓ ‰È‰ ¨˙ÂÙÏÁ˙Ó ˙¢„Ú ˙ÏÚ· ‰ÓÏˆÓ ¨¯Â‰Ë ¯Â‡ Ï˘ ·È¯˜˙· ·ÂˆÈÚ Ï‡ ÏÂÓÓ˘ ÌÈ„¯˘Ó‰ ÈÏ„‚Ó ÌÈÒÁÓ‰ ˙Â˙ÈÊÁ Æ˙Â¢‰ ÌÂȉ ˙ÂÚ˘· ÔÂÏÁ‰ ˙ÂȂ‚ÊÏ ˜˘Â‰ ÌÚ ˙ÈÙ¯‚ ‰¯Âˆ· ˜Á˘Ó ¢˜·ÈËÈÒ¢‰ ÔÈÈ· ˙‡ „„Â·Ó ¯·Â˜ ÌÈ„· ¯ÙÒÓ· ˘·Î ¨˙È¢ËÈί‡ ‰ËÂÓÓ ÂÓΠƘÊÁ ÈχÂÊÈ ԂÂÚ Ï·˜Ï È„Î ¨ÌÈÓˆډ ÂÈ„ÓÓ È·È˘ÏÒ ˙ÂÈ‰Ï ÂÏ ¯˘Ùœ‡ Âτ‚ ¨ÌȘÁ¯ÓÏ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ‰Èȇ¯‰ ·È˙ ˙‡ ‰·Ó‰ È˙¯ÈˆÈ‰ Ô·˙Ó‰ Ï˘ ‰Ù„Ú‰· ¯Á· ÌÈ˙ÚÏ Æ¯‡˙Ï ıÙÁ Ì˙‡˘ ÌÈ˯ى ˙¯ÈÁ·· Ɖ·Ó‰ ˙ÂÁÎÂÓ ÔÈËÂÏÁÏ ÌÏÚ˙‰Â Ï„‚Ó ˙‡ ÂÎÙ‰ ¯‰‰ ÔÓ ˜Â¯È È‚ ÌÚ „ÁÈ ÌÈÓ˘‰ ÔÓ ˙ÂÈÂÙ˜˙˘‰ ·ÂÏÈ˘ ı·˜ÓÏ Â‡ ¨È„ÂÂÈω ‰Óȇ Ë¯Ò Ï˘ ˙ÂȈ¯ÂÙ¯٠ÏÚ· ÏÂÁÎ Ô·ÏÓÏ ¢˜·ÈËÈÒ¢‰ ˙„·ڷ ÆÛ˜˘ ÏÁÏÁÎ Ô‚ ÊȘ¯ÂË ¨¯È˘Ú ÏÂÁÎ ÔÈ· ÌÈ„„Â˙Ó‰ Ìȯ‰ÂÊ ÌÈ·ÏÓ ¯ÈȈӉ ÈÈϘ ÏÂ‡Ù Ï˘ ¯ÂȈ‰ ˙Ù˘ Ï˘ ˜Â„˜„‰ ÌÚ ˙‰„ʉ‰ ˙¯ÎÈ ‰Ï‡ Æ˙ÂÈ·È˯˜„ ˙¯ÂˇÈÈÓ ¯È˙Â‰Ï ‰Ú·˙ ¨˙ÈÎÂÎÊ ‰„ÏÙ ¨ÔÂË· ˙ÒÓ Ï˘ ˙ÓÓ„‰ ˙ÂÈÏ˯·· ˙„˜Ó˙‰‰ ÆÂί„ ˙È˘‡¯Ó ¯·Î ¯·Â˜ ˙¯ÈˆÈ· ÈËȯ˜ ̯‚ ‰Â‰Ӊ ¨È˘Â‡‰ ̯‚‰ ˙‡ ¯ÂÁ‡Ó ÁÈ˘ ‰ÂÓ˙· ÏÂÏÎÏ ˜˜„ÊÈ˘ ÈÏ·Ó ¨È˘Â‡‰ ËÓχ· ËÂÏ˘Ï Í¯„ ¯·Â˜ ˘ÙÈÁ Ô‡Î Û„Ó È·‚ ÏÚ — ÌÈÂÓÈÏ È˘ ÏÏΠͯ„· — ȯ٠˙Á‰· ‡ˆÓ Ô¯˙ÈÙ‰ ÆÈ·È˯‚È٠̘ӷ ˙ÂÈÁ‡ ˙ÂÓ˘ È˙˘ ÔÈ· ˘‚ÙÓÏ ‰¯ÂÙËÓÎ ˘Ó˘Ó‰ ¨‰ÂÓ˙‰ ˙Ó„œ˜· ¯ˆ ÂÊ ‰ÙÈϘ‰ ˙˜˘‰ È„Î „Ú ¨˙¯ÈÙ‰ ˙·¯œ˜ ̈ÚÓ ˙η˙ÒÓ ‰ÈÈ‚ÂÒ‰ ƯÎÂÓ ‡Ï ¯Ê ÔÈÈˆÏ Â‡ ÔÓ‡‰ Ï˘ „ȷÈω ˙Â˜Â˘˙ ÏÚ ÊÓ¯Ï ‰ÏÂÎȉ ¨‰˜ÊÁ ‰ÈËÒ‚ÂÒ ˙¯ˆÂ ¨ÂÊÏ Æ‰˜ÂÓÚ ‰ÈÏÂÎÏÓ ÈÓÓÒ ‰„ÏÈ¢ ¨®±±∑ ßÓÚ© ±ππ¥ ˙˘Ó ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÔÂÚˉ ¯ÂȈ· ÌÈȘ˙Ó ‰Ó„ ·ˆÓ ¨‰¯‚· Ì¯Ë˘ ‰¯Ú ˙ȇ¯ ÒÂËÏ· Ï˘ ˙ÂÈχÂÒÒ‰ ÔÓ ˙·‡Â˘‰ ‰ÂÓ˙· Æ¢˙·˙Ó ˙„ÏÈ ÔÈ·˘ ÏÈ‚Ï ÌÈÂÂÏ˙Ó‰ Á˙Ó‰ ˙‡Â ˘ÈÏÙ˜‰ ˙‡ ˙Á· ‰ÂÓ˙‰ ÆÏÈϘ „‚·· ¯‡ÂÓ‰ ¨Í‡ÏÓ ÔÈÚÓ ‰¯Ú· ¯·Â˜ ‰‡Â¯ ¯‰¯Â‰Ó‰Â ˜Ù‡Ӊ Ô˜ÂÈ„‰ ¯ÂȈ· Æ˙¯‚·Ï Ï·Ș ÈÏÎ Ï˘ ‰ÒÎÓ ÍÂ˙Ó ¯Â‡‰ ˙ÂÙ˜˙˘‰· Ô¯Â˜Ó˘ ˙¯·˘ ÌÈÈ¯˜ È„È–ÏÚ ÌÈÂÓÈÏ ¯ÙÒÓ È„È–ÏÚ ¨ÈÂÏ‚· ÌÈ‚ˆÂÓ Û‡Â ¨ÌÈÓˆÚÂÓ ‰Èȉ˙‰Â ˘ÂÙÈÁ‰ ÆÈÓ˙Ò È¯Ù — ˘Ó˘‰ ÌÂÁÓ ÔÂÊÈ‰ ȯى χ ˙È˯‡ ‰ÈÙ‰ ԇΠ˘È ƉÈÙÏ ÌÈÁÂÓ‰ ÆÚ˜Ù˙‰Ï ÌȈÈÓ ÚÙ¢ ÒÒÂ˙ ÈÁ ͇ — ˙ÈÓÊ ˙ÂÁÙÏ ¨ÌÂ˙ÁÂ Ï˘· ¨˜ˆÂÓ ¨Ï‚Ï‚Ú 172

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≤∞∞≥≠≤∞∞± ¨˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈ New York, 2001–2003

±≥∞ X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞≤Ø≥†¨‰Ó„‡ ˙ÈÊÁ Red Façade, 2002/3, Oil on canvas, 130X150 170

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169

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168

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Fishpond, Hamadiya, Winter, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X170

±±∞ X±∞∞ X∂†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨ÌÈÈÓ˘·†‰„ÈÒÁ†·‰Ê†‚„†¨ÌÈÒÂÒ†¨ıÚ†¨‰Îȯ· ∫Ìȇ·‰ ÌÈ„ÂÓÚ· Next Pages: Pond, Tree, Horses, Goldfish and Stork in the Sky, 2001, Oil on canvas, 110X100X6 167

±∞∞ X±∑∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨Û¯ÂÁ†¨‰È„ÓÁ·†ÌÈ‚„†˙ÂÎȯ·

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Sunset on Hamadiya’s Reservoir, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X160

±∞∞ X±∂∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨‰È„ÓÁ†¯‚‡Ó·†‰ÚȘ˘ 166

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A Pond Opposite Gilad Mountains, Morning, 2001, Oil on canvas, 120X150 Private Collection 165

±≤∞X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨¯˜Â·†¨„ÚÏ‚†È¯‰†ÏÂÓ†‰Îȯ· È˯٠ÛÒ‡

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Pond in the Summer, 2001, Oil on canvas, 120X150 Collection of Lisa and Eran Davidson

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±≤∞ X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨ıȘ·†‰Îȯ· ÔÂÊ„È„ Ô¯Ú ‰ÒÈÏ ÛÒ‡ 164

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Milton Avery, Sea and Sand Dunes, 1955 Oil on canvas 40x60 cm.

„Ú–È˜Â¯È Ï˘ ‰ÙÂÙˆ ‰˘¯ÂÁ· ÌÈ„˜Ó˙Ó ÌÈÂÈÏÚ‰ ÌȯÂȈ‰ ˙˘ÂÏ˘ ÍÂ˙Ó ÌÈÈ˘ Ì‚‡‰ ÏÚ ˙ÎÎÂÒ ‰ÈȯËÓÎ Ì˙ÂÂÏÚ ˙‡Â ̉ÈÙÚ ˙‡ ÌÈ˘¯ÂÙ‰ ¨˜Ú ˙ÂȈ¯ÂÙ¯٠ÈÏÚ· Ï˘ ˙ÈÓÈÙ‰ ˙‰Ӊ ˙‡ ÔÈ·‰Ï ÏÈ΢‰Ï ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ˜ÊÁ‰ Ô·‡È˙‰ ÆÛÂ‰ ÏÚ ‰Èȇ¯ ‰˙‡· ¯˙ÂÈ· ‰¯ÈÚʉ ‰ÈÏÓÂ‡‰ ˙‡ Ì‚ ¯ÈÈˆÏ Â˙‡ ÏÈ·ÂÓ ¨Ú·Ë· ˙ÂÚÙÂ˙ ÔÂÎÈËÙÈ„‰ Ï˘ ÌÈÓ‰ ¯Âʇ· ÌÈÓ˘‰Â ÌȈډ Ï˘ ˙ˆˆÓ‰ ˙ÂÈÂÙ˜˙˘‰‰ Æ˙¯„ÂÁ ˜Ê·‰Â ÌȯÂÙȈ ¨ÌÈ‚„ ˙˜‰Ï ÏÚ ÌÈÊÓ¯Ó‰ ¨Ú·ˆ ÈÊ˙ Ï˘ ˙·Â¯Ú˙ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ÂÓÏ˘Â‰ ÆÌÈÏˆÚ ÌÈʯ· È˘ „ÎÂω ‰·Â‰ˆ ˘Ó˘ Ï˘ ˙ÂÁ„Ï È·È˯‚ÈÙ‰ ÛÂ‰ ¯ÈȈ ‰˘˜˙È ˙Á‡Â Ìȯ˘Ú‰ ‰‡Ó‰ Ï˘ ‰˙ÏÈÁ˙· ÂÏÈÙ‡ ÛÂ‰ ȇ˙ ¨¯Â‡‰ ÈÂËÈ·Ï Ô˙˘È‚ ˙‡Â ˙ÂÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÓȇ‰ ˙Âȯ‡È˙‰ ˙‡ ÏΠÏÎÓ ‰ÂÓ „ÂϘ Ï˘ ÌÈÓ‰ ÈÚË˜Ó ®˙È˙¯Î‰–˙˙© ‰‡¯˘‰ ÌÓ‡ ‚ÙÒ ¯·Â˜ Ɖ¯È‡‰Â Ú·ˆ‰ ˙Á‰ ÔÙ‡·Â ÂÏ˘ ÌÈÚ·ˆ‰ ˙Ëχٷ˘ ˜ÙÒ ËÚÓÎ Ôȇ ͇ ¨È¯‡ÂÂÈß‚· ¯Èˆ˘ Æ˙ÂÓ„˜ÂÓ‰ ÌÈ˘˘‰ ˙Â˘Ó ÔÂËÒ‡‚ ÙÈÏÈÙ Ï˘ ˙¯Á‡Ӊ ˙ÂË˘Ù‰Ï „‰ ‡ˆÓ ˙¯ÓÂÓ ˙¯ˆ ‰Á‡Ó ‡Â‰ ÌÈÓ‰ ‰Â˜ÓÏ ¯·Â˜ ˜ÈÚÓ˘ ‰ÈˆË¯Ù¯Ëȇ· Ì˙‡˘ ¨¯ÂÁ˘Â ÔȯӖ‡¯Ëχ ¨ÏÂ‚Ò ¨È¯Âʇ–ÏÂÁη ÌÈÈ·ÏÓ ÌÈÓ˙Î ÈÂÙȈ ÌÚ ˙ÂÈ·ˆ˜ ·¯˜˙Ó ‡Â‰ ÂÊ Í¯„·Â ¨ß‚È·Â ÛȯÁ „¯ÂÂ Ï˘ „¯Â‚Ó ÒÈÒ· ÏÚ ‰ÂÈÏÚ ‰·Î˘Î ÁÈÓ ‡Â‰ Ʊπ∂¥–· ‰¯Èˆ˘ ≤¨¢‰˘Ï˘‰¢ Â˙ÂÓ˙· ÔÂËÒ‡‚ Ï˘ ÌÈÓÊȯÈÈÓÏ „Â‡Ó ÌÓˆÚÏ ÌÈ„ÓÂÚ Ì˙Âȉ — ˙Èχ„‰ ˙ÈÏÎ˙‰ ‡Â‰ ÌÈÂÎÈËÙÈ„‰ ˙‡ „ÁÈÈÓ‰ ¯·„‰ ¨˙ÂÈÁ¯‰ „ÁÂÈÓ·Â ¨‰ÈˆÈÊÂÙÓ˜‰ ¨˙ÂÈËÓ¯Ή ˙ÈÁ·Ó ÆÔÈÏÓ‚ ˙˜ÈÊ ÌÈÓÈÈ˜Ó Ì‚ ͇ Ì˘È ƉÂÓ˙ Ï˘ ˙„ÈÁÈ ˘˘Î ‡ ˙‚ÂÊ ‰˘ÂÏ˘Î ˙ÈχȄȇ ‰ÈÂÓ¯‰ ÌÈ‚È˘Ó Ì‰ ˙ÈËÙ‡‰ ˙Ó‡‰ ÔÓ ÈÏË„˜‡‰ ¯ÂÙÈÒ‰ È˯ÙÓ ÂÓˆÚ ¯¯Á˘Ó ¯·Â˜ ̉·˘ ÌÈÓÊ ÔÚÓÏ ˙ÂÓ‡ Ɖς‰ ‰‡¯Ó‰ Ï˘ È˘‚¯‰ ÂÓÂ˘È¯Ï ¯ÂȈ Ï˘ ¯Â‰Ë‰ ͯÚÏ ¯ÒÓ˙Ó ÔÓ ‡È‰˘ ¨ÛÂÏ ڷËÏ ˙Â˘¯Ù ¯·Â˜ ¯ˆÈ Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜¯ÙÏ ÌÂÈÒ‰ ˙Èȯȷ °˙ÂÓ‡‰ ÈÙ ÏÚ ˙ί‡˙Ó‰ ‰¯Èȯ˜ ªÛÂ ¯ÈȈΠÂÏ˘ ‰¯Èȯ˜· ÔÂÈˆÏ ¯˙ÂÈ· ˙Âȇ¯‰Â ˙ÂÈ„ÂÁÈȉ Ư˙ÂÈ ÌÈ¯Â˘Ú È˘

±∞∞ X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨Ë¯Ù ¨˙·‰ˆ†˙ÂÚ·‚†‰Îȯ· Pond and Yellow Hills, detail, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X150 162

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Horses Came to Drink, 2001, Oil on canvas, 110X130 Private Collection 161

±±∞ X±≥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨˙Â˙˘Ï†Â‡·†ÌÈÒÂÒ È˯٠ÛÒ‡

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ÚÒÓ‰ ÏÁ‰ ¨¯ÂÁ‡Ï Ë·Ó· Æχ¯˘È ÈÙÂ χ ·˘ ÂÓˆÚ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ‰‡Â¯ ¨¯ÊÂÁ ÌÂÏÁ ÂÓÎ ¨˘Ú‚ ¨Ì¯Î–ÔÈÚ ÛËÒ ¨ÌÈÏ˘Â¯È· ÍÈ˘Ó‰Â ¨‰„Â‰È È¯‰Â ·‚‰ Ï˘ ÌÈÈÙ¯‚ÂÙÂˉ ˙‡¯Ó· ¨‰ÊÚ· ÌÈ˙·‰ ˙‡ „Ú˙Ï ¯ˆÚ ͯ„· Æ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ı·Ș Â˙„ω ˘¯Ú ˜„ˆ–‰ÂÂ ¨‰ÁÙ˘Ó ÈÈÁ ı·Ș ¨ÌÈ˯˯ÂÙ ¨ÌÈÏÓ ¨‡ÏÈÓÓ Ë˜È¯Ù ÔÂȈ–¯‰ ÔÂÏÓ ¨¢„Ï‚Ϣ ÆÔ‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚ· Ì‚ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰Ù ‰¯Á‡ÏÂ Ï˘ ÂȄȯ˘ ÌȈ·Â˘Ó ‰ÈÙÂ·Â ¨È˜È¯Ù‡–ȯÂÒ‰ ¯·˘‰ ¯Èˆ ÏÚ ˙΢ Ô‡˘–˙È· Ìȉ ͯ„ ÏÚ ˙Ó˜ÂÓÓ Ô‡˘–˙È· ÆÈ¯„ÂÓ‰ Ô„ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ÔÂÎÈÓ‰ ÈÈÂÏÈ‚ „ˆÏ ¨Ì„˜ ¯·Ú Ô„¯È‰ ¯‰Ï ÍÂÓÒ ¨‰ÈÓËÂÙÂÒÓ ÌÚ ÌȯˆÓ ˙‡ ‰¯·ÈÁ˘ ®Òȯ‡Ó ‰È© ˙ȯÂËÒȉ‰ ˙‡ ÂÙ˘Á ¯ÈÚ‰ Êίӷ ÂίÚ˘ ˙ÂÈ‚ÂχÈί‡ ˙¯ÈÙÁ Æ˙¯ÎÏ Ì¯„Ó Ï˙Ù˙Ó‰ ˙ȯˆÓ‰ ¨˙ÈÚΉ ˙ÂÙ˜˙‰Ó Ì‚ ÂÓÎ ¨Ô·‡‰ ˙Ù˜˙Ó ˙ÂÈ·˘ÈÈ˙‰ Ï˘ ÔÓÂȘ ‰ËÈÏ˘Ï ‡ˆÂÓ ˙„˜Π¯ÁÒÓ ˙ÓˆΠ¯ÈÚ‰ ‰˘ÓÈ˘ ˙ÈÓ¯‰ ‰Ù˜˙· Æ˙ÈÂÂȉ ‰˙È˘‡¯ Ô‡˘–˙È·· ˙Ȅ‰ȉ ˙ÂÁÎÂ‰ Æ˙ÂÈÂÙˆ‰ ˙ÂȈȷ¯ٷ ‰È¯ÂÒ· ˙ȇ·ˆ ‰‡ÓÎ ¨®‰¯ÈÙÒÏ ˙È˘È˘≠˙È˘ÈÓÁ‰ ‰‡Ó‰© „ÂÓÏ˙‰ ˙Ù˜˙· Æ˙Èχ¯˘È‰ ‰Ù˜˙· ÂÏ˘ ÒÙÈÒÙ‰ ˙Ùˆ¯˘ ¨˙ÒÎ ˙È· ‰˙·È·Ò· ÌÈȘ˙‰ ¨È·¯Ú‰ ˘Â·ÈΉ ÈÙÏ ‰˘ ̘Ӊ ˙Âȉ ÏÚ ÌÈ„ÈÚÓ ÌÈÒ¯Á‰Â ÌȘÈ˙Ú‰ ˙¯Ș‰˘ ˙¯ÓÏ Æ‡Ùχ ˙È·· ‰Ù˘Á Æ˙ÈÏ¢ ˙Â·È˘Á ¯·Â˜ Ì‰Ï ÒÁÈÈÓ ¨¯·Ú· ˙È·Â ÔÎ˘Ó Ï˘ ˘ه‰ ˙„ÈÎÏ — ¯ÂȈ· ˙„˜Ó˙‰ ‡Â‰ Ô‡˘–˙È·Ï Â·Â˘Ï È˘‡¯‰ ÚÈÓ‰ ˙‡ Â¯ÈΉ· ÆÈÂÎÈ˙–ÌÈ Âȇ Ì‚Â ¯·„Ó Âȇ˘ ÌÈϘ‡· ÌÈÓ‰ ÏÚ ı¯‡‰ ÏÚ ¯Â‡‰ ¯˙‡ ÂÈ˙ÂÙ˜˘‰ ˙ÓˆÂÚ ˙‡ ÆÔÂȈ–˙·È˘ ˙‡ ̘ӷ ‰‰ÊÓ ‡Â‰˘ ‡ÏÙ Ôȇ ¨Â˙ÂÈ˘È‡ ȯÏÂÙÂÙ‰ ‰¯È˘Ó ÌÈÁ˜ω ¨¢È‰È ÂÏ ¨È‰È ÂÏ¢ ÌÈÏÈÓ‰ ˙‡ ··¯˘ ̉Èχ˘ ÌȯÂȈ È˘· ‰ÂÂ‰Ï ÔÓÈÒΠ˙‡Π¯·Ú‰ È‚˘È‰ ˘Â„ÈÁÏ ‰Â˜˙ ‡Ë·Ó‰ ¯È˘ — ¯Ó˘ ÈÓÚ Ï˘ Æ„È˙ÚÏÂ È¯Â‚Ó ÌÂ˜Ó ¨‡Ùχ ˙È· ı·Ș· Âȯ˜ȷ ÍÂ˙Ó ¨·Ëȉ ¯·Â˜ ¯ÈΉ ¯Âʇ‰ ˙‡ ÌÚ ¯·Ú ÌÚ ÈËÓ¯ ¯˘˜ ¯Ó˘Ï „ȷ ‰ÏÚ ˙‡Ê Ïη ÆÂ˙˘‡ ÈÓÈÓ Ï˘ ‰˙ÁÙ˘Ó ˙‡¯Ó‰Ó ÌҘ‰ ¯·Â˜ Ɖ¢‡¯ ‰˘È‚Ù ˙‡Ê ‰˙Èȉ ÂÏȇΠ¨˙ÈÙ¯‚‡Ȃ‰ ‰·È·Ò‰ ·È‰ ‰Ê ˘‚ÙÓ Æ‰¯È‡ ȯÂÈˆÏ ÌȘÈÚÓ Ì‰˘ ˙Âӄʉ‰Ó ԇ˘–˙È· ·È·Ò ÂÙ˜˘˘ Æ≤∞∞±≠≤∞∞∞ ÌÈ˘· ¯ÈȈ˘ ÌÈ„· ȯÒȯ˙ È˘Î ÍÂ˙Ó ˙Á‡· ·ˆÈÈ˙‰Ï ÌÚÙ Ïη Â˙‡ ÂÏȷ‰ Ô‡˘–˙È· ˜ÓÚÏ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÂÈ˙ÂÁÈ‚ ‰Á¯ÊÓ ˙ÂÂÙ ˙„˜‰ È˙˘ ªÌÈÈÁ–ÊÂÚÓ ı·Ș ‰È„ÓÁ ı·Ș — ˙ÈÙˆ˙ ˙„˜ È˙˘ ÆÔ„¯È‰–¯·Ú·˘ „ÚÏ‚‰ ȯ‰ χ ÌÈÓ ¨‰Ó„‡ — ÌÈÈÒÈÒ· ÌÈËÓχ Ï˘ ·ÂÏÈ˘‰ Ï˘· ˜ÓÚ‰ ÈÙÂ ˙‡ ¯Á· ¯·Â˜ ˙ÂÎȯ·© ڂ¯ ÌÈÓ ¯‚‡Ó ¨ÌÂÓÚ ÁˢÂÓ ÈÓ„˜ ‰ÂÓ˙ ˜ÏÁ ÌÈ‚ˆÈÈÓ‰ — ÌÈÓ˘Â Ì˜ÓÂÚ ‡ÂÏÓ· ÒÙ˙ ‡Â‰ ÆÚ˜¯· ¨ÌÈÓ˘ ‰ÈÏÚÓ˘ ‰Ùˆ¯ Ìȯ‰ ˙¯˘¯˘Â ¨Êίӷ ®ÌÈ‚„ ‰ÓÎÓ ‰Ï‡‰ ÌÈËÓχ‰ ˙˘ÂÏ˘ Ï˘ ÌÈȈ·Ș‰Â ÌÈÈχ„ÈÂÂÈ„ȇ‰ ÌÈÈÈÙ‡Ó‰ ˙‡ ÆÌÂȉ ˙Âڢ ‰˘‰ ˙ÂÂÚ È„È–ÏÚ ÌÈÓ¯‚‰ ÌÈÈÂÈ˘Ï ˙ÂÒÁÈÈ˙‰ ÍÂ˙ ¨˙ÂÈÂÂÊ ¯·Â˜ Ô˙Â˘ Ì‚¯˙‰ ˙‡ ‰·ÂÁ· ˙ÓÏ‚Ó ÔÓ˘–˙Â„Â·Ú Ï˘ ÂÊ ‰·Â˘Á ‰ˆÂ·˜ ˙ÂÂÓ˙‰ ƉÓÈÙ ˙Â·˙‰‰ ˙ÓˆÂÚ ˙‡Â ÂÏ˘ È‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ‰ ËÓ¯ÙÓˉ ˙‡ ¨¯Â‡Ï ¯·Â˜ ͇ ¨‰ÈÁ È„È· ‡Ï ̄‡ È„È· ‡Ï ¨˙Ú¯ÙÂÓ ‰ȇ˘ ˙ÈϯÂËÒÙ ‰ÂÂÏ˘· ˙ÂÏ·ÂË ÛÂ‰ ˙‡ ¯‡˙Ï ÛÈ„ÚÓ ‡Â‰ ÆÈÏȄȇ‰ Ô‚‰ Ï˘ ÈˇÂÙ‰ ÁÂ˙È· ¯˙È–˙‡˜ ÈÙÓ ¯Ó˘ ˙·Á¯‰ ˙ÂÚȯȉ ˙‡ ÌÈÎÓÂ˙‰ ÌÈËÓ‚ÈÙ ÈÊÚ ÌÈȘÙ‡ ÌÈÏÙ Ï˘ ˙ˆ¯Ó ˙ÂÁÈ˘Ó· ÌÚÙ ‡Ï ÆÌÈÁÈ˘Â ÌÈˆÚ Ï˘ ÌÈÙÏÁ˙Ó‰ ÌÈ˯ى ˙‡ Ì‚ ÂÓÎ ¨ÌÈӢ ı¯‡ Ï˘ ÌÈ¯È˘Ú‰ ÛÂ‰ ȯ‡È˙· ®±∏∑μ≠±∑π∂© ¯˜ ÏÈÓ‡˜ ˙‡ ‰Ï‡ ÌÈ˯٠ÌȯÈÎÊÓ ‰Á„ ¨Ô‡˘–˙È·· Â˙¯ÈˆÈ ÏÎ Í¯Â‡Ï ˙ËÏÁÂÓ ˙ÂÎ ÏÚ Â¯Ó¢· Ʊ∏≤∞ Ï˘ ‰ÈÏËÈ‡Ó ˙˘ÂÁ˙ ¯ˆÈÈÏ È„Î Ô‚ ȘȘÏÁ Ï˘ ˙ÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÓȇ‰ ‰„Â˙Ó‰ ˙‡ ÈÂÏ‚ ÔÙ‡· ¯·Â˜ ÆÛ˜˙˘Ó ¯Â‡ ‡Ï˘ Ô˙È ‡Ï ˙΢Ó˙Ó ‰Ù˜˙ ÈÙ ÏÚ Ô‡˘–˙È·· ÌȯÊÂÁ Ìȯ˜ȷ Íωӷ Æ„ÚÏ‚‰ ȯ‰ Ï˘ Ìȇ˘È‰ ˙„¯ÂÓ‰Ó ÌÈÙ˜˘‰ Ú·ˆ‰ ÈÈÂÈ˘ Ï˘ ÌÓÒ˜Ï ÒÙ˙È‰Ï ÌÚ Ô„¯È Ï˘ Èڷˉ È·¯ÚÓ‰ ‰Ï·‚ ˙‡ ‰ÂÂ‰Ó ¨‰ÁÂˢ ‰Ó¯· ÌÈÈ˙ÒÓ‰ ¨‰Ê Òί Ï˘ ‰·È‰¯Ó Ú·ˆ ˙ÓÈÏ‚ ‰Ê Òί ‰ËÂÚ ¨ÌÂȉ ˙Ú˘Ï ‰˘‰ ˙ÂÚÏ Ì‡˙‰· Æχ¯˘È ÏÚÓ ‰ÏÂÚ‰ ˘Ó˘‰ ÆÈÏÂÏÙ‡ Û¯˘ ÌÂ˙Î „Ú ˜È¯·Ó ÏÂÁÎÓ ¨˙ÙÏÁ˙Ó ‰Ëχ٠Òί‰ Ï˘ ÌȘÂÓÚ‰ ÂÈ˙„¯ÂÓ ˙‡ ‰ÂÂ˙Ó ¨ÍÈ·‡ ÈΠ̇ ¨¯Â‡ Ï˘ ÚÙ˘ ˙˜ÙÒÓ „ÚÏ‚Ï Æ̉˙ ˙·¯Â‡ ÂÓΠ̉· 160

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ÌÈÓ ÈÂÂ˜Ó The Lakes

±∞∞X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞±†¨˙¯Ù†‰È„ÓÁ†¯‚‡Ó Hamadiya’s Reservoir and Cows, 2001, Oil on canvas, 100X150 158

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˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÛÈÒ‡

Barn and Black Cat, 2000, Oil on canvas, 130X150 157

±≥∞X±μ∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨¯ÂÁ˘†ÏÂ˙Á†Է˙Ó

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Barn with Blue Pole, 2000, Oil on canvas, 100X140

±∞∞X±¥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨ÏÂÁΆ„ÂÓÚ†ÌÚ†Ô·˙Ó

∏∞X±∞∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨·Â‰Ê†Ô·˙Ó ∫̄˜ Û„· Previous page: Golden Barn, 2000, Oil on canvas, 80X100 156

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˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÛÈÒ‡

Haystacks and Cows, 2000, Oil on canvas, 50X40 Collection of Ruth Cummings Sorensen 153

μ∞X¥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨˙¯Ù†¯ÈˆÁ†˙ÂÓÈ¯Ú ÔÒ¯ÂÒ†Ò‚ÈÓ˜†˙¯†ÛÒ‡

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˙¯ÒÁ ÔÈÚ· ˘Ó˘· ËÈ·‰Ï ¯ÂÊÁÏ ¨¯Â· ˙ÂȉÏ ·Â˘Ï ÍÈÏÚ¢ Æ¢‰·˘ ‰‡È„ȇ‰ ˙‡ ˙¯ȉ·· ˙‡¯Ï ¨˙Ú„ Ò·ÈËÒ ÒÏÂÂ

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

Richard Diebenkorn, Untitled Unload, 1978 Pasted paper on paer 13.5x9.45 in.

152

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˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÛÈÒ‡

Cows at Sunrise, 2000, Oil on canvas, 75X93 151

∑μXπ≥†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨‰Áȯʷ†˙¯Ù

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Cowshed in the Morning, 2000, Oil on canvas, 70X80

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∑∞X∏∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨¯˜Â··†˙Ù¯ 150

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≥∞Xμ∞†¨¯ÈÈ†ÏÚ†ÈÂÚ·ˆ†Ô¯ÙÈÚ†¨±πμ≥†¨‰¯Ù Cow, 1953, Pencil on Paper, 30X50

∏∞X±¥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨˙Ù¯·†˙¯٠Cows in the Shed, 2000, Oil on canvas, 80X140

148

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˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÛÈÒ‡

Grapefruit Tree, 2000, Oil on canvas, 90X100 147

π∞X±∞∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨˙ÂÈÏÂ΢‡†ıÚ

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˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÛÈÒ‡

A Tree with Plenty of Oranges, 2000, Oil on canvas, 90X100 Collection of Fran and Bob Immerman 145

π∞X±∞∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨È¯Ù†ÒÂÓÚ†ıÚ ÔÓ¯Óȇ†·Â·Â†Ô¯Ù†ÛÒ‡

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Orange Grove in Red, 2000, Oil on canvas, 70X80

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∑∞X∏∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨Ì„‡·†Ò„¯Ù 144

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˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÛÈÒ‡

Two Cypresses, 2000, Oil on canvas, 50X30 Collection of Fran and Bob Immerman 143

μ∞X≥∞†¨„·†ÏÚ†ÔÓ˘†¨≤∞∞∞†¨ÌÈ˘Â¯·†È˘ ÔÓ¯Óȇ†·Â·Â†Ô¯Ù†ÛÒ‡

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Ô˙Ó¯˙˘ ¨˙„ȷÎÓ ˙ÂÈÁÎ Ô˙‡ ϯË ‰˘ÚÓÏ ¨ÌÈÈ„ÓӖ„ ÌÈÈÙ¯‚ ÌÈÏÓÒÏ ÌÈÏ„‚‰ ‰·˘ÁÓ‰ Ï˘ ÂÓÊ–Ô· ÒÂ˙‡· ‡ ˙ÂÈ΢˙ ˙„ÂÊÈÙ‡ ¯ÙÒÓ· ‰ÈÂˆÓ ‰„ÈÁȉ Æ˙ȯËϯٖ˙ÈËÒÈχȈÂÒ‰ Ò„¯Ù‰ ˙Â˜Â¯È ˙ÂÚˆ¯ ÂÚËÈ Ô‰·˘ ¨Ô¯ÓÂ˘Ï Ìȉ ÔÈ· ˙ˆ·Â¯‰ ˙ÂÓÓ¢ ˙¯ÂÂÈÁ ÏÂÁ ˙ÂÚ·‚ ÆÈχ¯˘È–ı¯‡‰ ·Á¯Ó‰ ÍÂ˙· Ô„Ú–Ô‚ ˙˜ÏÁ ÔÈÚÓÏ Ô¯˘‰ ˙‡ ÂÎÙ‰ ¨Ò„¯Ù ÈˆÚ Ï˘ ·Â¯˜ Ë·Ó· ¨Âȉ ̉ȇ˘Â˘ ÌÈ„· ¯˘Ú–ÌÈ˘Ó ‰ÏÚÓÏ ¯ÈȈ ¯·Â˜ ÏÓÚ ÂÏω ÌÈ˘· ¨ÌÈ˜Â¯È Ï˘ ‰‡ÏÓ ‰Ï˜Ò· ·ˆÂÚ˘ ¨ÌÈÚÙ¢ Ò„¯Ù ÈˆÚ Ï˘ ˙Â¯Â˘ ˙Â¯Â˘ — ˜ÂÁ¯Â Âψ· ·¯Ú‰ „¯ÂÈ ˙Ú ÌȈˆÓ Â‡ ˘Ó˘‰ ¯Â‡· ÌȯȉÊÓ ÌÈÏ˘· ÌÈÊÂÙ˙· ÌÈÒÂÓÚ ÌȯÂÁ˘ ÌÈÏψ ÍÂ˙ χ Ô·˙Ó‰ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ Íȯ„Ó ÈχÂÊÈ ÔÙ‡· Ƙ¯ȉ Ï˘ ‰‰Î‰ ‰Ó„‡· ÌÈ‚ÂÚÓ‰ ¯ÂÂÈÁ ˙ÈÊ ÈÓ˙Πχ ÔÚ¯ ˜Â¯È Í·Ò Ï‡ Â˙‡ ÏÈ·ÂÓ Ì˘Ó ¨ËÚÓΠƯ˜Â‡Â ‰ÈÈÒ È‚· ¨˙ÈËÒÈÂÈÒ¯ÙÓȇ ˙ÂÈ‚·¯Ï „Â‡Ó ·¯˜˙Ó Ò„¯Ù‰ ˙‡ ¢Â˙‡È¯˜¢· Ú·ˆ· ÏÂÙÈˉ ˙ˆÂ·˜ ÏÎÏ ‰‡Â¢‰· ¨¯Â‡‰ Ï˘ ¯˙ÂÈ· ˙È„ÂÒȉ ˙ÈËÈÏ‡‰ ‰¯È˜Á‰ ˙‡ ‰Â‰Ó ‰˘È‡ ¯‡˙Ó‰© ‰ÂÓ ˙‡ ÌȯÈÎÊÓ ‰¯„Ò‰ ȯÂÈˆÓ ‰ÓÎ Æ‰Ê Ú‚¯Ï „Ú ¯ÈȈ˘ ˙ÂÂÓ˙ ˙Ú·‚ ÏÚ ‰¯ÂÙ‡ ‰¯˜ ˙ÈÏψ ¯ÂÂÈÁ Ï‚ҷ ‰Ù‰ÙÈ Ïˆ ‰ÏÈËÓ‰ ıȘ ˙ÏÓ˘· ‰Î¯ ¨¯˜Â‡ Ô‚· ÌÈÏÈ·˘ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ˜ÏÂÁÓ ·È¯˜˙· ÌȈډ ¯ÂȈ ̉·˘ Âχ ¯˜ÈÚ· ¨®‡˘„ Æ®±¥¥ ßÓÚ© ÌȈډ Í·Ò ÍÂ˙· ÌÈÏ˙Ù˙Ó‰ Ìȯ‰ÂÊ ÌÂÈ ¯Â‡ ÈÓ˙Î Ï˘ ˙ÂÚˆ¯· ¯ËÂÚÓ‰ ÌÁÏ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÔÂÂÎÓ ıÓ‡ÓÎ ˙ȇ¯ ‰Ï‡ ÌȯÂȈ· ÌȈډ ÏÚ È¯Ù‰ ˙ÚÙ˘ ˙ÈÈ‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ· Â„ÓÏ ¯·Î˘ ÈÙÎ Æ„ÏÈ ‰È‰ ‡Â‰ ¯˘‡Î ‰È‰ ÌÓ‡ Í΢ ‰ÚÈ„È· ÂÓˆÚ ˙‡ ‡˘Â‰ ‡Ë·Ó ¯Á‡ ¯·„ ÏÎÏ ¯·ÚÓ Æ˙Ï·Â˜Ó ‰Ó¯Â ‡È‰ ‰¯„‡‰‰ — ÌÈ„Ïȉ Ú„Â˘ ÌÒ˜‰ Ì‚ ÂÓÎ ¨¢Ò„¯Ù¢Ï ÒÁÈ· ˙‚ÙÂÓ‰ ˙·‰Ï˙‰‰ Ư·Â˜ Ï˘ ˙ÂÈχ¯˘È‰ ÈÂÙˆ „ÂÚ˘ ‰Ó ÏÚ È˙¯ÈˆÈ‰ ¯·Ú‰ ÏÚ ÌÈÚÈ·ˆÓ ÈÂȈ‰ ÔÂÊÁ‰ ˙ÈÈÁ˙ ̉ ¨ÂÈÏÚ ˙¯ÙÏ Ï˘ ˙¯ÈÙ‰ Ș¢· Èχ¯˘È‰ ÊÂÙ˙‰ Ï˘ „ÓÚÓ ¯È¯˘ ÔÈÈ„Ú ¨ÌÂÈ‰Ï ÔÂÎ Æ„È˙Ú· Æ¢ÂÙÈ ÈÊÂÙ˙¢ Ì˘‰ ˙Á˙ ‰Ù¯ȇ ¨¯ÈˆÁ‰ ˘Â·ÈΠχ Â·Ï ˙Ó¢˙ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ‰Ùœ‰ Ò„¯Ù‰ Ï˘ ¯ÓÂÓ‰ ¯Â‡‰ ÔÓ ˙‡¯Ï ‰È‰ Ô˙È ԇΠ¯ˆ˜˘ ˙ÂÂÓ˙‰ ÏÂ·È ˙‡ ÆÂ˙ÒÁ‡ ÔÙ‡ χ ÂÙÂÒȇ χ Æ¢ÏÂÁÎ ¯˜Â· ÌÚ ÏÂÁ Ï˘ ÌÂÈ Ì˙Ò¢ Ì˘‰ ˙‡ ‰‡˘˘ ¢ËÈ·¢ ‰È¯Ï‚· ‰Î¯Ú˙· ¯Èˆ˘ ¨¯ÈˆÁ ˙ÂÏÈ·Á· ÌÈ˘Â„‚ ÌÈÓ҇ ÌÈ·˙Ó ÛÒ‡ ̉ ‰¯„Ò· ÌÈ¢‡¯‰ ÌȯÂȈ‰ Æ®ÔÂÓÈÏ ÌÂÈÓ„˜–·Â‰ˆ „Ú ¯˜Â‡Â ¯ÂÂÈÁ ·Â‰ˆÓ© ÒÒÂ˙ Ìȷ‰ˆ Ô‚ӷ ÌÈ˘ÈÏ˘ È˘ ‰·˘ ®±μ∑ ßÓÚ© ‰¯ÈˆÈ ∫ÌÎÒӉ ÈÙÂÒ‰ ·Ï˘Ï ¯·Â˜ ¯·Ú Ô‡ÎÓ ¯˙Â‰ „·‰ ˘ÈÏ˘ ª¯ÂÂÈÁ ˙ÈÊ È‚· ÏÚÓ Ú·ˆ˘ ÔÂÓÏÁ–·Â‰ˆ Ï˘ ‰„˘ ̉ „·‰ ÔÓ È˜Ù‡ ‰‰Î ÏÂÁИ ªÛ˜˘ ˙ÏÎ˙ Ï˘ Ìȯ·ÚÓ· ÌÈÓ˙ÎÂÓ — ¯ÂÂÈÁ ÏÂÁη ÌÈÓ˘ — ¯‚˙‡‰ ˙‡ ¯˙ÂÈ· ˢÙÂÓ‰ ÔÙ‡·Â ÈÏÓÒ Á¯Â‡· ¯‡˙Ó ‰˘ÓÓ „Á‡ ‰„˘ „ȯÙÓ ˙Â¯Â˜Ó ¯ˆÈÈÏ È‡Ó˜‰ Á¯Î‰‰ ˙‡ ‡ ¨Ï‡‰ ÈÓÁ¯ ÏÚ ÍÓÒ‰ Ì„‡‰ Ï˘ È˙¯ÂÒÓ‰ ÆÂÈÙ‡ ˙ÚÈÊ· ÔÂÊÓ „¯ßˆÈ¯ ÁÂÓ‰ ȇ˜È¯Ó‡‰ ¯ÈÈˆÏ ‰Ó„·© ¯·Â˜ ÈÎ ¯ÎÈ ¨˙ȯÂȈ Ë·Ó ˙„˜Ó ÌÚ Ì˙ÂÓÈÚ·Â ÌÈ¢‰ ·Â‰ˆ‰ È‚ ÔÂÊȇ· ˙·¯ ˙ÂÚ˘ ÚȘ˘‰ ®ÂÈÏÚ ·Â‰‡‰ ¨Ô¯Â˜·È„ ˙¯ˆ‰Â ÌÈÚ·ˆ‰ ˙ÈȈ¯ÂÙ¯ٷ Â˙ÂÙȘ˘· ¨Ô‚‰ ˙ÓˆÂÚ· ‰ËÈÏ˘Ï ˙„‰ ÆÏÂÁΉ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ¨¯Èˆ˜ ˙ÚÙ˘ Ï˘ ÈÏÓÈÒ˜Ó‰ ÈÂËÈ·Ï ÚÈ‚‰Ï ∫Â˙ÓÈ˘Ó· ¯·Â˜ ÁÈψ‰ ÆÊÚ‰ ˘Ó˘‰ ¯Â‡ ˙‡ Û˜˘Ó‰ ˜Ù‡Ó ¯È‰· ÌÈÙ ÁË˘Ó ‡ÂˆÓÏ Ô˙È ‡Ï ÌÈÈÙχ ˙˘ ÛÂÒ ˙‡¯˜Ï ˘¯ÂÁ‰ ÔÈÚ· ¯Èˆ˘ Ìȇ˘Â‰ ˙˘ÂÏ˘· Ï˘ ÔÂÂÎÓ Ë˜‡ ‡È‰ ¯ÈˆÁ·Â ÌÈÊÂÙ˙· ¨˙¯ٷ ˙„˜Ó˙‰‰˘ ¨ÁÈ‰Ï Ô˙È Æ˘Â‡ ˙ÂÈÂÓ„ ‰˙Èȉ ÔÈÈÚÏ ÌÈÚ‚Â ¯‡˘ ‡ ÌÈÁ˜ÙÓ ¨ÌÈ„·ÂÚ Ï˘ Ì˙ÏÏΉ Æ˙È‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ ‰¯Ó‰ ¨‡È‰ ‰˘ÂÁ˙‰ ÆÌÈÈÏÓÒ ÌȯÂȈ ˜ÈÙ‰Ï Û‡˘ ¯·Â˜ ÂÏȇ ¨ÌÈÈ·Èˇ¯ Ìȇ˘Â ˙¯ˆÂÈ Ìȯ‡˙Ó Ì‰˘ ÔÈ·Â ÌÈÊÂÙ˙‰ È˙Ò·· ÌÈ„˜Ó˙Ó Ì‰˘ ÔÈ· ¨ÌȯÂȈ‰ Ì˙‡ Ï΢ Ï˘ ˙¯˘Â‡Ó ÂÈ˙Ò ˙Ù˜˙ ‰˙‡ ¨ÛÈÒ‡‰ ÈÓÈ ¯ÂÙÈÒ ˙‡ ¯ÙÒÏ Ìȇ· ¨¯ÈˆÁ ˙ÂÓÈ¯Ú ÌÈÓ„˜‰ ÌÈÒÂ˙ÈÓ‰ χ ˘Â‡–È· ˙¯˘˜Ó‰ ‰ÂÚ ª‰ÂÚ ÌÂ˙ ˙‡¯˜Ï ÌÈÏÂ·È ÛÂÒȇ ÆÌ˙ÂÓ„ È· Ï˘ ¯˙ÂÈ· ÌÈÈÒÈÒ·‰ ÌÈίˆ‰ χ ¯˙ÂÈ·

ÁÂ˙Èى ÔÈÈ·‰ ˙ÙÂ˙ ˙ÓÁÓ Â˜Á„ ÂÎω „ÏÈÎ ¯·Â˜ ·‰‡ ‰˙‡ ı¯‡‰ È٠Ư·Ú‰ ˙‡ ¯Ó˘Ï È„Î ‰Â‰‰ ÔÓ Â‰˘Ó ÁȈ‰Ï ˘‡Â ËÚÓΠͯˆ ˘Á ‡Â‰ ÆÈ˙ÈÈ˘Ú˙‰ ƯȈÁ‰ ˙ÂÓȯÚ ҄¯Ù‰ ¨‰¯Ù‰ ∫̉ ÍÎ Ì˘Ï ¯Á·˘ Ìȇ˘Â‰ ¨ÌÈ˘‰ ÌÚ ˙ÁÙ ‡Ï ‰Ê ÒÁÈ ¨˙¯ى χ ‰ˆ¯Ú‰ Ï˘ ÒÁÈ ‰ÏÈ‚ Â˙„ÏÈ· „ÂÚ ˙„„· ‰¯Ù ˙¯‡˙Ó ¨¢˘¯ÂÁ‰ ÔÈÚ· ˙Ù¯‰¢ ¨ÂÊ ‰¯„Ò· ˙Á‡ ‰ÂÓ˙ Æ̈Ú˙‰ ‡Ï‡ ¯ÂÁ˘Â ÛÈÊ˘ ÏÂ‚Ò ¯˘‡Î ¨Ì„Ó„‡ ÌÂ˙Î Ï˘ ÌȘȯ·Ó ÌÈ‚· ¢„¯ÂÙ‰¯‰¢ ÚÊ‚Ó ‰˘ÂË ‰„„· ¨˙Á· ‰¯È‚ ‰ÏÚÓ ¨˙·ˆÈ ‡È‰ Ì˘ ƘÓÚ· ‰ÚȘ˘‰ ˙‡ ÌÈÙ˜˘Ó Ï˘Ó ‡Â‰ ‰Ó„‡· Ô‚ÂÚÓ‰ ˙ÂÓˆÚ ¯˘· Ï˘ ‰Ê‰ ˜Ú‰ ÈÏÂÎÏÓ‰ ˘Â‚‰ Ɖ‡¯ÓÏ Ô˙È ‡Ï ‰Ê ˘Â‚ ÆÌÈÏ‡È„È‡Ï ˙·ÈÂÁÓÏ ¨˙ÚÎ È˙Ï·‰ ÁÂ¯Ï ¨Ï‡¯˘È–ı¯‡ ˙„ÏÂ˙Ï ¨‰ÎÎÒ· ÁË·Ï ˙¯ى ˙·˘ÂÈ ¨‰ÂÎÓ‰ Ô„ÈÚ· ÌÈÈÂˆÓ Â‡Â ˙Âȉ ÆϘ· ÂÓ˜ÓÓ ÊÈÊ‰Ï ‰ÂÎÓÎ ˙„˜Ù˙Ó ˘ÂÚÈ˙‰ Ô„ÈÚ ˙‡ ˙ÂÏÓÒÓ Ô‰ ‰Ó„ ÔÙ‡· Ɖ·È·Ò‰Ó ˙Â‚ÂÓ ˜ÂÈ˙Ï ‰˘Â¯„‰ ‰ÂÊ˙‰ ˙˜ÙÒ‡Ï ¨˙ÂÏ„ È˙Ï· ·ÏÁ ˙ÂÈÂÓÎ ¯ÂˆÈÈÏ ˙„ÚÂÈÓ‰ ˙È‚ÂÏÂÈ· ˙ÂÎÙ‰ ˙ÂȇϘÁ ˙ÂÏȉ˜ ·˘ ÔÙ‡‰ Â˙‡· ˘ÓÓ — ¯‚·Ó „ÏÈ ˙ÂÈ‰Ï Ï„‚È˘ È„Î Æ˙ˆ¯‡Ï ÌȯÚ ¨ÌȯÚÏ ˙¯ÈÈÚ ¨˙¯ÈÈÚÏ ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ ı·Ș Ï˘ ÌÈÒ„¯Ù‰ χ ÌÈÈÁ‰ ÈÏÚ· χ ˙„˘‰ χ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ·¢ ˘ÓÁ Ìȯ˘Ú ͢ӷ ÂÈÏÚÓ ‚Á˘ ¯Á‡Ï ¨Ô˜‰ ÏÚ ˙˘„ÂÁÓ ˙Â˙ÈÈ·˙‰ ÔÈÚÓ Â¯Â·Ú ‰È‰ ¨ÌÓˆÚ ˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÔÓ Ì‚ ȇ„· ¨¯ÂÎÊÏ Ôˆ¯‰ ÔÓ ‰·¯‰· ‰˜ÂÓÚ ¯·„‰ ˙Â·È˘Á ÆÌÈ˘ ϷȘ ԇΠ˜ÂÈ„· ƯˆÂÈ Ì„‡Î ÂÚÒÓ ÏÁ‰ ¨¯Á‡ ̘ӷ ‡Ï ¨Ô‡Î Æ·˘ Ì˙‡Â ÛÒ‡ Ì˙‡ ‰˜ÈË˙Ò‡ Ï˘ ‰˙ÂÚÓ˘Ó·Â ¯ÂȈ‰ ˙·ÏÓ· ¨¯·Â˜ ‡·‡ ¨ÂÈ·‡Ó Ô¢‡¯ ¯ÂÚÈ˘ Ȅ‰ȉ ÌÚÏ ˙ÂÎÈÈ˙˘‰‰ Ï˘ ‰˙Â·È˘Á ‰È‰ Âȯ‰ ˙È·· ÛÒÂ ÈÊÎ¯Ó ‡˘Â Æ˙ÈÙ¡ ˙Ȅ‰ȉ ‰˜ÈË˙Ò‡‰Â ˙ÂÈχ¢ÏËȇ‰ ¨˙ÂÈÁ¯‰ ˙‡Â˘Ó Ï˘ ˙˘„ÂÁÓ‰ ‰˙ˆ‰‰Â ‰˜ËÈ ‰˜ÈÚ‰ ‰Ê‰ ̘ӷ ƉÓÈ˘‚Ó‰ ˙ÈËÒÈχȈÂÒ‰ ‰ÚÂ˙‰ Ï˘ ‰Èȇ¯‰ ˙ÈÂÂÊÓ ¨ßÈ‡ß‰ ˙˘ÂÁ˙ ˙‡ · ‰˜ˆÈ ÍÎ ÆÔÂÁËÈ··Â ˙ÂÈ„Ú· ¨‰·Ï ˜ˆÂÓ È‚ÂÏÂÎÈÒÙ ÒÈÒ· ¨È‡Ï˜Á‰ ÏÚÙÓ‰ χ ‰·‰‡‰ · ÂÁ˙Ù˙‰ ԇΠƉÏȉ˜Ï ÌÈ„ÈÁÈÏ ˙ÂȯÁ‡ ÂÈÏÚ Ï·˜Ó‰ Æ˙Â˙Ù¯·Â ˙„˘· „„Ï ÛÁ„‰ ÔΠÌȯÁ‡· ˙ÂÏ˙‰–ȇÏ ÈÓˆÚ‰ ¯ÂˆÈÈÏ ‰Î¯Ú‰‰ ‰˙‡ ‰¯ÈÚˆ ‰¯Ú — ‰¢‡¯‰ ‰·‰‡‰ Ô¯ÎÈÊ· ‚ÙÒ ¯ˆ˜˘ ȯˉ ¯ÈˆÁ‰ ˙ÂÁȯ ‰Î¯Π‰¯ËÓ ÏÎ ˙‚˘‰˘ ¨‰·‰‰ ‰ÓÙ‰ ԇΠÆ˙ÂÏÈÏ· Ò„¯ÙÏ Â‡ ˘˜‰ Ô·˙ÓÏ Á˜Ï ‰˙‡ ‰ÈÙ¡‰ ˙ȈÓ˙ ‰˘ÚÓÏ ‰È‰ ÈËÈÏÂÙ È˙¯·Á χȄȇΠı·Ș‰ Ɖ˘˜ ‰„·ڷ Æ˙È˙ÂÓ‡‰ Âί„ ÏΠ͢ӷ ¯·Â˜ ˘˜È· ∫ÌȯÂȈ Ï˘ ˙Â¢ ˙ˆ·˜ ˘ÂÏ˘ ‰·È‰˘ ‰˜Â˘˙· ¯·Ú‰ ÌÒ˜Ï ÚÎ ¯·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 ¯ÈȈ ¯˘‡Î ¨ÔÎÏ Ì„Â˜ ÌÈ˘ ÏÁ‰˘ ˘‚ÙÓ ˘„ÁÏ ˙Â˙Ù¯· ¯˜·Ï ÛÈ„Ú‰ ‰ÏÈÁ˙ ‰ÈÁ ‰˙‡ — ‰¯Ù‰ ˙‡ ¯·Â˜ ¯ÎÂÊ Â˙„ÏÈ ¯Á˘ Ê‡Ó Æ˙ÂÙ˙¢Π˙ÂÙ‡Â ˙¯٠–˙˙ ‰·ÈÁ Ì„‡‰ È· ÏÎÏ ÈÎ ‰ÁË·· ÔÈÓ‡Ó ‡Â‰ ‰˘ÚÓÏ Æ‡ÏÙÂÓ ¯ÂˆÈÎ — ˙ÈÏ·Ò È˘Â˜ ˘È‡Ï Ôȇ˘ ¨ÂχΠ˙ÂÈ˙‚‰˙‰Â ˙ÂÈÙ‚ ˙ÂÈÂÎȇ· ÂÁÈ Ô‰ Ô΢ ¨˙¯ÙÏ ˙Ú„ÂÓ ˙ˆ·Â˜Ó‰ ˙Â¯Ù Ï˘ ‰ÁÙ˘Ó ¯‡˙Ó ‡Â‰ ˘¯ÂÁ‰–ÔÈÚ· ÌÚÙ‰ Â˙‰˘· ÆÔ˙‡ ÍÈ¯Ú‰Ï ¨˙ÂÈÏÂÒÈÙ ˙¯ȈÈÎ ˙¯‡Â˙Ó ˙¯ى Æ®±¥π ßÓÚ© ÌȷʯӉ ψ· ˙ˆ·Â¯ ‡ ˙ÂÎÎÒ ˙Á˙ ˙¯ˆ ÆÔ·Ï ¯ÂÁ˘· ˙ÂÈÙ¯ÂÓ‡ ˙¯ˆ Ï˘ ÈÙ¯‚ ·ˆ˜Ó ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ˙ÎÓ˙ Ô‰Ï˘ ‰ÒÓ‰˘ ÆÈÓÂË‡‰ ¯Â‡È˙Ï ÁˢӉ ˙¯Âˆ ÔÈ· ‰˜ˆÂÓ ˙„Á‡ ˙¯ˆÂÈ ¨ÈÓ˙ȯ ·ˆ˜ ˙˜ÈÚÓ ‰Ï‡ ¨Ô‰ÈÙÏÎ ÂÏ˘ „ÈÓ˙Ó‰ „·Ή ÒÁÈ ¨˙¯٠ÂÈÏÚ ˙ÂÎÏ‰Ó˘ ͢Ó˙Ó‰ ÌÒ˜‰ ‰ÚΉ‰ ˙‡Â Ô˙ÂÏ·Ò ˙‡ ¨ÔÁ¯ ÊÂÚ ˙‡ ÔÈ·‰Ï „ÓÏ Ô‰·˘ ÌÈ˘ Íωӷ ÂÁ˙Ù˙‰ ¯˘· Ï˘ ˙ȇÂËÒ ˙ÈÏÂÏ˙Î ˙ÂËË¯Â˘Ó Ô‰ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ÂÏÂÁÎÓ ˙Á˙ ÆÔ˙‡ ˙ÈÈÙ‡Ó‰ ˙ÏÚ· ˙Ï„· ˙ÂÈ˘È‡Ï ‰˙ÎÈÙ‰ È„Î „Ú ˘Â‡ Á¯ ‰ÈÁ· ÁÈÙÓ ‡Â‰Â ¨ÛÂÒÎ ¯ÂÙ‡ Æ‰Ï˘Ó ˙ÂÂÎ˙ ¯ÈÚ‰˘ ÈÙÎ ÆχȄȇ Â¯Â·Ú ˙ÏÓÒÓ ‰¯Ù‰ ÆÈÏÎÏÎ ÒÎ ‰¯Ù· ‰‡Â¯ Âȇ ¯·Â˜ ÁÂÏ˘Ó Â·˘ ¨˘‡¯Ó „·ÂÚÓ È‚¯Â‡ ÔÂÊÓ Ï˘ ˘„Á Ô„ÈÚ Ï˘ ÂÁ˙Ù· ÌÈÈÂˆÓ Â‡ ¨¯·Ú· Ï˘ ·ÏÁ‰ ˙·Â˙ ÍÒÏ Ï˜˘ ‰È‰È ·¢‰¯‡Ó ·ÏÁ ˙˜·‡ ˙ÒÂÓÚ ˙Á‡ ‰È‡ Ï˘ °‰ÓÏ˘ ‰˘ ͢ӷ χ¯˘È· ˙¯ى ԉȄÓÓ ˙‡ ÔÈ˘‰˘ ¨˜Ù‡ ̉¯·‡ ¯ÈȈ˘ ‰Ï‡Ó ÌÈ¢ ¯·Â˜ Ï˘ ˙¯ى ȯÂȈ

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≤∞∞∞≠±ππ∏ ¨˙Â¯ÎÈʉ ÛÈÒ‡ Harvest of Memories, 1998–2000

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