The artist about himself
How and where did I learn my art?
With a lifelong and professional focus on turning concepts into visualizations, I have always been aware of what can be learned from images. My learning was therefore drawn from many teachers, unrestricted by place or time.
From caricaturists I learned the art of drawing, starting with Tony Munzlinger through Ra'anan Lurie, to my well-thumbed pages of Bible illustratations by Gustave Doré.
Salvador Dali introduced me to tricks of emphasizing objects through exaggerated size and creating perspective and depth. From Max Ernst I learned to see both the trees and the forest, while Andrea Mantegna taught me the basics of surrealism, as well as how to paint rocks, stones and trees. Bruegel showed me composition, color, pictorial design, and in particular – how to create the atmosphere I desired.
It was Hundertwasser who taught me how to turn the profusion of colors at my disposal into a very powerful form of expression. How to get a message across in a (seemingly) simple painting was demonstrated to me by Paul Klee, while Henri Rousseau showed me how juxtaposing a gypsy and guitar with a lion in the desert can impart endless depth to a painting. I learned from Vermeer, as well as Dali, how to use a stick to steady the hand while painting.
Closer to home, it was my brother who brought me my first Winsor & Newton oil paints and thinners from London, introducing me to these professional materials. My first practical course was given by a relative in 1972, and consisted of the following: "Stretch white canvas around a wooden frame, cover it with gesso, mix the paint with turpentine, and paint - end of course!", But not the end of my learning. I'm still learning.
My technique – Oil on wood (and on canvas)
My technique developed out of things I learned from a friend who had a formal education in art and painting – or at least the practical aspects of form if not the underlying rationale or reason.
I was intrigued by what this friend told me about painting in transparent layers and the formula for a reflective medium using turpentine with stand oil and dammar varnish (or something like that). In time, I began to understand the physical aspects of the layer technique and continued developing it in my own free style.
I paint on a wooden board that I first smooth thoroughly and cover with layers of white gesso. These layers are also polished, until they become almost as smooth and reflective as mirrors. This is the basis that reflects the light seen by the viewer. The reflected light comes through the dozens of very thin layers of color upon which the painting is built. And thus the viewer sees an assortment of mixed colors.
I use only natural colors and I don’t mix my colors on a palette. All the effects of mixing colors are obtained directly on the painted surface, the board, with each layer applied after the previous one has dried. Every layer of color is very thin and transparent. At times it is difficult to discern any difference in the painting after a layer has been added. It is only the accumulation of several layers that makes changes discernable.
Due to the process of layer upon layer, I work on each painting for an average of one and a half to two years until their completion.
When painting on canvas, I use a similar layer technique, but far fewer layers, so that paintings on canvas are not as lengthy a procedure.
My approach to my work
I am often asked whether, when I begin a new piece of work, I have the finished painting visualized in my mind, or whether it changes during the course of my creating it.
When I paint on wood, I first create a precise sketch. The transparency of the colors does not allow for mistakes and hardly leaves room for changes or additions. Canvas, on the other hand, is more tolerant of alterations and insertions.
Defining my style
Some may call it surrealism. It certainly isn’t realism, nor is it naturalism or impressionism. I prefer to call it - my style.
My inspiration and subject matter
I have watched a jumbo jet land many times. I know all about the force of gravity and the meaning of a lift force. All the same, every time I see a huge plane flying through the air, and in particular as I watch it land, I am filled with wonder at how this giant object keeps itself in the air without falling.
I once had the opportunity to visit a nuclear aircraft carrier. From a distance, it looked like a large ship. The closer I got, the more amazed I was at its size, its complexity and its power. It was made by man, and yet it is thousands of times bigger than man.
And there are other such wonders of technology – buildings, bridges, industrial plants, dams, space stations, and more – next to which the people who created them look tiny; they absolutely dwarf their creators.
I have a basic understanding of technology. I am happy to leave the details to the engineers, while I reserve for myself the right to wonder and imagine.
If paintings are windows into the artist’s imagination, I invite you to enter, wander through the windows I’ve opened, and explore the paintings and imaginings. But don’t expect me to provide you with explanations of what you see during your journey. I don’t even give my paintings names. I leave to you the task of forming your own impressions, creating your own interpretations, and hopefully inspiring your own imaginings.
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