There are many projects taking shape in my studio—narrative drawings, still life paintings, Judaica embroidery. An array of completed pieces—prints, quilts, pottery, handbags, and silk painting—line shelves and closets. When people ask me what kind of artwork I make, the answer is, I make what the moment calls for. When I designed a parochet (Torah ark curtain) for Congregation Sha’arei Torah (Cincinnati, OH), I wanted it to be more than just a beautiful curtain made from rich textiles with sumptuous colors. I considered: what does a parochet for this synagogue space need to achieve? what does it need to communicate to the congregation? and how will it do that? Once I had my painted sketch, I learned the skills I would need to make it a reality, everything from fabric construction and dying to tambor beading. For me, the excitement of the journey lies in developing designs and selecting materials that resonate with the meaning and purpose of the piece.
Exploring a narrative, landscape, or still life, through the art-making process allows me to see a subject more clearly, and for my understanding of it to grow. Making art has taught me to ask questions and examine solutions, to respect tradition and keep it alive and vibrant, to be attentive and honest about the world and my work. Through art, the physical world and the world of ideas enrich each other, suggesting layers of meaning. Sometimes the meaning I find is acutely personal as in my series of prints on The Book of Esther, and I invite the viewer to see the world through my eyes. At other times, as with the windows for the Young Israel of Hillcrest, my aim is to create a work that will foster community and connection.
In my prints and paintings of the land of Israel, the land is often a living entity that heaves and shifts, retreats into the distance and returns to the viewer, climbs upward and then rolls down again. In my narrative works, often inspired by stories and characters in the Hebrew Bible and Aggadic literature, I find myself considering the complexity of the human and divine drama presented, and investigating how the gesture of an arm or the space between figures alters my understanding. When I design a ceremonial piece that calls for abstract shapes or incorporates text, such as an aron kodesh, I want the shapes, colors, and words to speak to each other and tell a story. In all cases, I am looking for the metaphor that will marry form with content to create a marriage of deep and lasting meaning.
Cincinnati, Ohio