| The Process of Painting a Life |
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| Ohr Mayim Chayim (Light of Living Waters) by Sarah Horwitz |
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| Art is often described as a form of self-expression, yet art can also transcend the self. OK, to tell the whole truth, art can also be a search for G-D.
If you had pressed me on the subject ten years ago, I would have simply said I was painting about that which I could not name.
Then, one warm summer evening, I landed in a class on a book called Tanya-the teachings of the first Lubavitcher Rebbe, Shneur Zalman of Liadi. My friend, Esther*, suggested that I should go. Years ago, we had met as teens. We were art students and shared predilections about many things. We also had some similar quirks. |
One chilly, gray New York day, we sprang from her apartment in baggy attire and running shoes and raced through Central Park in the pouring rain. We ran, laughing all the way to the Museum of Modern Art on West 53rd.
Drenched and sweaty, we entered the museum and examined the art in tandem. Insignificant puddles formed at our feet while fashionably suited and hatted matrons eyed us warily. Our focus was pinpointed on becoming a part of the next generation in art. The unspoken irony of our soggy presence in the museum was quite comical to us.
That was then.
Soon Esther started to become Torah observant. The long skirts were a different look for her and actually quite becoming, but there were many other changes, too. I thought it was just a passing phase like the cottage cheese with pineapple rings we ate almost daily for about a year.
A number of years and a few milestones in each of our lives later, we were both living in the same city. Esther talked me into coming to a farbrengen, a gathering of women, at her house. A lot was going on over there that I didn’t fully understand.
Frankly, I wasn’t interested in learning why Esther was doing all of these things— keeping shabbos, kosher, covering her hair— until she pointed out that I seemed to have an intellectual curiosity about almost everything except Judaism. She challenged me to explore Torah…maybe just a little.
Next, Esther called several weeks in a row on Friday afternoon to say something like: “Six-oh-two! Light and say the blessing!” Then—click—she’d hang up.
She hit a nerve at the right place and at just the right moment. I got a little bit curious and went to the class, which brings us back to the summer evening Tanya class. |
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| Day One by Sarah Horwitz |
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That night, Rabbi Meir Chai Benhiyoun, Chabad Rabbi of the Gold Coast, downtown and Lincoln Park in Chicago, was speaking about making a space within ourselves, emptying our ego and becoming a vessel in order to become a conduit for something greater.
That is it! The rabbi is putting words to the secret about art, yet clearly, it isn’t a secret at all. In that moment, I knew I had found truth, or, rather, it had found me. This is how my adventure of teshuvah—returning to Torah—began. My search for G-D had been going on in my painting for years even though I hadn’t realized it.
For years, emptying my ego had resulted in a proclivity for expressing awe, not of nature itself, but of the force beyond nature in my paintings: Wild flames blaze in the midst of a calm sea; past and present moments coexist; water is everywhere and one reality opens up to yet another place higher in the heavens.
Yes, I had been making space within myself rather than expressing myself. Now I can say it: From a starting point of hard-earned inspiration, I listen for G-D as I work.
Inhaling observations from many sources is a part of my creative process. A spectacular cloud formation; a myriad of muted colors in the woods; a memory of unusual trees from a dream or reflections in a raindrop might inform my work.
The counterpoint, or exhale, is an exercise in knowing what to let go to reach a higher place. We all know that there are life situations where giving in might be a difficult and wise choice, and, likewise, there are times when letting go of a favorite part of a painting can yield a surprisingly powerful result.
To share an example, in the painting titled “Yom Echod ” or “Day One” (pictured above), three lush gladiolas were hovering in front of the cloud explosion: deep orange blossoms stretched up toward the left; rich butter yellow flowers curved upward in the center; vivid crimson blooms extended toward the right.
Visitors to my studio at that time thought the painting was completed. The juxtaposition of deep space, explosion and flowers created a visual poetry about the awesomeness, fragility and beauty of creation. |
Still, after the initial “wow”, I longed for the painting to be intriguing in a deeper, more subtle manner. Reluctantly at first, I concealed the beauty of the flowers within the clouds.
In the completed work, the flowers pulse from within the painting though only unrecognizable hints of them are visible. This is an example of how tzniut , the Torah value of modesty and humility, can inform and enlighten all aspects of life in an expression of refinement.
Art is a journey with many choices to make moment to moment. Carefully selected parameters are the wings for traveling deeply. In life, it is the same. Torah shows us the way to climb toward our ultimate purpose and it helps to remember to inhale and exhale deeply.
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Sarah Horwitz is a painter and writer currently living in Irvine, California. She taught Painting, Drawing and Studio Research Seminars at The School of The Art Institute of Chicago for ten years and has exhibited her work nationally including solo shows at Perimeter Gallery in Chicago and at Gramercy Fine Art in NYC; group exhibitions including “Sightings” at Gwenda Jay Addington Gallery in Chicago curated by Dan Addington and the international Art Chicago exhibition at Navy Pier. Sarah also received a CAAP grant from the City of Chicago to create a solo exhibition at The Chicago Cultural Center for Chicago Artists’ Month. You can contact her at HolyArt613@gmail.com.
*The name was changed for this story. |
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