real art

Bennie was, among other things, an artist, comfortable in numerous media. In our community we encounter many of his works - paintings, drawings, etchings, and works created with hand-made paper - in many public places. Works of his are on the walls of the homes of many people I know, both on our kibbutz and off.

It makes more sense to remember Bennie through his art, rather than through the mess of a few drawers. Except that I'm not dealing here with remembrance. Photographs fulfill that purpose at least as well as art, and certainly better than disorganized drawers. And yet those drawers still attract me. Although most of Bennie's art was public, while the drawers, simply because they were closed and in his home, were private, that's not what draws me to the drawers. Perhaps it's simply the organizing principle of life. Each time I open those drawers and browse their content I'm made aware of the fact that inanimate objects truly carry meaning and purpose when there's somebody there to tell their story. And when someone is no longer there, they revert so quickly to being no more than objects, to being a mess that nobody claims anymore, a mess that has stopped being interpreted and explained.