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At the tip of every photograph lies the materiality, the labor, the dead bird, the masculine body, the boyish body; And similarly there are the two brothers, the twins, one brother holding the other, a hug or a first grasping in front of the world; And when he spoke, I suddenly thought of a child, who must recreate a scene over and over again; The methods improves but the tongue is repeating the old saying “this is me and my brother”, pointing the truth, does things with words; or in Biton’s words “Dogan won life itself. The meticulous execution (each extra-fine brushstroke adding an important detail), the resulting life-like renditions and the consistent format (monochromatic black on white; identical one-size ceramic plates) adhere to the ethos of scientific study.
As well they tell a story of fearlessness allowing whoever wears these objects of art to be transformed; bringing out inner confidence and strength.Yuval would probably say “Israeli goth” and he would be right and I would be wrong, for they are all migrating birds passing through Israel, dying here with all their glory.He doesn’t kill them, it’s important to say, Yuval is the most non creepy person I’ve met and still, I was amazed by the way he creates beauty from this death, present it, displaying it beside the bodies of young men who carry them as carrying their own death.That sentence he said, reminded me of Jacob Biton’s poetry who wrote about himself and his brother Dogan facing their grandma’s death, the big mother.In his meticulous photograph there is something primary, physical like a bone cracking out of skin. » Yaara Shehori The photographs & text were originally published in "The Hottest Place In Hell" magazine, May 7th, 2015 Victorian ornithologists and botanists would have heartily commended Susan Hipgrave’s remarkable series of hand-painted plates.The Magpie is the only non-mammal species to have the ability of self recognition in a mirror test.
And they are are also the ultimate recycler known for thieving and collecting found objects for their nests.
For spectators, an interactive experience awaits: birds, caught in the moment, watch us, ready to strike or to fly away; clusters of twisted vines and treacherous spikes draw us inside.
‘As my work with natural subjects becomes more detailed, so my subjects become more assertive,’ the artist states.
Someone could not woke someone up from its fainting, from its death; that’s almost indecent and yet I believe him; I believe this quest for beauty in all places that supposed to be covered with dirt.
“This is me and my brother”, he said to me simply when describing the relationship between the young man and the bird; two non-identical twins who rolled out to the farthest edges: man and bird, live and dead; and suddenly the layers I’ve counted faded into dust.
He spoke about dead birds, I remembered birds interested him back then as well, in Bezalel. See, those are birds that people don’t usually put inside their freezer, long winged, magnificent, fragile. He told me about the freezer, the cooler where a dead bird is each time carried into the club he photographs in, waiting for the right, crucial moment.