About Mapping, 2011
Created for the MoBY-Museums of Bat Yam, Israel

Placing one floor-rag next to the other, a grand carpet of floor-rags was arranged on the museum floor; the white rectangular floor-rags are manufactured with two blue machine embroidered stripes along each of its two longer edges, which in my eyes resemble Israeli flags.
The vast installation was facilitated by overall views from the various heights of the building’s floors, which, similarly to the Guggenheim Museum in New York, are in a spiral formation[1]. From any point of view, the surface appeared like a hybridization of floor-rags and Israeli-flags.

Fitted with the belly of a pregnant woman, I sat on the floor leaning on the wall at the edge of the ragged floor, and projected my voice in a manner that sounded like a cross between a chant and a desperate cry, even though it was a lullaby which inspired me. The lullaby “Border Control”[2] was composed in the 1950’s, in the early years of Jewish settlement in Israel, translated here by me, it is descriptive of a village immersed in unquiet sleep:
“The village is asleep; the mountains look away / the olive grove keeps its silver secrets to itself / the jackal wails, its echo rises quietly, and in the fields the oats dream.
The children sleep in the calm of home because guards are by their windows / the cypress tree nearly touches it from above / as if it’s praying for home and wellbeing.
At midnight when the village sleeps we guard our children, fruits, sheep and machines / we, the guards, stand in readiness.
And when the hour will come and an eagle will rise and the enemy will stretch out its arms on all that is dear/ we will be as a wall to our home and those who will touch it will be lost.”

From the mounting spiral floors, the audience bent over the rails in order to see me at the edge of the space beneath. The fluorescent lighting seemed to slip over the segmented carpet, so the light did not evoke focus but made my image appear vague and distanced. In addition, my vocal cry bounced from the high ceiling and far walls, and scattered what remained of the lullaby’s words and tune into resonating circuits and drone.

From a seated position against the wall, I lifted and turned my pelvis so I was on my knees; with my chest and hands aligned to the floor, my feet clasped to the wall behind me, I straightened my legs; my arms were pushed forward and I slid the first rag away. The ragged flag slid smoothly away from me until, at an arm’s length, it stopped; blocked by the rag next in line, section by section of the cloth was lifted, curving slowly, like a waves, until a series of white folds had risen. As I continued to crawl, my arms moved forward, and one ragged flag animated the next until there were many waves of white fabrics. The more I pushed onward the vaster this ocean became, until it reseeded along the opposite wall where it became a mount of rags. A path of bare floor patched with red paint was exposed, and drew attention to the faint red color stains on many of the flag-like rags which were still spread out.
I kept on moving in a crawl, hands set forward, I animated the rags; when I reached the opposite wall the ragged flags condensed to a pile of rags. I moved back and forth, from one wall to its opposite, across the spacious hall. Sometimes when I pushed too hard I landed with all my weight flat on the floor – a woman flat on her belly, seemingly pregnant, on a grey floor stained with red paint.
The museum’s concrete was a two dimensional surface to which I applied the red paint, days prior to the performance, in various techniques; the floor rags were also stained with an artistic aesthetic I wanted to impart. As I crawled, more of the painterly stains on the floor were unveiled and the crumpled rags lined the two opposite walls of the vast hall, and any semblances to the national flag was lost[3].

When I finally stood up, I was at the center of the spiral and red fluid seeped out from the sole of my shoe[4]. I gazed upwards, to the faces around me, while a red puddle accumulated at my feet; there was something in my expression that was reminiscent of a clown who played a prank which he wasn’t going to take responsibility for; I pronounced a long syllable as if continuing the clown’s prank, until a dim murmur from the audience took over and I was silent.
Next, I stepped out of the puddle and circled up the staircase. When I nearly reached the first floor, I situated myself amongst the viewers and let my gaze travel around my stair-railing partners, taking in the smug sensation. There was a quiet of expectation, which I prolonged while I prepared myself, stomach, chest, lungs, throat, jaw, tongue, to finally hurl out my voice. It was a prayer, usually chanted during the Ten Days of Repentance: “Our Father King / have mercy on us and hear our prayers / we have done no wrong. Be just and merciful to us / have compassion upon us and save us.”[5] And this time my voice, tune, and words, resounded from the opposite wall with vibrancy and clarity.

[1] The MoBY-Museum’s architecture was the major physical component in creating this performance. Mapping could not be adjusted to any other site, so it was unfortunate that only one presentation was facilitated.

[2] “Border Patrol” – Written by: Yehiel Mohar in 2018, composed by: Gad Man

[3] Danny Davis, my life-companion, was diagnosed with a brain tumor which had been caused by his military service, 35 years prior, when training as a diver in the polluted waters of HaKishon river. This is another work in a series of works of mine which relate to his fate.

[4] A bottle-pump I wore on a belt and a tube which connected the pump to the sole of my shoe, enabled the secretion of the red paint.

[5] The Jewish prayer, which I chanted in Hebrew:

אבינו מלכינו/אבינו מלכינו, חנינו וענינו/אבינו מלכינו, חנינו וענינו/כי אין בנו מעשים/עשה עמנו צדקה וחסד/עשה עמנו צדקה וחסד/והושעינו