It’s been an interesting few days here in Israel.
On Saturday night, I went to an Art Festival near the Old City (called Hutzot Hayotzer), where international artists displayed their wares. My favorite was the Angolan mixed-media artist who presented the barbaric and primitive elements behind our attempts at civility. It was art you wouldn’t want to hang on your wall, too brutal a reminder. Next, the prototypical Polish woodcutter, right out of Pinocchio. He was robust, sported a huge mustache and faded tattoos all along his arms. His figurines mostly depicted suffering religious people. I watched him for a while, and then he let me do some cutting. Thrill!
Aviv Gefen – wannabe rocker who wears too much makeup – performed. I stayed to watch [almost purely] as a cultural observer. Israelis rock out as Americans do, just in Hebrew. The whole scene was strange to stomach. We were just below the Old City walls, where some of the most poignant and horrific Jewish narratives unfolded, and here was just-another-rocker singing about girl-meets-boy, etc, etc, etc. It was unsettling. I left when he stripped his shirt, and slung a belt around his neck. Seriously, grow up.
Alas, no pictures. I needed a break.