Larry Abramson
M i r i E m b y o Di s t r i b u t i o n
Alternative Option Form
Name: Larry Family Name: Abramson
ID: 026123406 Martial Status: Married
Gender: Male Nationality: Israeli
Telephone: 02-6422933
Address: 19 Rabinowitch St., Jerusalem 96549
Profession: Painter Role: Artist
Name of the Child: Yatom (Orphan)
Visual or verbal comments:
In 1978 I adopted my first orphan, The Black Square, the same “majestic living infant”, and released it into the world.
In 1990 I adopted “Elaykim Halakim,” one of the children who was a member of the trash squad, and I baptized him as the great artist of the future.
In 1998 I established “The Giant Orphanage,” a community of orphans who believe that the key to true freedom exists in orphanhood itself.
I will gladly adopt the baby you left on my doorstep, but as a brother, not as a son. Gods and priests adopt sons. Liberated citizens adopt brothers (and sisters). I shall name him Yatom (orphan), and we will become brothers in art.
I’ve attached to this form three additional documents:
- An except from the exhibition catalog of my show “Black Squares”, Gimel Gallery, Jerusalem, 1979.
- “A Fragmented Whole,” a piece of writing I faxed over to Dr. Gidon Ofrat, as part of the “1990” exhibit in Ein Harod, 1990.
- “The Giant Orphanage,” a piece of writing I exhibited at the “Hebrew Work” simposium in Ein Harod, 1998, that was also published in the 1998 July edition of “Studio” magazine.
From “Black Squares” catalog, Gimel gallery, Jerusalem 1979
A Fragmented Whole
Fragmented Elyakim was made of parts and was a member of the trash squad. One of his legs is made of a trash plunger and the other is hanging by a piece of wire. His torso is made out of a tin can, his one arm was made of a piece of wood and the other used to belong to an old rag doll. His head was battered and crushed and attached to the rest of his body with wires and nails.
But Elyakim was all smiles, and his one eye was wide open.
Elyakim was smiling because he was alive. His will to live gave him the strength to prop himself up from the desert of trash that surrounded him, rebuild himself and give his life a new vertical meaning.
In his will power to see the world around him, he insisted on lifting himself up right from the endless terrain of used up myths, empty symbols and leftovers of a culture scattered left and right and assembled a new and unique outlook.
Fragmented Elyakim was all smiles because he had a vision.
Fragmented Elyakim is destined to become the greatest artist of the future.
Larry Abramson 1990
Part of the exhibit “1990”
Ein Harod, Arts Center, 1990
May 1st Symposium
Ein Harod Arts Center, May 1st, 1998
Larry Abramson
The Giant Orphanage
We are the postmodern youth
Democracy Seekers
Zionism – is our mother
Modernism – is our father
We wish we were orphans
The family unit of the Israeli art disbanded long ago, Mother Zionism and Father Modernity are no longer ours. Father Modernism was never much of a parent (apparently he was a tourist that only lived with mother some of the time) and as for Mother Zionism, ever since her manipulative depression came to light, we want nothing to do with her (we phone her up once a year on Independence Day).
Therefor, we, the Israeli artists, find ourselves completely orphaned. Our orphanage is called “Israeli Art”, a large and progressive orphanage subsidized by the government where we’re kept in a safe distance from the rest of society. Our orphanage is spacious and well lit; it has museums, and even a few galleries and an arts magazine. The secured shelter space is nicely accessorized and they even let us dirty up the place from time to time.
We don’t have last names, we don’t have a home, we don’t have a purpose. From the windows of our institution we stare longingly at the grown ups walking down the street and imagine they were our parents. Every grown up that finds his way inside our orphanage, as part of his or her job requirements our just out of compassion or curiosity, is immediately bombarded with our demand for attention and love. We are very jealous of one another and fight often. We hang up pictures of famous people that could’ve been our parents, siblings or even ourselves on our bedroom walls.
Rafi is the orphan’s guidance counselor because he shares a common language with the children. He’s fills the role of Peter Pan to these lost boys. He teaches them to say mischievous things like “happiness is being an orphan,” and keeps them busy in Neverland. Yair helps Rafi with the after-school activities because he like making people laugh and sometimes does impressions of Toulouse Lautrec. Michal and David are very serious and sit in their rooms for hours reading, wearing their American uncle, Jasper’s, hand me down suits. Tami, in a desperate attempt, writes letters to uncle Joseph who lives in Germany but never heard back.
In a different ward of the orphanage, Tsvi is quietly digging a tunnel that’ll lead him out of his room in the orphanage straight into the living room of European family who just sat down to pleasantly discuss the fate of the third world countries. Itsik listens to opera constantly and insists he’s the illegitimate son of an aristocratic family whose family tree branched out to both Germany and the United States. David is certain he’s Janusz Korczak and wants to lead his friends to safety, and Gideon can’t stop worrying about who will bury him after his death. And Larry? Acts as if he’s running the place and isn’t at all interested in the idea of being an orphan, but every time he spots someone with an air of authority walk by, he harasses them and demands: “Are you my father? Let’s fight!”
Don’t pity the orphans, they aren’t downtrodden, they’re the true modernists. Without any parental guidance, they each learned how to grow up on their own, to open their own eyes, ask the right questions and take responsibility over their lives into their own hands. The orphans – abandoned children, bastards, refugees and parent killers – are destined to become grownups, construct meaning out of the void and assemble a critical community out of a group of homeless people.
Recently a large group of youngsters have volunteered to join the orphanage, and the established orphans have let them in happily. They’re teaching them to be conscious orphans, to get their hands on everything, to survive at all costs, to listen really hard to one another and to believe that the key to true freedom lies in the orphanhood itself.
One day all the citizens will realize – Israelis and Palestinians, Ashkenazis and Mizrahis, old timers and new comers, people from the kibbutz and the cities, women and men – that they themselves are all orphans too. Then the citizens will dismantle the burden of preconceived truths and turn to the inhabitants of the orphanage for guidance and hope. Together they will break down the barrier between society and art, and creativity will come flowing out of the Giant Orphanage like a tidal wave.
We’re all orphans, and orphanhood is our future.
The future belongs to the orphans.
Published in “Studio” magazine
Edition 94, June – July 1998