REFLECTION

                                                                                                         July, 2007

Reflection is an illusion,
At least some think so… and if we test the illusion in terms of there is and there is not, then reflection is there is not.
Through the clay, I was trying to create a frame to display this notion, so the “there is not” will become “there is”  and the reflection will become actual. Exactly like the wind. Both of them are untouchable but that one you can see with your eyes and the other one you can feel over the whole body.

I chose to do so, through the spaces I wished to create between one “body of clay” and another “body of clay”. I discovered that exactly there, in those spaces, there is a remarkable and surprising reflection of the material and even more, other than the reflection of what there is, there is also the formation of a new thing, that seems empty but actually is present and full, no less than the clay itself .It is true that its presence depends on the presence of the clay (and on the eye of the observer) but even then its magic never left it- because, forever, the rhythm of the changing of the reflection in the spaces is much faster than the rhythm of the changing of the material.
Because the spaces are free to contain the movement of the light, the movement of the coming and going and other assets of the universe that are in constant movement.
My attempt to fetch the reflections led me to see that they are there, everywhere.

I couldn’t not consider the reflection that is formed between my hands and the clay, between me and the other, the is in between past and present, that is in between the parts and the whole, between the landscape since birth and the new landscape. I couldn’t not bring it to mind and simultaneously slow the whirring of my mind,   and let my hands lead me blindly after the reflections, for they are magic that is priceless and my eyes are asking to be fed by them at any time. And while I am being led like that,
To hold the clay and let it hold me,
To play with it,
To perish in it
And to be reborn from it every time from the start.
 

Photos by Tsofia Kama 
Polishing the text in English: Emily Caruso