Arts Thread

Piles of wood are thrown onto the truck. We drive to our usual meeting spot, gathering around the water tower at the top of Mount Thorn. The view stretches across Masad Village, reaching Haifa and Mount Hermon, at least on a clear day. The ceremony will soon begin, and parents rush to finish preparations before sunset. I decided to step back and watch people’s reactions and interactions unfold in space. We come together and disconnect from our daily lives and their distractions.For an eight-year-old, it’s overwhelming, a massive fire devouring everything thrown into it. That image tays with me, the fire casting light and forming shadows that transform into a mesmerizing show. The flickering shadows looked like dancing monsters, something unreal yet entirely present.The loop continues while a feeling of despair sets in, followed by a need to escape the state of paralysis. Zigzagging eyes redefine the space, and, suddenly, another presence arrives. I am no longer alone. It might be a family member or someone else – something else. It’s tall, and feels both distant and near, hovering between shadow and physical form. As my urge to flee builds, its presence grows stronger, and a pressure forms in my chest, confusing my senses.A question repeats in my head: “Is it the same entity as before, or a new one?” If it’s the same one, then we have already reached an understanding that we share space, respecting each other’s presence. If it’s new, we have to renegotiate our terms. At eight years old, I had my friends and family celebrating with me while the fire created shadows. But now, as twelve, it's just the monsters and me.My waking reality merges with my night experiences. Landscapes and events from my childhood in Israel blend with lucid dreams and recurring sleep paralysis. Together, they form a dialogue I carry into my studio, where they break loose in my creations.