Common Ground

Zine, 2023-2025

Idea: Agustin Jais. Photos: Ariel Hacohen.

​Art Cube Artists’ Studios houses, among other things, the studios of 16 resident artists. Dozens of things come in and out of those workshops, and are stored for a few days or a few years. Some we call art, some we don’t.
These are 16 things that were there in September 2023 and were not called art. 16 artists are hidden behind them.
Each photo holds a story about an encounter between a person and an object. A story of mutual love. After all, artists add value to the things they work with; in doing so, they learn particular ways to give value to the natural and cultural objects that inhabit the world.
The stories are silent in this unfinished project. After October 7th, I left the studios and the country, I lost some of the accompanying stories, and I forgot many words in Hebrew. Meanwhile, some of the owners of these objects have already left the Studios. Disembodied of their stories and identities, they are here turned into postcards, to be inserted into new stories and gifted to others, echoing the migrant movement of people and things at the Studios and in the world.

Gaston
The story of the glass begins after the riots, the pogrom, by the settlers in Huwara. I think it was in April. I went there after two or three days, and I met people there who took me from house to house that was damaged and burned. The first house I came to is one of the dramatic stories there. It is a house on the main road in Huwara, and an 80-year-old woman lives there alone. When the settlers set fire to the house, she was alone in the house and could not leave. There were communication problems with her and her son, and she was stuck there until he returned from abroad. Her son invited me up to the house, to meet her. Two things that were next to each other caught my eye. On the balcony facing the main road, there was a huge amount of stones that the settlers had thrown towards the balcony, and next to them were glass, from a high railing that had been there. There was something very strong and difficult for me in both of these things, because the stones are actually weapons that the settlers sent, and the scattered glass looks elegant, beautiful, maybe even gives some kind of rich feeling. And these two materials together interested me, and I decided to take them with me to the studio.

Shani Avivi
The Jericho rose embodies my fears and desires, the longing for security in order to open or release something into the world. Whether it is art or thoughts about birth and motherhood. Both things are quite similar to me. The rose is a desert plant with a natural mechanism that works in contact with water. It is like a clenched fist that simulates a tense mental state, only when it feels that there is enough water around it, will it open its arms and the seeds it is guarding between its branches will scatter and continue on their way. Humanity has been fascinated by the mechanism of the rose, something dead comes back to life and revives the religious/spiritual mantra that there is life after death, which is why they have given it the status of a sacred and healing plant. Christians believe that Mary, the mother of Jesus, held the rose in her fist during childbirth, and the Bedouins to this day make infusions from it to ease labor pains and even as a treatment for infertility in women. This is why it is also called the «Virgin’s Hand.» This mechanism makes me think about mechanical mechanisms and mechanisms inherent in relationships, such as in the relationship of a mother with her children, who is important to her to feel the moment before she releases, but who decided that this was the right time and what is left of her afterwards?

Hadas Duchan
This is a remnant of the Queen of the Night, from the cactus family. Once a year, for one night only, it blooms a huge white flower with a deep scent. In the morning it withers, and looks like a bow. Wherever I have lived in the world, somehow I have always found one near the house. When I arrived at Bat Galim, Haifa, I discovered a magnificent four-story-tall tree in a nearby yard. It was the Corona period, and I started visiting there every day with a notebook, and making drawings of it. A neighbor saw me and asked if that was my work. I said yes. He told me that a neighbor had received a cutting from someone who had returned from the Six-Day War, from the Sinai; he planted it and nurtured it for almost sixty years. One day, one of the flowers fell on me. I felt that it had been given to me as a gift. I took a cutting and planted it at home. When the original tree collapsed, I asked people in the neighborhood to take leftovers and plant them, so that it would continue. What I had left of it dried up. It seemed like a memory of the flower. Sometimes I dream about it; recently, I dreamed that the roots remained in Haifa, but it chose to bloom here, from the inner courtyard of my building. I continue to take care of it, it accompanies me. A year and a half ago, after I finished an exhibition in Tel Aviv, I had a lot of soil left. On a night stroll in Haifa, I saw someone pruning the tree. I took a brunch and placed it in one of the bags of soil. I didn’t plant it, I didn’t water it. After two months, I saw it sprout buds, and from a small brunch came flowers the size of my head. It was crazy. Life just goes on, no matter what.

Michal Harada
It was my grandmother’s. It arrived at the studio not long ago. Did you know that Bambi is a movie made in ’42? It’s the first Disney movie because it’s right after World War II. That’s already pretty scary.

Neta Moses
I love plastic flowers. I bought these flowers in an amazing store in Athens that has a huge abundance of flowers that look convincingly real. In Greece, it’s customary to put plastic flowers on graves, so there’s a rich and varied selection of flowers there. I especially liked these because they are relatively «simple» wildflowers and because there are a few flowers in the bouquet that haven’t bloomed yet. I’m still waiting patiently for the right season when it will happen. I have plastic flowers on my desk at home and in the studio alongside «real» flowers. In my work, I’m also interested in combining natural elements with artificial elements and asking: what’s more real?

Duchi Cohen
My late grandfather was a collector and researcher of Hebrew books. The world of printing books in Hebrew letters was his world. He wrote books on the subject and had a very large collection of rare books. And he just loved books in general. That’s why he had a tissue box that looked like it was books, and a tiny chest of drawers that looked like it was a stack of books. And he loved it very much. After he passed away, 3 years ago, I inherited all sorts of things from his apartment, including this little chest of drawers, and since then I have used it for both drills and small works of art. Unlike many other things I took from his house and turned into works, I didn’t take it as something that was supposed to become a work. That doesn’t mean it won’t happen to it one day, but right now it has something that is both cute and functional.

Anyam Deri
It’s a shirt that’s part of a set. There was also a jacket with a kind of skirt, but I don’t have it any more. It’s a shirt that my parents brought me from Chinatown when I was a girl or a teenager. A gift, part of a costume. I don’t think I’ve ever worn it; maybe once when the whole family dressed up. And it’s always with me in the studio. It inspires me. I’ve often thought about doing something artistic with it, but I didn’t, and I don’t know if I would ever do so, but I love that it’s here. Because I think costumes free me a little. Because there’s something very serious and significant about beliefs, and sometimes you have to let go to play a little. So the costume helps me say «Okay, it’s not that serious.» And also because performance is a significant part of my work, and there’s something about costumes that brings up the character. So… it’s a kind of reminder of possibilities. If I get stuck, I can always get into some character.

Gabriel Klasmer
I found this strange object like this, I don’t remember where, probably in the trash. It is a remnant of contact adhesive that hardened and contains an air bubble. It looked similar to tree resin, its reddish color attracted me as well as its indefinite shape, a kind of malfunction, a remnant, a growth, something «natural» made of a completely industrial material. It looks like a high-grade material, amber, but in fact it is just a remnant that has crystallized.