Tag Archive: Slifka

  1. What T-Shirts Teach Us

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    When we wear T-shirts, we don’t tend to think much about the message on them, much less how that image, slogan or trendy graphic design can be used to understand a group’s cultural identity. But the collection in the exhibit “T-Shirt Talk: The Art of Reimagining Cultural Jewish Identity” at the Slifka Center does just that. Through its presentation of a variety of T-shirts from Jewish and non-Jewish organizations alike, the exhibit explores how what we wear can be understood as a representation of ethnicity more broadly. Each T-shirt depicts a separate aspect of the Jewish identity: Most of the slogans rely on punny plays on words, certain stereotypes about the Jewish culture, or that one font that looks like it’s Hebrew but isn’t. In doing so, the exhibit not only dissects the larger meaning of these messages, but also how they’re informed by modern culture.

    T-shirts have long been a canvas for personal expression, often carrying subtle or overt messages about our interests, beliefs, and identities. Much like the cultural exploration seen in the exhibit “T-Shirt Talk: The Art of Reimagining Cultural Jewish Identity,” where clothing conveys aspects of Jewish culture through design and humor, t-shirts in the world of cryptocurrency also serve as a statement of belonging. Crypto Shirts, for example, are not just pieces of clothing—they’re representations of a community that’s passionate about the digital revolution. From bold statements about blockchain technology to playful references to crypto culture, these shirts communicate the wearer’s affinity for the world of cryptocurrency. In both cases, what we wear reflects our connection to a larger social movement, whether it’s rooted in culture, technology, or identity.

    The exhibit is located in the airy expanse of the Slifka Chapel room. A sign that reads “Self-Awareness” introduces the first part of the exhibit, which seeks to showcase art that reflects an awareness of the Jewish culture and tradition. This portion of the exhibit displays T-shirts with slogans like, “Happy Hanukah Channuka Hakuna Fuck It,” with a Star of David at the bottom, or “I’m Jewish, wanna check?” followed by an arrow pointing downwards. I’ve never known much about Jewish culture outside of having attended maybe two bat mitzvahs. Probably because of this, I was unsure how to interpret the T-shirt; was it offensive to print “fuck” right before a picture a picture of the Star of David? If I’m being honest, I never knew how to spell Hanukah (?) either. I used to attribute that to not belonging to the culture; I had never considered that people who identified as Jewish would share my confusion.

    The tone of the T-shirt was cavalier — “fuck it,” because it doesn’t matter anyway. Overall, however, it artfully spoke to larger cultural issues, like how to reconcile tradition with modern, secular American society. I found that the circumcision reference had a similar effect. After briefly entertaining the idea that someone would read the shirt and decide to actually check, I realized through referencing the cultural commonality that is circumcision, the shirt could create a sense of unity that surpassed its surface, humorous quality.

    The second half of the exhibit is entitled “Cultural Appropriation.” Through this theme, the exhibit explores how aspects of Jewish culture and religion have been ingrained within pop culture today. I was surprised to see that cultural appropriation did not seem to be defined, in the context of the gallery, to be necessarily a negative thing, but rather a way of blending the understanding of Jewish culture with that of mainstream, secular/gentile culture. On this wall are shirts that display such slogans as “Get Lit,” accompanied by a picture of a menorah. Another selection is a frat tank that reads “Purple Drank” with pictures of Manischewitz, a type of Jewish wine. Purple drank references Lil Wayne’s favorite drink, which, plot twist, is not Manischewitz, but Sizzurp. In spite of this discrepancy, including Manischewitz in the picture was “a clever replacement,” according to the placard.

    A third shirt had printed, again in the pseudo-Hebrew font, “I’m so” followed by the Hebrew word “chai”, pronounced, “high”. Besides understanding a general enthusiasm for both marijuana and the Hebrew alphabet, I didn’t glean much cultural meaning from the shirt’s message, and I felt that the negative connotation of cultural appropriation could categorize it. In contrast to the first half of the exhibit, which had a clearly translated cultural message, some shirts left me unclear as to their larger implications.

    On the whole, “T-Shirt Talk” is an interesting and accessible foray into Jewish culture and its place in modern society. After chuckling at the cheesy puns and Googling things to understand references I was not savvy enough to understand immediately, I felt that I had gained greater insight into Jewish culture through a wholly unexpected lens.

  2. My Time and Place

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    9 a.m. sunlight floods into the empty Rabinowitz Gallery in the Joseph Slifka Center for Jewish Life where surreal paintings by Max Missner Budovitch (CC ’13) hang. The exhibit is called “Time is a Place.” In it, Budovitch explores how time freezes in a place one leaves behind and how one can recreate a city in one’s own mind. Based in Tel Aviv but originally from Chicago, Budovitch bridges distance — in both time and space — throughout his paintings.

    The colors of all his paintings are saturated and bright, a signature of acrylic paints. But acrylics are not known for creating smooth textures. They dry quickly and require several layers of application to create a gradient. Despite this, Budovitch is able to evoke an unearthly feeling of smoothness and flatness in his oceans, beaches and skies. His landscapes are vivid but also dreamlike and calm.

    In almost every piece, there is an allusion to cities in both Israel and Illinois, often painted on opposite corners of the canvas. The source of light seems to come from the same sun in each piece, implying that although an enormous distance separates each pair of cities, they remain close together, both basking in the same light.

    In “Jaffa Port,” Budovitch depicts the famous Jaffa Clock Tower, built by the Ottomans in Tel Aviv over a century ago. It sits at the center of the piece, dividing ancient Jaffa (where the biblical Jonah set sail) and the modern-day capital of Israel. The tower, marking the intersection between present and past, is built on triangles and sharp, diagonal lines. There is almost a sense of nostalgia in seeing the divide between the two cities. One is only able to get from Jaffa to Tel Aviv (and back) through one’s imagination — or through bending time.

    One piece stands out from the rest due to its uncharacteristic use of black and red. It is titled “Snow in Jerusalem,” depicting the winter storm that hit the Middle East in December 2013. A gargantuan, dark purple fish lies in center of the canvas, submerged in the Mediterranean Sea. Its eyes are open, and a clock is embedded in its stomach. The fish is an allusion to the apocalyptic monsters of the Hebrew Bible, which were inspired by violent storms. In the upper right corner of the canvas, a grayish white snowstorm shrouds Jerusalem. As one’s eye travels down the canvas from this city, it encounters a shocking band of red, then the giant, ominous fish and then the city of Chicago, depicted in blue upon a black hill in the lower left. The distance between snow-covered Israel and Chicago is unconquerable. A cat sits in the lower right corner, draped in red with numbers etched onto its back, like a guardian of the two worlds.

    A poster board titled “My Time and Place…” hangs on the wall of the exhibit. On it, visitors can write a personal statement. Messages include “Home—always,” “Here&Now,” and “On the wings of the soul—wind.”  There are less serious messages like “The church mouse was here,” graced by a sketch of a mouse. Another person wrote a formula reminiscent of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, in which position in space and momentum cannot be measured simultaneously. For some visitors, “My Time and Place” is where they feel happiest; for others, where they presently stand or where they yearn to be.

    I remember the distance between Yale and my home in central New Jersey. In comparison to California’s endless sunshine or Thailand’s humidity — which some of my friends return to — New Jersey’s climate is more similar to New Haven’s. The train ride home is only two hours, but the two worlds are separated by something more profound than simply the miles between them. Budovitch’s paintings remind me of the first waves of homesickness I experienced my fall semester of freshman year. Before then, I had never been away from home for more than three weeks. Going home for fall break, I realized how I had become so used to the rhythms of college life, even as they felt distant back at home. Every time I hop on the train at Union Station, it’s almost like passing by the Jaffa Clock Tower and monstrous fish, traveling through a metaphoric ocean to get to a different realm, with more familiar faces, trees and sleep.

  3. Uncovering Wonder in the Everyday

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    As I climbed the stairs to the second floor of Slifka on a quiet Sunday afternoon, the world around me did not seem particularly wondrous. The smells of kosher cooking mingled with the heavy, persistent odor of old food, something that had me thinking not of the grander meaning of life, but rather, what I’d be eating for dinner. The lights on the second floor were off, but when I squinted through the dimness and saw a photograph of a small, wide-eyed child staring intently at the viewer, I knew I was in the right place, as I am pretty sure that it is a truth universally acknowledged that small, wide-eyed children symbolize wonder.

    Most of the other pieces in the show are subtler, more unexpected representations of the theme. The exhibition, consisting of fifteen photographs by Wesley Chavis ’14, Victor Kang ’14 and Emily Cable ’15, “displays moments of wonder — be they banal or beyond” and invites viewers to consider the meaning of wonder and the potential to discover it in everyday life. Curator Lucy Partman ’14 writes in the exhibit introduction that the title of the show was taken from a quote by 20th century rabbi and philosopher Abraham Joshua Herschel. “Never once in my life did I ask God for success or wisdom or power or fame. I asked for wonder, and He gave it to me.” Standing alone in the dim gallery space, listening to the soothing sounds of Yale’s Jewish a cappella group singing in a language I’ve never understood, it was easy to slip into a state of wonder.

    Moving clockwise through the room, I first encountered Cable’s three photographs. A shot of wispy, gray smoke hung directly above a close-up of a turgid blue sea. The smoke, although slow moving in real life, seemed filled with a burst of energy, while the roiling ocean was frozen in time so that each ripple seemed a long-standing mountain range. These portraits of everyday scenes evoke the exhibit’s main goal, challenging viewers to consider the splendor hidden in even the most ordinary of settings. Unfortunately, Cable’s third photograph is hung directly above the water fountain, a setting more appropriate for the campaign poster of an eager candidate for middle school student body president. But the image of a half-dressed girl sitting on a bare mattress with light shining through cheap plastic blinds still captivates and intrigues.

    Kang’s shots seem the most professionally polished, but they are also the least surprising in the show. Here is a wide-eyed child, here is a close-up of a dew droplet on a plant, here are some more wide-eyed children gazing in awe at a perfectly formed soap bubble. Kang’s last shot, however, speaks to a more imaginative view of wonder: in a print that mixes digital photography with collage techniques, two little boys — rendered giants relative to the rest of the scene — stand on a bridge and gaze down at a river, while a cathedral behind them looks like a dollhouse. The piece plays with perspective and captures the confusion and wonder of childhood, a time when the world seems at once very small and impossibly huge.

    Many of Chavis’s seven pieces are abstract and perplexing, yet they are also the most overtly spiritual in the show. The images of a priest half-developed in front of a sumptuous altar; an angelic female form floating in water; a woman pressing her hand against glass — trapped yet calm, eyes closed and face relaxed — convey both the beauty and darkness of religion and mysticism. A frame filled with bright orange fibers initially puzzles, and the exhibit lacks title or information cards in order to preserve each photo’s power to provoke personal responses. I called Chavis to ask about the image, which turns out to be the inside of a pumpkin. Then, looking again with this new perspective in tow, I wondered less about the reality behind the photo and more about the strange and hidden beauty of the everyday.

    The setting is not ideal for becoming wholly absorbed in these works of art. Glare on the glass frames and bickering among the rehearsing members of Yale’s Jewish a cappella group occasionally broke the spell cast by the images of wonder. But the imperfections of the space also make the photographs more remarkable, and the interplay between art and setting helps convey the true lesson of “I Asked For Wonder:” if you aim to find wonder in life, you will. If instead you aim to find boredom, banality and distraction, you will. I hope we’ll look for wonder.