The story of the Center for Contemporary Art cannot be separated from the history of its video archive‭. ‬The archive began to take shape in the late 1990s‭, ‬when the Center was still operating out of a small room at the Tel Aviv Cinematheque‭. ‬At the time‭, ‬video editing equipment was expensive and largely inaccessible‭,‬ and the archive served artists not only as a place to view and preserve works‭,‬ but also as a space for editing and producing them‭.‬ Over the years‭, ‬thousands of works entered the archive from a wide range of sources‭: ‬the video art fund initiated by the Center‭; ‬the‭ ‬“Local Time”‭ ‬screening series‭; ‬the VideoZone Biennial‭, ‬also initiated by the Center‭; ‬and the CCA’s broader ongoing activities initiated and directed by Sergio Edelsztein‭.‬ The archive did not take shape around one single‭, ‬coherent narrative‭,‬ but rather through a succession of choices‭, ‬encounters‭, ‬initiatives‭, ‬and circumstances‭. ‬It holds within it both the history of the medium and the history of the Center itself‭.‬

For this exhibition‭, ‬a group of young artists working across a range of media were invited to spend time with the archive‭, ‬to view its works‭, ‬and to encounter the people and stories

connected to its formation‭. ‬They were not asked to represent or summarize the archive‭, ‬but rather to offer a contemporary reading of it‭: ‬to linger on an image‭, ‬a material‭, ‬or a memory‭; ‬to

attend to what has been preserved and to what is absent from it‭; ‬and to consider how a historical body of works continues to live‭, ‬shift‭, ‬and acquire new meanings in the present‭. ‬The texts that follow were written by the artists and describe‭, ‬each in their own way‭, ‬their encounter with the archive and the work processes that emerged from it‭.‬

Dafna Amira

The CCA Video Archive‭, ‬

video installation

While watching video works in the CCA’s upper office floor‭, ‬where the archive is housed‭, ‬I found myself more interested in the character of the space in which I was sitting‭, ‬in the act of watching‭, ‬and in the setting itself‭, ‬than in any particular work‭.‬ There were works I liked‭, ‬but I was trying to understand how to approach them as a whole‭. ‬At one of our group meetings‭,‬

we met Sergio Edelsztein‭, ‬who recounted the history of the archive‭, ‬his love of video art‭, ‬and his desire to establish the medium within the local art field‭. ‬I was surprised to learn that the CCA had begun in a small‭, ‬temporary room in the Tel Aviv Cinematheque‭. ‬A group of video

artists had come together to establish a video archive‭, ‬without knowing where this initiative would eventually lead‭.‬ 

Video-editing equipment was expensive and inaccessible at the time‭.‬

The archive was not intended merely to collect and preserve works‭, ‬but also to enable their production and serve as an editing room‭. ‬Ruti Sela‭, ‬who was responsible for the archive‭, ‬was trained to work with the new editing software and assisted artists in editing their works on site‭.‬

The story of how the CCA came into being sparked what I had been looking for‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬the whole being greater than the sum of its parts‭. ‬I began imagining that room and looking for documentation of it‭,‬ even incidental documentation‭, ‬but found none‭. ‬What remained of the place was scattered across the memories of those who had worked there and visited it‭.‬

I called Sergio and asked him to describe it‭: ‬What did the room look like‭?‬ What was in it‭? ‬One chair or two‭? ‬What kind of floor‭? ‬What walls‭? ‬A computer‭?‬ A shelf‭? ‬Tapes‭? ‬Some questions had definite answers‭; ‬others elicited vague ones‭. ‬Sergio referred me to other people who had spent time in the archive‭, ‬and from one person I continued to the next‭.‬ The questions remained the same‭, ‬but the answers did not necessarily‭. ‬Some remembered one kind of floor‭, ‬while others remembered another‭.‬ 

At first‭, ‬I tried to conduct the interviews with relative neutrality‭,‬ drawing as much as possible from each person’s private memory without revealing details I had heard from others‭.‬ Later‭, ‬I began to confront the testimonies with one another‭. ‬A general image began to emerge from the descriptions‭:‬ cream-colored textured walls‭; ‬beige tiled flooring‭, ‬or perhaps a carpet‭; ‬two gray

Formica tables‭; ‬two office chairs‭; ‬two beige metal cabinets‭; ‬two computers and a shelf of tapes‭. ‬A small room‭, ‬estimated at roughly two by two and a half meters‭ ‬‮—‬temporary‭, ‬cramped‭, ‬and functional‭.‬

The photographs I created are not a historical reconstruction in the conventional sense‭. ‬Although history is Andy‭, ‬Matthew‭,‬ and Ruti A tribute exhibition to the CCA Video Archive

present within it‭, ‬the work is centered on what was not documented‭, ‬and on the possibility of inhabiting an imagined space that has been lost‭. ‬Each of the interviewees looked at the place

differently‭, ‬remembered what had been meaningful to them‭, ‬and forgot other details‭. ‬The accumulated testimonies produced an image of a place that was fragile‭, ‬whole‭, ‬and fragmented at the same time‭. ‬Where memories did not overlap‭, ‬I allowed my imagined archive to

decide for me‭.‬

I built the photographic set next to the current video archive‭. ‬The archive of the past merged with its present and became embedded in the architectural characteristics of the CCA building‭,‬

creating a hybrid space‭.‬

Adir Cohen

Between Four and Six‭, ‬

sculpture

For several months now‭, ‬I have been collecting slender wood planks‭. ‬I walk the streets‭, ‬change familiar routes and discover alleys‭; ‬I rummage through dumpsters‭, ‬enter construction sites‭,‬ carpentry workshops‭, ‬and old houses‭,‬ and collect the planks on my way to the studio‭. ‬They are pieces of wood of different sizes‭, ‬mostly old‭, ‬wounded‭,‬ nailed‭, ‬cut‭, ‬and abandoned‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬pieces that never found their purpose‭. ‬Some carry traces of paint‭, ‬concrete‭, ‬sand‭, ‬plaster‭,‬ and dust‭, ‬as well as an old‭, ‬strong smell‭.‬

I set a system‭: ‬each time‭, ‬the action is performed on a single plank‭, ‬with a single brush‭, ‬a single coat of paint‭. ‬The oil paint is diluted in linseed oil‭, ‬moving from blue to brown‭. ‬The blue may be light or dark‭,‬ heavy or faint‭, ‬fluorescent or aged‭; ‬the brown unfolds across a range of warm‭,‬

cool‭, ‬and lukewarm tones‭.‬

The dimensions of each plank define a vertical landscape painting‭. ‬On each one‭,‬ I paint sky‭, ‬sea‭, ‬sand‭, ‬earth‭, ‬and ground‭,‬ evoking a horizon‭, ‬a viewpoint‭, ‬depth of field‭, ‬and optical illusion‭. ‬The elements‮—‬air‭, ‬earth‭, ‬water‭, ‬and fire‮—‬are given equal weight‭. ‬These are samples of landscape‭,‬ fragments of an image‭, ‬and pieces of background‭.‬

Once the painting is complete‭, ‬the plank is leaned against the wall like a tired person‭. ‬As they accumulate‭, ‬they form a distorted landscape painting‭. ‬The eye fills in what is missing and sees the larger image even in the absence of a complete picture‭. ‬It moves from beam to beam‭, ‬like a hand playing a piano‭, ‬hitting the notes from strong to weak‭.‬ The action emerged from watching

works in the CCA’s video archive‭,‬ particularly those that evoke images of temperature‭, ‬weather‭, ‬shifting materiality‭,‬ and the seasons‭, ‬as well as acts of painting and actions in space‭. ‬A central

point of departure was Smadar Dreyfus’s Lifeguards‭ (‬2005‭). ‬In retrospect‭, ‬it occurred to me that just as the lifeguard watches the bathers‭, ‬so I watch the video works‭. ‬He assembles his image of the landscape‭, ‬and I assemble mine‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬as if from an instruction manual‭.‬

In Dreyfus’s work‭, ‬the soundtrack is separated from the visual landscape‭.‬ On one channel‭, ‬the lifeguard’s calls can be read and heard‭; ‬on the other‭, ‬the landscape of the bathers in the water

appears in silence‭. ‬The lifeguard’s instructions echoed in the studio as I painted the planks‭, ‬like directions for staging the working process‭.‬ They evoked the memory of the Israeli landscape and the Tel Aviv beach‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬the heat‭, ‬the haze‭, ‬the blue‭, ‬murky sea‭; ‬the crowds of bathers in July and August‭;‬ groups of children and families alongside colorful inflatables‭.‬ 

This is the crowding that characterizes the Israeli summer‭: ‬a space in which the shared aspiration is toward freedom and pleasure‭, ‬but which is also governed by regulation‭, ‬power‭, ‬danger‭, ‬law‭, ‬and order‭.‬ As the lifeguard calls out warnings about suspicious objects‭, ‬I think of abandoned beach beds belonging to a pair of lovers‭.‬ Of the individual trying to become two‭. ‬Of

loneliness and couplehood‭.‬

Liam Chambon

Boys Will Be Boys‭, 

‬digital knitting

The arrival of materials from the organization B’Tselem in the CCA’s video archive is an unusual case‭. ‬Footage filmed in the Occupied Territories and dealing with power relations and

institutionalized violence is catalogued alongside canonical video works‭. ‬But here‭, ‬this is not a paraphrase of reality‭;‬ it is the thing itself‭. ‬For me‭, ‬watching reality mediated through a body camera was more unsettling than anything else I encountered in the archive‭.‬ 

The dissonance between the impulse to engage with these images and my recoil from them determined the way I worked‭. ‬The artistic gesture almost undermines itself by being driven in two opposing directions‭.‬ From the video footage‭, ‬I selected individual frames‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬blurred‭, ‬pixelated‭,‬ and at times pointed toward the sun‭ ‬‮—‬carrying a nostalgic atmosphere of the

1990s‭. ‬Their selection works against the essence of the videos from which they

were taken‭, ‬obscuring the shudder they evoke‭. ‬The work deals with optics‭, ‬vision‭,‬ and its limits‭: ‬how much I am willing or able to see‭, ‬and how I process what I see‭.‬

The pixelated images are enlarged close-ups that were then translated into computerized knitting‭, ‬in which each digital pixel is rendered as a physical thread‭. ‬The limited resolution of the technique becomes another barrier between the image and us‭. ‬The fabric itself‭, ‬absorbing light‭, ‬further diminishes the image’s ability to dazzle‭.‬

The work begins with a first encounter with a wound‭. ‬An image that conveys nostalgia‭, ‬the nineties‭, ‬a sense of youth‭,‬ MTV‭, ‬emerges from something bleeding‭.‬ It also references the history of Israeli art‭:‬ Moshe Gershuni’s Soldier‭! ‬Soldier‭! (‬1981‭),‬ a work that pits a militaristic atmosphere against an uninhibited sexual impulse‭.‬ On another level‭, ‬beneath the surface‭,‬

is the artist Yehudit Levin‭, ‬whose work often draws on memories of events at checkpoints in the early 2000s‭, ‬when she joined the organization Machsom Watch‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬works that dazzle to the point of making the image impossible to see as innocent‭.

‬

Tamar Perry

Hereness‭, ‬

sound installation

The CCA’s video archive has no single narrative‭. ‬The works it contains arrived there through a chain of events‭, ‬choices‭,‬ and circumstances‭: ‬sometimes as deliberate collections and sometimes almost by chance‭. ‬Over the years‭,‬ they were catalogued together‭, ‬even when information about their origins and the contexts in which they were collected remained incomplete‭. ‬Through conversations about the archive‭, ‬its development‭, ‬and the gaps within it‭,‬

its character itself began to become abstract‭.‬

The work turns to a selection from the archive chosen collectively by the group of artists participating in the exhibition‭.‬ We watched the works together‭, ‬and I now approach them as a derivative that represents the whole‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬a kind of shared subconscious of the group‭, ‬carrying

something of the spirit of the archive as a whole‭.‬

I want to detach myself from the images and remain with the sound they produce‭. ‬The works are played in the CCA’s control room‭, ‬which is closed to the public‭. ‬During their screening‭, ‬I

listen to the room’s walls and record them using contact microphones‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬pickups that capture vibrations traveling through material‭. ‬The computer plays the works into the room‭, ‬and the walls listen to them‭. ‬The sound they absorb and return is transmitted into the exhibition spaces‭.‬

I approach the archive as a body and seek to locate its heartbeat‭, ‬as a stethoscope listens to a living body‭. ‬The sequence of works and accumulation of sounds create a new layer‭: ‬a kind

of aquifer of the archive‭, ‬processed through the building that contains it‭.‬ Although the archive cannot be clearly seen‭, ‬it continues to exist as part of the architecture of the place‭.‬

The sound is heard in two spaces and on two different levels‭. ‬On the entrance level‭, ‬it appears as an underground murmur‭; ‬on the upper level‭, ‬it accumulates into an excess of information that begins to lose its shape‭.‬ The archive is not presented as a library of images‭, ‬but as living matter‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬a hidden body transmitting its presence through the walls‭.

‬

Laila Abd Elrazaq

Nothing to Declare‭, ‬

video installation

The installation consists of multiple monitors displaying looping videos of my body wearing a green zentai suit‭. ‬Using chroma key‭, ‬the body is continuously erased‭, ‬replaced‭,‬ fragmented‭, ‬and transformed through changing backgrounds‭, ‬images‭, ‬textures‭,‬ and digital interventions‭. ‬The figure remains present across the screens while simultaneously resisting stable identification‭.‬

The work is conceived as an homage to Gili Avissar’s Green Room ‭(‬2015‭), ‬particularly its sense of play‭,‬ experimentation‭, ‬and visual absurdity‭.‬ Rather than reproducing the original work‭, ‬I revisit its playful approach through my own longstanding experimentation with green-screen

compositing‭.‬

The concealed body introduces a tension between visibility and identification‭. ‬Within an art context where artists‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬particularly those working from specific cultural or political positions‭ ‬‮—‬‭ ‬can be expected to make their identity available as part of the work‭,‬ the green suit temporarily withholds these markers‭. ‬The work therefore treats chroma key not only as a visual effect‭,‬ but also as a way of questioning the demand to be recognizable‭, ‬legible‭, ‬and

representative‭.‬

Participating artists: Laila Abd Elrazaq, Dafna Amira, Liam Chambon, Adir Cohen, Tamar Perry

Curators: Hila Cohen-Schneiderman and Tamar Margalit

Curatorial Assistant: Koral Dvir

In collaboration with the Edmond de Rothschild Foundation