Larger than life

I was in the solitude of my studio so it was the perfect time and place to go for it, without inhibition. If this was a video recording, you wouldn’t recognize me with my antics playing with this piece. You can get a sense of the head size when you see me posing with it — first imitating and then admonishing. I don’t remember what I yelled but it was something like “WAKE UP BARRY!!!!!”

The head was easily three hundred pounds of clay so I could let out a lot of pent-up energy. I literally pounded the head into form with a 2 X 4 paddle and then brought it to life with a more refined tool (hah-hah), a wooden paint stirrer. It was an absolute blast to sculpt, pained expression and all; I was feeling quite goofy I might add, playing with it for the several weeks in my studio. It also felt eerily real with more than a tinge of truth in what it reflected back to me.

I had been struggling for some time with what I was doing with my art and why. I was stuck, not seeing a path forward. I couldn’t see a purpose that I could get excited about. What was I doing, where was I going with it all and why?

This brings me to a presentation I recently heard. Mrs. Rivkah Slonim, the education director at the Rohr Chabad Center for Jewish Student Life at Binghamton University, sees the biggest problem on Jewish campuses is our youth’s apathy towards, ignorance of and disconnection from who they are. Mrs. Slonim asserts our youth need to learn who they are, what they believe; where they came from; and, where they’re going.

This describes where I was when I sculpted this piece. I was an adult with college age children and I had the apathy, ignorance and disconnection that Mrs. Slonim spoke about with today’s youth. I still didn’t know what to believe. I didn’t know where I came from or where I was going. It’s astonishing when I think about it.

Reflecting back, it began somewhere around Bar Mitzvah age when “who I was” or, maybe who I wanted to be was not in sync with what I observed around me. I remember being startled at my family’s seder when the lessons of the Four Sons were read aloud from our Maxwell House Haggadah. “OMG that’s me,” I thought! “I’m the wicked son — the one who separated himself saying, “What does all this mean to YOU?”

With the above as a backdrop, it may or may not be surprising that Jewish identity became my lane as an artist. I was searching for meaning and purpose and my art, with its embedded narratives and imagery, became an unintended pathway back to myself.

I find it fascinating that my art and life have run parallel. In this case, the head, inextricable tied to its raw material, collapsed under the weight of its lack of structural integrity just like my ego-based identity, inextricable tied to what I did (or didn’t do) collapsed under the weight of my Jewish identity.

It took a number of years for me to see I had a twisted and ill-conceived narrative, from my early teens onward, about “religion” - its stories, doctrines and precepts — all of which I didn’t want any part of. The further I delved into Jewish philosophy and spirituality, the more I realized what I had long pushed away. I saw the illusion under which I had been living into for most of my life — a misconceived and misunderstood identity.

It was only after I saw through a lens of Jewish identity, that I could see I’m really not part of a religion (as the term is generally used). Rather, I’m part of a People with a mission and responsibility. My true identity was never one I created. It was and had always been, at its core and essence, my inheritance — a product of my heritage and a privilege I was born with. This realization was pivotal.

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