THAT WHICH SEES THE FACE OF THE SUN, 2025

In the Talmudic tractate ‘Bava Batra’, the Sages pose a question regarding a person who has purchased trees: does the acquisition consist solely of the trees themselves, or does it also encompass the ground beneath and around them? How many trees must one purchase to also secure a foothold in the soil? Do the trees hold onto the earth, or does the earth hold onto the trees? Where does the tree end, and where does the land begin?

Nature, the subject of these inquiries, forms the very ground on which this exhibition is built. It is neither inert nor detached from its surroundings; rather, it carries memory and asserts both ownership and boundaries. A root exposed above the surface is like an exposed nerve; that which grows from the earth acts as a chronicler of time, marking both physical borders and the limits of memory.

According to rabbinic tradition, Joshua’s son of Nun planted the tough, toxic bulbs of the Hatzav (Squill) to delineate the borders of the land; similarly, local Arab farmers have long used these plants to mark the boundaries of their fields, owing to their stubborn resilience and the extreme difficulty of uprooting them.

In Islamic tradition, specifically in the hadith concerning trees and stones, the Gharqad – a thorny, tenacious desert shrub (Salsola or Haloxylon) – is depicted as the final shield for the Jews against those who come to kill them. It is the Gharqad – resilient and enduring – capable of thriving in highly saline soil; the very same soil from which “salt tears” emerge. The Tears uprooted from Sodom continued to weep even after leaving their place of origin, their lament inscribed upon copper bases.

Dittrichia viscosa (sticky fleabane) is a "pioneer" plant, among the first to emerge in disturbed, scorched earth. It also possesses a trait that suppresses the growth of neighbouring plants. The bronze cast bears the name of an outpost in Samaria.

Arabidopsis Thaliana (Thale Cress) has been genetically engineered so that its leaves turn red in response to nitrogen dioxide produced as buried explosives break down; it serves as a living testament to what lies hidden beneath the surface of mine-strewn ground.

The stones, too, bear markings. In the Exodus series, what appears to be a botanical drawing is actually a form created by the material itself: manganese, spreading through fissures in the rock over geological time, traces dark, floral patterns, blossoms of circumstance. Each stone depicts a journey, much like a map. Pilgrims once perceived such stones as the Burning Bush itself – not merely a representation, but a divine revelation. The screenprint monotypes were created using manganese, a toxic substance, fixed to paper through its own inherent chemical processes.

And in the centre of the space, a pile of fish scales reveals the Leviathan stripped of its armour. In the Book of Job, the Leviathan is a fearsome monster clad in impenetrable armour, while in the writings of the British philosopher Thomas Hobbes, it serves as an analogy for a powerful, sovereign state. Here, its scales are arranged in a fragile, transparent pile.

Where does the tree end, and where does the land begin? Who holds the tree, and who holds the soil, what lies above it, and what is buried within it? In this exhibition, these stories, legends, and materials are woven into questions regarding belonging, ownership, and control, as well as the complex relationships between human beings and place, and between one person and another.