In Memory of

We met more than fifty years ago – the late Litvinovsky and I. It seems like it was only yesterday, and yet fifty years have already passed since then…

In every meeting, we spoke about painting and painters – about the transformations that occurred, the perceptions and intentions of one artist or another. We argued, quarreled, drifted apart, and came back together again, both of us feeling that each had a part in the other.

Litvinovsky always seemed to me like an olive tree. Primordial… sturdy, with a strong trunk and deep roots. His branches were like Samson's muscles, his bark tough… yet this olive tree had delicate leaves, silver-green in hue, trembling in quiet delight when a gentle breeze caressed them.

Pinchas Litvinovsky was a solitary olive tree.

As an artist, he walked as if through an endless tunnel divided into rooms… one room after another… Litvinovsky passed through them, moving from one to the next. In each room, he sat by the easel, his hand wielding brushes over canvas or white paper. He painted… seeking himself… and closed the door behind him, locking it tightly. Let the chatterers stay outside. Let the self-proclaimed experts remain at bay! Inside, the language was solely one of colors… here, a monologue or dialogue between colors, between shapes… here, a silent, internal conversation, with no onlookers… a dialogue with himself.

A solitary olive tree stood, rooted in the rocky Jerusalem soil, searching for itself…

Yes, this olive tree has been taken from us! But true artists are never truly taken – they never really die. They return, in due time… They labored hard from the dawn of their lives until the sunset of their days. Now they must rest after the fierce struggle, only to rise again and return.

Look closely, Litvinovsky has returned… His persistent dialogue echoes from every corner… from every frame… Yet danger comes with him… lest the door closes again, as it so often did in his lifetime! Lest… lest… no, it cannot be. We will hold onto each other, and together, we will open the entire tunnel, its full length and breadth… The treasures hidden within, left by Litvinovsky, will illuminate us with the secrets of his visions and dreams.

True artists never truly die… they merely rest for a moment… rise, and return…

Here stands a great artist returned!

Let us rejoice and nourish our eyes…