And I Shut It Up
Adi Oz-Ari
Curator: Shua Ben Ari
24.4.2025 - 24.5.2025
Photos: Adi Oz-Ari
For the last two years, Adi Oz-Ari has been closely observing sterile gauze bandages and white paper tissues: the cotton threads that make up the bandages, delicately and densely woven in a crisscross pattern; the gaps randomly opened up between the threads by unruly fibers; the square shape of the tissues and the folds that create their own internal geometric grid; and the varied patterns that adorn their edges. She devotes them time that they are not usually received. Bandages and tissues are usually required in a urgent need—when blood flows, tears run or the nose drips, when the body's reactions must be quickly restrained, whereas Oz-Ari takes the time to look carefully at to reflect on these overlooked objects that most people rarely give a second glance.
The series of monotype prints displayed in the gallery exudes quiescence, yet this impression is misleading. Only those familiar with the intricacies of printmaking are aware of the aggressive process to which the artist subjected the bandages and tissues: she took pristine white objects that should have maintained strict sterility, and "dared" to soil them, smearing them with black ink and exposing them to the filthy surface of the printing plate. Black ink replaces the bodily fluids—blood, mucus, and tears—that these objects are intended to conceal and wipe away. The delicate prints hanging on the walls are almost abstract, painted in a full spectrum of grays. The unique quality of the printing medium that can create a two-dimensional image while still retaining volumetric and tactile qualities allows viewers almost to feel the soft caress of the tissues and recognize the thin and airy touch of the gauze.
In the prints, traces of the original objects are barely discernible—by the end of the printing process they are completely blackened by ink, torn and crumbled from the force of the press. What links are there between the demanding printmaking process and the soft images on the walls? The tissues and bandages, whose role is to care for the body, are transformed through Oz-Ari's artistic process into the body itself. Just as they serve to smother tears and stop the flow from wounds, so the press compresses them, sealing the air around them until by the end of the process, in the gallery, they are almost unrecognizable—blackened and disintegrated, far removed in appearance and purpose from their initial state.
Through her prints, Oz-Ari engages in a passionate dialogue with 20th century geometric abstraction artists. While those artists aspired to pure abstraction, distinguishing art from life, erasing the human body and focusing on a formalist discourse, Oz-Ari the attempt to escape the reality surrounding her. A print of a grayish tissue with its folds spread out, on white paper, may seem like a homage to Kazimir Malevich's iconic 1918 work "White on White," where a white square is painted on a white background. Malevich advocated pure art that distances itself from nature, engaging instead in an internal discourse of lines and forms. In contrast, for Oz-Ari, the square is not merely a square—it is the remnant of a familiar, everyday object: a tissue. Regarding a print of a black grid may evoke one of Agnes Martin’s grid paintings. However, Oz-Ari's grid lines are not merely the result of focusing on hand movement and line. Instead, they resonate the diaphanous qualities of gauze bandages.
Alongside Oz-Ari’s sensitivity to form and lines, the prints are imbued with the weight of the objects she prints: tissues and gauze—objects that are partially opaque, designed to seal while still allowing ventilation and breath. Products that provide first aid for physical and emotional pain. It is no coincidence that for the past two bleeding and red-eyed tear-filled years, Oz-Ari found herself confined in her studio with bandages and tissues. The artists of the geometric abstraction movement deliberately avoided representing the human figure, crafting a language rooted in geometry and detached from human proportions. In contrast, the tissues and bandages that are the focus of Oz-Ari’s scrutiny were created specifically for the human body, redirecting the viewer’s attention to the individual who needs them. While she endeavours to focus on the pristine white objects, it is no accident that the art she creates is rendered in shades of black and gray—seemingly mute.
Alongside this series of prints, Oz-Ari created another series of cyanotypes. While the monotypes of the first series successfully translate the tactile quality of bandages and tissues—their softness alongside rough textures— the cyanotype celebrates their elusive, almost ethereal essence. The tissues and bandages seem to float, weightless, like clouds drifting in blue skies. Upon closer observation, one can truly see how Oz-Ari captures light and imprints it on paper. Small reflections of light serve as gentle comforts in an otherwise dark reality. Oz-Ari seeks an answer, several centuries earlier, in the Baroque realm; in heavenly skies painted on church ceilings. If you look closely, you may imagine tiny angels singing and soaring amidst the bandages.
For two years, Oz-Ari has secluded herself in her studio, choosing to focus on objects designed to offer immediate relief from pain. Her prints may perhaps transport viewers even further back in time, to the veil of Saint Veronica, considered by some to be the first print. After the Christian saint handed Jesus her veil to wipe the sweat and blood from his forehead as he walked the torturous Via Crucis, she discovered a miraculous image of his divine visage imprinted on it. This tale of a compassionate human gesture has been immortalized for centuries in Western culture. By presenting us with gentle tissues and soft bandages, Oz-Ari offers solace from our pain by focusing on form and line. Her prints radiate beauty and delicacy, yet they do not erase the void. There is no trace of divinity in them, only reflections of humanity—its pain and yearning for comfort.
Shua Ben Ari
* The name of the exhibition is a quote from Raquel Chalfi’s poem “Nothingness”
About the artists and curator
Adi Oz-Ari holds an MFA from Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design (2015) and a BFA from the Midrasha School of Art (2012). She is a multidisciplinary artist who engages in processed photography, printmaking, and collage. Her work focuses on materials related to the body, pain, and trauma, exploring psychological-physical connections in relation to concepts of pain, decay, and loss. She has exhibited both in Israel and abroad in solo and group exhibitions.
Shua Ben-Ari worked as assistant to the chief curator of the Arts Department at the Israel Museum, Jerusalem between 2013-2021. She is currently curator of the Family Experience Center at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. She lectures and writes about modern and contemporary art.