noga or yam
tel aviv
The fog of war, coined by Carl von Clausewitz in his seminal work On War, describes the uncertainty experienced by members of armed forces in military operations.
Over the past year, the city’s spaces have shut down, shutting away its residents. At the same time, despite a fear of the pandemic, crowded streets haven’t given up on raising a voice in the face of an oppressive political system.
A narrowed public space and the threat it holds for those passing through it have existed and still do, while also creeping into the private space, as part of governmental strategies. Blurring the lines between inside and outside, and a sense of intrusion and violent enforcement, for me, blended with experiences of complex post-trauma.
Layers of rotoscope animation strip the footage of the protests of its content, laying bare the violence that has become an intrinsic part of this new public space.
In face of all those, the open fields behind my parents’ moshav have become a refuge; the same vistas I sought to leave behind, crammed with memories, have become easier to wander about in with a camera in my hands, re-examining fears, black holes and truths, and trying all the while to reclaim a sense of home.
