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Salon de Paris



Espèces d’espaces



Inaugural group exhibition in Dvir Paris: ‘Espèces d’espaces’

Dvir Gallery was founded in Tel Aviv in 1982 by Dvir Intrator with the aim of promoting and exposing the contemporary artistic scene of emerging and established Israeli artists.

With time, the gallery has become an important actor in the local art scene, presenting the most appreciated artists of the era. It is in this spirit, that in 1994, the gallery began collaborating with international renowned artists such as Lawrence Weiner, Douglas Gordon, Latifa Echakhch, Adel Abdessemed amongst others.

The opening of additional spaces, in Brussels in 2016, and now in Paris, is a manifestation of the continuous desire to present and promote Israeli and international artists locally and abroad.



We could not be happier to open this new chapter with group exhibition ‘Espèces d’espaces’ inspired by George Perec.


Born in 1971 in Algeria, Abdessemed now lives and works in Paris, France. The artist produces works deeply embedded in power issues. Both his character and his work reveal that he is a fierce guardian of the essential pillars of humanity, of love, of compassion, and of hope. Through evocative yet subtle experience, Abdessemed’s works suppress our systemic desensitization to violent acts. In so doing, the artist shows his unique ability to convene the seemingly discordant elements of tenderness and shock.

As Larys Frogier, Director of Rockbund Art Museum, puts “Adel Abdessemed has a unique position in contemporary art, and the way he touches those who engage his works has virtually no equivalent. That effect lies in his unique use of raw, simple materials and words, as well as straightforward but very subtle fabrication of the image, but also in the way his works revisit some of the historical and theoretical assumptions in the contemporary arts.”

Drawing for Adel Abdessemed is a rigorously monolingual medium that fulfils the requirement of uniqueness expressed by Celan – usually, monochrome drawings invariably done with a stick of sharpened black chalk of consistent quality, in a very brief space of time, on paper placed either flat or upright. They concentrate on the emergence of a figure to the detriment of any spatialization (although there are certain exceptions, Abdessemed’s work being anything but systematic), and above all they eschew metaphor, that is to say any connotation that might compromise a direct, immediate grasp of the singularity of their object.

Jacques Derrida points out that the metaphorical displacement, guided by the function of similarity (mimes or homoiosis) and governed by the laws of resemblance, simultaneously entails a return to the uniqueness of meaning. Abdessemed stresses this point: his drawings refer to nothing other than themselves; they transmit no images or ideas but, on the contrary, bring images and ideas back to a stage prior to the instauration of meaning, there were pure singularity resides. This does not mean that phenomena of displacement does not occur in the moment of execution, in which the work of metaphor is literally recognized. It could even be argued that if Abdessemed’s drawings contain no metaphors, that is because drawing as such is the metaphor – that is to say, the description of a displacement in which the act of drawing ultimately summons up appearances.


Comprising installation, sculpture and video, Miroslaw Balka’s work has a bare and elegiac quality that is underlined by the careful, minimalist placement of objects, as well as the gaps and pauses between them. Often using his own body and his studio as a template or first point of reference, Balka’s work might incorporate personal or self-referential substances such as ash, felt, salt, hair and soap.

Balka’s work deals with both personal and collective memories, especially as they relate to his Catholic upbringing and the collective experience of Poland’s fractured history. Through this investigation of domestic memories and public catastrophe, Balka explores how subjective traumas are translated into collective histories and vice versa. His materials are simple, everyday objects and things, but also powerfully resonant of ritual, hidden memories and the history of Nazi occupation in Poland.

Retrospectives of his work took place in such institutions as Pirelli Hangar Bicocca in Milan, Museum of Art in Lodz and in the Museum Morsbroich in Leverkusen. Balka’s works are in numerous institutional collections including: Tate Modern, London; Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven; MOCA, Los Angeles; SFMOMA, San Francisco; MOMA, New York; Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC; The Art Institute of Chicago; The Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh; Museu Serralves, Porto; Moderna Museet, Stockholm; Kiasma, Helsinki; Kröller-Müller, Otterlo; EMST The National Museum of Art, Athens; The National Museum of Art, Osaka; The Israel Museum, Jerusalem; Tel Aviv Museum of Art; Collection Lambert, Avignon; Middelheimmuseum, Antwerp; Fundació n Botín, Santander; Museum of Contemporary Art, Zagreb. In Poland his works are in the collections of: Muzeum Sztuki, Lodz; Centre of Contemporary Art, Warsaw; Zacheta – National Gallery of Art, Warsaw; Museum of Modern Art, Warsaw; The National Museum, Wroclaw; MOCAK, Cracow; Labirynt, Lublin; Arsenał, Bialystok.


Marianne Berenhaut, Belgian-born (1934) artist has been gathering, curating, transforming objects found in her immediate surrounding creating powerful yet delicate sculptures and installations. Her work addresses longing, trauma, absence and memory. Through her vast body of work, spanning through 55 years, Marianne Berenhaut has created a unique visual language. 

Today, she divides her time between Brussels and London, constantly creating. 

Having graduated the Académie du Midi and Atelier de Moeschal in the sixties, she had various solo exhibitions in different art spaces and institutions most recently, coinsiding retrospective exhibitions in Mhuka (Antwerpen) and in CIAP (Genk) and previously in La Maison des Femmes (Brussels), Island (Brussels), Belgium Jewish Museum (Brussels), MAC’s Grand Hornu (Belgium) as well as in Isy Brachot Gallery (Brussels), and Nadja Vilenne Gallery (Liège). She has been part of several group exhibitions as in Maison Grégoire (Brussels), Gladstone Gallery (Brussels), Bureau des réalités (Brussels) as well as Carl Freedman Gallery (Margate, UK). Her works have become part of prestigeus public and private institutions, including the collection of Mhuka (Antwerpen), collection of Flemish Government, Belgium, Museum of Jewish People, Tel Aviv among others.




Best known for his evocative, metaphorical videos and mixed-media installations, Romanian artist Mircea Cantor makes work reflective of a broad world-view that is at once optimistic and trenchantly critical. In his works, he examines competing ideologies, war, displacement, the self and the other, and multi valence. Keenly aware of the multitude of meanings that a word or an object can contain, he deliberately mixes materials and uses language playfully, producing poignant, challenging works that defy neat categorization. He also refuses to be neatly defined, as he explains: “We know who we are, so why not go deeper? Let’s stand for something other than our nationality. [. . .] [My] objects speak of the great openness in which we can live today, beyond national categories.”

Epic Fountain, a totemic column of safety pins fastened to resemble the double helix of human DNA, refers to the building blocks of all living existence. For Cantor, the molecular structure represents aspiration. The fountain referred to in the title is not a traditional one of water, but of life itself; the molecule being the source of all living organisms. 

Hung from ceiling to floor, Epic Fountain forms an impressive but delicate tower – an epic, yet fragile, monument to existence


Simon Fujiwara (born 1982, London) is a British Japanese artist living and working in Berlin. His work takes multiple forms including theme park style rides, wax figures, robotic cameras, ‘make-up’ paintings and short films that address the complexity and contradictions of identity in a post- internet, hyper-capitalist world. Fujiwara often investigates themes of popular interest such as tourist attractions, famous icons, historic narratives and mass media imagery and has collaborated with the advertising and entertainment industries to produce his work in a process he describes as ‘hyper-engagement’ with dominant forms of cultural production. His work can be seen as a complex response to the human effects of image fetish, technology and social media on his generation.

Who the Bær

Through Who the Bær, Fujiwara’s latest and ongoing body of work, the artist  explores complex topics using the reductive logic of the cartoon universe to expose the normalizing power of the capitalist image culture we inhabit. Fujiwara’s existential cartoon character oscillates between subject and symbol, being and thing and is a tool for the artist to investigate cultural anxieties around identity and its relationship to the performativity of image culture.

Made with an instinctive and responsive hand, this exhibition focuses largely on collaged works that introduce us to the basic principles of his character through a meme-like, cut and paste aesthetic. Housed within a fragmented, themed environment of oversize bear cut-outs, we discover the pleasures and traumas, violence and joys of life in the mediated modern world through the absurd adventures of a cartoon bear.

The project has been exhibited first in Prada Fondazione Milano, and subsequently in Kunstinstituut Melly, Rotterdam and an animation from the series is currently being projected once a week,  on jumbotrones around the world as part of CIRCA project.

Who the Bær can also be followed via their official Instagram account, @whothebaer.


Douglas Gordon is a Scottish artist who creates work that questions the complexities of memory and perception. Gordon works across a wide range of media including film, photography, text, and audio. Born in Glasgow in 1966, Gordon studied at Glasgow School of Art from 1984 to 1988 and continued his studies at Slade School of Art in London, graduating in 1990. He currently works and lives between Glasgow, Berlin and New York. Douglas Gordon’s new paintings utilise acetone printing to transfer provocative soft-core images from early 1960s issues of Playboy magazine onto burnt, unveiled, and asymmetrical canvases marked by homomorphic drips of wax, acrylic paint, and unknown liquids. The transfers dilute the visibility and definition of the images to the point they become a semi-transparent superfluous tissue evaporating through the interlaced threads of the canvas that both consumes and materialises them. The new paintings juxtapose the cyclical movement of time conducted by the intermittent appearance and disappearance of the images with a sense of change and extension implied by the vague contours and positions of the canvases and the flowing drips of wax and paint.

The most recent self-portraits allude to Douglas Gordon’s uneasy affinity for Andy Warhol, which has often impacted the content and tone of his work. Warhol’s immortalized cultural icons here as charred, browned bits of commercial reproductions floating on mirrored backgrounds, singed remnants of the heroic originals that nonetheless possess an eerily powerful presence. Douglas Gordon’s portraits underscore Warhol’s phenomenal resonance in today’s art world, while capturing the self-reflexive nature of the post- Warholian period.


Dor Guez produces photography and video installations that explore the relationship between art, narrative, and memory, interrogating personal and official accounts of the past. His practice raises questions about contemporary art’s role in narrating unwritten histories and re-contextualizing visual and written documents. Dor Guez was born into a Palestinian and Tunisian – Jewish family in Jerusalem, and now lives and works in Jaffa.

Scanograms #1: Samira, Lod Ghetto, a year after 1948, 2010’ is the best known series coming from the artist’s ongoing project Christian-Palestinian Archive (CPA).  The meaning of the term ‘Scanograms’ is literally drawing with a scanner machine. Every Scanogram is made by three different scanners, each scan is programmed to feature a different aspect of the material, and then the artist composes the layers into one image. These fifteen scanograms, dating from 1938-1958, portray the artist’s grandmother, Samira, and her family. Each of the images documents an important event in their lives while they were together before Samira’s family was exiled from Jaffa and dispersed to Lod, Amman, Cyprus, Cairo, and London. 

One of these works depict Samira’s wedding in the Lod Ghetto in 1949, one year after what was a significant date for them: July 13, 1948. The day when her hometown was conquered by Israeli military forces. 

Samira’s story is a point of departure for Guez’s project Christian-Palestinian Archive (CPA). Guez founded the CPA in 2006 after discovering a suitcase filled with old photographs and documents at his grandparent’s home in Lod. His family’s photographs were the first pillar of the archive.  Today the CPA is an independent entity containing thousands of digital images from Christian-Palestinians across the world. The CPA gathers photographs through open calls. 

‘Scanograms #1’ were presented in numerous prestigious institutions worldwide, including KW, Institute for Contemporary Art (Germany), Rose Art Museum Boston, (USA), Videobrasil Festival (Brazil), Istanbul Biennial (Turkey) and Dvir Gallery (Israel).

Guez’s works are part of numerous international public collections, including Tate Museum (London), Rose Art Museum (Boston), FRAC collection (Marseille), Israel Museum (Jerusalem), Schocken collection (Te Aviv), BNL collection (Italy), Petach Tikva Museum of Art (Petach Tikva), Brandis University (Waltham), Recanati collection (New York), Beit Hatfutsot (Tel Aviv), Jewish Museum (New York) amongst others.


Born in Israel in 1949, Yudith Levin lives and works in Ein Vered. Levin is considered one of the key figures in Israeli art.

Over an artistic career spanning over more than four decades, Yudith Levin has been creating paintings on both traditional and untraditional supports, covering canvases as well as scraps of discarded plywood found on the streets of Tel Aviv with expressive, gestural brush-strokes and semi-abstract figures and landscapes.

By combining abstraction and figuration, Levin makes evocative works that are open to varied readings.

How was this first series of Yudith Levin’s figurative painting created?

This is answered by the famous myth about the beginning of painting. It is worth exploring this myth in the context of Levin since she confronts the viewer with a borderline painting – in-between nothingness and a whole universe, between chaos and diamond, between a dump and flight. One of the places where Levin’s work deviates from the rational is the lack of distinction between figurative and abstract. Her figurative paintings are created like abstract paintings, from gestures which are not underlain by any figurative plan or intention.

Her exhibitions include Helena Rubinstein Pavilion for Contemporary Art Tel Aviv, Museum of Contemporary art Ramat Gan; The ICA Boston, Massachusetts; Gallerie Knodedler, Zurich; The Israel Museum, Jerusalem; Fondazione Giorgio Cini, Venice, Opera House, Leipzig and others.

Her work is part of prestigious public collections such as Tel Aviv Museum of Art, Israel Museum of Art, Jerusalem, Albertina Museum as well as in prominent private collections. She is the laureate of the Sandeberg Prize of the America Israel Foundation, Pundik Prize, Prize of the Ministry of Culture and The Discount Bank Prize.


In his practice, Maljkovic delves into the malleability of the collective and individual experience of time and space. The artist presents viewers with works that create their own space, time and history, while also hinting at answers to the uncertainty of an unknowable future. In so doing, Maljkovic often plays on the possibilities allowed by the mediums at hand, making works that have a more intuitive use of the materials.

Maljkovic embraces the collage method and self-referentiality by (re)using his earlier works as raw material in order to reach a high level of complexity in his work. 

There is a certain parallelism on stage, in which, the space of everyday routine as well as artistic practice is approached. This is visible on the two-dimensional surface where a photograph serves as a backdrop for the fine network of drawing on the surface. These lines recall the various metamorphoses of the artist’s work. The inter-space of these two opposing realities creates the theme.

The artists solo exhibitions include: 

‘With the Collection’, Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Rijeka, Croatia (2020), ‘Also on View, The Renaissance Society Chicago’, Chicago, USA (2020), The Exhibition is Becoming, VOX Centre de l’image contemporaine, Montreal (2016), In Low Resolution, Palais de Tokyo, Paris (2014), Kunstmuseum St. Gallen, St. Gallen (2014), Sources in theair, Baltic Art Centre for Contemporary Art, Gateshead (2013), Sources in the air, Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven (2012), Exhibitions for Secession, Wiener Secession, Vienna (2011), Out of Projection, Museo Reina Sofia, Madrid (2009). Maljković has participated in group shows such as: The Eighth Climate (What Does Art Do?), 11th Gwangju Biennale, Gwangju (2016), Scenes for a New Heritage: Contemporary Art from the Collection, Museum of Modern Art, New York, USA (2015), All The World’s Futures, 56. Biennale di Venezia, Venice (2015), Animism, Haus der Kulturen der Welt, Berlin (2012), The Present and Presence, Moderna Galerija: Museum of Contemporary Art Metelkova, Ljubljana (2011), MUSAC, 29th Sao Paulo Art Biennial, Sao Paulo (2010), What Keeps Mankind Alive, 11th Istanbul Biennial, Istanbul (2009), When Things Cast No Shadow, 5th Berlin Biennial for Contemporary Art, Berlin (2008).


Born to Polish-Jewish parents in Nuremberg, Metzger was evacuated to Great Britain in 1939 at the age of twelve with the help of the initiative known as the Kindertransport. As a young boy, he became aware of the atrocities of the totalitarian Nazi regime. His parents and other relatives perished in the Holocaust.

In 1959, Metzger wrote his first manifesto, titled ‘Auto-destructive Art’ and with this became the founding father of a radical new form of art. With this and his later manifestos, he showed how society could be destroyed by capitalism, but also highlighted the transformative potential of destruction; for example, the possibility for transformation of society through individual and collective action. In 1961, Metzger demonstrated the concept of ADA for the first time by vigorously spraying nylon canvasses with acid, causing them to disintegrate. This was an attack on, and even a symbolic destruction of, the system. At the same time, Metzger not only rebelled against the political system, but also against the commercial aspects of the art world. In 1977, he proposed a three-year Art Strike, which he hoped would cause a collapse and complete restructuring of the art system.

Gustav Metzger has had solo exhibitions at Serpentine Galleries, London; Tate Britain, London; Museo Jumex, Mexico City; Neuer Berliner Kunstverein, Berlin; Haus der Kunst München, Munich, Kunsthalle Basel, Basel; New Museum, New York; Tel Aviv Museum of Art, Tel Aviv and many others. Moreover, his work was shown at Documenta 13 (2012), the Venice Biennale of 2003 and the Sao Paulo Biennale of 2010.


British artist Jonathan Monk replays, recasts and re-examines seminal works of Conceptual and Minimal art by variously witty, ingenious and irreverent means. Speaking in 2009, he said, “Appropriation is something I have used or worked with in my art since starting art school in 1987. At this time (and still now) I realised that being original was almost impossible, so I tried using what was already available as source material for my own work.” Through wall paintings, monochromes, ephemeral sculpture and photography he reflects on the tendency of contemporary art to devour references, simultaneously paying homage to figures such as Sol LeWitt, Ed Ruscha, Bruce Nauman and Lawrence Weiner, while demystifying the creative process.

In presented here ‘The Deflated Inflated’, Jonathan Monk turns his attention to neo-pop artist Jeff Koons. In 1987 – incidentally the same year that Monk began art school in Glasgow – Charles Saatchi first introduced Koons’ work to a British audience, by including ‘Rabbit’ (1986) in the two-part exhibition New York Art Now. The sculpture, a larger than life cast in stainless steel of a toy bunny inflatable balloon, has become an icon of its era and its highly polished surface has fuelled imitations and tributes, such as Mark Leckey’s film ‘Made in ‘Eaven’ (2004). 

Starting from a pink vinyl inflatable bunny, Koon’s original source, Monk has created a sequence of stainless steel sculptures, which capture the inflatable in progressive states of deflation. With each stage, the ‘Deflated Sculpture’ (2009) droops slightly, leans against the wall of the exhibition space, folds over and collapses in a formless shape on its own plinth. As Koons raised everyday mundane objects to iconic status, Monk literally deflates this monumentality using a characteristic whimsical twist and a wink to Claes Oldenburg’s soft sculptures. 


Florian Pumhösl (b. 1971) lives and works in Vienna work is constituted by a constellation of historical references encoded within a visual language that appears purely formal. The apparent abstraction of his paintings, films, and installations is anchored by specific archival sources: 17th-century kimono designs, avant-garde typography, WWI military uniform patterns, cartography, Latin American textiles, and early dance notations. Through the selection, reduction, rearrangement, and reproduction of his source materials—unsystematic and subjective modes of transcription—the artist arrives at a vocabulary that is at once abstract and semiotically motivated.

Pumhösl’s compositions establish points of contact with realms traditionally consigned to the margins of modern art. Through attention to the social, political, and geographic genealogy of given forms, his works reveal that the modernist fantasy of complete self-referentiality was always already haunted by irreducible specificity and cultural instability. “I am calling into question to what extent it is possible to act within a space defined by the artist himself – a space that emerges from the hierarchy between my own authorship and its research sources, between historical references or concrete borrowings and what I can depict,” Pumhösl states. “My medium is the physical and historical space that I create using painting, architecture, film or photography.”

The works presented in the exhibition are part of the The field between formal abstraction and signifying potential has long been a major preoccupation of Pumhösl’s, and in recent works he has been increasingly interested in notions of innuendo and insinuation, especially in the context of “de-familiarization”. A literary strategy, “de-familiarization” – as coined by Russian formalist Wiktor Schklowski – can be seen as the point where meaning ends and seeing begins, or where signs morph into a poetic layer. A series of plaster paintings in smaller format follows in that vein. Here the artist draws on elements and possibilities of the Ge’ez script (also known as Fidäl), used for contemporary Amharic as well as Tiringya (languages used in the south of Tel Aviv by Dvir Gallery’s neighbours). Starting from single word constellations in Amharic, the artist was interested mainly in the phonetic value of the signs, in the sheer sound anterior to the word and even to the sign itself.


In his practice, Ariel Schlesinger (b. 1980 in Jerusalem, lives and works in NYC) turns daily products of consumption into rare and surreal objects. By “transformation” and “damage” of domestic accessories, Schlesinger creates a world of poetical imagery, combining household objects and simple technology in order to create absurd acts.

He makes works of exquisite detail and subtlety as sculptures and installations. Ordinary objects or situations are altered by the addition of an unexpected material or circumstance, creating small ruptures in the fabric of our everyday reality. 

Untitled (2 Turkmenistan Carpets VI), 2013 is perhaps the largest and most spectacular work in the series inspired by an incident that occurred in World War II in an iconic Berlin establishment – the Pergamon Museum – affecting the building and its exhibits. The museum exhibits a rich collection of archaeological artefacts dug by German research expeditions around the world, particularly in the Near East.

German archaeologists have contributed immensely to the study and preservation of ancient cultures, but at the same time expropriated indigenous cultural assets in a typically colonialist manner. From this perspective, the museum’s exhibits manifest the complex ethical issue of cultural preservation involving the marginalization and erasure of that culture. During the war, a Turkmenistan carpet was moved from the museum collection to safer storage in a warehouse in the outskirts of the city. Nevertheless, it was damaged in one of the last bombing raids. Years later, it was restored and displayed again in the same museum. As Schlesinger observes, the disaster paradoxically gave the object new life, and as a rule – a disaster that ends the original purpose of an artefact gives us viewers an opportunity to discover hitherto hidden qualities. After its burning, the carpet lost its original role as an artistic asset representative of a foreign or even oriental culture and gained additional meanings which echo the difficult historical events whose memory and implications cannot be erased. In the act of reconstructing the disaster that befell the carpet we can see not only the end of the object itself, but also that of the problematic conception which had guided the establishment responsible for it, and more broadly, the state responsible for both.

Schlesinger uses fire in many of his works. He states that he does so like he would use any other material, except that in each work, it serves a different purpose. Sometimes, fire highlights a functional aspect of the work, and sometimes a paradoxical one. In the present work, the artist harnesses fire to the potential charged with in it in a fascinating way. Having placed the rolled carpet over the open flame, his control over the end result became fairly limited. The burnt holes gaping randomly across the carpet are a physical illustration of a senseless offensive and violent act, articulating it as a central axis in the piece, in both form and content.


Naama Tsabar’s practice fuses elements from sculpture, music, performance and architecture. Her interactive works expose hidden spaces and systems, re-conceive gendered narratives, and shift the viewing experience to one of active participation.

Tsabar draws attention to the muted and unseen by propagating sound through space and sculptural form. Between sculpture and instrument, form and sound, Tsabar’s work lingers on the intimate, sensual and corporeal potentials within this transitional state. Collaborating with local communities of female identifying and gender non-conforming performers, Tsabar writes a new feminist and queer history of mastery.

Naama Tsabar’s work is currently on view in Manhattan’s High Line, New York City as part of ‘The Musical Brain’ group exhibition. This year her widely acclaimed,  solo exhibition ‘Perimeters’ took place in the Bass Museum, Miami.

In this exhibition, Dvir gallery is showcasing two bodies of work of Tsabar.

The New Yorker series, 2021, which are ‘reversed collages’ made with The New Yorker magazines. The pieces were conceived on the heels of the pandemic lock down in NYC, spring 2020. The artist cuts into the iconic cover pages of the publication to unearth images and words embedded inside. In Tsabar’s words it was a process of “digging and removing as a means of searching and reflecting, poems for a changing world.” 

The sculpture presented comes from the series ‘Melody of Certain Damage’, in which Tsabar appropriates the iconic and overtly macho trope of breaking a guitar on stage. Tsabar breaks guitars, but not for the public – and the act is not the climax but rather the beginning of creation. 

The death of the instrument becomes the starting point of the new project. ‘Melody of Certain Damage’ is a document of her destruction and ultimately a proposition for a new kind of instrument, a new sound and way of moving towards for a new creation. She re-purposes the remnants of an act of male bravado and violence, re-imagining the broken pieces as objects of visual and functional significance. Inserting them back into a new working order, Tsabar makes the remains of what once was into living instruments in their own right.


Lawrence Weiner’s texts have appeared in all sorts of places over the last five decades, and although he sees himself as a sculptor rather than a conceptualist, he is among the trailblazers of the 1960s to present art as language. He defines his sculptural medium simply as ‘language + the material referred to’ in the sense that language is a material for construction. While Weiner’s works exist only as language and can be displayed in any form, he is closely involved in manifestations, detailing the size of the font, the surface texture and placement of the paint or vinyl letters and indeed often inventing new fonts. Texts appear on walls and windows of galleries and public spaces, as spoken word in audio recordings and video, printed books and posters, cast or carved objects, tattoos, graffiti, lyrics, online, ad infinitum.


On view:

Jan 30th – Apr 10th, 2021




ARCO Madrid 2021

Opening date: July 7, 2021
Closing date: July 11, 2021

Madrid, Spain


‘News from Home’



Je me souviens (online)

The Novel Je me Souviens is an ode to life: the ordinary, the extraordinary, the trivial and the crucial. Pleasure of remembering moments lived, experiences had, stories heard, facts learned, secrets overheard, encounters shared is the true subject of this exhibition. Paul Aster said that ‘to read Georges Perec one must be ready to abandon oneself to a spirit of play’.


Dvir Gallery invites you to take a leap to this spirit with us and share with us via e-mail your own memories after Perec’s lead.


Please find some of the memories of our viewers below the images.

« I remember that Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian are the patron saints of shoe-makers. »


« I remember pink dress shirts. And bola ties. »


« I remember when polio was the worst thing in the world. »


« I remember that Stendhal liked spinach. »


« I remember when a kid told me that those sour clover-like leaves we used to eat (with little yellow flowers) tasted so sour because dogs peed on them. »


« I remember beard tennis: you counted the number of beards you spotted in the street: 15 for the first, 30 for the second, 40 for the third, and “game” for the fourth. »



fragments from Je me souviens by Georges Perec, 1978


Douglas Gordon, ‘Molotov action, Jerusalem stone’, 2012

Moshe Ninio, documentation of ‘Morgen cycle’ - ‘Morgen’, 2010-2015

« I remember my kindergarten teacher Shula cleaning me after a food-fight telling me ‘you are a savage that’s what you are’. »

− Yotam Intrator


« I remember wanting to be as tall as my father. »

− Aleksandra Bikont


« I remember my first piano lesson with this Russian teacher. I was five. »

− Shifra Shalit


« I remember all names of my book heroes and not of my school mates. »

− Anna Bikont


« Je me souviens de la première exposition de Douglas Gordon à la galerie Dvir à Tel Aviv, c’était en 1998 je crois… Aujourd’hui j’ai dans ma collection l’ensemble des oeuvres de cette exposition: text wall et vidéos. »

− Philippe Cohen


« I remember seeing a business man getting his necktie swallowed by a ticket machine in Washington DC’s subway. »

− Chaya Hazan


« I remember that as a child I really enjoyed blackouts. »

− Ron Arad


« Je me souviens de ma rencontre avec Maria Calas chez mes parents au Mali. »

− Simona



− Maya Shmailov


« Je me souviens de caresses dans les cheveux qui semblaient suspendre l’infinité du temps. »

− Denis Gardarin


« I remember my first attempts in composing letters, the excitement in deciphering the signs in the streets or titles in my parents’ newspaper. »

− Nehama Burak


« Je me souviens de cette tempête au large du Cap Finisterre qui nous faisait douter d’accoster un jour à Madère. »

− Pierre Boucher


« Je me souviens des carnets avec les numéros de téléphone que je relisais.

Je me souviens de déambulations dans Paris.

Je me souviens d’endroits où je ne suis pas allée et de moments que je n’ai pas vécus.

Je me souviens de mes rêves de liberté.

Je me souviens des gens que j’ai eu la chance de croiser même sur de minuscules périodes.

Je me souviens de certaines de mes lectures et relectures.

Je me souviens de nos disparus même ceux que je n’ai pas connus.

Je me souviens des cartes postales qu’on envoyait.

Je me souviens de moments de peau à peau avec mes enfants.

Je me souviens de leurs odeurs.

Je me souviens de confidences partagées.

Je me souviens du regard de douceur de mon amie Judith et de l’infinie tendresse de ma grand-mère.

Je me souviens d’images imprécises.

Je me souviens d’un autre siècle.

Je me souviens d’images certainement idéalisées.

Je me souviens d’histoires d’amour douloureuses.

Je me souviens de larmes de désespoir.

Je me souviens de moments d’amour comme des moments de plénitude.

Je me souviens d’aventures humaines magiques.

Je me souviens des yeux qui m’ont regardée.

Je me souviens de conversations échangées comme de musiques que j’aimais à l’oreille.

Je me souviens d’envies d’ailleurs.

Je me souviens de blessures inguérissables.

Je me souviens d’errances.

Je me souviens de lectures qui m’ont apaisées ou transcendées.

Je me souviens de peintures dans lesquelles j’ai plongé.

Je me souviens d’expositions qui m’ont nourrie.

Je me souviens de rencontres fortes avec le travail de certains artistes.

Je me souviens de passions et d’enthousiasme qu’elles ont pu déclencher.

Je me souviens d’interrogations qu’elles ont suscitées.

Je me souviens de longues périodes de rêverie. »

− Edwige Benamou


« I remember my regular visits to the Zoo in Tel Aviv (Shderot Keren Kayement) very young age 3-4 with my Polish speaking uncle who ran an animal shop at the entrance to the Zoo. »

− Rivka Saker


« I remember the day I left. »

− Paula Karelic


« I remember when I melted. »

− Olivia Hild


« Je me souviens de ne pas oublier d’aimer. »

− Anne Boucher


« Je me souviens du première arbre que j’ai planté. »

− Alexandre Rouhaud


« I remember my first time at the Metropolitan Museum, I was 6 years old and I told my mom that I was not feeling well. She asked me: “what are you feeling?” I answered: “it is too beautiful”. »

− Vivian Gandelsman


« Je me souviens de la sensation de ma main dans celle de mon père à 4 ans. »

− Suzon Ingber


« Je me souviens du soleil sur ma peau, assise à la terrasse d’un café.
Je me souviens du temps où embrasser nos amis n’avait qu’une question : 2 ou 4 bises.
Je me souviens du bruit de la ville qui berçait mes jours et mes nuits.
Je me souviens des déambulations dans les boutiques sans vraiment vouloir rien acheter.
Je me souviens où tout ceci ne nous faisaient pas peur… »

− Nathalie Elcabas


« I remember the moment you fell asleep. You left me alone counting the last few minutes. »

− Adi Fluman


« I remember that at the age of eight, our neighbour, the great-grandson of the Rabi of Goor warned me that God is watching me! »

− Edna Mosenson


« Me acuerdo de la emoción que me mantuvo despierta toda la noche luego de experimentar mi primer beso amoroso. Tenía 12 años.. »

− Irene Kronenberg


« I remember getting lost and being fine with it. »

− Darnell Ross


« Je me souviens de tout. »

« I remember everything. »

− Laurent Maillaud


« I remember a squirrel run over so flat that it looked like it was painted on the road. »

− Jenifer Bar Lev


« I remember my mother’s nostrils widening when she returned home after parents teacher meeting. »

− Zeev Tene


« I remember last night, I remember lust. »

− Miri Segal


« I remember holding you for the first time, seeing a tiny-immense infinity in your being, and understanding what endless love truly means. »

− Arie Elbelman Rozental


« I remember I was camping with my father in the south of France, I found 10 francs on the ground. »

− Nelly Agassi


« I remember seeing Jaffa while on my grandmother’s back from the Mediterranean. »

− Dor Guez


« I remember the protests. »

− Ruth Anderwald & Leonhard Grond


« I remember the very first exhibition I went in my life, a Claude Monet show at Museu Nacional de Belas Artes (MNBA) in Rio de Janeiro. I loved it so much that I went back many times and in one of these visits I won a prize for being the visitor to break the institution’s public attendance record. »

− Yuri Oliveira


« I remember my first “grown up behavior”: changing my little sister’s diaper.. I was 4 and a half years old. »

− Galila Barzilaï-Hollander


« Je me souviens de mon père m’amenant marcher dans le brouillard un matin, au lieu de me conduire à l’école. »

− Jean-Baptiste Carobolante


« Je me souviens du moment où tous les invités de l’émission de télévision ‘Droit de réponse’ de Michel Polac parlaient en même temps. Je me souviens que cette image me revenait régulièrement à l’esprit au début de ma vie à Berlin où l’un attend patiemment la fin de la phrase de l’autre, jusqu’au point. Je me souviens que cela me gênait horriblement au début, ce silence et ne pas être interrompue. »

− Marie-Blanche Carlier


« I remember my father telling us, when in the top of the mountain, to take a deep breath… and then, to breath out. »

− Gabriella Binia


« I remember my grandmother sweetness, quite often. »

− Arnaud Bozzini


« I remember shaking your hand, a possible new friend. »

− Aviva Neuman


« I remember hugging you. »

− Naama Tsabar


« I remember walking to Brooklyn over the Manhattan bridge during the black out. »

− Sarah Strauss


« I remember the midnight I was lost in Paris and the Metro was already closed, I was 12. (and there were no cellphones back then) »

− Assaf Evron


« I remember a small girl standing at the entrance between two rooms looking at mum and Tzvika dancing. »

− Yudith Levin


« I remember the bathroom in my mother’s workplace, there was a niche I wanted to move into. »

− Orly Sever


« I remember summer time, Soviet Union just before the Perestroika. I am sitting in a full size barrel full with water at my grandparent’s summer house, dacha, cooling myself, feeling wonderful. »

− Rufina Valery Valsky


« Sarajevo, Sarajevo, seher Bosno, volim te… »

Je me souviens de l’été 1993 à Sarajevo : la caméra de Benjamin Filipovic, le sourire de Redina, sa femme et de Mak leur fils ; le Nikon de Milomir Kovacevic, « Strasni » fixant sur la pellicule les visages et les pierres ; le fusain de Seyo-Sead Cizmic glissant sur le papier, la voix de Gertruda Munitic, les doigts courant sur les cordes d’un violoncelle, les rires des Nadrealisti ; les yeux des enfants de l’institut d’éducation spécialisée… le parfum, le vacarme silencieux de la guerre.

« Que sont mes amis devenus / Que j’avais de si près tenus / Et tant aimés / Ils ont été trop clairsemés / Je crois le vent les a ôtés / L’amour est morte /… / Pauvre sens et pauvre mémoire » (Rutebeuf, 1230-1285)

− Philippe Tanguy


« I remember a penalty, not particularly difficult I jumped to the right corner but I was a second too late and I felt the ball gently slipping under my body. »

− Dvir Intrator


« I remember the winds over the Strait of Gibraltar. »

− Ruth Marques


« I remember the taste of the corn boiled by my grandmother. It tasted diamond. »

− Mircea Cantor


« I remember reading the Diary of Eva Heyman to my children in March 2020. And I said to myself we are still living in paradisiaque times. »

− Mircea Cantor


« I still remember the first time… »

− Jonathan Monk


« I remember my visit to Orhan Pamuk’s Museum of Innocence in Istanbul; A real memory of an actual event and a concrete place, where I was completely immersed in the physical memorabilia of a character that never existed, collected by another character that never existed in order to remember events that never took place. »

− Tchelet Semel


« I remember that when I was a child I loved to read. Not only children’s books also for grownups. My father didn’t believe that I actually read and understood them. He used to test me on them, trying to see if I really remember what was in the book. I did. He was filled with pride and amazement. To this day I remember well all sort of unimportant facts. Dates, names, battles from History. It’s not important at all today in the Google era but it’s important to my father. My father loves Trivia. He loves things that you can measure. It relaxes him. Every couple of nights he calls or txts me with a Trivia question. “Who was Churchill’s foreign minister during the second world war?” He doesn’t think about checking Google, or maybe he does, and he just acts like he doesn’t. It makes him happy that I know. It fills him with pride. And I, almost 40 years old now, I still want my father to be proud of me. To be happy. So, I remember. And if I don’t remember I check on Google and act as if I remember and then I remember that same feeling of pride from my childhood, and that, is the memory from which all other memories come. »

− Yonatan Esterkin


« I remember the night after seeing Jeanne Moreau walking in Elevator to the Gallows. »

− Yana Rotner


« I remember sailing leaf boats with stone people in the river I made in my grandparents yard. »

« I remember my first kiss with you. »

− Elham Rokni


« … I just remembered today when I put down an electric drilling machine on my oldest sister’s newly put in ‘wall to wall carpeting’ in 1976 – the drill had not completely stopped and subsequently pulled up the carpet and made a huge hole… I felt so bad… »

− David Neuman


« À l’approche de Pâques, je me souviens de ma première vision de la barbarie dont l’homme était capable, le regard d’un enfant de huit ans. J’ai passé les vacances de Pâques dans la région de Gand avec ma grand-mère paternelle que j’adorais. Chaque matin, surtout pendant cette période où les œufs occupaient beaucoup nos pensées, je disais bonjour à nos poules et voyais si elles nous avaient gentiment donné des œufs. Un matin, en regardant par la fenêtre, j’ai vu une de nos poules courir dans l’allée sans tête et à quelques pas derrière le jardinier la poursuivre. J’appelle ma grand-mère paniquée qui m’explique que c’est normal et que cet acte est nécessaire avant de déplumer puis de cuire le poulet. Après cet incident, j’ai regardé et je me suis méfié du jardinier même s’il essayait de m’adoucir en nous cueillant des fleurs. »

− Geneviève Barriol


A memory inspired by Dor Guez’s Samira, 2020

« I remember my Moroccan grandmother’s soft hands adorned by distinct gold jewellery that seemed to me, as a kid, that it came from another place, another era. She was a Samira in her own right. »

− Ayelet Elstein


« I remember the first snow of the year, which was usually during the night. I remember my mother waking me up and telling me: “Look Gaby, it snowed!”

And me running to the window. Magic. »

− Gabriela Vanga


« I remember deciding not to settle down for a long time. »

− Zuzana Špoutilová


« I remember the taste of sweet tooth paste. »

− Shai-Lee Horodi


« I remember my grand mother throwing candy at me and at the rest of the kids from her window. Our class was visiting the town’s archaeological museum which was located under a poor project building. »

− Noa


« Je me souviens d’un galop sur la plage avec Michka. Nous volions. »

− Fabienne Cymerman


« I remember the tears of George Steiner. That one day, when we went to Chantilly. At first he wondered why I wanted to go, to take him there. In all these years, living in Paris between 1938 and 1940, and then visiting again many times, teaching, lecturing, he had never visited the musée Condé. I reckoned that he might be interested in having a look at the extraordinary library, so I inquired, and it happened. We visited the museum – George was somehow interested. And then we went to the library – a part of the castle that is normally closed to the public. He was shown a few medieval manuscripts, and, after them, an edition of the Caesar’s Commentaries on the Gallic War, which had belonged to Montaigne centuries before making its way to the library of the duc d’Aumale. George asked shyly: « Could I hold it in my hands? », « Yes, of course », the curator of the library responded. George was standing next to a window, and it was a sunny day. He held the book to his face, looking at all of Montaigne’s handwritten commentaries on these Commentaries. The light touched his face, and there I saw, under his eye, shining like a diamond, a teardrop. »

− Donatien Grau


« I remember when I lay in bed and my body didn’t have any borders. »

− Joanna Jones


« I remember the giant mosquito being quiet and still on the ceiling and me breathing below, pink red orbs moving in my body as I sat on the chair, whilst Manu Chao was playing distantly through the window, softly in a neighbours apartment – and in my mind, I was imagining what your skin would feel like against mine, purple against green, merging together into something new. »

− Sivan Lavie


« I remember what I forgot. »

− Els Vermang


« I remember forgetting you. »

− Sam Steverlynck


« I remember Pierre Huyghe’s ‘After Life Ahead’ @ the 2017 Skulptur Projekte in Münster, a unique artistic experience, a deep break with everything I had known in art until then. »

− Ami Barak


« I remember traffic jams.

Motor boys and girls with tans

Nearly-was and almost-rans

I remember this

History is made

History is made to seem unfair »

− Omer Fast

R.E.M. (‘I remember California)


− Thomas Hirschhorn


« I remember when ‘Atlas’ chewing-gum at ten cents was a dream coming true. »

− Noa


« I remember the paths between Dganya and Kineret. »

− Ofra Tene


« I remember the thoughts of Virgil at the port of Brundisium. »

− Lior Gal


« I remember every single moment I fell under the spell of a piece of art or music; that precious moment when my inner coordinate system is luminous. »

− Kira Marina Von Bismarck


« Je me souviens… de pas grand chose en fait. Sans doute à cause de ce drôle de moment du temps où nous sommes tous, tellement, tellement avec nous-mêmes que nous en sommes asphyxiés. Trop de nous. J’ai beau chercher depuis des jours, je ne me souviens de rien. La seule chose qui vient c’est ce très lointain souvenir, un des tous premiers, ce moment particulier, enfant, dans une école catholique St-Roch rue St Roch près des Tuileries qui acceptait dans les années 60 en cours d’année les petits juifs d’Algérie. Je me souviens avoir appris le signe de croix et le refaire ouaté sous la table du vendredi soir. Je me souviens être allée à la messe ? Pas si sûr, mais avoir demandé si Jeanne d’Arc était juive, oui, ça oui. Peut-être l’était-elle ? Je me souviens de cela car nous sommes plusieurs milliards d’individus aujourd’hui à être dans le brouillard et que nous cherchons (où nous nous accrochons) à des signes. Ce même brouillard m’entoure souvent en Israel ou je ne comprends pas toute la langue, ou je suis dans la ouate ou disons du houmous, je me souviens de cela parce qu’on peut toujours être presque asphyxié et respirer quand même, doucement. »

− Valérie Abecassis


« I remember the first time I saw BatSheva dance company performing “Echad Mi Yodea” by Ohad Naharin. I fell in love. »

− Nehama Karpol-Burak


« I remember wanting to be impenetrable. Je me souviens le tube du dentifrice chez mes parents. »

− Suzy Shammah


« I remember the sun. »

− Federico Acal


« I remember us in 1976, December, in Yosemite Park, California, saving a squirrel from an eagle that attacked it, and wondering years after, did we do the right thing, to interfere with nature? »

« I remember us, left alone on the lawn, while everybody else went back to class, the bell rang to say break is over. we were almost 18 and I wasn’t at all prepared for that, why did I stay outside? You said: let’s go, and I followed you to the nearby wood as if under a spell. Lately I told you how I regret the wasted years before this. »

− Irit Braude



Share with us your own memories by clicking on this link.

‘Corona’, Paul Celan, 1948 (online)

« Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.


In the mirror it’s Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.


My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon’s blood ray.


We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from
the street:
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time.


It is time. »