Ben Hagari: Hide and Shade

To discern what's unfolding behind the scenes versus what's presented to the audience, one must oscillate between both sides of the screen. On one side lies the vibrant world of the puppeteer—the dalang; on the other, a monochromatic shadow play where puppets manipulate the viewer. This is quintessential wayang kulit, the traditional Indonesian shadow theater.

Remarkably, this entire spectacle unfolds in Tel Aviv, where the sun's brilliance can make one believe in enlightenment. The screen is suspended at the center of the gallery in the Nahum Gutman Museum of Art, situated in the Neve Tzedek neighborhood, which now exudes a paradisiacal aura—birds and blossoms seemingly plucked from Eden. The gallery on the upper floor resembles Plato's cave, where prisoners mistake shadows for reality.

                           From the © Ben Hagari's video installation
                                      Photos by © Lina Goncharsky

At first glance, one might sit on a bench, fixated on a static black-and-white image projected onto a white screen. Then, suddenly, the strains of gamelan music—authentically Indonesian—fill the air, prompting a realization: it's time to move to the bench on the opposite side, behind the scenes, where the dalang and the vibrant colors reside.

Yet, this too is a trap. The screen is deceptive; regardless of your vantage point, it mirrors itself. The black-and-white image begins to move in synchrony with the colorful one. It's exquisite, intricate, and the details become strikingly clear—delicate, like the translucent bones of meaning. The long-nosed figures, initially grotesque (they greet you at the exhibition's entrance), are endearing to the point of wanting to take one home. Each has a profile in full face, elbows formed from curls, and a destiny etched in perforations that allow light to pass through.

                                    From the © Ben Hagari's installation
                                      Photos by © Lina Goncharsky

Here are the Pandavas, Kauravas, demigods, demons, warriors, oracles, hunchbacked jesters, and slightly outdated prophets. Leading the virtuous is Yudhishthira (also known as Dharma, the minimalist king), so ideal he's almost dull. Beside him is Bhima, a culinary expert with fists, concocting soups from enemies and crunching bones like breadsticks. Then there's Arjuna, an archer with a face like a marketing slogan, enamored with philosophy and himself. A delightful old lady with a stubby ponytail—her name escapes me, but she's undeniably central.

The jesters include Semar, rotund and cross-eyed, divinely humorous; his sons—Petruk, Gareng, and Bagong—exhibit unconventional movements and intellects that emerge unexpectedly, with karmas resembling charred parchment. Rama and Sita appear if the wayang draws from the Ramayana. And omnipresent is Krishna: playing the flute, intervening in plots, quoting the Bhagavad Gita, dispensing revelations, and offering metaphysics lessons for beginners on Saturdays.

                            From the © Ben Hagari's video installation
                                      Photos by © Lina Goncharsky

The mastermind behind this marvel is Ben Hagari (incidentally, the brother of Daniel Hagari), a distinguished Israeli artist. His creation is titled "Hide and Shade," but it's not that straightforward. In Hebrew, "or" can mean both "light" and "skin," though spelled differently. Initially, one might think it's "Light and Shadow," but no—the title uses the letter 'ayin': "עור וצל" (Skin and Shadow), referencing the leather from which wayang kulit puppets are crafted. Preceding this, as the wall text informs (and wall texts, as we know, always hold deeper insights), was Hagari's journey to Indonesia, where he studied the transformation of silhouettes into movement and shadows into action—or perhaps the reverse.

Hagari is a connoisseur of displaced semantics, delighting in shifting meanings and wordplay. He also relishes incorporating himself into his video installations, often referring to his on-screen presence as an "anti-portrait."

This time, however, the puppeteer is Matthew Isaac Cohen, a professor of puppet arts (and be honest—did you even know that was a thing?). Matthew bears a strong resemblance to Ben; it’s easy to mix them up. But in truth, he is a knight of wayang kulit: his contribution to Indonesian puppetry has been recognized with the royal title “Ki Ngabehi” (the equivalent to a knighthood) bestowed by Sultan Abdul Gani of the Kacirebonan royal court, and the royal name “Ki Dalang Bawana” (“Sir Puppeteer of the World”) granted by Sultan Arief Natadiningrat of the Kasepuhan court. So there you have it.

In addition, Matthew Isaac Cohen holds a PhD and is a professor in the Department of Dramatic Arts—a scholar-practitioner specializing in global traditions of puppet theater, and Indonesian performing arts in particular. He is currently immersed in the visual history of Indonesian puppet and shadow theater and performs both traditional and contemporary pieces in collaboration with gamelan ensembles across Southeast Asia, Europe, and North America.

Cohen the dalang doesn't just move puppets—more precisely, shadows pinned to sticks and set dancing by lamplight—he quite clearly duplicates the universe in two dimensions.

                                From the © Ben Hagari's video installation
                                      Photos by © Lina Goncharsky

In the adjacent hall, there's an exhibition of Nahum Gutman's works titled "Catastrophe and Dream: A Longing for Redemption." This, too, explores light and shadow, black and white, and color. The illustrations accompany Yitzhak Lamdan's 1927 poem "Masada" and Levin Kipnis's 1941 story "Dori and Dafna Repatriate to Eretz-Israel." Though seemingly static, these illustrations pulsate with the rhythms of exile, return, destruction, and illusion. Complementing the exhibition is a film featuring theologians, historians, and contemplative minds discussing the Messiah and the Shekhinah, envisioning the Third Temple, pondering whether the Jewish people must perpetually suffer, flee, and be exiled, and contemplating what might halt this cycle of destruction. If redemption exists, what does it truly mean?

Ultimately, the person on the screen is also a shadow. And when a shadow speaks, one can't help but believe it. For light, as we know, always casts a shadow.

                               From the © Ben Hagari's video installation
                                      Photo by © Lina Goncharsky