“I presented my portfolio to the curator of a prestigious Tel Aviv museum. Considering his professional rank, I was confident that there, at least, I would be granted an impartial audience. His secretary, however, gave me a once over and registering my dress code, made me wait.” Shazar Rachel waited. And waited.

She waited a very long time. When the curator finally made a halfhearted attempt to meet her, he was brutal. “This sort of painting has no place in our establishment,” he said.

Moistness creeps into Shazar Rachel’s eye as she recalls the incident. “I never felt so humiliated in my life,” she recalls. “I trained in some of the best art schools in Europe. My creations hang in prominent galleries overseas. And here in Israel the curator wasn’t willing to take one look at my portfolio!”

Ten days later, Shazar Rachel returned. This time, she wore a hat instead of a head scarf and, while conforming to the laws of modesty, took care to dress in the height of fashion, acting the part of a European artist who had flown in for a visit. “They didn’t recognize me — I was treated like royalty.” She bemoans the hypocrisy: “They were only interested in what I appeared to be; my work’s artistic value was secondary.”

Goldy Lobel is the fourth artist here today, and her artistic challenges are distinct from those of Shazar Rachel. Quiet and softly spoken, Goldy leafs through her portfolio of Judaica: finely illustrated works of classic Jewish texts. Her illuminated calligraphic texts are drawn on vellum, lending an authentic touch that draws us into dustier eras, and her drawings are embellished in pastel colors and touches of gold. A few of her pictures get passed round the table, and we savor their elegance.

Goldy is not unfamiliar with Shazar Rachel’s experiences, but she employs a middleman to sell her art, and thereby sidesteps the issue. Her work, though, is of a completely different genre and she shows none of the frustration that Shazar Rachel does.

Still, Goldy relates that breaking into the recognized art world took a lot of hard work. Now, ten years on, she’s making a reasonable income from her artwork and has her sights set on expanding into the global market, with a business visit to the US scheduled for the coming spring. But it was a long journey.

Teaching the Language

If anything, some would maintain it’s precisely Goldy’s brand of creativity that seems to perpetuate Shazar Rachel’s challenges. “Frum people should appreciate that art isn’t just Judaica. It is a form of self-expression,” explains Shazar Rachel, while Noa and Nurit murmur agreement. It’s in the subtle marriage of the two, however, as manifest by Shazar Rachel’s unique works of art, that she falls between the cracks of her profession. In the wider art world — and in Israel in particular — her talent may be brushed aside, disdained even, for it religious undertones; while in frum circles, her work does not always conform to mainstream taste.

The unfortunate reality of Judaica tagging along as a poor cousin of fine (secular) art is one that everyone in the room finds disturbing, not least because of the obvious financial fallout. When I wonder aloud at the causes of this state of affairs, most artists point to the prevalence of poorly executed, mass marketed works of Jewish art — commonly known as kitsch — that too often pass as art in the frum community. The agro-meter in the room rises palpably when we start analyzing this phenomenon and I feel as if I am tiptoeing through a cultural minefield.

Shazar Rachel gives art courses to chareidi women. “It’s bizarre…” she says, with a dramatic flair, “I try to teach basic skills. And yet, women turn around and challenge me — as they splash paint all over the canvas, ‘technique isn’t important… true art comes naturally, straight from the heart!’ They attend a mini-drawing course and are convinced they are the next Michelangelo!”

I relish her bona fide Italian accent as she mentions the medieval painter by name, but I can understand her grievance. Her students confuse the restraints of artistic methodology with restricted self-expression — which isn’t surprising. For while they may have managed to pick up a smattering of ideas about what art can or should achieve, there has been little exposure to serious works of art.

“The chareidi sector today wants art,” claims Nurit, “but doesn’t really know how to interpret genuine works of art. That’s why, in certain circles, Judaica is garnering such a poor reputation.” Unfortunately, the nescience is perpetuated on either side of the cultural divide. As Nurit points out, “The art world today avoids associating with Judaica, which is a shame. Even the Israel Museum,” she adds, having worked there for over a decade, “has renamed their Judaica wings: Jewish Life and Art” The result? Judaica is barely given a platform. “It’s true,” injects Goldy. “My secular cousin claims he just doesn’t ‘get’ Judaica.”

“Art as a language needs to be introduced at a very early age…” comments Nurit. “I grew up in L.A., and as a child, my parents took me every Sunday to museums and galleries. The chareidi sector lacks appropriate places to visit with their children — it’s a problem. I have a vision,” continues Nurit, “that one day there will be a proliferation of places displaying authentic Jewish art.”

Change may take years, but the ball is already rolling. Nurit mentions a surprisingly positive review that appeared in the Shabbos supplement of Makor Rishon, a local weekly, in November, 2015. The article highlighted an art exhibition that Noa Leah Cohen curates in partnership with Penina Frank in the chareidi neighborhood of Makor Baruch, Jerusalem.

Entitled The Home, the exhibition featured creations by frum contemporary artists and explored the definition of home through Jewish lenses. Thus, the opening exhibit showed a golden outline of Har Habayis surrounded by a scattering of individual fingerprints. What distinguishes this art exhibit from others on offer to the frum community is its unapologetic loyalty to genuine contemporary art. Here, quite remarkably, in a basement bastion of Orthodox living, one can visit a gallery that flies the dual pennants of Orthodox Judaism and art without making any hashkafic compromises.

This process of cultural realignment might be accelerated, at least in Israel, by an initiative Noa Leah Cohen is hatching together with Nurit. Their plans have led to the creation of Project Inspire: a center for the arts established by and for the chareidi public; featuring photography, dance, and music as well as visual art.

Exhibits will be carefully selected to meet religious sensitivities and not just for their artistic merit, so that the public need not hesitate to bring their children. From the artists’ point of view, too, such a center would be a breakthrough. Finally! A religion-friendly venue where their work will be valued and where they will be encouraged to exhibit without feeling second rate.

Cracking the Market

The art genre one pursues isn’t always the only sticking point for a frum female artist. Goldy Lobel found her niche in creating illustrated parchments, and most of her creations are sold. But her work is frequently undervalued. She dreams of breaking into the wider, better-paying, global market.

Goldy isn’t alone. The insular life nurtured by frum artists leaves them grappling with a lack of business smarts. As well, there is an inherent difficulty to be overcome by the frum woman of average means who wishes to gain entry to the glitzy world of art collectors whilst still busy washing dishes at her proverbial kitchen sink.

Left with few other practical options, Goldy offloads her art through an agent. Though this might seem like a sensible solution, it comes at a price — and sometimes, an unforgivably steep one. Yael Saltz, director of Temech’s Jerusalem hub and a staunch defender of the artists’ interests, brings the story of someone we’ll call Devorah by way of example.

“Devorah is a highly talented Judaica artist. Like Goldy, she works from home, struggling to keep her family’s cabinets well stocked. She creates exquisitely illustrated Jewish texts: Haggadahs, kesubos, megillos, etc. and can spend weeks — even months — completing a piece. A while ago she sold a Haggadah through a middleman. The man is in contact with affluent art collectors all over the world. She isn’t. This is the only way she knows to convert her love of art into a tangible paycheck.

“After as much negotiation as she could muster, he paid her $3,000 for what had amounted to many months of work. She accepted that. For a while. Until it came to her knowledge through roundabout channels, that a foreign oligarch had just purchased her Haggadah — the creation she had invested heart and soul into — for, listen to this!!, close to $30,000!”

This is where Temech would like to help paint a different kind of scenario. Yael, hostess of this meeting, has conceived of a second hub that would cater specifically to frum female artists. Not only would artists be allowed to tap into their creativity far from domestic hullabaloos, individual studio space would be allotted, much like the quiet cubicles that have proven so popular in its business premises. The artists’ hub would also strive to provide networking and marketing solutions to help frum artists find the buyers they need — perhaps, even, an in-house gallery.

But until this near-utopian vision becomes reality, I ask, how do frum women manage to juggle their creative urges with financial responsibilities? Are artistic leanings and a business bent at all compatible?

For Noa Leah Cohen the answer is fairly straightforward. “Don’t forget,” she reminds us, “I left the truly creative side of things 20 years ago — moving on to more practical pursuits. But even then I needed to know how to run a business, and I managed to master that through short courses and a lot of hard slog.”

When Yael asks Shazar Rachel, on the other hand, how she juggles her easel with her duster and broom, her answers is true to character. “Art, for me, is not work!” In fact she feels this so deeply that she postponed putting on exhibitions until she turned 30 — “I didn’t want the pressure that comes with greater exposure,” she explains. Once her family grew, though, the need for a better parnassah compelled her to realign her priorities. “Pressure can kill creativity,” she says pensively, and owns that even at this stage in her career there are times when money is scarce.

Together with Yael Saltz, Shaindy Babad, CEO of Temech, makes a concerted effort to promote the average frum artist and her work. Walk down the cheerful corridor of the Jerusalem business hub, tastefully decorated with leafy pot plants and leather armchairs for productive tête-à-têtes, and you find glass wall cabinets showcasing the works of many a talented artist, with product catalogue, bio, and business card placed right there for all to see (and to place orders).

Until the vision of a creative artists’ hub comes to fruition, this is still an address artists can turn to for assistance in marketing and business management. Artists, according to Shaindy, “are like an elite club, where breaking in and achieving name recognition is much harder than for a sock shop or a bakery.” Temech creates specific programming to help them overcome their unique challenges and to assist with their particular marketing needs. Artists are invited, for instance, to present their work in venues that Temech organizes for them, creating platforms for the artists’ artwork and opportunities for making sales.

“There is power in numbers,” Noa Leah Cohen says, referring to the collective marketing power artists have when they learn to collaborate. This power is something Noa and Nurit have already endeavored to harness by establishing the Israel Biennale for contemporary Jewish art.

With the first biennale opening in 2013, and the most recent one in 2015, Jewish art was exhibited simultaneously at nine prestigious venues, including Hechal Shlomo Synagogue, the David Citadel Hotel, and the Van Leer Institute. While not exclusive to frum artists, the organizers nevertheless ensured that certain venues displayed exclusively kosher art. “There is a lot to be gained by allowing frum artists to network and form partnerships,” says Noa. “When we all get together we realize our sector has particular needs and we have something special that wants to be expressed.”

Reaffirming the Jew in Jewish Art

When asked what they draw upon for self-expression, I quickly realize that this nebulous something is just another name for the soul-speak that resides within every Yid. “I find inspiration in Tanach and in the Midrash,” answers Noa. Shazar Rachel’s works are permeated with deeply mystical concepts — many of which require some study to fully appreciate. Back when she was taking baby steps toward Judaism — and studying Shir Hashirim at the time — a rabbi saw her pictures and said she had unwittingly brought to life esoteric ideas from the world of Kabbalah. “It came from within me… I had never studied those concepts” she says. This style has since become her trademark

Nurit’s answer is just as telling: “I find inspiration everywhere… in both the physical and metaphysical worlds,” she says, and elaborates. “Hashra’ah (Hebrew for inspiration) is the same word lent to the term ‘Hashraas HaShechinah’ — the resting of the Divine Presence. For me, this is the point… to reveal Hashem’s presence and infinite creativity in every tiny temporal detail.

“I consider Hashem’s constant regeneration of the universe as the ultimate masterpiece. Earth; space; the sky and its whimsical clouds; botany, zoology and, of course, the marvel of mankind’s astonishing capabilities…” along with an intelligent smile, Nurit exudes a calm simchas hachayim, which is unsurprising, considering her ability to enthuse over the raw elements of life. This vibrancy fuels her mission — to create a platform for artists from within the frum world, where they will be able to express their own unique brand of spiritual awareness through the arts.

Jumpstarting the Inner Artist

“So,” I wonder, as the clock hurries me forward to a rapid wrap. “Let’s say your neighbor, daughter, or favorite sister-in-law demonstrate obvious signs of artistic talent… How would you suggest they take it to the next level?” There’s a quiet moment as the ladies around the table ponder the question.

“As a curator,” says Nurit, “I can easily discern two things in a piece of art. The first is the degree to which the artist has been exposed to other works of art, and the second is whether he or she studied under excellent teachers — the kind that encourages growth and teaches artists how to fine tune their work.”

“Yes,” says Noa, “Professional teachers! Also — one needs to be willing to start from the bottom up and to acquire a talent for observation.”

Shazar Rachel acquiesces. “Personally, I found Hashem through art. But my teachers weren’t religious at all.” She feels strongly that the religious sector needs to cultivate art teachers at an advanced level.

“Constructive feedback from professional art teachers is invaluable, especially the kind who will lead you to stretch beyond your comfort zone,” says Nurit. And again she stresses the importance of viewing contemporary art. “Visit museums, galleries, private collections… browse through art catalogues and search through library archives for copies of antique illustrated books. And most importantly, visit art studios where one can observe artists as they flow through the creative process.” She pauses, then pulls us back to the underlying premise of the meeting — “All this has to be done within halachic boundaries, of course, and that isn’t always so simple.”

It seems that many challenges still lie ahead for the frum artist. But then again, perhaps that is the nature of the endeavor. Nurit holds a hand to her head, pensive. “The essence of art is to delve deeply. To search for the truth.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 481)