Horror Vacui /// Dana Yoeli
The term "Horror of the Void" (Latin: horror vacui, from Greek: "fear of the void") refers to the terror of space, of nothingness, of emptiness. In visual art, it can be seen by adorning the entire surface of a room or piece of art with geometric shapes, figures, plants, animals, and decorative decorative elements. The idea is a reflection of the Aristotelian principle that "nature rejects a void" in physics, according to which empty space will constantly attempt to be filled with gas or liquids to prevent being empty.
About the book
Designed by Noa Schwartz
Images: Dana Yoeli, Dor Kedmi, and the artist Agi Yoeli's estate
Editing of photos by Lena Gumon
The Ben Yehuda Project's S. Tchernichovsky translation of Homer's Odyssey; Dana Yoeli
Editor: Yuval Avivi
Print : A.R. Prints Ltd.
An artist's book in 70 copies, ten of which are placed inside a rock sculpture with only its spine appearing: the books are placed for safekeeping in the rocks - each rock is carved by hand by a master stonemason and unique. The Western Wall, the ultimate wall, where our hearts' desires have been buried on a note for generations, is referenced in the placing of the book inside the rock. It also refers to adventure movies where a unique rock or tree trunk is in fact a disguised, magical opening to another world, waiting for the deserving hero who can distinguish it from hundreds of others that look exactly alike.
The Odyssey tale of Odysseus' wife Penelope and her weaving , which is made and unmade every day to try and halt time, is found on the flyleaf, the first page. My grandmother Agi, who was deported to Auschwitz in April 1944 and was sent to the camp boizenburg/Elbe in August for force labor in a frozen airplane factory.
The SS called her one winter day, seeking a prisoner with creative talent to adorn a vase. Therefore, Agi secretely undid the day's work each night to avoid finishing it, just like Penelope who undid her weave each night in order to stretch time, waiting for Odysseus's return. In the days following my grandmother's death, my brother and I discovered stacks of photos of her artwork, including photos of vases—apparently the only vases she ever created.
This served as a starting point for the book's two levels: the part of Agi in the right opening, with images of her work from her time at the academy, odd portraits of her, visuals of her work, and images of the vases; and the left opening, which features my unfired ceramic sculpture that is slowly crumbling under a flow of water from a fountain. When scrolled back, this appears as a flip book; and the sculpture is formed rather than disintegrated.