Painting with watercolors on small formats
Daniel Tsal is a Tel-Aviv-based artist and photographer. His work was featured in solo and group exhibitions in venues as MACT/CACT, Arte Contemporanea Ticino, Switzerland; Werkstattgallery, Berlin; Contemporary Art Gallery by Golconda, Tel Aviv, and others. Daniel studied at the renowned Bezalel Academy of Art and Design in Jerusalem towards his B.A. One of his recent well-acclaimed projects is Party, curated by Raz Samira for Tel Aviv Museum of Art, in 2020 during the pandemic.
The main piece in the exhibition was the image of dancers enjoying themselves in a school stadium. The composition was staged, and each character was shot separately from the other, at times dancing to different types of music, later on, to become merged into one image.
The tension between staged photography and capturing a real and spontaneous moment is one of the themes that preoccupies Daniel Tsal. Working with abstract concepts, gut feeling, and intuitive level of art consciousness, Daniel explores through repetitive movements of his subjects a striking realness in a spontaneous moment. Daniel speaks about his approach, “This is what interests me — not the initial idea, but what’s created from it, from the situation that combines the photographer, the model, and the same repetitive action. This tension is also related to the way I see the world.” In this interview, we talk with Daniel about his project Party, his connection to urban life in Tel-Aviv and Berlin. We discuss his transition from painting to photography and a recent comeback to painting. Daniel shares a life story of his sister Naama, her work on a book before she tragically passed away.
‘In some ways, my work is a little bit like self-portraits or a fantasy I project on myself, and I am an urbanite by nature who spends most of the time in the city.’
I Am
Hi Daniel, happy to have you in the magazine! You've been born in Tel Aviv and still live in the city. How would you define an Israeli, and how would you define a Tel Avivian? What would be the best example of a Tel Avivian, perhaps from the scene you have witnessed in the city that occupied your mind for some time?
Working with curator Raz Samira on my latest solo exhibition at Tel Aviv Museum, we talked about the fact that all my models are urban people. Urbanism is very present in my works, but not in relation to any specific city; Tel Aviv or Berlin, for example, are not the subject of my work. I think the reason that most of my models are urban or that the spaces are located in the city is connected to the fact that I’ve lived most of my life in Tel Aviv. In some ways, my work is a little bit like self-portraits or a fantasy I project on myself, and I am an urbanite by nature who spends most of the time in the city.
In this sense, I’m not a researcher or an external observer. Urbanism, or young Tel Avivians, are not the subjects of my research, and that’s why it’s hard for me to define who is an Israeli and who’s a Tel Avivian. The world is much more abstract for me. The way I work is more intuitive and personal. But if I should relate to Tel Aviv as a city, I honestly think it’s my most loved and, at the same time, my most hated city in the world. Naturally, I feel at home here, but with time it has become terribly violent and expensive. As a child, we would wander around endlessly and keep discovering new abandoned places. Even if you went to a neighbor’s yard to steal fruits from the tree, it wasn’t the end of the world. The atmosphere was more neighborly. Today it’s tougher and more alienated, but of course, you can see this change everywhere.
Berlin
A lot of young people and especially artists, find inspiration in Berlin, the city, and its people. How do you think the art scene is different in Berlin? What does the experience of the city add to your creative work?
I’m not so sure if artists still consider Berlin inspirational. For me, about a decade ago, it was mainly a place of refuge from the Israeli stress. Berlin felt almost like a paradise, especially financially. My friends, who were just beginner artists at the time, found cheap living and working spaces, which left them plenty of time to work. It was very tempting because, in Israel, those who don’t have stable financial support have to work around the clock just to finance the studio and the things around it. I’ve worked almost a decade of my life between four to five days a week to finance two to three days of studio work. Obviously, it doesn’t leave too much time for other things.
When I was in Berlin, I had time, more than anything else. I had time to work, think, travel, and meet friends. Nothing came at the expense of something else, and this is where I’ve always been the most productive. The art world I encountered in Berlin was also less rigid and institutional than the Israeli art world. I always felt that the dialogues were more open and less critical. There was more room for a young artist to work and develop in an environment of constructive – and not aggressive – criticism. It was exhilarating.
Today, I find Berlin pretty boring, to be honest, especially for artists. If it weren’t for my close friends and models who are living there, I’m not sure I would keep going there. In the past, I would visit so many exhibitions in Berlin that stayed with me to this day — completely uncommercial exhibitions. There was a feeling that good art was being acknowledged. Today it’s obviously completely different. It’s still not as capitalistic as other cities, but unfortunately, it’s going in this direction, and this is why it’s a bit sad for me to visit there in recent years.
‘I’ve always been interested in physical and non-verbal communication between people, and, naturally, a dance party scene seemed essential. I didn’t know how to do it, how to shoot so many people at the same time, and still capture a genuinely unique moment.’
Pary
One of the recent exhibitions you presented was Party, which took place in the middle of the pandemic last year in the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. One of the striking parts of the main image is that the whole is created from unconnected parts. Each person was shot in the studio separately from the other, dancing to music, eventually becoming a part of the party held in the school stadium. The composition of reality and the narrative that never happened is striking! What have you learned, or what was the highlight, in your experience, while working on this image for several years and meeting all those people?
I’ve wanted to photoshoot a dance party years before I started working on the installation The Party. I’ve always been interested in physical and non-verbal communication between people, and, naturally, a dance party scene seemed essential. I didn’t know how to do it, how to shoot so many people at the same time, and still capture a genuinely unique moment. I usually work with just one model, and only in recent years, I began taking pictures of two or three at the same time. Working with models is extremely challenging because on the day of shooting you are completely dependent on that person. No matter how hard you planned and worked on the picture beforehand, the model will always, one way or another, change the final outcome you were imagining. In the 2018 photograph — Ismar, Miri, and Bastian in a Bathtub — for example, I didn’t plan that Ismar, the guy sitting at the center of the photograph, would laugh. I wasn’t even thinking of laughter as part of the scene, it happened by itself, and of course, this is also the beauty of depending on models.
A few years ago, when I was photographing a series of parties for a living, I began looking at the photographs and recognized figures or scenes that I found intriguing. I thought it could be interesting to link the characters or parts of specific images to other images. At some point, I decided to just take pictures and see how it develops. In those years, I shot dozens of dancing models at my studio, but the work on the photographs was identical to my other projects, in the sense that I was still working with one model at a time. So even though you see a multi-participant party, I still don’t have the experience of working with so many people at the same time. My models are the only ones that truly witness my working process, and it’s an intimate, delicate one. That’s why we have a relationship of trust, and sometimes even of love. Some of them became close friends of mine. I’ve been working with some of them for years without any specific artistic outcome, but we still insist on working together. It is quite an amazing thing in itself when you think about it because they give so much of themselves not only as models but also as active participants in the work.
‘I always hope people who visit my exhibitions won’t look for a specific meaning but will experience the works without trying to understand what I was 'aiming' for.’
The Body
The human body comes as a recurring element throughout your work and exhibitions. This research presents the body form while offering topics as LGBTQ+, relationships, and eroticism through a prism of the mundane. You often state the concept of working with staged photography as an important element in your projects. In what way, the line between the real, the personal, the intimate and the staged, the photographer’s view on the subject is preserved in your work?
One of the key aspects of my work is the human side, and it’s true that I’m preoccupied with the human body and physical communication. The LGBTQ community, relationships, and eroticism were never really the focus of my work. I am attracted to incomplete, mundane scenes, and through them, on the way of formulating a moment that draws the viewer in. I always hope people who visit my exhibitions won’t look for a specific meaning but will experience the works without trying to understand what I was 'aiming' for.
Before the beginning of my undergraduate art studies, I was mainly painting. The transition to photography was gradual, and in my first solo exhibition, I presented both photography as well as paintings from that period. From the first moment I’ve decided to photograph, it was clear to me that the process will be a staged one. I don’t even think I considered another alternative. In retrospect, I understand that staging the photographs drew me closer to painting. When you plan and build a set for a long time, just for a single photograph, it resembles, in a way, the painting process. All my photography work is staged, and it doesn't constitute documentation of anything, neither my personal life nor the ones of the models. In the simplest way, I tend to ask the models to perform a specific activity.
‘An egg or peeling an egg - are not topics that interest me. I ask my models to repeat the action, again and again, to capture a spontaneous moment within the staged scene.’
The Tension
The feeling that manifests in your photographs is tension. Although the act that is presented is a part of the ordinary day-to-day life of a person, there is a feeling that something else occurs, something we are not invited to see. I refer to the emotions, which occur in the background and are connected to the subject and their perception of themselves or their actions. What feeling do you aim to achieve in the frame?
That’s an excellent question because I think that tension is precisely what I’m looking for in my work. At the graduation exhibition for my B.A., I exhibited photography works that refer to paintings from the history of art. I continued to work in the same way for two or three years after graduating. I was trying to understand my work in relation to the artistic discourse to express myself properly in relation to it. It took me some time to free myself of this need and allow myself to work from intuition and gut feeling.
What is your main interest in the subjects you photograph?
For me, more than anything else, it’s about freedom. For example, I worked on Valery Peeling an Egg for almost five years, on and off. I shot many models over the years, changing countless angles and locations. There was no reason for this almost obsessive insistence while working on this image. An egg or peeling an egg - are not topics that interest me. I ask my models to repeat the action, again and again, to capture a spontaneous moment within the staged scene.
This is what interests me — not the initial idea, but what’s created from it, from the situation that combines the photographer, the model, and the same repetitive action. This tension is also related to the way I see the world. Life is difficult, living is also. We all know we’re going to die sometime. That those close to us will naturally also die sometime — we just don’t know when and how. We don’t know if we’ll get rich or poor or if we’ll find love. Anxiety from life itself is present all the time, and it creates a tension that is there all the time, even when we peel an egg in the morning. I think that reaching such a moment from a simple, mundane activity is what I’m interested in.
‘The pain over her death is very physical, I wake up every morning feeling as if someone has kicked me in the guts. We used to talk every day, sometimes for hours, and she was the only person who was exposed to my most preliminary work processes.’
Naama
The passing away of a close person is always a traumatic experience that takes years to heal. Your sister Naama Tsal, who has recently passed away, managed to publish her book before it would be too late. In what way did your sister influence your work and the steps you took with presenting it to the public?
My world collapsed after the death of my sister nine months ago. She wasn’t just my big sister, but also my best friend and the closest person to me since I remember myself. The pain over her death is very physical, I wake up every morning feeling as if someone has kicked me in the guts. We used to talk every day, sometimes for hours, and she was the only person who was exposed to my most preliminary work processes. Since her death, I feel my mouth has been shut, and I’m still in total shock. She was working on her collection of stories, Rest Your Head, for years. When we realized the end might be near, but her body still allowed her to work, she wouldn’t let anxiety or anger take over. She worked every day to finish the book before it would be too late. And she made it, just like she wanted.
It’s almost impossible for me to think about what’s next, about working in the studio, and about life without her in general. It feels like everything was ruined, and that whatever grows will come from a completely new place. She always had the best, wisest eyes, and she was always so present in my work, ever since I got my first camera at the age of 14.
Next Steps
What project are you working on or planning as the next one?
Since the death of my sister, I gave up on a number of projects I had been working on. I might get back to them in the future, but I’m not sure yet. I haven’t gone back to photography since. For the first time in many years, I paint, with watercolors, in small formats. Somehow, it’s easier for me to get back to work through painting than through photography. I also plan to start wandering with my camera soon, something I’ve never done before.
