BETTY WACHSSTOCK - SCHONFELD
Artist

Betty Wachsstock - Schonfeld E-mail

 

 

........ Betty Wachsstock - Achonfeld

Runners

 

BETTY WACHSSTOCK - SCHONFELD

Seated Cello H 40 cm.

 

BETTY WACHSSTOCK - SCHONFELD

The Harp H 70 cm.

BETTY WACHSSTOCK - SCHONFELD

Mask H 50 cm.

 

BETTY WACHSSTOCK - SCHONFELD

The Violonist H 150 cm.

 

BETTY WACHSSTOCK - SCHONFELD

"Continents" was selected for the Biennale, Beijing 2006
H 48 x 12 x 8 cm.

BETTY WACHSSTOCK - SCHONFELD

"The Climber 2" H 67 cm.

 

 

 

Betty Wachsstock - Schonfeld

"Adam Et Eve II" H 50 cm.

Betty Wachsstock - Schonfeld

Standing Cello H 60 cm.

 

 

Betty

"Shimshon" Bronze

"Shofar" - Bronze.

 

 

 

"The Piano" h. 28 cm. Bronze

 

 

 

 

 

"The Wind" h. 40 cm. Bronze

 

Through endless plains
Through the desert of life
He blows his hope
He blows his joy
He blows his love...

 

 

 

 

"Pagliaccio" h. 20 cm. Bronze

Hey you, blind Harlequino
Where are you going to,
What are you looking for,
Reaching out nowhere
Don't you know life is out there
And it's beautiful
And it's reachable
And it's here
And it's now...

 

Bronze in movement – Moving People

Exhibition of Sculptures – Betty Wachsstock – Schonfeld

A search after the Truth, a thought about Life, People moving, walking, climbing.

They are the music, the music is in their soul, and this is how they live, how they breath, how they follow the “nigoun”, that famous Jewish melody, wordless, but so powerful, that it can express all the sorrow, all the cries, but also the joy and hope and happiness of the Jewish People.

The Vio-Lion, who broke his violin , because of too much power, feelings that he cannot bear, that he cannot express, which are like a scream, like a roaring toward destiny.

The Pianist, with his Piano… They are one , unified in the instrument of life. He forgets his body, and the matter absorbs his soul.

The Harp, the tenderness, deep feelings , the nobility of those delicate, romantic sounds, singing the nostalgia, the love …

And then , the Shofar,…A cry to haven, trying to tear the sky, to reach God’s ear, questioning , begging for answers, longing for the truth…Screaming in a soundless scream, “kol demama daka”the sound of silence, the scream of silence.

Sometimes the figures sprout out of a block of matter, they try to free themselves from that matter, to tear the everyday, the trivial things of life, trying to reach the spirit…They try to escape, to free themselves,hyer and hyer,further and further, even with their eyes blindfolded, like the ropewalker, crossing the air with no rope ,without a safety net, like we walk into life…

 

Betty Wachsstock - Schonfeld
E-mail

 

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