About Nitza Gnoser

“Spreading Wings” / Nitza Genosar

As I first began sculpting with clay, I was told that I should take a large lump of material and start working.

Creation and sculpting is an act that takes its own course and forms into a completed sculpture. With time, I have developed the ability to release my thought, relax my body and simply enjoy my handprints over the material. The sensation of my hands touching the clay, kneading it, adding and subtracting material; creating textures that change on a daily basis—smooth, coarse, lumpy, sharply outlined or furrowed and tempestuous—it is the touch of hands that generates the magic.

Clay sculpting is fundamentally different from either stone or wood carving. It cannot exist without the first four elements of our material world: earth—of which the clay is made—, water that enables us to knead and design the material, wind that dries and fire that burns the object, turning it into a sustainable sculpture. Clay sculptures are therefore brittle, yet resilient. They break into shards as they fall, still in extreme dry weather or when concealed in the depth of the earth or ocean, they can be preserved.

I enjoy creating spontaneous sculptures that, I feel, are often self-generated because of the primordial knowledge and emotion that are embedded within me, and their creation expresses great appreciation for the great Master Sculptors throughout history.
Combining the images of men, women and various animals, my sculptured “creatures” are figments of my imagination in as much as they ensue from a sensation that such figures had already existed and will probably exist again, sometime in the future.

Often, when traveling around the world—in various temples in India, Cambodia, Egypt and Greece, or in various Archeological Wings of museums in Western countries—I felt as though gazing at my very own sculptures which I had created back home.

I believe knowledge, cultures and religions were transferred from one country and continent to the other, leaving their marks on us and in our collective memory: I had wanted to sculpt the cat-like Egyptian goddess, Bastet – protector of the domestic sphere and daughter of Ra, the deity of the sun. Throughout the sculpting process, however, Bastet intertwined with Yitzhak Danzinger’s Canaanite sculptor, “Nimrod”; I started sculpting a woman’s head with elongated neck and tucked hair when I discovered she resembles one of Picasso’s sculptures; I had sculptured a woman’s head whose meditative complexion was elevated and composed and then met real women in India with striking resemblance to my very own sculpture; gazing, overwhelmed, at the statue of the Egyptian sphinx, the image of my sculptured sphinx, a beast with a woman’s head and a lioness’ body, was vividly emblazoned in my mind.

Recently, I came across abstract sculpting. I had wrongly thought such form is incapable of expressing emotion. Yet, nowadays, I find great pleasure in both abstract sculpting and painting.
Facing the blank paper or canvas, one ought to combine emotion and intelligence in order to create breathtaking silence, great cacophony, love, fear or hope. As I was working on my charcoal drawings, the paper seemed an empty void. I wished to fill this void with a sharp gaze, interrogative and observant; a gaze that sees things for what they are, envelopes this space with love and continues on.

I have winged sculptures, winged paintings, yet it is my belief most sculptures have wings – even if those are invisible. Wings allow me to ascend, glide and dive into the deep, and yet, mostly, I feel them growing from my body, sheltering those I care most. 

Forever I will carry the image of my father spreading his wide prayer shawl at the synagogue while my mother, my sisters, my brother and I are trying to huddle underneath it, laughing. Seeking to elongate his prayer shawl in each direction as so to cover us all, I remember my father saying Birkat Kohanim with great intent (the priestly blessing).