Elisheva Levy’s guitars in Cry Me a River from the series Heavy Metal are empty shells, objects devoid of content, leaving behind only a thin, fragile shell. They appear simultaneously new and used, stunningly beautiful yet sloppy. They aspire to fulfill the fantasy of the perfect guitar imbued with iconic qualities, like the classic Fender and Gibson models, or those instruments personified by their owners, such as B. B. King’s “Lucille.” This aspiration crashes once the illusion breaks up, as soon as one sees the blemishes and the fragility of the cheap materials (paper, plastic) of which the guitars are made. We measure objects socially according to their visibility, which consists of their qualities and of our historic knowledge of them. During the first moments one spends in front of Levy’s manufactured stuff, one is overflown with a sensual glow, an exaggerated narcissistic temptation, the signifier of an object taken from the world of utility. These statues function as shiny wrapping paper, containing unfulfilled promises. They are empty of content and defiantly useless, objects of mere desire. They look like merchandise that begs you to consume it solely for its surface appearance. Tempting, paper-thin, and precarious, they suggest reality the way it will never be, and the way we shall forever yearn for it.
The CDA's archives are operating with the support of the Ostrovsky Family Fund and Artis
