The Annunciation

Joshua Borkovsky’s work is rooted in a long tradition of painting, time-honored techniques of meticulous, profoundly slow craftsmanship, and painterly “inventions” all his own. The paintings’ polished, smooth surfaces, however, appear as though they were created without human touch. His works offer no clue to their making, as though the painting “emerges” miraculously (like the divine miracle that imprinted the likeness of Christ on Veronica’s veil, a miracle that preoccupied the artist in an earlier cycle). This evokes the works’ elusive presence and extraordinary quality, as they conceal the traces of their physical making. If an image erupts miraculously in them, it does so )or not) only through the encounter with the gaze—what Borkovsky calls “the grace of the sudden”: an unexpected moment when a previously hidden presence opens in the painting; a moment when the image emerges before the viewer’s eyes, not through understanding, but through lingering. This may give rise to a moment of awe—​​not triggered by scale or grandeur, but by a subtle shift: a flicker of light, the discovery of yet another undertone, a tremor on the surface.

For this to happen, the painting needs time. Not only working time (though that is evident ​​in the slow, process-driven painting, requiring careful preparation of materials, layering, etc.), but time for observation. The viewer is invited not merely to look, but to linger and submit; to resist the urge to grasp instantly. Observing, like the act of painting, becomes a ritual in itself.

Indeed, Borkovsky’s paintings resist instant comprehension. They are elusive, reflexive, demand a constantly shifting perspective, stirring a sense of doubt. At times, the image seems to be there—but concealed; one might catch a glimpse of something, perhaps only an echo; a shadow, a reflection, a sign. This elusiveness is not a ruse, but the very essence of the painting. It does not give itself away immediately, but opens over time, through patience and a willingness to suspend knowing. The painting does not speak about something—it does something. It creates a state, both physical and mental.

The exhibition presents works from several painting cycles created by Borkovsky over the past decade, since his retrospective at the Israel Museum, Jerusalem (“Veronese Green,” 2013): The Annunciation cycle, which gave its name to the exhibition; the cycle Mirror (Floor Reflection), which traces the reflections of geometrically patterned floor tiles in mirrors; the cycle Dream Stone, in which the encounter between glossy and opaque graphite surfaces spawns abstract landscapes; and the cycle Remnant, consisting of small, refined, concise haiku-like works created from leftover materials of earlier cycles.

Each cycle embodies a distinct painterly principle, yet all operate at a shared frequency, allowing for mutual resonance. Indeed, the arrangement of works in the space does not aim for chronological or thematic logic, but constructs a field of echoes, reflections, and movement. Like a musical composition, the works resemble tones, and the intervals between them are like silence. In this encounter, an invitation opens, the invitation that constitutes Borkovsky’s painting:

Not to understand—but to linger;

not to interpret—but to observe;

not to rush—but to stay put and witness the moment when the magic may reveal itself.

Ravit Harari