Ben Natalya and Alexander. He was born in St. Petersburg, Russia (former Soviet Union) on October 25, 1968. Misha attended school in his hometown where he acquired friends for life and was influenced by the atmosphere of the school, In 1985, he was admitted to the Polytechnic University in St. Petersburg and studied at the Faculty of Technical Sciences, specializing in physics and mathematics, and was a regular patriot in his life. Of groups of students who were sent to work in kibbutzim in Israel, and in 1987 traveled to Vilna In November 1989, Misha immigrated to Israel and settled in the Jerusalem area, where he studied at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and after completing his studies in the Mathematics Department. After three years he moved to the Faculty of Humanities and studied philosophy for a master’s degree. At the same time, independently studied computer programming. He worked as a team manager for several large computer companies in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, and contributed greatly to the development of several start-ups. Misha was characterized by extensive and multidisciplinary knowledge. He was drawn to art of all kinds – a lot of photography, theater, music, books, and yet he was a scientist interested in computers and specializing in physics, chemistry, and mathematics. But Misha’s soul was the soul of an artist and in 1996 decided to turn photography hobby into a profession, because he felt that this lies in his real vocation. He studied photography at the Dada Center for Photography and as an external student studied at the Bezalel Academy of Art and Design. In his photographs he focused on the Israeli landscape and devoted himself entirely to the subject. Misha was able to travel to the Dead Sea and sit there for hours until he had the perfect view of the landscape, and it was true for each of the scenes of the art that he took part in. In 2000, Misha built a warm and loving nest with Miri, his partner and his life partner. In 2001, the couple embraced their daughter Esther and was not a proud and happy father. A few months before his death, the couple moved to their new home in Jerusalem’s Talbieh neighborhood. Misha decided to study for a master’s degree in art and be a photography teacher. He managed to present three exhibitions – in Jerusalem and the Limbus gallery in Tel Aviv – but he did not manage to present the last exhibition, which was devoted to its planning and which was supposed to take place in Germany. In January 2003, Misha went to reserve duty from which he did not return. Misha, who was a man of peace, who believed that every person was entitled to an equal and ethical treatment, fell in a clash with a terrorist squad in Har Harif, near the Egyptian border, on January 12, 2003. At approximately seven in the evening, And a few dozen meters deep into Israeli territory near Kibbutz Nitzana Misha, who headed the force, completed a routine patrol in the border area when he received an emergency call and was asked to turn back. Misha and two of the patrol soldiers were lightly wounded, and the soldiers of the Bedouin reconnaissance battalion who were called into the area of the clash attacked the terrorists and killed them. They also found about forty syringes filled with anesthetic drugs and various substances, apparently with the intention of anesthetizing soldiers and abducting them to Egypt. “Misha was thirty-four years old when he fell, and was brought to eternal rest in the military cemetery on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem. Leaving a woman, a year and a half old daughter, parents and brother Dimitri, who was promoted to ranksymbol. Misha’s friends produced a book in his memory, which contains a selection of his works taken in 1998-2000. The book includes Misha’s explanations for the works he exhibited at the exhibitions, as well as by his friends. Sefi wrote: “It’s a strange thing to write something about a friend, even stranger, in front of strangers, and even more when the friend died, and when he could not stand the thought of writing something about himself, And he knew that every viewer would see something else in his work, that is the essence and greatness of art, of life, but he did not like it very much, but he liked to deal with it and play with it.I try to write something here for my friend, There is no greatness in the subjective understanding of what is being written, what I feel, what I think, write, all this must be understood by what I mean, it would not work, he would say: This is not what you meant Above all, this is true of art, which is the perfect embodiment of a medium, my friend made art, but he had a problem with every spectator interpreting it at will, and he had a problem with the fact that some critic would interpret it as art. He did not like the innumerable possibilities of commenting on him as a person and as a creator of the written word. His biography, written by him, was short and did not describe him. I have a little less trouble with these things. And I also have the possibility of referring to the history of his life, in its entirety, since it has now been discontinued. And yet what I write about it, every reader must understand only my intention. What I feel about him, any psychologist can analyze, but what he was, that’s what he was. “The work contains 16 to 14 black-and-white photos of a uniform size, about 120-100 centimeters tall,” he says. , Printed from large format negatives. The first group of photographs consists of 10 to 8 photographs of a landscape, which ostensibly distinguishes them from ordinary landscapes, except for one small detail: in the middle of each picture, in the same place, is a small stone – the brick, which is the heroine of the work. At first sight one may think that the presence of the moon is coincidental, but a brief observation reveals that this is actually fraud and distortion. In every picture and picture the same faded stone artificially inserted into the frame, as if to make meanings. ‘It’s there’ or ‘It was there’ (photography) has become ‘It’s not there yet.’ A meaningless stone suddenly becomes a symbol, an implied threat. The viewer can think of a new road, a prison, a monument to the victims of the next war, a community settlement with tiled roofs, a settlement that overlooks the view of the nearby village. But he will still be left with a feeling that the presence of the moon is unnecessary and unnecessary. The studio photographs that mix with the landscape pictures and show the moon on all six sides only illustrate the ‘scale’ of the distortion. Not a symbol but a formal object only. Formality against imaginary meaning. Small vs. Large. Reality against thermal. And finally, the ‘real thing’ is also here. The moon is presented as an object that “accompanies” the viewer, who can take it in his hands, walk around with it, touch it, feel its rough texture, prove its reality and its credibility. The observer will be required to return the brick to its place. This work is planned as part of the first series of “Things,” in which different objects will be photographed in the Israeli landscape. “Miri, Misha’s partner, wrote:” For the first time,I saw the pictures you took – I did not understand what it was. I remember you opened a large cardboard box where you brought the pictures from the printing press and a large picture spread on the living room floor. You wanted my opinion and I had no understanding or opinion on the matter. I just felt something called quality in what you did. And there were a lot of arguments – what is a concept, why is it so important and what it is to feel instead of understanding. Now I feel and understand that every picture you took and every text you wrote was an expression of love. And love was pure, without the added effort or attempt to add shape or color. I never understood it during your work, only when you completed it could you see. And now I feel the same love for you and for you. And learns from you the way the message is – clean, without additions. I remember that the word ‘clean’ appeared every time we talked. Now, when I see good photographs, I cry … “Yaron wrote about Misha:” … First thing in the morning is a cigarette. Non-smoking is dangerous to health. A cigarette, preferably at least two boxes a day, lasts a lifetime. After all, every wise person knows that what really kills is nervousness. The cigarette is held between dark fingers, slightly eaten nails. Always a little dirty with ashes, espresso stains, remnants of development material. The hands of a child, in fact. “Another passage written by Yaron refers to Misha’s death, as it were, from his perspective:” Postmodernism, of course, is not. To die from a real metal bullet that a real person directs and shoots at you, when it turns out that at that moment you are actually an armed soldier in uniform, this is not a postmodern move. What if you were thinking about the latest arrangements for the photo exhibition you took with your wide-format camera? Pasolini might have put it this way: On the border of Egypt, opposite the hills of the Negev, Misha smokes a cigarette and talks to me on the phone. The picture he sees: a sunset of desert winter. He imagines a fir tree standing in the middle of the desert. During the breaks between the long shifts he travels thirty kilometers to drink espresso alone at a deserted gas station. “Next to the last picture in the book appears a poem written by his friend Yuri:” House on a Mountain / Kurkar Trail / I Remember You / Misha / Reflective / / Cruel / cold. “Misha’s fans set up a Russian website in his memory, which appears at http://inspector.livejournal.com/40909.html.
