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The present absents.


Almost all my photography work is dealing with empty spaces. More than anything, in my opinion, emptiness expresses the present of human beings. To the spectator who observes the images are given the possibility and the honor to choose which people he'd like to fill these spaces with. Those who built it used it in the past or alternatively those who will use it in the future. I'm, therefore, photographing the full emptiness.
Until recently I was not familiar with the story of Moise de Camondo. I have heard about the mansion and of course about the exquisite collections it contains.
At first I thought I would shoot pictures of the museum, a space that contains art collections. The light would come from the large windows, touching the objects, and emphasizing them in the corners of it absents.

The more I read and prepared my project, the more realized that this was a totally different story. I aimed to enlighten the figure of a man that his passion for art and his fortune gathered to build a dwelling to his family and his rare collections.
I rarely get the opportunity to get into people's life as I got in this mansion. The present of the absents is so perceived, I could almost hear their footsteps on the floor.
Layers by layers that sad saga was reviled to my eyes. The era that the home was full of joy, love and pride is marked almost in every corner. As well as the era that the dead son absents-presents, that derived his father sadness, despair and awful loneliness. I could think of this proud man that had everything and all at once lost it. Surrounded with huge staff willing to obey his authority, but probably even no authority left in him. The death of his son emptied the house from it essence.
I never know when is the point that my feelings affecting the image I produce. I use the present and the absent of the light to enlighten those who are missing, to tell the story of their lives: the joy, the love, the sadness, the pain and the anger.

I want to thank all the people who made it possible for me to experience the rainbow of emotions that mentioned above:


Tali Amitai-Tabib,
Tel Aviv, July 2009




The author’s space.
Desks of Israeli writers and poets


We read books but never meet the authors. The media talks about them, shows us their physical image, and thus gives us the illusion that we actually know them. With the project The author’s space I aimed to photograph the authors beyond their physical presences, ie, shooting their most intimate space: their desks.

My series on the libraries, museums, and concert halls depict public spaces erected not only by their architects but also by the many generations of exhibited artworks. These spaces are organized by the artist himself, in order to represent his work in the best way possible.

Another theoretical direction seemed pertinent to me: the confrontation between the timelessness of places meant to last forever and the ephemeral existence of a desk which will disappear when the writer who uses it dies. These are the very places where Israeli contemporary literature is produced. My purpose was to leave a trace of their tangible reality, as an attempt to approach the concept of artistic inspiration.



Tali Amitai-Tabib

Tel Aviv, 2007




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