The gallery you are about to enter explores the temporary nature of a living space. A resident writer and his wife are preparing to leave Baltimore. At the same time, another artist has recently returned to the city of her birth. Briefly, all three characters share the same moment and space in time…
This Spring in Baltimore showcases the evolution of creative works through personal processes, celebrating final prints by Dara Lorenzo, and the publication of Jeffrey F. Barken’s fiction story collection, This Year in Jerusalem. These finished products bookmark significant life chapters for both their creators, consolidating polished perspectives of their separate pasts. Additionally, interactive installations merge the two artist’s mediums and subject matter, presenting their dialogue about the gallery itself.
“The water was still warm. Ari sat on the dock wetting his toes while his mother dug through a basket of water shoes.”
–Something to Tell
“You’re wrong. There’s no forgiving,” he said. “Even if I laugh.”
-Digging with the German
“First the whistle then the boom. The blast tore across the kibbutz, rattling windows and shaking the floor.”
-The Smell of Garlic
“Our boss, meanwhile, was in a hell of a mood. He paced back and forth scratching his white beard, glaring his blue, British eyes, criticizing the kibbutz volunteers for their laziness and mumbling slurs about Arabs. At intervals, a cigarette or a coffee would calm his nerves, but a phone call could send him over the edge, roaring insults in Hebrew. When a whole roll of sod was clumsily dropped from the big delivery truck, damaging the expensive turf, he stomped around screaming, “Ain’t that the fucking Middle East!”
“Two Israeli tanks kicked up dust as they made practice maneuvers in the desert sands. Several helicopters hummed and trafficked overhead. In the guard towers, soldiers manned posts.”
-The Guns in Gaza
“This time Ari was on his own, driving west, crossing the country, camping nights. He drank coffee at the western diners he chose for breakfast and on the occasional bender, beer at lonely, tacky cowboy bars.
“The quiet kept my secret.”
-The Quiet Couple
“Next thing I knew she had pulled me close to her. My hand fell on her bare knee, and my tongue twisted in her mouth. I unbuttoned all her buttons and she unfastened my belt.”
-This Year in Jerusalem
“There’s so much space!” he said, trying to impress her. He had been west to California.”
“The arrangement wasn’t ideal. They wanted friends and family to know. They wanted to wear the gold rings they had exchanged on their wedding night. They even wanted to do something Jewish. But for the time being, they didn’t see how they could.”
-The Quiet Couple
“It was late afternoon. Warm yellow light peered through the heavy gray curtains in his room and when he peeled them further open, he could see the fence that hid the rumbling highway at the end of the parking lot, the little square pool and that hovering Motel Six sign.”
“We entered a tunnel that lead through an Arab market. Here it was less touristy and the shops took on an air of functionality. There were children passing a soccer ball, and toy stores drawing young eyes. A barber was shearing heads inside his cubbyhole shop, and I nearly tripped over a cardboard box filled with yellow, chirping chicks. The old man sitting on the stump beside his box wore a little round, blue hat, like Aladdin.”
“Simon sat down at the kitchen table. He cleared away the stacks of mail that had accumulated when his mother’s health deteriorated. Then he held his hands together, as if in prayer.
-The News From Lebanon