Last month we lost a quietly powerful local artist.
For those of you who didn’t know Michelle Saffran or her work, please take some time on her website to become acquainted with her stunning altered photographs. And don’t overlook her poignant statements; they eloquently articulate her focus and intent.
Michelle ©2020 Elizabeth Fram Ink and colored pencil on paper, 14 x 11 inches Michelle was one of fourteen friend-volunteers who graciously sent me a selfie for my Covid-19 Drawing Project, soon after lockdown began.
Michelle’s photography is a haunting touchstone with place, memory, uncertainty, sometimes despair and ultimately hope — emotions that were certainly personal for her, yet are undeniably universal. She deftly found a way to illustrate both the uniqueness and the ubiquity of the human experience through moments captured on her camera and then further manipulated in her studio.
Learning of her death was a shock; I hadn’t even been aware she was sick. As I’ve revisited her website in the past couple of weeks, Hippocrates’ quote “Ars longa, vita brevis” kept coming to mind.
Earth Danced Under A Hear Haze ©2018 Michelle Saffran, Inkjet print. Each image is made from 4 – 19″ x 13″ photographs sewn together to make one scroll measuring 19″ x 52″. This piece speaks to me about the mystery and power of nature. The juxtapositions are somewhat reminiscent of Jerry Uelsmann, yet with a voice that is clearly Michelle’s own.
However, in looking into the root of that quote it turns out not to mean, as I’d incorrectly assumed, that art lasts a long time while our lives do not. Rather, it refers to the fact that “it takes a long time to acquire and perfect one’s expertise and one has but a short time in which to do it”.
How true and ultimately sobering. It’s a clarion call to get back to work.
Winter’s Hush ©2023 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor, graphite and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches. The snow gods have smiled on us again, bringing peace to the winter landscape – and comfort in a time of loss.
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I recently stumbled across the work of Lalla Essaydi, and was wowed.
Bullets #3, © Lalla Essaydi
Being something of a crow in my love for pretty objects, her glittering piece “Bullet #3” immediately caught my eye on Instagram. I was intrigued to learn that the gold is actually bullet casings, gathered from American shooting ranges and woven together with wire. The casings symbolize violence and express Essaydi’s concern about the treatment of women following the Arab Spring. Her series “Bullet” and “Bullet Revisited” are about that violence projected on women, specifically physical violence during gatherings in the squares.
But there is so much more behind her photographs: considerations of space both physical and psychological, and women within those spaces. This short introduction doesn’t do her or her work justice. Set aside some time to visit her website to see and read more. Her statement is long, but captivating.
Oh, Betsy, your spirit is so tender. It makes everything better. Rest in Peace, Michelle.
Lalla Essaydi’s work is wonderful. Thank you for sharing her with us! I once was in a harem in Morocco (in 1971) and had my hands henna’ed with designs along with other women who were going to a family wedding. It was quite an experience. I notice that she shows herself mostly displayed in bed, receptive. That is an idea of what women are for, and that they often adopt themselves. Often another option is not available. The world (or at least part of it) is so newly arrived at the notion that women are co-equal with men. Women only got the vote in Switzerland in 1971, and in the United States in 1920 — a drop in the historical bucket. Our species is still struggling to figure out how to do this.
I am so fascinated by Essaydi’s incorporation of architectural space and separately, the overlap of calligraphy and henna. So much to think about – wonderful work! I’m shocked that women didn’t get the right to vote in Switzerland until 1971!
Thank you for writing such a warm tribute to Michelle. You chose a wonderfully mysterious work to share.
I’m still reeling from the shock. She was a quiet force.