​Room installation: hula-hoops, oil-tempera, chalks, and powder pigment on walls, wood panels, and floor. 

     

Story 2 in the installation: handwritten in oil-tempera and powder pigment on an oil-tempera colored concrete floor.

      

My love, No. But this is impossible. After I have told you my story?! But what are you talking about, what have you in mind when you say Either Society Or Love. I do not understand you, truly. Listen to what I must tell you now: It's about Raskolnikov. Did you know his name derives from Raskol? It means Split, yes dear, Split, a name possessing frightening religious associations, for back in 1666 there were the Raskolniks persecuted and slaughtered for cutting themselves off from the Orthodox Church by rejecting liturgical reforms. And as for Raskolnikov, love, he, yes, he cuts himself off not only from Society, and his own conscience, but also from Simple Russia. You know what I mean, that’s what Sonia means, her faith that is. Do you remember? Her terrible stepmother drove her to prostitution, but it was Sonia and nobody else who ultimately saved him: She, the whore, not his friend Razumikhin. He could not save him, even if his name derives from Razhum, which in your language means Reason. This is what I wanted to tell you. I am so very preoccupied with these ideas, and would not be, were our poor Romulka not rolling his eyes all day long, going up and down Tel-Aviv streets, shouting Raskol! Raskol! How to help him, my love? The poor Romulka. Now he wants back to Russia. But where to? I love you even if you do not write to me enough. Thank you for sending me so many Hula-Hoop. What to do with them? There is nothing to wait for, my love. Romulka is shouting all day long. Love, Suzanna.