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2024
Installation

Curator: Shani Avivi, Azrieli Gallery, Jerusalem 

We dream every night. We don’t always remember what we dreamed, but every night, in the depths of sleep’s abyss, a whole world is revealed to us—images, landscapes, a fusion of memory, imagination, prophecy, and vision. A visit to parallel universes where consciousness can wander while our body remains resting behind.

The kingdom of night, the realm of shadows, is a dwelling place of infinite potential.
The inability to see things—their shape, their outline—allows them to be everything at once, simultaneously. (Like Schrödinger’s cat.)
Only within thick darkness can the seeds of ideas sprout. Thanks to the obscurity of night, new things can stretch and take form in the way that is right for them, slowly emerging with the rising sun.

Night is the only place where the deepest processes can occur—unfold, change shape, be digested, decay, and nourish themselves.
Night contains a system of processes and abstract, fluid movements, where shadows merge into one another without defined boundaries.
The light of dawn grants them shape and form, pulling them from the amorphous, dense fabric into reality.
On the one hand, the infinite potential vanishes, locked away; on the other, the essence of things materializes with a tangible name and form in the world.

Dreams are the fruit of this infinite potential.
I know three kinds of dreams:
Dreams in which the subconscious processes all events, memories, and thoughts, crafting a one-time screenplay in the darkness of the night.
Dreams where the timeline tied to the physical dimension dissolves, and for a moment, I find myself in a future that is already happening—a whisper of prophetic wind telling me of what is to come, a vision of what I will soon encounter.
And the last kind, my favorite—dreams that are a visit to a parallel universe, one that is not of here. Often, they are encounters with forces, with places that are part of my spiritual landscape. They are a gust of wind reminding me that there is above and below, that unseen connections exist within and beyond everything that is visible to the eye.

Though I have tried hard to grasp the fleeting beauty of a dream, to hold it tightly in my palm and preserve it,
this vision appears for a moment, only so I can witness it, breathe in its unique fragrance, and move forward—nourished, guided. Sometimes lighter, sometimes pensive. Sometimes, I plant the fruit it gave me in the soil of the waking world—
change a familiar habit, or pick up the phone to call someone who visited me in my dream.

The Queen of the Night has accompanied me for many years.
I have had recurring dreams where I was her, breathing through her, feeling how her deep breath—my deep breath—unfolds her flowers, white and beautiful.
How her roots spread deep within the earth, how the earth and she—I—embrace one another, nourished.
How the silent night breeze whispers between our entwined arms, gently trembling the pollen and petals in an almost imperceptible motion.

Like a dream, the Queen of the Night blooms each night—a flower that blossoms for just one night, opening at sunset, immense, wondrous, glowing in a dazzling white, rising like hope in the darkness.
Its intoxicating scent drifts far and wide, carrying itself through the night, and by dawn, it closes, shrinks, and withers.
And those who sleep through it will never know it was there—unless they dreamed of its beauty in their sleep.

 © 2024 by Hadas Duchan

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