My Inspiration
Before I touch a brush, I touch a feeling.
Before I open a box of paints, I open a window—inside or out—into something asking to be expressed.
For me, inspiration isn’t a rare spark. It’s a quiet presence that’s always there, moving like breath.
I believe a painter is not only someone who paints
but someone who truly sees.
Sees how shadow falls on a wall, how colors speak to each other, how silence can be the loudest voice.
And in that seeing, I am never alone.
Over the years, I’ve walked alongside many artists—some well known, others nearly forgotten
Each of them left a mark on me.
Sometimes it was technical—a method of layering, a bold composition, a unique texture.
But more often, it was emotional: longing, simplicity, pain, hope.
Moments that made me pause. Feel. Create.
To view the paintings mentioned, go to the Gallery.
Want to know more about me? Read about me here.
More stories and artistic inspiration await you here.
This page is dedicated to them—and to how they continue to echo within me.
You’ll find links here to each artist who inspires my journey, along with personal reflections on what I discovered through their work.
Sometimes, you’ll also see one of my own paintings born from that connection—not as imitation, but as conversation.
A conversation between lines, between colors, between hearts.
Artists Who Walk With Me
Vincent van Gogh
A painter of raw emotion and unexpected light. Every brushstroke feels like a heartbeat
Salvador Dalí
Wild subconscious language, dreamlike imagery, and whispers from another realm.
Frida Kahlo
Emotional and physical pain transformed into color and life. For me—courage in paint.
Paintings Inspired by October 7th
On October 7th, 2023, everything changed.
Those moments — of shock, loss, courage, and unity — carved themselves into our collective soul, and found expression through brush and pigment.
This series was born from pain, but also from the need to remember.
To give space.
To paint what words can’t hold.
Each brushstroke carries a prayer.
Each layer of oil tells a story — of home, of family, of longing, and of unbreakable human spirit.
I invite you to pause, to feel, and to let the images speak.
These paintings are not only a reflection — they are a space for memory, for honor, and for hope.
Eyes Covered in Flowers
A powerful female figure stands in the center, her eyes covered with a white blindfold, crowned with vivid, colorful flowers.
Behind her — a fractured Star of David, bursts of red and blue, symbols of destruction. Her form is torn into three visual layers: a vibrant present, a grayscale memory, and an open wound of national trauma.
This painting is a silent cry — a call to see what can’t be unseen, even when eyes are forced shut.
The Silence of Home
Dedicated to Kibbutz Be’eri — a community deeply rooted in the land, torn apart in a single day.
A lone figure stands beside a humble home, facing endless fields under soft evening light.
That person is waiting. Remembering. Longing for mornings of stillness, laughter, and routine.
The broken wall, the leaning tree, the silence — they all hold the weight of what was lost, and the resilience of those who remain.
Three Sisters in the Dark
This painting was created in tribute to the Israeli women kidnapped on October 7th.
Three women stand side by side, their eyes blindfolded with cloth — gray, blue, and red — each different, yet united in fate.
Behind them, a blurred, crumbling background echoes confinement and fading memory.
It is a quiet protest. A haunting image of pain, uncertainty, and the collective waiting — for justice, for return, for peace.
Hope’s Gaze
Two women stand close. One looks directly at us — her bright blue eyes piercing, alert. The other wears a blindfold marked with the Star of David, her head crowned with flowers.
This painting holds the tension between seeing and not seeing, between identity and trauma.
It speaks of sisterhood, of strength, and the delicate space between pain and beauty. A portrait of duality — vulnerability and defiance side by side.
First Breath
Three women raise their faces toward the sky, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Their hair flows with the wind, clouds part to reveal a calm, endless blue.
This is a moment of release — of inhaling after the storm.
It’s not clear whether they’ve survived, are remembering, or simply hoping.
But in that shared breath, there’s something sacred: the beginning of healing. A quiet whisper that life continues.
