Jonathan Levy Reveals Secrets

Inbal Cohen Hamo
May 21, 2024
8 min read

Updated: Aug 4

Keren Zaltz, curator of the solo exhibition “Secrets We Revealed to Everyone / Twelve Intimate Conversations (and One Monologue)”, currently on view at Binyamin Gallery, in conversation with the artist Jonathan Levy. They discuss his working method, the selection of participants, the construction of his persona, the space between documentary and fiction, and the awkwardness that comes with it.

The artist Jonathan Levy sits beside a woman — Jonathan Levy, with Gali, 2019

Keren Zaltz: Hi Jonathan, how are you?

Jonathan Levy: Personally, as the saying goes, I’m doing very well; nationally, much less so. That’s partly why I decided that, despite everything, my art still has a place in the terrible turmoil we’re all living through. Art that deals with the seemingly small things that people go through, and that we must continue to engage with in order to stay sane. I was very excited leading up to the exhibition, and I’m really happy with the responses I’ve been getting since it opened.

Keren Zaltz: Your exhibition at Binyamin Gallery, a cooperative gallery you’re a member of, opened after you spent several years collecting material. Tell us, how did the project begin?

Jonathan Levy: The idea for the project emerged right after my previous solo exhibition, a weekend show filmed and presented in a suite at the Royal Beach Hotel, curated by Sharon Toval. Once it ended, I began searching for a new direction, hoping to avoid the creative slump that often follows a show. I knew I wanted to try something unlike anything I’d done before.

The original idea was to make a film that would appear to be a “documentary,” in which I’d follow a young woman I knew from my earlier art studies for about a year—we’d meet every month or so. But it wouldn’t be a typical documentary, because I, the creator, would be an inseparable part of it. We did the first serious session in the studio, against a black backdrop. That’s the partially documented meeting shown on the first screen.

Ya’ara, the woman, was willing to help, but she wasn’t truly interested in the concept and didn’t want to commit to something long-term. My Plan B was to start filming other women, this time across a wider age range. I still had no clear idea what I’d do with all the material—just a vague sense that, one day, it would become an exhibition.

Keren Zaltz: So how did you approach the other women? How did you choose them?

Jonathan Levy: That’s one of the questions I get asked most. The only common denominator among them is that they intrigued me—and that they agreed to take part in this studio adventure, which had just two rules: First, I could only use the material with their consent after the fact—they didn’t need to agree in advance. Second, the boundaries of the conversation would be defined on camera. I wanted to make the awkwardness visible at that stage, when it’s still unclear what’s off-limits and what isn’t.

One of the women, Ya’ara, for example, studied with me in a continuing photography program at Musrara twelve years ago, led by Dafna Ichilov, and at the time I photographed her nude in a hotel room. Another was one of the first models I ever photographed nude, sixteen years ago. I invited her to join the project now that she’s a full-time mom of three (now four) daughters. One had written a witty blog for seniors on Haaretz, so I invited her to participate. Another really connected with the work I showed in my final exhibition of the continuing studies program at Hamidrasha. In short, each one had her own path in.

The artist Jonathan Levy sits beside a woman, both wearing masks — Jonathan Levy, with a mask, 2018

Keren Zaltz: But would it be fair to say that what they have in common is some connection to the art world, and that you had some kind of prior acquaintance with them, even if it was very minimal?

Jonathan Levy: Not all of them have a connection to the art world, but you could say they’re interested in art, or at least interested in what I do and intended to do with the project. I think many of them were drawn to the idea of talking about things that usually go unspoken, or simply stepping out of their daily routine. It’s true that I met or knew most of them only very superficially, or in very different contexts, like one woman who twenty years ago worked at a company I was managing. In any case, the acquaintance was enough to spark my curiosity, to make me want to discover more than what meets the eye. These were women I could imagine a story about, a story I could then test in real time in conversation between us, on camera.

A room with the artist Jonathan Levy standing in it, a black backdrop behind him and two tall wooden bar chairs. — Jonathan Levy, in the studio (self-portrait), 2024

Keren Zaltz: So what does a visitor to the exhibition see?

Jonathan Levy: Anyone who passes through the black fabric curtain at the entrance to the gallery immediately sees six screens at the far end of the dimly lit space—video screens, all but one showing a still image that looks like a dialogue between a woman and me, set against a black backdrop. On the one screen that isn’t frozen, you see and hear a conversation between a woman and me. After a minute and a half, maybe two, that screen freezes, and another one resumes from the exact point where it had paused. The conversations shift from screen to screen like that.

To the left, before entering deeper into the gallery, there’s a large projected screen displaying scrolling text moving from right to left, making it difficult to read in full. The eye catches fragments—phrases here and there—and after a while it becomes clear that these are transcripts of the conversations happening on the screens.

And behind the visitor’s back, there’s a large self-portrait of me in the studio—one that reveals more of the studio than what you see in the video screens.

A dimly lit gallery space. Video screens showing human figures are mounted on the walls. In the center of the room stand tall wooden bar chairs — Installation views, Jonathan Levy

A darkened art gallery space. On the right wall, a projection of scrolling text. On the left wall, an image of a man standing next to two chairs.

Keren Zaltz: The exhibition space feels very cinematic and theatrical, while the video work moves through documentary territory. Where do you place yourself in the space between the direct and the staged?

Jonathan Levy: It’s a bit like how I think about my street photography. While the common claim is that photography shows what was there, I’m more interested in showing what “wasn’t there.” Meaning—it was there, I didn’t invent or stage it—but I made a moment present that in our day-to-day reality wouldn’t have stood out. In photography, I like to create moments that look cinematic or even staged, but aren’t. In video, I want it to be hard to pin down exactly what it is I’m doing. I want what isn’t said or shown—what’s left out—to resonate in the viewer’s mind. I use what actually happened in the space of the studio (or the home I shoot in, in other projects) to create something that in many ways would be impossible to do in “real life,” outside the frame of the artistic project. I’m also not trying to recount something that happened. What takes place in front of the camera isn’t an attempt to recreate a past event. The dialogue itself—that’s what happened.

Keren Zaltz: And when you look at yourself, at your image in the video or the photograph, do you see a persona that’s different from who you are in real life?

Jonathan Levy: The persona in the video or the photograph is an expression of me, but maybe braver than I am in everyday life. The moment I realized that the figure in the image isn’t “me” was when I exhibited a nude self-portrait (as part of that same program at Musrara). I didn’t sleep the whole night before, I was so afraid of what would happen. But then, during the critique, people began talking about “the figure in the photo” this way and that—and I understood. It really was a character. It’s a figure that isn’t trying to “look good.” In fact, I’m drawn to the moments where I feel awkward. In everyday life, I like that a lot less.

Jonathan Levy standing with a wooden bar stool in his hands. — Jonathan Levy, with a bench, 2024

Keren Zaltz: Since you mentioned awkwardness—can you share a moment from one of the many conversations you had where you felt uncomfortable or faced a particular challenge?

Jonathan Levy: There’s no single moment—there are plenty. The more I want to talk about personal things, the more I worry about causing harm, so I hesitate a lot. I also feel awkward asking intimate questions that might go beyond the “accepted boundaries,” even though we had agreed that I “could.” I’m less awkward about answering questions, to be honest. Because—and this applies to life too—I truly believe there’s nothing to lose in admitting vulnerability. In my experience, when you do that, the other person’s guard comes down, and you can reach deep places—without the facade.

Keren Zaltz: I imagine that compared to your previous works, this way of working is less planned and therefore less controlled. The conversation can drift into places you didn’t anticipate.

Jonathan Levy: Let me clarify something. Aside from the hotel project, The Thing Itself, which included a few staged scenes among unstaged ones—all of my video works are unscripted and open-ended. The conversation can go in any direction. But it’s true that my earlier works were more tightly edited, so the result felt more “cinematic” and controlled. With this one, I knew I wanted long, uncut segments of conversation—and the outcome is definitely less controlled, even if the dialogue feels “less cinematic.” What’s surprising—at least to me—is that it still holds attention in the exhibition (based on how long people stay…).

Keren Zaltz: What do you think holds their attention? Curiosity? Identification? A sense of voyeurism?

Jonathan Levy: I think it’s the exposure, and maybe a certain honesty that comes through. Maybe they’re drawn to the sense that they’re not alone in the things they struggle with? People have told me, “That’s brave—to expose yourself like that,” though for me it doesn’t feel like a big deal. That said, and without generalizing, I have noticed some gendered differences in responses. So far, no woman has reacted negatively to the content, but a few men (not many) have seemed a bit unsettled, clearly uncomfortable. Still, the vast majority of men have been very supportive.

Keren Zaltz: That’s an interesting difference to explore. Did you ever feel, during filming, that you were crossing a line—or touching on something taboo?

Jonathan Levy: I imagine there were moments where lines were crossed, where something landed poorly. But in most of the encounters, I had a strong sense that both sides gained something from the dialogue. There was one conversation—naturally not included in the show—where the woman was very hurt by something I said, even though, in that case, I hadn’t broken our prior agreement. In hindsight, I probably acted foolishly. If she had only agreed, I would have gladly included that foolishness in the exhibition.

Keren Zaltz: If you could invite one more woman into the project—no limits, from any time or place—and she would definitely agree, is there someone you’d want to talk to?

Jonathan Levy: Wow, that’s a question I’ve never asked or been asked. I think I’d want to talk to someone who would challenge me—who would take control of the dialogue and become the “me” in that moment. In almost all my works, I seek situations where the woman leads. It’s part of my effort to balance the power dynamic. A specific woman? Maybe someone I know well, socially—a person with whom it wouldn’t feel “appropriate” to speak the way I do in these works. That’s actually something I’ve been turning over in my mind for a future piece.

Keren Zaltz: Now I’m curious… something to look forward to. Thank you, Jonathan, for sharing. Any final words?

Jonathan Levy: Just this: come visit. I’m at the gallery during all open hours and would love to meet. And thank you, Keren, you were a huge part of this creative process. And also thanks to Miri Segal, who supported me all the way back in my continuing studies days, and again at the start of this project.