Ceilings

I am a body suspended between heaven and earth.
The ground is dense and settled, obedient to those drawn downward, subdued beneath the weight of gravity—of objects, humans, and creatures of the field.
The horizon stretches like a distant middle line, between walls, behind a barrier, glazed in a window, perhaps open.
The ceiling—a barrier for dreamers—and the sky: air.
An abstract shape recognized in a cloud, the movement of the wind, a longing to soar while remaining in place.
To transcend a ceiling.
To recognize the power of the discerning gaze, its uniqueness, and its everyday nature. For centuries, necks stretched upward, mouths opened in awe at the sanctity of the chapel, celestial, the spirit within matter.

Time’s claws scratch. The whir of a fan stirs. The tick-tock of wings circulates. The light switch is surely smudged by a pointing finger. Peeling plaster clings to old walls, a mundane temple marked by cracks alongside ornaments not of this time—ones that were and vanished, if they ever truly existed.
For over a decade, Neta Dror has been photographing ceilings of all kinds. Her repeated choice of ceilings as a subject forms a series—or, in her case, more fittingly, a collection.
An anthology of ceilings compiled into the artist’s archive, serving as an integral part of her practice. Dror, a 'semi-archivist,' constructs an archive with a shifting narrative.
During the act of photography, the artist mirrors the ceiling, lying on her back, parallel to its plane.
Body against barrier—relations—a line facing a line.
In the photograph’s final form, whether on a screen or printed and hung on a wall, Dror brings the ceiling closer to kissing the floor through the creation of the photographic object.