Itay suggested the title "Natural Awakening," and I initially found it a bit strange—perhaps like his paintings. At first glance, nothing seems more natural or simple than a natural awakening, but the next thought raises questions: What is an awakening that is not natural? And actually, an awakening from what? Perhaps also an awakening into what? Moreover, it is not merely an "arousing," but a yeqiza—the end of sleep—where we might still manage to catch the tail end of a dream.

In Itay Shmueli’s paintings, the dream is not the subject of the painting but is found within the color—that is, within the light. The light is the remnant of the dream, the light of an internal world. Whether the painting depicts the corner of a house (from the outside or within), a street, a beach, or a neighborhood grove, and even if the painting is ostensibly in full daylight, it is always also at twilight. The subject is the "outside," while the lighting is the "inside"; the painting exists in the borderlands, as if it is dreaming the gaze itself. It is not always possible to distinguish between objects, shadows, and reflections; they all transform into stains of color and light. And since the color shifts the subject toward the realm of the dream, time also becomes more dreamlike. The painting invites slow observation, a sliding between details, a loss of focus, and a reflection devoid of verbal content. It invites slowness and silence, and the small dimensions of many of the works invite intimacy and seclusion.

Itay Shmueli re-dreams the intimate tradition of modern painting. What do the warm, intimate softness of Bonnard and the cool, alienated stiffness of Edward Hopper have in common? Their proximity to the dream-state of the everyday. What we call a "personal language" or a "unique style" is an expression of powerful subjectivity. By avoiding dramatic content and dominant scales, Shmueli channels the "burden of proof" toward his personal gaze—toward the intimate depth from which he observes the outside world.