SELECT ART & POETRY
Recent Publications: |
* Two poems by Stav were published in Ho! Literary Magazine, vol. 29 "Myths" (Autumn 2025)
* A poem by Stav was published in the poetry journal Helicon Poetry, vol. 146 "Until Zero Light" (Summer 2025) * Artwork by Stav was published in AJS Perspectives: The Magazine of the Association for Jewish Studies, Summer 2025: The Rainbow Issue. * A poem by Stav was published in the poetry journal Salon des Refusés, issue: "Secret" (Summer 2025) |
To inquire about artwork prices to commission poems, contact Stav here.
"Shmita" (2025): Porcelain, wood, mirror, acrylic
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Self-Portrait of a UK Immigrant in Lockdown on Election Day in Her Homeland (2021) (Winner: 3rd Place, Long-Distance Poetry Competition) She hadn't sleep all night because her fallopian tubes are assholes She cried all morning because she misses her grandma Who is just as depressed as her today, so she said on the phone And she's feeling guilty because she is so very far away And because today is the 4th National Election in the span of two years And once again she's not there to do her part for her country Her country, which she still calls home despite everything The first time she came across a dreidel in the diaspora She laughed — there must be a mistake It’s supposed to say “A Great Miracle Happened Here”! She laughed at the goyim, fools, they probably used Google Translate And manufactured an entire line of faulty dreidels And then she understood that she’s the fool here “A Great Miracle Happened There”, because she’s no longer Here she purchased the most British cardigan ever An oversized cable knit brown cardigan, with deep pockets And wooden buttons. She will go on a walk That’s what the Brits do here Later, in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of English tea She makes tahini in the food processor Adding water, lemon, and fresh garlic Searching for the perfect balance Between solid and liquid, sour and savoury, Between here and there. |
"Uprooted" (2021)
"Uprooted" (2021)
Judges' Commentary:
"A convincing, existential poem about the experience of distance as it echoes in a woman living in diaspora - both here and there, neither here nor there. Like the dreidel experiencing confusion in diaspora, not sure if it is here or there, distance is embodied in every circle: The physical circle - a physical pain in a foreign space; the family circle - missing her grandma to tears; and the national circle - the feeling of guilt, amplified on the day of elections. The poem remains life-sized and does not presume to offer magic solutions nor big conclusions beyond seeking balance between doing 'what the Brits do here' and a sensory insistence to find home by making 'tahini in the food processor.'" |
"Home is Where" (2025): Collage
"Medusa's Scream" (2025): Needle felting, beads, ribbon
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Medusa (2022) I cannot recall When I first felt their gaze Treasuring me, measuring me Like a prize to be won Their gaze roaming my body Assessing every inch From my hair Down to my feet Their eyes are sand paper, scraping Filing me down Making me small. Distressed, bereft, I turned to Athena, I begged her: Goddess of wisdom Advise me, comfort me -- And it was there Poseidon found me. He grabbed the waves of my hair As if grabbing his horses' reigns Bringing foam to my lips Grunting in my ears Of my sea-blue eyes. Later she found me Unconscious on her altar My blood defiling her temple And they say that in her divine, Omnipotent wrath, she punished me So they say Those ignorant fools Not understanding Their male gaze blind To justice served by a woman All who look upon me will turn into stone And ever since, nobody looks upon me Not even Poseidon Although the waves lap At my bare feet, and the salt Scraping my skin Softens and smoothes me Like an eel I walk on the shore Looking out at the eye-blue sea My snakes twisting around me Free to walk as I please Head held high |
"Floating", a trinket dish and decorative stones (2025): Clay, acrylic paint
Ars Poetica (2025) I'm like a poem - at first glance You won't understand What I want of you. If you try to speak of the weather I will lift you from idle words Towards great questions About that bright, night blue. I'm like a poem - at a second chance You will discover It's worth pausing with me. To silence the humming of the feet. Even though I weigh each word As if I were Themis herself, still Do not miss hovering over the details. Think twice of turning over the page. 
"Over the Surface of the Deep" (2025): Diorama
"Strange Beauty" (2022): Live Art / Performance Installation, part of "We Are Invisible We Are Visible", The Arnolfini Bristol
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Star Limbs (2019)
"There is a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in" - Leonard Cohen
"There is a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in" - Leonard Cohen
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I guess I should start with your hands.
Boney, skinny fingers, Nails stained from smoking. No one rolled a cigarette as fast as you. Then I would add your arms. Strong, comforting, how they lifted my little body Up-up-up, my milky skin against your dark self. Mom said we looked like a Benetton ad. Next your mouth: thick lips, revealing Perfect white teeth. And your eyes. Big, mischievous chocolate eyes, how they sparkled When we swam in the waterfall, wading like puppies, worry free. Then the eyebrows. The way they wrinkled When we played chess, I thought you were planning Your next strategic move. But now I think you planned How to trick me into winning. I add your legs. Those long, long legs That danced in that one-room you called an apartment You put Bjork in the CD player Because she looked like your girlfriend And you slowly moved to her guttural sounds. I collect you from photographs. I collect you from memory. You roll a cigarette, you play chess, You dance with me, you jump from the waterfall, You jump off the window -- Your pieces are scattered but I collect you. |
I collect you as you were, tall and dark and young. I collect you but I cannot put you together. Because I am older now than you will ever be -- How can I be older than you will ever be? So I scatter you Piece by piece, memory by memory And I watch you dot the night sky. Each meteor the spark in your eye, Each limb - a constellation. You see, stars (like people) die. But we still receive the light From stars that have long passed from this world. When we look up at the skies We are bathed in the light of stars That died long, long ago. I scatter you among them. I choose to believe that you, too, Like the stars, can send me Messages coded in starlight Long after you have passed from this world. You cut through the fabric of the universe, You make cracks in the milky way, You open up a hatch in the solar system, Through which your light shines And collects in me. |
