Artist Joel Mesler Couples His Childhood Memories with a Larger Collective Unconscious in His Latest Body of Work at Levy Gorvy Dayan Gallery, NYC
Interview by Leah Kogen Elimeliah
I met Joel Mesler this summer at Levy Gorvy Dayan Art Gallery on the Upper East Side, where his exhibition, Kitchens are Good Rooms to Cry In, was on display. I had my two younger daughters with me, ages 8 and 11. The moment we walked in, it felt like we had stepped into a kaleidoscope of nostalgia, play, and humor. The space was brimming with paintings, sculptures, and installations, filling two floors of this Beaux-Arts townhouse.
Joel’s work explores his childhood via the vantage-point of an adult who hasn’t lost his imagination, but now grasps the weight of those memories. It was as though he used words like “PLAYTIME,” “PRAYER,” “JOY,” and “LOVE” in his works to conjure a conversation with his past, weaving humor into pain and making it all feel like a playful yet poignant lounge of self-reflection.
By the time we reached the upstairs office, Joel and I had already settled into a conversation about being bullied as kids, that familiar sense of isolation, and the quiet weight of being misunderstood in a world that shapes you before you even know who you are. There was an ease in how we compared our very different upbringings—his in LA, mine in Moscow. His parents’ divorce, my parents’ reluctant marriage. His addiction, my wrestling match with religion. We both found ourselves exiled in different ways, but it was clear we had drawn strength from it. We could have talked for hours, but the girls were restless, and I had to pull myself away.
Just before we left, Joel mentioned a “secret room” and asked if I wanted to see it. Of course, I did. He opened a door to reveal paintings of clowns that, strangely, resembled Rabbis. We laughed, but there was something quietly profound in his fascination with these characters. He told me about his collection of over 200 Rabbi paintings, his most prized possession. We stayed in touch, and in a later interview, Joel shared with me how his Rabbi paintings, his personal struggles, and his spiritual moments have helped ground him, even in his most chaotic times. I half-joked that he should become a Rabbi—it seems to suit him. Maybe that’s where his next chapter begins.
LKE: I know you were an art dealer before becoming an artist, can you talk a bit about your experience in this adjacent yet distinct field?
JM: I went to Sonoma State University for art, primarily for painting and wasn't successful right off the bat. For grad school I went to the San Francisco Art Institute, but was a failed art student, so instead I used my middle man skills which I learnt through my parents’ divorce and a lifetime of figuring out how to function in the real world, sort of like Jews in general. When Jews were not allowed to own land, what did they do? They mitigated and did whatever they could to make money. I was a natural middle man and knew a lot of artists, so I inserted myself into their market and started selling their work. I never intended to be an art dealer nor did I ever enjoy it. I just knew art. I moved to LA and started a printing press in Chinatown, Los Angeles. I opened up galleries because I was close with a lot of Chinese landlords; they called me the “Round Eye” guy. Whenever they wanted to get higher rents they would come to me. If you want the “Round Eye” to rent from you go to Joel Messler, so I became the agent, the connector to the artists in Chinatown. I ended up getting free rentals for myself because I was giving them so much business.
LKE: What are you most attached to in your art?
JM: The art I am connected to most at the moment are my paintings of Rabbis. There is something about doing those also because it takes the most out of me and I spend the least amount of time doing it. But it is really meaningful work.
LKE: Did you ever think of becoming a Rabbi?
JM: No. I was raised Reform back in Los Angeles. I studied at Ohr Sameach yeshiva for a while, in Israel. I was there for about a year. There was a moment when the rabbis began setting me up on shidduch dates and I said to myself that I won't be moving back to America. That's when my mother freaked out and said “no, this can't happen, I will buy you a car, but come back.” I remember there were other parents who would come to kidnap their kids and bring them back home because they were so afraid of them becoming too Jewish.
But the things I learnt at Ohr Sameach are truly what I have been living by. The Judaism I learned really shaped me and helped me understand the secular world. Before going to yeshiva, I didn't understand the universe. But my Jewish education really brought me closer to understanding my place in the world and the world itself on a deeper level, through learning Gemora and Torah. The reason why I didn't become a rabbi was I think because I wasn't raised Orthodox. The reality is that if I wasn't from that world I knew I would always be an outsider. I did believe in everything I was doing though and following all the laws while I was religious. I knew that in the religious world I would never be accepted as one of theirs, but in the secular world I knew there was at least a chance I’d fit in. All my life I wanted to be part of something. They say, to get closer to Hashem you have to climb a mountain and swim the sea. I had to spend a lifetime to do all the stuff I had done, becoming an alcoholic, going through recovery, so that I could understand what it actually meant for me to be part of something. Some people can use Torah to get closer to God, I was using drugs and alcohol, until I realized that it wasn't bringing me closer to anything, so I had to go through recovery which brought me closer to Torah and Judaism. It got me back to learning. They call it the “Big Book” in Alcoholics Anonymous. Getting out of ego and fear, serving other people and the world — that’s AA and it's also the Torah — the book to live by.
LKE: Can we chat a bit about the “Secret Room” at Levy Gorvy Dayan?
JM: Being the mashugana artist who is left to his own devices, you start to create strange things, forming strange narratives. I was going to auctions and purchasing rabbi paintings that nobody was buying and nobody wanted, So I started this collection of rabbi paintings. Then, I am painting my own rabbis, selling them and getting Judaica on people’s walls, saying to myself, what is happening, I am in the flow of life and it's great.
When I decided to have the show with Levy Gorvy Dayan I had just come off these two exhibitions with rabbis and also worked on a book. I thought, this show wasn't the right one where I can exhibit the rabbis, they need their own attention, I wouldn't be doing them justice if they were on their own. So after everything, I thought at this time, in the present climate, the rabbis needed to be undercover a bit.
LKE: Your paintings of rabbis and clowns…it’s fascinating how they seem like opposing forces, yet you find a thread that ties them together. There’s something wild and witty in how you play with this concept. It feels philosophical, almost like it’s tapping into something deeper than just confronting antisemitism. I wonder if it’s also about how we interpret both figures — a clown and a rabbi, both carrying this vulnerability, facing the devastation and absurdity of the world in different ways, yet somehow they’re both exposed to the rawness of existence.
JM: The thing is what is happening in these past eleven months, with the war in Israel and the antisemitism, we are always being attacked so this isn't new. Perhaps rabbis are important to us now, maybe they have some answers from texts where it references events happening today. The clowns engage the audience, make people stop, watch and observe. I wanted the rabbis to become clowns so that people can stop, think and pay attention to what message they are conveying to us about our state of the world. This is what inspired me to make rabbis into clowns plus I always tinkered with the idea of antisemitism and how it plays out in the world.
LKE: What has it been like for you personally as an artist in this very heated and aggressive climate? Have you been confronted or did you have to confront anyone in your creative circle?
JM: This subject has always been a theme in my work. For instance, when I had my show in 2020 with David Kordansky, I had a painting that said “Jew” written in hotdog rings and mustard dripping on it. I was working on a project that was called, “Home Run and Run Home” and it was written with a Hebrew font. The idea that a Jew always has to aim for the fences and hit a homerun and simultaneously run home. So in this series of paintings one said, “Homerun” and had literally a Jew run for the fences. The other painting was of “Run Home” where you had a deconstructed matzo ball soup, representing run home to mama, for some chicken soup.
I remember David Kordansky, who is also a friend of mine and who is Jewish, was hesitant about these paintings, he didn't think it was appropriate for the show. I told him, “we got to do it Dave,” and he said, “ well, what do you think the reaction will be?” I feel like the hate has always been there in some way or another. Now, I think it's different, for obvious reasons, like for example when I sent the email blast out for the show [at Levy Gorvy Dayan], I got random messages from people that were so nasty and hateful, and my response to those people was, well what does a zionist have to do with ice cream or a beach ball, I am just trying to throw an ice cream party.
LKE: The New York Times wrote an article about you and the show, describing some paintings in particular as, “lush post traumatic allegory styled in alphabetic letters.” Can you talk a bit about what inspires you and where your art comes from?
JM: I feel like this past show is actually the end of this particular journey. I have been mining my trauma and childhood because I was in arrested development for most of my life and only woke up about eight years ago. And so, I had a lot to uncover and unpack, understand about myself and my childhood. It wasn't until recently that I began to understand and kind of come into myself. It's all very new to me but I did all the work and with this exhibition I have finally completed it, submerged myself into that space. And this is the end of my Act I. I was mining a lot of imagery and symbols that defined who I was, like the wallpaper that I remembered during my childhood, or the hotel where my dad had a nervous breakdown, or the furs my mother used to wear before she would go to a key party. All these themes ran through my head all my life; I wanted to understand them as an adult and now I am finally done doing that.
It's interesting, in my work I often see myself submerged, sort of like in the mikvah. Now I am emerging, I have finally cleansed myself. It’s time for me to enter my next phase, post dunking in the mikvah. I don't know what the next chapter looks like but I know it's there. I also redeemed myself from being a victim, where I turned the trauma that I inherited from my childhood and my parents’ mistakes and I kind of spun it all around, making a shekel from it and owning it while also becoming a man from the experience.
LKE: What are your thoughts about “The Art World” and where it's going, in general I mean?
JM: When I was younger, I used to think there was an “art world,” but I realize there is no such a thing. I believe there is a collective conscience, for example, Rick Rubin talks about this. Multiple people have the same idea and someone says, “someone stole my idea.” But the idea always existed in the universe, in a collective consciousness and people are just vessels who capture the ideas if their antennas are up. I prescribe to this idea. I don't believe there is an [all-powerful] art world, but a larger thing is happening and the art world is a reflection of the collective brain. Ideas and concepts arise and people write-up about it or focus on it, then the art world takes notice. As the world turns, the art world turns with it.
I do believe the art world will be ok, whatever that means. This idea that one person will shift the creative consciousness or the universe with their prophetic idea is so egotistical. I don't buy it. I believe the universe moves us and we move beside it.
