Samuel Bak was born in Vilna, Poland in 1933. When Vilna came under German occupation in 1940, Bak’s family moved into the Vilna Ghetto and later into hiding before living in a labor camp. By the end of the war, Bak and his mother were the only survivors from his extended family.

As a child experiencing the Holocaust first hand, Bak often took refuge in painting and drawing. He possessed extraordinary artistic talent from an early age, a talent that his mother unconditionally supported and encouraged.

In 1948, Bak and his mother traveled to Israel. Eight years later, he moved to Paris and eventually Rome. He began his career as an abstract painter and received much acclaim in that genre. However, upon turning thirty, Bak began to realize that his work until then had only been preparatory for what was to come. He had a story to tell—a story about trauma that had been silenced for too many years, and one, he writes, “of a humanity that had survived two great wars, and whose world now lay in shambles.” Like many others after the devastation of war, Bak was searching for answers on how to repair and reconstruct his world.

Bak has since spent most of his life and career trying to reconcile and visually express the destruction and atrocities he witnessed as a child during the Holocaust. Bak refrains from over-explicit imagery; although set in an imaginary realm, his works are emotionally powerful. The Art Gallery organized a major exhibition of Bak’s work in 2006 and these two works, a gift and a purchase, are welcome additions to The Art Gallery’s collection.

Samuel Bak, Adam and Eve, 2000

In this drawing, Eve, wearing a sorrowful expression, points down to Adam, who--in imagery derived from Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam on the Sistine Ceiling—is pointing his own hand and gaze toward that which we can not see. This unconventional portrayal of Adam in the garb of a concentration camp is what Bak refers to as “a contemporary representation of the one who was banished from Paradise.” Searching for God, Adam and Eve get only a hint from the mysterious figure outlined in the wall--the shadowy silhouette of Michelangelo’s other half of the Creation (God)--whose hand signals meanings they must discover for themselves. Bak questions, “How can they arise from the rubble where they have landed?” Was the consequence of their sin a world in which atrocities such as the Holocaust, symbolized here by chimneys sprouting heavy smoke, could take place? Bak also raises the question of who has accused or disappointed whom, with Man and God pointing against each other in opposite directions: Man failing his Creator, with our history of injustice, cruelty, and war, or God failing mankind by allowing such horrific things to happen.