ITSA BERTSY ART

ITSA BERTSY’s works begin where memory persists: skyscapes, museum relics, and studies of nature rendered with clarity. Each image shifts a room’s atmosphere, resonates with archetypes, and opens a quiet dialogue with the present and future

They reward repeated looking, are neither nostalgic nor romantic, and are never replicas. These are reconstructions — precise, intentional, and disarmingly present.

His cinematography-trained eye shapes every frame: light, mood, composition and narration are instinctive.
Every image is precisely crafted and sharpened to atmospherically transform.


No shock tactics. No theoretical bla-blas.
In a time when irony is many artists’ default critical shield,
he does not reject beauty — he reactivates it.
In doing so, BERTSY risks something rarer: emotional clarity.

His works align with art history, and speak with a unique voice about present-day urgencies.

Even floral still lifes break cliché: no romance in a vase, but everyday reality — flowers behind storefront glass. Layers of reflection bring fresh views, creating heightened realism that feels ahead of its time.
The works resonate with present-day hopes and desires.

Large-format religious relics honor human spiritual significance. Bertsy’s results shift the feeling of a room—
they give it presence and purpose.

His approach to street art moves the genre forward.
No slick gallery imitations for our walls: he captures raw urban fragments before they vanish.
Cracked paint, surface tension, and textures directly from
the city walls. He frames what others overlook —
t’s not about ornaments, but about atmosphere.
An atmosphere that smells of street spirit.

BERTSY focuses on creating atmospheres — it’s not about what you see, but how you see it.
A perfect setting that brings the viewer’s story into focus.
 
Each image carries presence. Quiet, lasting, alive.
Over time, they begin to speak — in silence, in memory and visions, in the language of your home.
This is not decoration, but resonance that feels right.

ITSA BERTSY encourages: if museums can celebrate Koons’ ballerina without irony, why can’t we collect and celebrate monumental kitsch on our walls? Collectors don’t just hang these works — they claim them. They give themselves permission to live with art that moves them.

For curators, CCC offers what’s increasingly rare: art that doesn’t demand — but endures;
art that doesn’t explain — but deepens;
art that doesn’t perform — but transforms.
These aren’t just images — they’re propositions.

These images don’t seek belief. They offer witness — to memory, to presence, to a kind of quiet constancy we may not have realized we missed.Many of us grew up seeing these figures in daily life — on bedside tables, in stairwells, tucked into corners of our grandparents’ homes.

They were once everywhere. Today, they’ve slipped away. Taken down. Forgotten. Replaced by noise, by glass, by empty space. But the need they served — that remains.
In moments of uncertainty, we look for grounding.

These images — sunbleached, worn, imperfect — offer it.
They don’t speak, but listen. They don’t instruct, but hold.

They create a place to meet yourself. To bring your inner life into focus, without the pressure of response.They are quiet invitations. To reflect. To open a most intimate inner dialogue — to speak to your deepest sorrows, your quiet hopes, your unvoiced questions.
These figures listen. They help carry what weighs on you. In their silent attention, they offer space, not solutions — but often, that’s how clarity comes.

Itsa Bertsy does not present these works as religious objects. They’re not meant to convert. Instead, they’re enlarged gestures of presence — intimate figures scaled to take up real, visible space again.

Their imperfections are part of their power.

They remind us that belief doesn’t need to be formal. That devotion can be quiet. That private ritual, once common, still has meaning.To collect one is not to take on a faith.

It is to make room. These works— only aquirable for collectors and institutions as large-format, unique prints — reposition the forgotten into the visible.

They let reflection live again, not behind glass, but in your line of sight.They’re not loud. They’re not urgent. But they are still here. Still watching. Still waiting.

These are not signs. These are portraits. Drawn not with ink or pencil, but with traffic paint, time, weather, asphalt, and neglect. The wheelchair icon, a global symbol of accessibility, becomes — in these photographs — a site of attention.

Enlarged. Elevated. Reframed.
Each image begins with a real parking spot. Not staged. Not retouched. Just found — worn, cracked, awkward, accidental.
Some are barely legible.
Others have been painted over, misaligned, or slowly  erased by time. Yet in their damage, they speak.They become witnesses to presence. And to absence. This body of work asks: How do we mark space forthose society often overlooks?

What does the condition of these signs say about care, visibility, and respect? These aren’t just technical oversights — they reflect something deeper.


The transfer from pavement to print shifts our perspective. Once utilitarian, the image becomes contemplative. A kind of quiet activism. An invitation to reconsider how we define access, inclusion, and beauty itself.

For a viewer who is disabled — or lives close to disability — these works can also be reclaimed. Not as critique, but as pride.
 
To hang one on the wall is to say:
Yes, I am handicapped. So what?

This is me. This is my space.
This is worth seeing.

The prints, available in high-resolution, large-scale editions, intentionally preserve every crack and stain. Because perfection was never the point. These aren’t clean graphics. They’re declarations — of movement, presence, and persistence.

In their silence, these signs still speak.
About design. About neglect. About beauty.

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In That’s OK, If Jeff Can, Itsa Bertsy presents a new series of large-format photographs that celebrate the emotional life of ordinary objects — porcelain figurines, mass-produced keepsakes, sentimental tokens found in bedrooms, thrift shops, and family shelves.
These are not ironic trophies or aesthetic oddities. They are things people chose, displayed, loved — quietly and without permission.

Shot with clarity and care, and printed at a scale typically reserved for monument or luxury, these objects shift register.

Bertsy doesn’t exaggerate them — he simply gives them space. In doing so, he asks us not to reconsider their form, but their meaning.

What once fit in the palm now fills the wall.

The title references Jeff Koons not as critique, but as context. If the art world has already accepted mirrored balloon dogs and polished banality — sanctified by scale and theory — then perhaps there’s room, finally, for sincerity
For small things. For affection.

The Value of Feeling isn’t sentimentalism. It’s a reminder that emotion, attachment, and aesthetic instinct aren’t flaws of taste — they’re evidence of it. What Bertsy offers here is not a parody of culture, but a portrait of it.

This is art made from what matters to most people, most of the time. And if that’s OK for Jeff, then maybe it’s OK, finally, for the rest of us too.

This series asserts the enduring significance of the everyday, reclaiming beauty and meaning where it is often overlooked.

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