The exhibition, based on Gürol Sözen's works spanning many years, can be visited at ARK Culture until May 19th. Designed by architect Gülfem Köseoğlu, the exhibition “points to a universal existence through poetry, painting, icons, and sculptures.”
Painter, writer, art historian, and cultural figure Gürol Sözen presents selected works from his long career. His main materials include painting, icons (i.e., icons on old wood, root walnut), oil paint, acrylic, watercolor, charcoal, and pastel, as well as silver and copper leaf and bronze objects. The bronze and silver sculptures he designed in Urart jewelry workshops reveal his profound perspective on nature, society, and human relationships.
One of Gürol Sözen's striking aspects is his identity as an art historian. Bringing the civilizations of Anatolia and the cultural heritage of Anatolian lands into his art, Sözen makes this heritage visible through paintings, books, sculptures, and documentary films. He also conveys this knowledge to a wide audience through radio and television programs, museum exhibitions, and various cultural and artistic events. In this respect, the exhibition at ARK Culture points to a universal existence through poetry, painting, icons, and sculptures. He continues.
Upon entering the exhibition space, the artist's words are displayed on the opposite wall: “Every color is a word. / And every word is a picture and a fairy tale. / The timid voice of a sparrow. / The silence in the depths of blue.” "And the epic tale is my reality..."
The exhibition, "The Blackness of Black, The Whiteness of White," designed by architect Gülfem Köseoğlu, can be visited at ARK Culture until May 19th.
You mentioned that you were inspired by Özdemir Asaf's poem, "All colors were getting dirty at the same speed, they gave the first place to white." How did this poem come to life in your exhibition?
Life is hidden in the details. The dolphin in the seas, the sparrow, dove, pigeon, seagull on land, the horses with their flowing manes, the mountaintops, the lonely daisies of the plains; the clouds changing from color to color, the deep seas, the purple flower blooming with the haste of the Judas tree's leaves forming... Each one is an epic and a painting. Purple is the symbolic color of Roman civilization, especially of the Byzantine Emperors and Empresses. If someone else were to wear purple, their head would be cut off! At a banquet given by Emperor Nero in his palace, a wealthy woman entered wearing a purple dress... Upon entering, he ordered the woman to be stripped naked like an onion and thrown out the door. And not content with that, he confiscated her possessions. Moreover, Nero had his lions painted purple in the arena. In Byzantium, only the Emperor and Empress were allowed to wear purple. Purple is an art form in itself. Alexander the Great's beloved horse's harness and tent were also purple. It's legendary. Empress Cleopatra's war galleons were also purple. Purple is mentioned in holy books. The purple tiles of the Seljuks and Ottomans. Purple fabric was found in Susa during the Persian period. And something very nice: Do you know what Leonardo, whom I admire and am impressed by, said? "The light of purple increases my imagination tenfold!" You know what we are doing, of course: We are cutting down the Judas trees that greet spring on the Bosphorus, blossoming like a cloud before their leaves, and burying them in concrete. Yet each Judas tree is a symbol of civilization. Like the deep blue, purple is also a passion of mine. See, these are deliberately short answers. I promised I would give it, but I dragged it out. Each color is a legend and a way of life. Nature is our greatest teacher; if we are the axe-wielders... When it comes to black and white, we need to pause! We, we, embrace black because we think it gets dirty. "Don't wear black, it will cause gossip," they say in Anatolia. Yet, every darkness has a light in nature. The depth of the black we wear never gets dirty. It never gets dirty like we, we, get dirty. We are betraying the blackness of black! Let's think about it in reverse: How will we cleanse the dirtiness of thought? Yet, the blackness of coal turns into fire; it warms us. Its ashes extinguish the fire. The soot of coal, especially in Eastern societies, is indispensable for the practice of calligraphers. Its trace has been the precursor of painting for thousands of years. Ash doesn't get dirty. It was told in Anatolia: A father's dying wish: "Son, read a Yunus Emre over me before I die." And the Yunus Emre is read, then ashes are sprinkled on his grave... if there's any left after that!
In short, the depths of black are profound, yet they always open up to the light. The journey as the day dawns is extraordinary; it slowly transforms into gray. While a misty gray, it absorbs the blue of the sky and, filtering through the colors, reaches the light, that is, white. Each of these formations is a painting.
White has a difficult task. Özdemir Asaf, whom I knew closely, was a very important figure with his madness, his rebellions, and his way of reading poetry. While rebelling with his poems, he waged a battle to surround the darkness with pure white. His statement, "All colors were getting dirty at the same speed / They gave the first place to white," is a bitter criticism. But it is a painting. And a difficult one to draw. Of course, I'm not referring to wall paint with this statement.
I'm extending the answer to your question, but shame on fate! It's all because of youth! They say, "If I told my life story, it would be a novel," but those who can't even read a letter properly are the ones who always defile white. I haven't yet reached their level! But Özdemir Asaf describes a painting: “The city leans against the garden walls. / Draw new gardens for the birds of your eyes.” He adds: “All colors are getting dirty at the same speed. They gave the first place to white.” That's the power of art. To be able to say, “Draw new gardens for the birds of my eyes,” is a brave feat.
Yes! Özdemir Asaf rebels against the defilement of white. But as a society, we defile not only white, but also black.
As for me, there's a reason why I say, in terms of painting, “the blackness of black, the whiteness of white.” It's a social phenomenon, but also a matter of paint, or perhaps I should say, a technical interpretation. This isn't about painting a wall white. Functionally, white is a partner to every color; it opens it up. Joking aside, it's involved in everything. But it's honorable; like a lotus flower. Sometimes it knows how to bloom in swamps, but if a speck of dust falls on it, it immediately closes its petals. Undoubtedly, there's also an unknown shade of white: Rembrandt's use of white amidst darkness, which I've pursued my whole life, is unforgettable… This white takes you to the depths of infinity. Sometimes it's lament, sometimes hope. It's rebellious. It doesn't tolerate a speck of dust. That's the essence of white. As the saying goes, "It's hard to find, but it's not!" It sounds like a saying, but it's not. As a painter within the paint, capturing and depicting the infinity of white is difficult. Beyond poetry and literature, it's a pictorial stubbornness. I don't mean mastery… The story of a painting should never overshadow the paint itself. But it shouldn't be used haphazardly either. The white in the painting should draw those who look at it deep inside, and the white should pose questions. Just as Rembrandt's white drew me in and made me question…
You define the essence of art as a quest for "beauty," and its source is nature and intuition. How difficult is it to continue this quest in today's society?
Such crucial questions! As you know, the title of the book published with Zeynep Sözen in 2008 was "Searching for Beauty in the Lands of Anatolia." For years, the elective course I taught at various universities was also titled "Searching for Beauty." In 2008, the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, located in the four-thousand-square-meter halls of the famous 16th-century Ibrahim Pasha Palace, exhibited selected works from all the museums of Anatolia. 42,500 people, mostly foreigners, visited "Searching for Beauty." Why? Because the cultural heritage of this region pioneered Western civilization.
There's a reason I ask myself this question and convey its impact on my painting! We live in a region that has existed for thousands of years. We reside in an Anatolian land where 12,000-year-old civilizations have settled and migrated. We are not among those standing guard at the gates of others… We are completely unaware of the magnificent works produced by these civilizations. Not at all. If we disregard the fact that these civilizations, which pioneered the development of world civilization, sought beauty, then I ask, "what kind of future are we expecting?" In short, this quest is at the heart of my paintings and writings. That's why, over the years, I and my accomplished friends have realized the "Search for Beauty" exhibition. You may not believe me! Here are examples of civilizations in the Anatolian geography, from their poetry to their carpets, from their decrees to their sculptures. Look and question the geography in which you live.
You present paintings, icons, and bronze/silver sculptures together. What does working with different materials bring you in conveying your message and social perspective?
A lot! First, I question myself: Where I stand, what kind of geography I live in, and I am inspired by how those who came before me, searching for beauty and building cities, lived and produced magnificent lives with their poetry, epics, paintings, and music. You absolutely must read the book "Poems from Ancient Anatolia and the Middle East" by my dear friend Prof. Talat Halman, which I also helped to publish. Shakespeare says, "The past is the preface." It never occurs to us; let me give an example from our own culture, look at Karacaoğlan's curiosity: "Who were there / When I was not here?"
Every civilization I mentioned was inspired by nature and used all kinds of materials. Because every material is indispensable to art. You say, "In a social sense; I am a painter; I am a painter because I cannot be someone who deceives the eye." Based on this quote, what does the artist's relationship with society mean to you?
Thank you for finding this quote and directing it to me. Nature is my teacher. I think I know my place. I am only tracing. The traces and sediment of 12,000 years are my source of nourishment. Therefore, I am only a petitioner. That is, a conveyor. As I witness what these civilizations have produced, I feel smaller. Believe me, what I produce and what I can convey from these civilizations is just a point in the belly of a seed in this crucible. Judgment belongs to future generations. But as you exemplified, the principle of our time is: I am a painter in every field, but not one of those who deceive… Perhaps when we realize the difference, we will treat this geography with respect, although I have no hope.
You published art magazines, wrote poems, and your narrative style has always continued. When you bring these stories and experiences into your works, what do you aim to tell the viewer?
I must say upfront. Whatever I have produced above the sieve and whatever remains below the sieve, those who realize the difference can easily criticize me. As long as they recognize the difference in this geography. They should follow those who came before them, without mistreating the fertile Anatolian land they live in, not me. They should understand the difference between looking and seeing. Life isn't just about money. Shakespeare says in *The Merchant of Venice*, "Not all that glitters is gold." I think if Shakespeare were alive today, they would chase him away with laughter… A society that is not curious and cannot produce cannot have a future. Yunus Emre said, "Mercy rains down on me from the earth." What did he mean by that? There is only one truth: For seven centuries, no one has been able to diminish the legacy of Yunus and Mevlana.
You say that a society that does not understand nature cannot build a lasting civilization. How do you aim to convey this idea to the viewer in your works? What would you want someone to notice, what feeling would they take with them when standing in front of your works?
This exhibition is the product of a collaborative effort. Our dear friend, architect Gülfem Köseoğlu, selflessly opened her space to me, from beginning to end. Because "a purification from the years" was a common point for all of us. We owed this society a debt; not in terms of money, but in terms of art and culture. My works are an interpretation. Greetings to those who come. Farewell to those who leave! We just need to know how to look.
Interview; Sertaç ÇELİK
Source; https://www.birgun.net/haber/gurol-sozenden-siyahin-karasi-beyazin-akcasi-sergisi-704999