this period, I wrote about death almost everyday. I dragged
my body like a hollow shell all over Istanbul, an empty
boat on a wide ocean. I had no way of knowing where my works
were and even if I knew, how could I possibly bring them
home? I was reduced to nothing, only a few pictures on the
walls of the apartment of my in-laws attested to my years
as an artist.
My family and friends lived in misery
and I was incapable of doing the least little bit to help
them or myself.
I had been born in a field in the
springtime and had learned to draw, to write and to live
alone in the most natural way. In big cities of this modern
world, people no longer communicate through natural channels,
but rather through social structures and categories. Materialism
makes us forget the laws of life. In the big city I learned
the superiority of certain races compared to others, an
unequal justice system, systemization of interests even
into the world of creation and culture. Making a choice
between the real and the dream, between living and creating
seemed far more problematic and filled with nuance. A life
without creation was not in the least seductive. Unfortunately,
like the ocean, society casts out that which is not its
own. I am not a pessimist, I do not interpret things in
their order of arrival but by their innate sense. In my
eyes, events, even the most negative events, are not the
manifestation of inescapable fatality. Is man still the
master of his environment and his destiny? Does man have
the means and alternatives at his disposal for resolving
an infinite number of problems?
Suffering has always been a part
of my life. The greater my suffering, the more powerfully
I am motivated to find a way to overcome it.
Since the very first
day I knew who I was, suffering has served as a constructive
force, indispensable to the nature of man.
I never desired to empty my life entirely of suffering,
because it is a tie that binds men together. It is for this
reason I prefer wild mountain streams to calm, wide rivers.