19.5.22 Taş Tarifi:: Arta kalan toz ile kurumuş çamur tozum Az su ile can suyum Bir kaç geçmiș kıştan biriken Tutkal niyetine küllerimden Neden her gün dünyalar kurmak isterim kendime,, yine yeni yeniden --- Stone Recipe:: With the leftover dust and my dried mud-dust,, With a little water and my water of life,, Accumulated from a few past winters, From my ashes, as if they were glue— Why do I want to build worlds for myself every day, again and again, anew?

Every time after working with ceramics in the studio, I keep the dust resulting from sanding and refining dried porcelain or ceramic pieces before firing them. I collect these small amounts of leftover dust from the process and add a little water to use it as a glue for repairing or retouching the pieces before firing. One day, my plan was to make glue again, but I do not know why — this time I kept the mixture dry enough to shape into a small pebble. That was how I made the first of many later on. The practice of turning leftover dust from the refining process into little stones gradually gave me a sense of measuring my time in the studio — residues of the hours spent there, or particles left behind by both my presence and my work. One day, I had a visitor at the studio who looked at the pebbles and asked what they were. I explained that they were particles (partikül) of the studio itself, made out of leftover ceramic dust from long and time-consuming refining processes, and I gifted her a pebble. The pebble brought the simplest and most beautiful smile to her face, which made me smile the same way. Whenever a visitor asked about the pebbles after that day, gifting them right away became a kind of studio ritual that felt very natural and simple; as if it almost explained everything in there, or out of there. Sometimes I think of all knowledge throughout history condensed into these little pebble-like forms and scattered again — or simply existing for the sake of existence, and making only for the sake of making. I carried the practice with me for several years. In late May 2022, I wrote a poem on a plane. A question emerged through the poem:: if a being spent their entire lifetime making stones, would it be enough to form a shore — or even an island? At the time, I was preparing to leave for an artist residency in Berlin that I had been invited to. I did not have a fixed plan or a specific project to work on, and making pebbles existed alongside all the other different things happening in the studio. The question that came to me on the plane stayed in my mind. Before going to Berlin, I challenged myself to make as many stones as possible before my departure, and I produced 1,075 stones in fifteen days. During those days and nights of making pebbles, my mother visited the studio to bring food and help me work. I taught her how to make pebbles. She enjoyed the process, and the repetitive, time-consuming — almost time-cancelling — act of making stones toward an imagined shore or island allowed us to speak about things we could not have spoken about before. After firing, some stones broke, some melted, and some came out perfectly. I selected the ones that were in good condition and packed 928 of them together with ashes collected from my studio throughout past winters. I gave them away during the exhibition, and some people carried them away with them, as if the message had somehow been there and heard. At the end of the exhibition, I wanted to throw all the stones into a shore or a lake somewhere around Berlin. I could not do it before leaving, but I planned to return one day and complete the gesture. Later, Meral came to Istanbul carrying the stones, thinking I wanted them back here. That is how the stones returned to me. They are still in the studio, waiting for their day. This is an ongoing work and research around making-life and life-making. In many ways, it explains more about my practice than the work itself. It is also a ritual that I have dedicated myself to continuing throughout my life, within different periods and forms. The last time I began making pebbles again was in late January 2025. I made around 1,800 stones. They remained spread across my worktable for a long time while drying. The work exists more in the process than in the pebbles themselves. It exists, yet takes almost no space through its form. I could spend my entire life mixing earth dust with water, making pebbles, and returning them to the sea again — as if I had done nothing with my life, while at the same time having done everything.

19.05.2022 Sahil Olmak Üzerine * Çakıl taşları yaptım bütün gün Bir plajı doldurucak kadar taşım olmasını düşledim Her bir taşa değmişim Hepsi parmakların arasından kaymış Burnumdan düşmüş Hepsini içime çekmiş bir sahile üflemişim Plaj olmuş Sahil olmuş Ne güzel Hayat olmuş Ömrümce taş yapsam Yeter mi boylu boyunca yeni dünya’ plajına? --- On Becoming A Shore I made pebbles all day I dreamed of having enough stones to fill a beach I touched every single one They all slipped through my fingers They fell from my nose I inhaled them all and blew them onto a shore It became a beach It became a shore How beautiful It became life If I made stones all my life Would it be enough to stretch across the beach of a new world?