to feel

Recently I was told that the purpose of art is to make the world beautiful; that art should in itself be beautiful— that realism is beauty.



But what could be more beautiful than feeling something inside you move with every twist and turn of a brushstroke, every curve of carefully smoothed marble, every light and shadow and colour and form? How beautiful, that pigments spread across a cloth over a century ago by someone I will never meet and yet feel so close to, can make me feel that intimacy, that loneliness or joy or love or anger... The beauty of art for me lies not in how skillfully the artist can reproduce the world around them, but in how they can make someone else feel something.



I would crawl into those greens if I could.

Vincent van Gogh. Self-portrait. 1887. Oil on cardboard. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Vincent van Gogh. Carafe and Dish with Citrus Fruit. 1887. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Vincent van Gogh. Undergrowth. 1887. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

love and union

Rembrandt van Rijn. The Jewish Bride. c. 1665–1669. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
(I forgot the details of the gorgeous satyr and nymph painting— please let me know if you know!)
Maarten van Heemskerck. Portraits of a Couple. 1529. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Ercole de'Roberti. Portraits of Giovanni II Bentivoglio and his wife Ginevra Sforza. c.1474–1496. Tempera on poplar. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Anthonis Mor. Portraits of Sir Thomas Gresham and Anne Fernely. c.1560–1565. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

getting lost in the rijksmuseum

Getting sucked into all the lovely details can make five insufficient hours feel like minutes in the Rijksmuseum.
I was lost in brushstrokes— lost in loose movement and details so sharp, I marvelled at the hands that made them— hands so steady and knowing, long gone.

Johannes Cornelisz. Portrait of a Girl Dressed in Blue. 1641. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Isaak Luttichuys. Portrait of a Young Lady. 1656. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. 
Frans Hals. Portrait of Feyntje van Steenkiste. 1635. Oil on canvas. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. 

the threatened swan

My goodness, how this painting gives me chills! Jan Asselijn's The Threatened Swan is such a beautiful example of the power that a strong use of value, colour, and composition can give a painting. Over the next few days, I'm going to begin unloading the Rijksmuseum upon you, home to some of the most important works of art in Western Art History— think Rembrandt, Vermeer, Israëls, and of course, my dear Van Gogh!

no ordinary sunday

It's the first day of Spring!
What better way to celebrate than with a nice breakfast of buttered toast with honey, black olives, fried hellim cheese and a big mug of English Breakfast tea? Maybe... oh I don't know, paint portraits of pigeons?


As many of you know, I love pigeons. I find these overlooked and often despised birds to be beautiful and fascinating creatures. They have such marvellous shapes and colours— truly, is there anything more lovely than the heart-shaped curve of a pigeon's shoulders? I love watching the males twirling around in their silly, unappreciated mating dances, their tails fanned out like a matador's cape, charging unimpressed and fickle females. I love their gentle cooing as they snuggle up together on a branch or window ledge. Yes, I adore the pigeon, and have been honouring these humble birds in pencils, ink and paint, for a very long time.


I was thrilled to discover that Turks have a passion for pigeons as well. I have never seen such clean and healthy-looking pigeons in a city! Piles of stale bread scattered in grass or on the side of the road are a common sight, and birdseed sellers can be easily found along the Bosphorus walkway or in parks. If you examine the sides of buildings and the upper branches of trees, you might even see beautiful little houses constructed especially for these birds.

Once, as I was walking down Istiklal street, someone's yellow lab decided to take a bite out of a frightened pigeon he had been tormenting. Within seconds, people were scolding the dog's owner and forming a human barrier around the bird, and a woman swept its trembling little body into her arms and began whispering to it, as though trying to comfort a child. When I asked her if the pigeon was harmed, she told me she was taking it to the vet, and would care for it until it was well enough to fly away. Needless to say, this warmed my heart.

A couple of weeks ago, I walked by a colleague of mine's desk and noticed a bunch of pigeon pictures up on his computer screen. I let out an "Ooooh güvercinler!" at the sight of all the colourful birds, and he, caught off guard and perhaps a little embarrassed, fumbled to shut the browser window. After professing my love for pigeons, we clicked through picture after picture, and he wistfully told me about the pigeons he had as a child. Oh how I would have loved to have pigeons as a little girl! How wonderful that would have been— but the life of a nomad makes it hard to keep such pets.

Moved by his story, I thought I'd surprise my colleague with a couple of indoor pigeons that don't need to be fed or looked after.


I hope he'll like them.

the bee-eaters, cake and otis.

Around six o'clock this evening, I heard the sound of whistling outside— not high-pitched, but like those plastic whistles I had as a kid. I ran to the window immediately, knowing I was about to see something spectacular, but I wasn't sure what. There in the air, between the large budding green trees and my window, were the most beautiful aerial acrobats I have seen in my life— European Bee-eaters. Just this week I saw my first bee of the year and wondered if the flamboyant birds came this way. I was over the moon— I never knew bee-eaters existed until I got my October 2008 issue of National Geographic, and I recognised them immediately. I felt like I was seeing some mythological creature— it might as well have been a unicorn out there.

When I was a little girl, I had this illustrated encyclopedia of animals (bee-eaters were not included), and I fell in love with a drawing of a handsome bird called a Starling. It was drawn so exquisitely, with all sorts of speckles and violets, greens and blacks for iridescence, I thought, truly this must be a magnificent and rare bird. Years later, when I saw my first starling, I was completely blown away. My friend that was with me at the time thought I was nuts, then explained that they're so common, they're considered pests. It felt odd to discover that something you considered so special and beautiful was nothing more than a common pest, but I didn't care. I still get excited when I see a starling.

If you'd like to learn more about bee-eaters, the National Geographic article Painting the Sky, is available to read online.




* * *

One of the more interesting symptoms of my migraines is that I get this manic surge of creativity before one hits. I had a feeling I was going to be smacked with one today when I got up this morning, so I took something and hoped for the best.

With the aid of a nasty yellow and green pill, I felt well enough to take a painting break to socialise with my mom and her friends for lunch and cake. I don't normally like cake and I hate icing, but my goodness. This cake was divine. It was brought from Pelit Patisserie and it was the fluffiest, lightest cake with the freshest raspberries. It was like eating a berry-flavoured cloud. I've had three slices today.


After my rediscovery of the wonders of cake, I went back to the studio to paint some more. I've had some canvases awaiting paint for a while now, but have neglected them in favour of other work. It felt so good to throw on some music and get the paints out. I was feeling so good that I spilled a jar of linseed oil all over the table and floor and frantically tried to scoop up what I could to put back in the jar. Now my studio smells like a studio.



This is a 100cm x 120cm oil painting that I started working on today. I've been wanting to do massive oils for a while, but so far the largest canvas I was able to find was this size. The sizes I dream of will have to be custom made, and while I used to stretch my own canvases, I'd like to have a professional build them. For now, I'll be working on the 100 x 120 ones. I want to translate the style of my pen sketches into oils, but with more colour and texture. This is an image I've had in my head for a while, a man fishing on the Bosphorus. I want the paintings that follow this one to be captured memories, in the sense that they are moments in time that I have either lived or seen, not necessarily an illustration of a specific event. If that makes sense.

I also began working on Ramires' book for Moly-X34. It's an image I've had in my head for a long time and never got around to drawing, inspired by an Otis Taylor song. Every now and again, I go through an indescribable phase and hit shuffle on all my Otis Taylor songs. His music is so pictorial; I don't know how else to put it— "Trance Blues" is what he calls it, but it's more than that. I feel, see and smell when I listen to his music. The images created by his words, percussive banjo playing and the occasional cello are so vivid, they're like dreams.


There's a good article about him on the Boulder Weekly website, if you are interested in reading more about this fascinating man.
Please click on the images to see them larger.