Young artists are breathing new life into traditional Turkish art, transforming it into a reflection of the current zeitgeist. At first glance, the exhibition 'Here 2025: A World Unmade' might seem like a typical showcase of young artists grappling with angst and dystopia. However, upon closer inspection, a more profound and unexpected narrative emerges. Artists are using traditional media such as miniatures, tiles, carpets, and tapestries, which are often associated with calm and order, to convey environmental anxiety, social miscommunication, and the challenges of modern life. Curated by Nil Nuhoglu, the exhibition is housed in the Offgrid Art Project, a small yet influential space in Istanbul's Beyoglu district. It is the brainchild of 'Here', an initiative launched in 2023 by students and recent graduates of Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University, aiming to bring traditional Turkish techniques into the present and free them from the confines of nostalgia.
Cagri Dizdar, a miniaturist, emphasizes the need to move beyond romanticization, Orientalization, and old forms in traditional Turkish arts. He questions why artists should be expected to spend their lives drawing pomegranates and the seven hills of Istanbul, just as painters are not confined to Renaissance styles. The group's chosen theme of dystopia is not a reaction to sudden disasters but rather a slow, almost imperceptible collapse, where instability disguises itself as progress, and the familiar begins to crack.
The exhibition features works that make this point with disarming clarity. Zeynep Akman's miniature page, for instance, is a perfectly classical Ottoman miniature, but at its center, an enthroned frog with scattered 'laws' as ticks, fleas, and small biting creatures, adds a grotesque and critical twist. Another work by Akman, a ferman (royal edict) with tiny mosquitoes replacing letters, symbolizes authority as irritation. Dizdar's diptych, 'Nobodies', features hollowed heads and figures comparable to T.S. Eliot's 'Hollow Men', reflecting a world where people talk past each other in moments of disaster.
Textile artist Dilara Altinkepce Arslan's griffin is a 21st-century guardian with a mole's tail symbolizing drought, cockroach wings for radiation-proof resilience, a cheetah's body for relentless consumption, a raven's head for willful ignorance, and gorilla eyes hinting at displaced humanity. The griffin stands between idyllic nature and post-apocalyptic dystopia, reflecting the uneasy balance between worlds that may no longer exist.
Azra Celik takes a different approach by infusing a classical Iznik-tile idyll with a QR code, flipping the scene into a darker twin when scanned. This interplay of traditional motifs and modern technology showcases the artists' ability to challenge and transform.
The repurposing of traditional motifs is not an isolated phenomenon. Artists like Gazi Sansoy and Murat Palta have long demonstrated how inherited forms can deliver contemporary commentary. Elif Uras, for instance, explores gender roles through ceramics, pushing the medium into conversations it rarely leads. However, structural barriers persist, with miniaturists, tile-makers, and book-arts practitioners remaining largely peripheral to group shows and fairs dominated by painting, sculpture, and photography.
Despite these challenges, there are signs of movement. Platforms like BASE, one of Turkey's largest for young artists, have increasingly included ceramics, glass, and traditional-arts practices in their exhibitions. Kale, a tile-and-ceramics company known for supporting artists, has backed a parallel exhibition featuring experimental clay and mixed-media works that engage with climate stress, urban precarity, and social fragmentation. These partnerships hint at a broader shift, where contemporary art spaces and collectors are becoming more open to new forms.
Nuhoglu argues that the market must also shift, emphasizing the need for courageous galleries and buyers open to the new. This includes collectors who are willing to look beyond familiar names and styles. While the broader ecosystem's readiness remains uncertain, in Beyoglu, courage and tradition have briefly aligned, offering a glimpse into a future where traditional Turkish art continues to evolve and thrive.
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