NOR — The Identity of Non-Identity

NOR is a very long-term project. I cannot describe it in a paragraph; I would need to write a book for it. NOR reveals itself throughout time. It is not a painting you like and buy once and hang in the right place — every day, more and more, it reveals itself. And I, as its painter, am illuminated each time. I am blown away by it.

NOR is the idea that is invincible. It lives where words are dangerous, where action is not enough, and where what is known is no longer true. NOR is now, yet it is Not. NOR is nothing wrong, yet nothing as it seems. NOR is the identity of non-identity. NOR is moment + colour + knowingness + eternity — the thought of the moment becoming immortal. NOR rises, and rises, and rises. It never falls. It never fails. It never goes wrong.

NOR is born from itself. It turns into a force, and its force made me do it. Force of act, act of none. When a seen thought turns into an eternal idea, NOR is that idea. Raw idea. It can be anything, but one thing never changes: it never fails, it never falls, it never goes wrong — therefore it is NOR. NOR is nothingness, yet existence. Existence of non-existence. An idea that exists yet is never it. Identity of non-identity. Like a character, yet never a character. NOR is the change of becoming — being without becoming.

NOR is acrylic. I have never used oil on my paintings. It is cloth, because on cloth I can work a little more freely, without being so stressed. I love painting freely; a small space stresses me out. Where there are words, NOR cannot be, because words determine — and NOR cannot be determined. Words define; NOR cannot be defined. NOR gives the exact answer. When I work on cloth, I work on colour until I reach the tone. Tone is also a voice. The way a singer works on their voice, that is how I work on tone. When two warrior knights come together, there are no words — there are swords, and a fight. They do not talk. They fight. Words define and determine, therefore 'the what' becomes exposed; but NOR cannot be exposed, therefore cannot be harmed. Words define time — but colours are timeless. NOR can be 'now' forever. Any time is 'now' for NOR.

NOR exists as consciousness. It manifested itself by using my body — therefore it became too powerful; its force forced my body to act, and it did a signature by using my body. The idea was too powerful; it made me do it. It came through transcending meditation. In that meditation, thoughts became like untangled threads, and I had an illumination — and immediately my body made the movement, like Zorro with a sword: first left (the idea, NOR), then right (its confirmation — the idea is true), then diagonally up.

That diagonal is like a thread through a needle. It also looks like the needle-sword Arya used in Game of Thrones, and it is the letter B in hieroglyphs — which means 'be'. I think, therefore I am. It is as if thought thought itself and existed faster than God. Diagonally — that is the law of nature: the world is a sphere and it spins diagonally; it represents the sun, and the earth, and its spin. So NOR looks like a spin, too — a spin like the top in Inception. Then it comes down: what goes up must come down. But NOR uses the coming-down as a mark, a locator. If you look at NOR, it appears as a leg — which is 'B' in hieroglyphs, and which looks like a step. In my mother tongue, step is 'adım' — and 'adım' also means 'my name'. So even when there is an answer, none of the answers are true. Therefore it is NOR.

NOR also appears as one leg of a bridge. If you look at London Bridge and cut it in two, one leg of the bridge appears exactly as NOR. Later, I learned that 'Bridge' was the code name of the Queen. The world and humanity are satisfied — yet NOR continues, because it is NOR: the identity of non-identity.

If my painting sees the viewer as worthy of its beauty, the art reveals itself. It reveals itself only if the viewer gives value to it. If thirty seconds is enough value for NOR, NOR will reveal itself in thirty seconds. I am still learning my own pieces. I once sat and looked at Artichokes and was impressed — it literally shone by the time I finished looking at it. I was, once again, illuminated. Just as I was in front of Delaroche's Execution of Lady Jane Grey: I looked long enough that the question arrived — was Lady Jane executed so that the painting could exist, or does the painting exist because Lady Jane was executed? The answer was already there in my mind: colours. My mastery upgraded in that room. It was not just a painting. It was an eternal moment.

I would ordinarily say art for art's sake — but more precisely: art should illuminate. And NOR does. Slowly, loyally, over years. That is what it is for.