Remembering childhood days is a passive act which has a similar feeling to kintsugi, the Japanese technique on mending the broken pottery with gold dust added glue. I can’t see any direct connection between my memories, so I link them up with my present state of mind: be it joy, be it melancholy, be it disappointment. Glue differs from time to time and because of this inconsistency, any retrospective analysis gives out unstable results. Say, if a hypothesis doesn’t work and an experiment produces no certain outputs, it is impossible to apply them as a scientific method to any real world problem in search of a solution. However this randomness comes in handy in a very specific quest: artistic endeavour. Creating non-repetitive products whilst retaining the structural key points of a personality (childhood memories in this case) is a foolproof -albeit alchemical- formula that any artist would want to have in his arsenal. So I forfeited my ability to learn from the past and sacrificed my young days to Athena, for thus I don’t want to use my broken pots as pots again, but a sculpture, a monument. Bear these in mind while reading the next parts.
I experience synesthetic stimulations for years, quantity unknown. But my best bet on when it started would be at the age of 3 or 4. Mom bought a toy for me from the local market, a kaleidoscope. Wrapped in a dull shade of blue paper, it wasn’t something that a kid would be excited about at first sight. After using it as a bat for a day or two, mom -thankfully- showed me how it worked. And as soon as I pressed my right eye onto its little lens and pointed it to the sun, I dropped it amid exuberant body movements. I was staggered by this optical miracle, it was glamorous in a strict order. Color-filled crystal fractals in it were mesmerizing, I remember almost passing out because of its beauty.
I played with it until second grade or so, then I lost it. But it always stayed in my mind. As i grew up, I started thinking of it in a more profound way. The idea of containing infinity in a tube made out of cardboard and small plastic pieces was quite amusing. This irony easily reached out to a spiritual level just as I found myself in the middle of a conflict occurring in my mind about existential reasons, guides and purposes. Accepting that infinity can very well “be in” something and surround that thing at the same time was merging the two parts of a long lived juxtaposition. Conjoining these contradictory properties of infinity has a maternal acceptance in its essence, by this “rumiesque” perception of the universe lays the foundation of my current beliefs, way of living, rights and wrongs. The all-giving kaleidoscope has spoken again, made me the person who I am.
As it is thoroughly explained in the first sentences, I see nostalgia and reminiscence as means of artistic counseling. I visit my childhood who is my sensei, my murshid, not to learn from the past, but to find guidance in its colorful motifs. When I look through that cardboard tube and see a yellow bouquet of lights, disturbance and uncomfort greets me. But another time different shades of orange come to play, fill me up with a childish joy. I never know what the almighty kaleidoscope will show until I look through it. It never ceases to surprise me. What a fertile entity.