Art and for example “Fikret Mualla”

F ikret Mualla...

He had a close friendship with Semiha Berksoy and there is a book that compiles the letters they wrote to each other, I bought it, I hope to find deep traces from both him and the other artist here.. The source of his magnificent works is actually his talent, but this talent, in my opinion, is not something like this: this child has a talent for drawing, look, he drew this horse, this nature, saying "pat", or this child, what are notes, he solved all the sounds, notes like this.. "pat"... or he multiplies and divides a 3-digit number with a number of digits in his head and tells you "aha da bu"... yes, all of these are a kind of talent, whether in art or in other fields...

I feel like there are things I want to say but I'm not sure I can tell.

Let's start from the life story of Fikret Mualla, who I mentioned, who impressed me.. by the way, I don't know if I should start on this path, most of the intellectual paths seem to be; somehow, like a painful reflection of a life that has been incompletely realized, a fast-forwarded image...

For example, Fikret Mualla: Happy childhood, Kadıköy, good schools, football, his leg was broken, he was almost crippled, while trying to score a goal, a goal came to him... then he caught the Spanish flu, his mother, whom he did not infect but infected, died from this flu, his father married someone else, he went to Switzerland, with these traumas he got involved in the German bohemian life and became an alcoholic, returned to Türkiye, became an art teacher, started living in the mansion of a rich art lover and gave art lessons to his children, then one evening when he was drinking again, was questioned after tearing apart a canvas on which he had depicted statesmen and swearing at them, and the fear of the police that started after that... That "dolce vita" he lived in Paris for a while with the fortune left to him by his bankrupt father... towards the end... by the so-called madame who always understood and bought his works a life provided to him under protection in a village in Paris, under the care of a servant...alcoholism...that's it, I think...the band has gone too fast...his life actually ended at the age of 12, in Kadıköy, the last place he was happy...others lived the rest, adding them before or after them...

To keep in mind the context, talent alone is nothing, and traumas are not everything. Because this life, although it is the only thing we know, is a huge nothing, it is truly unknown.

If you want to die by falling to the place where you were happiest at the beginning, find that happy moment and fall there. If you can't find it, even if you are in the dark circle, try to stay outside and live everything by laughing and joking, know that you are not that darkness, no one can extinguish your light except you, in fact if you have such a light, even you do not have the power to extinguish it. If you are none of them, just pray, know your place, do your job and seek guidance, that is enough. I did not want to say this but if you do not do this last thing, somehow you are made to do it, do not ask why, I do not know that yet either, it will come to you one day, or at some moment..

I wonder if I still have the note that I hid behind that broken brick behind the mulberry tree next to the chicken coop, where I remember like today the location of my grandmother's detached house, our house and its garden 45 years ago? It was given in exchange for a flat, that house gave birth to 20 more houses, not from us, from someone else! On top of that there was an earthquake, well I buried a note, oh my dear note, what if I had buried my gold out of fear.. well let's not get into politics..

And did they get a strange pleasure from their pain, because pleasures are actually pain, you realize they are actually pain when they are over...