WALKING OUTSIDE THE INSTITUTION THROUGH THE WALLS, OPUS SUMMONED by KRALİÇE
I had written a critique about Salt, a cultural and artistic institution in Istanbul, published by Manifold in 2022, regarding the impending departure of its typeface, Kraliçe. In English, Kraliçe means queen, the female ruler. Salt invited designers at certain intervals to interpret the letters S, A, L, and T through their practices, and these letters were embedded within a custom-designed typeface, Kraliçe, created by Projects Project and, therefore, all of the language the institution uses. The title of my writing in Manifold is "Kraliçeyi öldürüyorlar," which translates to “They Are Killing Kraliçe” in English. At times, I cannot help but mention how effective the play on words revolving around the Turkish verbs "öl-mek" (to die) and "ol-mak" (to be) is, especially in a world where, due to many of us using English keyboards, the dots on the 'ö' are lost, and it becomes 'o'. I must say, it injects a touch of poetic brutality into the narrative. A Matrix where nobody dies only becomes. In my critique, Kraliçe is compared to Dionysus, the mythical Greek god and son of Zeus. The comparison is drawn between Kraliçe's existence and Dionysus's in that both challenge traditional norms. Kraliçe is a figure of transformation, androgyny, and nomadism, disrupting the existing patriarchal order and queering customs, traditions, and principles. Kraliçe is like a foreign substance in the system, transforming the existing ossified, masculinized order into the sand when entering from the outside, blurring the line between brand and institution, and even debranding it.
The character set of the Kraliçe's first version and examples from 6 different versions, source: SALT.
Some time passed, and I undertook a project called "Opus." Opus is a Latin word and translates to "work" in English. Opus can also refer to a composer's composition. For example, "opera" is the plural version of an opus. In Latin, opus can refer to both artistic endeavors and labor, echoing concepts of art and labor under the same roof. I will explain the connection between Opus and Kraliçe. However, before that, I need to discuss another work that impacted this process.
I recently revisited a critique by Martha Rosler titled "Lookers, Buyers, Dealers, and Makers: Thoughts on Audience," published in Exposure magazine in 1976, a text that had come to my attention during my university years. Rosler states, “We must inventively expand our control over production and showing, and we must simultaneously widen our opportunities to work with and for people outside the audiences for high art, not as annunciatory angels bearing the way of thought of the haute monde, but to rupture the false boundaries between ways of thinking about art and ways of actively changing the world.” So, according to Rosler, the artist will not exclude audiences beyond the realm of high art and its circles, nor will they become an accomplice in supporting the function of art that keeps the audience at a distance.
Now, let's turn to another artist. Despite not intending to exclude any audience inherently, the intricately plotted nature of my work sits me among the accomplices of the lofty worlds of art and design. The fact that my interests predominantly revolve around philosophy, theory, and literature also contributes to this situation. Exhibiting in a white cube setting certainly doesn't alleviate this. I acknowledge these whys and wherefores that I listed above; whether they hold significance or minor, they perpetuate the distance between the work and a group of audiences. Nonetheless, during introspection, I criticized this circumstance and anticipated the criticism would become blatantly evident when the right time came.
Furthermore, from a philosophical standpoint, I believe that regardless of one's societal status as an audience, whether proletariat or bourgeois, the audience is always already at a distance from a work of art. The artists themselves are at a distance when the work is out there, or perhaps the artist is always already at a distance from their work. However, as both a spectator and a reader, I have yet to experience walking through the works of some other artists and arriving at otherworldly landscapes that caused a change in my alchemy. This is noteworthy because, for quite some time, I adhered to Derrida's renowned argument that there is no existence beyond the confines of the text. Where would they arrive if one somehow walked through the text, then? If outside, where could this be outside? These are topics ripe for further exploration in future writing.
The right time came, and the work "I am not a studio artist, either" emerged. The emergence of this statement shortly after I began the artist residency program at Künstlerhaus Stuttgart in Germany is not coincidental. As an artist working without a studio for many years, I found myself alone with the studio space provided by Künstlerhaus. I decided to utilize it as a büro, a common term for office in German and Turkish. I am even writing this text from my büro.
Büro, Künstlerhaus Stuttgart, 2023
"I am not a studio artist, either" originated from the exhibition title "I am not a studio artist" by Turkish artist Hüseyin Bahri Alptekin, which took place at Salt in 2011. I vandalized my earlier piece, a lightbox with a well-executed English text, by spray-painting the phrase in Turkish over it. This lightbox had been originally showcased at 400x118, established by an artist initiative I am part of, located within IMÇ*, Istanbul. Following these events, something unexpected happened. Due to the diverse nature of IMÇ as a multifaceted complex, the habitants, such as artists, producers, and artisans, primarily working class, living and working there embraced and took ownership of the sentence. For instance, Dadaş Abdullah, a singer who resides and works in IMÇ, has been intentionally severed by the Turkish government from participating in several festivals due to his dissenting stance. He took the stage before the lightbox and performed his original songs. He proposed transforming the statement "I am not a studio artist, either" into a program highlighting non-institutional artistic practices. Having my work resonate with individuals who do not come from an established social field was a novel experience for me, and this encounter led to a fragmentation in my thought process.
Dadaş Abdullah is performing the piece titled "Gurbet," written and composed by himself, 2023, Istanbul, IMÇ.
In Andrea Fraser's article titled " From the Critique of Institutions to an Institution of Critique," published in Artforum in 2005, she states, “There is, of course, an “outside” of the institution, but it has no fixed, substantive characteristics. It is only what, at any given moment, does not exist as an object of artistic discourses and practices. But just as art cannot exist outside the field of art, we cannot exist outside the field of art, at least not as artists, critics, curators, etc. And what we do outside the field, to the extent that it remains outside, can have no effect within it. So, if there is no outside for us, it is not because the institution is perfectly closed, exists as an apparatus in a “totally administered society,” or has grown all-encompassing in size and scope. It is because the institution is inside of us, and we can’t get outside of ourselves.” It seems like Fraser adhered to Derrida's renowned argument that there is no existence beyond the confines of the text, too! I won't reject Fraser's discourse outright, but I also can't accept it as it is. "I am not a studio artist, either," walked through the institution serendipitously.
There have been ongoing visa issues between Germany and Turkey, and I have been caught in the midst of this political conflict. Despite applying for a long-stay visa months ago, Germany has not issued it yet. Consequently, I decided to travel to Stuttgart with my Schengen visa, hoping my long-stay visa would be processed while I was there. Given the circumstances following the recent general elections, I had a strong desire to avoid spending my summer in Turkey. Feeling quite hopeless and attempting to navigate the Kafkaesque German bureaucracy alone, I eventually had to return to Turkey as my Schengen visa was about to expire, unable to complete my residency. While at Künstlerhaus, I created a work that is also a statement, “An Artist Who Does Not Have A Visa Is No Artist,” addressing my visa situation. I shared a picture of this work daily with the German Consulate to draw their attention to the situation.
Eine Künstlerin ohne Visum ist keine Künstlerin, Künstlerhaus Stuttgart, 2023
Another work, “An Artist Who Cannot Speak English Is No Artist,” by Mladen Stilinović, greatly impacted this work, which I believe also walks through the institution's wall.
While contemplating the idea of walking through walls, my mind drifted toward the realm of quantum physics. In classical physics, it is anticipated that an object lacking sufficient energy to overcome a barrier cannot reach the other side. Therefore, a ball without enough energy to pass through a wall will bounce back or, in certain unconventional scenarios, might embed itself within the wall. However, in quantum mechanics, albeit with a small probability, this ball can pass through the wall and reach the other side. Similarly, through a specific encounter, an opus can, just like the ball surpassing the barrier, traverse from within the walls and walk outside the institution. (Scientists might not favor this metaphorical expression.) In presenting the thesis I mentioned above, Fraser overlooks these particular moments of encounter. Fraser, Derrida, and Classical Physics in one corner, Kraliçe, "I am not a studio artist, either," and quantum mechanics in another corner.
Despite the 10-year relationship between Kraliçe and Salt, Kraliçe's ability to remain outside the institution and "I am not a studio artist, either" to extricate itself from the ongoing cycle and industrial habits stem from the exact moment of encounter. I am summoning Kraliçe once again, this time for an interpretation of Opus. For a long time, I had an idea to create, develop, and perform an opera in collaboration with people from diverse backgrounds. I started working with a graphic designer to design a base typeface for Opus. For this work, I plan to derive inspiration from the symbols and signs that evoke the grandeur of opera when designing a typeface. Opus will be structured through sentences I wrote and sent to the invited collaborators in a sketchbook. Once they see the sentence I wrote in the sketchbook, I will ask them to rewrite it in their handwriting on another page and return it to me. Their script will be scanned, and the letters O-P-U-S in the sentence will be extracted from the rest of the writing. These four letters will be drawn digitally and turned into a font. This four-letter font will then be embedded in the base typeface. I penned the first sentence for Opus: “On the eastern coast of the Mediterranean Sea, explosions light up the night sky as the mother prepares a sumac spiced Musakhan dish with sweet onions, pine nuts, and Taboon bread.” I will take the initiative to begin the rewriting phase of Opus’s first edition. Kraliçe, which used to be a mere communication tool, will now take on a more prominent role in Opus and transition from a supporting character to a protagonist.
Opus will be crafted in collaboration with collaborators, envisioned as a distinct period within my artistic trajectory that has just begun and will conclude in an opera form at an indefinite time. This period will encompass a dynamic interplay of thoughts, actions, and collaborations with individuals from diverse creative backgrounds. Together, we will walk through the walls and floors of institutions, unveiling a momentary escape from the institutional field's gravitational pull.
IMÇ*, originally conceived as a modernist urbanization project in the 1960s, encompasses a variety of businesses, ranging from drapery and furniture to music production companies, all nestled in Istanbul.
*Musakhan is a national Palestinian dish of roasted chicken baked with onions, sumac saffron, and fried pine nuts served over taboon bread.
Martha Rosler, “Lookers Buyers Dealers and Makers: Thoughts on Audience,” Exposure, 1976
Andrea Fraser, “From the Critique of Institutions to an Institution Critique,” Artforum, 2005
İrem Günaydın
01.09.2023
Germany, Stuttgart
Becoming KRALİÇE
I have decided to write about a matter that has occupied my mind for some time. My reason is SALT's KRALİÇE. After finishing this article, I plan to send it to Manifold; if you are reading this, dear Esen, it means the decision to publish has been made. It's been a while since I heard; they are killing SALT's KRALİÇE. Of course, I'm talking about the cultural institution SALT in İstanbul, Turkey. For those who don't know, KRALİÇE is the response suggested to existing situations by changing the letters S-A-L-T at intervals. Designers are invited to reinterpret these four characters regularly, and each designer rewrites SALT with their version of KRALİÇE. Now, they are going to replace KRALİÇE with a corporate identity. While reading this, some might say, "KRALİÇE was an experimental proposal for an institution; it was tried, it's over, and everything has its time." But here's what I think: People die. Pens die. Apple MacBook Pro dies. Frogs die. Pencils die. Tickets die. Sculptures die. KRALİÇE just be. KRALİÇE be something else. KRALİÇE be KRALİÇE again!
Logos, the faces of corporate identities, say various things about what organizations are. And they do it quite confidently. When you are so sure of what you are, there is little room for discussions about what you could or might not want to be. There is no room for experimentation. In the existing order, this is fine for most organizations; on the contrary, their corporate identities, their brand's solidification, their lack of self-doubt, and even their expiration date reference. Corporate brands, branded institutions. Oh, congregation, how did you know the deceased? Such institutions naturally want to preserve their existing order. Therefore, they are OK with being a brand in the usual sense. Thus, when their attitudes turn into forms, all that remains are logos attached to every poster, like a witness to my mediocrity.
On one side, a conservative approach to the status quo, and on the opposite side, KRALİÇE blurs the brand and institution relationship with all its experimentation. I thought of two Ancient Greek gods that Friedrich Nietzsche mentioned in "The Birth of Tragedy": Apollo and Dionysus. Both are light and dark. Apollo knows nothing but what he says. He defends measure, harmony, rhythm, content, and form. He argues that art must be measured and not go to extremes. Apollo represents unchanging masculinity. Apollo is hostile to every woman who can conceive. He tries to destroy all phenomena representing fertility, like the primal goddess inherent in wild nature. He's not dynamic; his form doesn't change. The Apollonian semiosphere is repressive and despotic. Sound familiar?
On the other hand, Dionysus is born of Zeus and the mortal woman Semele. Zeus' wife, Hera, envies Semele because of her relationship with her husband and successfully tricks her by changing her appearance. Deceived by Hera, Semele asks Zeus to show all his power. While Zeus displays all his power in full glory, pregnant Semele dies in a fire, and her seven-month-old son Dionysus is rescued by his father. Zeus hides his saved son in his thigh, and Dionysus is born from his father's thigh. In other words, Dionysus impregnates Zeus.
From his birth, Dionysus challenges all the predefined gender dogmas. He blurs them. He queers traditions, customs, and rules. Let's continue. Of course, Hera doesn't stop there and sends the Titans after Dionysus to kill him. Dionysus transforms into a bull, cougar, panther, and deer to protect himself from the Titans. Born from both mother and father, he subjects himself to constant metamorphosis. He doesn't conform to any mold. He is an anti-mold. He is the god of metamorphosis. Dionysus doesn't fully conform to the image of masculinity either. He is androgynous. In no way does he represent the status quo like other gods. He's a wandering god. He has no fixed place. He's a god beyond the walls. He cannot be integrated into a patriarchal order. In this system, he's like a foreign substance. Being placeless and homeless, he always comes from outside. When he enters from the outside, he transforms the existing solidified, masculinized order into the sand. He is a god without a mother since he was born from his father's thigh. He is rootless and a bastard.
In this context, SALT's KRALİÇE corresponds to Dionysus. Her existence is Dionysian. Killing KRALİÇE means rigidifying S-A-L-T. Killing KRALİÇE means recalling Apollo. Killing KRALİÇE means returning to the status quo. So, does SALT really want this?
The text is translated from its original version published at Manifold in 2022.