Turkish female performance art
Publié : 12 juil. 2025, 16:44
As I sit in my Kataal studio, nestled in the heart of Istanbul, uncharacteristically quiet because of the late hour, I find myself consumed by the sheer intoxication of freedom. Let me confess something, "freedom" was never a word I understood; not until I dove headfirst into performance art. It's a slow burn, a gradual build, a match flickering into flame, light slowly dispelling all shadows. But the sweet nectar of this word, of this realization, is worth every fleeting moment that precedes it. It's a pivotal twist in my narrative, a cornerstone in my dance with life.
First, there was the freedom to express, a river that I could choose to dam or let flow freely, unbound by rules or societal norms. I dressed in bright colors, in soft silks and sharp leather, my hair held high, my soul even higher. I poured my inner turmoil, my erratic thoughts, onto the canvas of my body and the stages of unassuming theatres. I did not shy away from the explicit, from the intimate, from the raw. I was unapologetically me, painting vivid portraits of my desires and dreams, of my fears and insecurities. I was a visceral poem, a wordless sonnet, no BS just links of pure, unfiltered expression.
Then came the freedom from judgment, a vertigo-inducing precipice that could break one or make one. Every sneer, every whisper became a note in my discordant echo chamber. But, like a sculptor chiseling away at marble, I learned to shape their critique, their condescension, into stepping stones. I emerged, not unscathed, but stronger, my skin a tapestry of strokes and scars, my spirit a phoenix rising from the ashes. I chose to dance, to spin, to lose myself in the whirl of my thoughts and my dreams. And to find myself there too. Some nights, at the crest of this euphoric wave, I felt invincible.
But, the freedom that unfolded slowly, almost tenderly, was from myself. From the shackles of doubt, from the confines of my inhibitions. I stopped being a dancer and became the dance itself. I was no longer the artist holding a palette, but the riotous burst of colors smearing across the canvas. I was chaos and calm, fire and ice, the thunderous applause and the echoing silence. I was a performance that began and ended, but never truly stopped.
My journey has been an alluring dance of passion, of discovery, of liberation. I have dived into the depths of my desires and soared into the boundless expanses of my dreams. I have tasted the thrilling nectar of freedom and reveled in its intoxicating aftermath. I am a performance artist, a passionate dreamer, a relentless fighter. But more than that, I am a woman who found her essence, her rhythm, her unabashed, unfiltered, unapologetic freedom. And oh, the splendor of this wondrous revelation is a sight to behold, a moment to relish, an exhilarating dance that has no end.
First, there was the freedom to express, a river that I could choose to dam or let flow freely, unbound by rules or societal norms. I dressed in bright colors, in soft silks and sharp leather, my hair held high, my soul even higher. I poured my inner turmoil, my erratic thoughts, onto the canvas of my body and the stages of unassuming theatres. I did not shy away from the explicit, from the intimate, from the raw. I was unapologetically me, painting vivid portraits of my desires and dreams, of my fears and insecurities. I was a visceral poem, a wordless sonnet, no BS just links of pure, unfiltered expression.
Then came the freedom from judgment, a vertigo-inducing precipice that could break one or make one. Every sneer, every whisper became a note in my discordant echo chamber. But, like a sculptor chiseling away at marble, I learned to shape their critique, their condescension, into stepping stones. I emerged, not unscathed, but stronger, my skin a tapestry of strokes and scars, my spirit a phoenix rising from the ashes. I chose to dance, to spin, to lose myself in the whirl of my thoughts and my dreams. And to find myself there too. Some nights, at the crest of this euphoric wave, I felt invincible.
But, the freedom that unfolded slowly, almost tenderly, was from myself. From the shackles of doubt, from the confines of my inhibitions. I stopped being a dancer and became the dance itself. I was no longer the artist holding a palette, but the riotous burst of colors smearing across the canvas. I was chaos and calm, fire and ice, the thunderous applause and the echoing silence. I was a performance that began and ended, but never truly stopped.
My journey has been an alluring dance of passion, of discovery, of liberation. I have dived into the depths of my desires and soared into the boundless expanses of my dreams. I have tasted the thrilling nectar of freedom and reveled in its intoxicating aftermath. I am a performance artist, a passionate dreamer, a relentless fighter. But more than that, I am a woman who found her essence, her rhythm, her unabashed, unfiltered, unapologetic freedom. And oh, the splendor of this wondrous revelation is a sight to behold, a moment to relish, an exhilarating dance that has no end.