''Everything that has already fallen'' is an invitation to contemplate a state of perpetual becoming – via marks and images that sprawl, disperse, and reconverge. Images that fluctuate between contrasting emotions open a door to a world that is at times solemn and dark, at times light and almost tangible. The flow of the line, the dissolution of colour and disintegration of form remind us that an image exists not only through what it represents, but also through the ways it is made and unmade.
A figure, a face or an object – all give the impression that they may vanish into thin air, disappear underwater or turn around and walk away in any second. Soft and ephemeral images emerge as fleeting moments taken from the very fabric of life. It feels as though you might reach out into the picture and stroke someone's hair, dip your hand into the water, or feel the breeze from a bird's wings on your face... The medium ceases to be a passive background that carries the image and contributes to its formation; the dissolution of a line or the disintegration of a pigment becomes a gesture that completely reorients an image. Each mark holds within it, from the moment of emergence, both its coming into being and its vanishing.
Even when it remains still, the movement set in motion by the image continues in the mind – the impression of a face lives on and transforms within us. The mark left on a surface by a moment can outlast the moment itself, but this does not mean that the image remains unchanged. Our gaze, our memory, and the manner in which we engage with the images reshape them each time. A painting continues to live, even after we turn away.
Perhaps painting is a process of searching, losing what one has found, and beginning a new from somewhere else. Everything that has already fallen follows the images pursued by the artist – searching for what is found, finding through searching and losing again. These images, which even Öztekin cannot fully grasp, oscillate somewhere between life and death. As they leave the studio and enter our lives, the music will at times fade away and at times it will rise again. The movement between these two edges will remain.
I often feel as if the paintings are making me.
They alter when I pass through one room to the other;
when I return, they are in a new world,
having opened a space for themselves, quietly.
I have two pairs of glasses:
The first one is negative and menacing.
The gaze festers all;
entropy stirs towards the void and death.
The music vanishes.
The second is filled with love and hysteria.
The heart wishes to open, the glass to shatter.
The music ascends.
What disappears when I pass from one room to another?
What I am unable to see with open eyes–
what advances when I turn away?
