SON-QUIJOTES* ARE END/LESS
On the one hand of the story; a foolish village priest, a very
ordinary barber, a pedantic school gradute who thinks he knows everything
because of his education, a housekeeper woman against all sorts
of changes, a nephew who seeks after his own interests, a horsekeeper
who is in fact possesive though self-denying from time to time,
a village girl who has no specific originality but glorified, and
a few dukes and duchesses. Shortly ‘the rabble’ in Nietzsche’s terms,
‘the crowds’ in Rumi’s words which exist in every society. That
colourless, odourless, motionless majority...
On the other hand, Don Quijote: A lonely man that defines wandering
knighthood as ‘being on the side of the truth and advocating the
trutth at cost of one’s own life’ and who is half-crazy for some
people, and wise for some. On the background, flacks of sheep (May
it be sheep-like crowds?) and windmills, - in Don Quijote’s words
‘the giants that should be swept away off the earth’ - at the target
of the knight’s attacks. (Do those mills grind just cereals or crush
our virtues, souls, beauties?)
Having been defeated at the duel by that quarterly-educated pedantic,
Don-Quijote returns his village, ordinary routine, and acquaintances.
He returns to wait for death. Cervantes kills him first spiritually
by making him say “I’m disguised with all the things I’ve done.”
(By writing such an end how many purses of gold was he hoping to
grab from the Kont of Lemon, who knows?) Let us put both Cervantes
and Don-Quijote aside and come to Son-Quijotes:
What’s to be a Son-Quijote?
Doubtlessly, it is to be able to advocate with no compensation
the principles on the side of the goodness, beauty and the truth
against everybody and everything; to be able to get purified from
being sheep-like; to be able to take no notice of the calls
of the crowds which invite to being ordinarily and which promises
a lot of prizes. It is to be able to refuse decisively all the offered
gains, to be able to fight virtuous battles even if they have indefinite
results. The Son-Quijotes are end/less. Because they
are fortunate spirits who have seized eternity. Isn’t Jesus Christ
who was walking decisively even when he was carrying the cross on
his back a Son-Quijote that defeated mortality? Is it possible to
annihilate Hallaj-y Mansur who said “ My God, thy creatures have
gathered to kill me in the name of thou; may forgive
them!” in spite of tortures lasting for days and nights without
abandoning his beliefs. Is it ever probable to mention the mortality
of the breath of Bruno that had been burnt to death by the Inquisition
who has been yelling for four hundred years
:”Difficulties can but make the cravens give up.” ? Is not the voice
of Che, the undaunted fighter, reaching your ears echoing from tens
of years away: “Death is more than welcome!” ?
Let us leave aside the prophets, the wisemen, the fighters with
no compensation whose names at least were heard of by most of us
and come nowadays: Isn’t even brother Necat, who rambles Uskup streets
every night an evidence that proves the end/lessness of Son-Quijotes?
Necat is such a man that never tells anyone the reason for his night-watching
smiles at those who think that he is mad. He is like a spirit beyond
the skin - that cannot be seen by staring crowds - which whispers
the secrets of prophecy to who can recognize. We know when he hears
that we dedicate this exhibition to his name he will get ashamed,
grow red and pale, and hide behind his
shelf, but again we dedicate this exhibition to the name of that
unblemished man Necat Alii and to men heart, symbols of virtue,
waterfalls of belief whose name we even don’t know.
Good that Son-Quijotes are end/less.
* ('Son' means 'the end' in Turkish, i.e. the original
language of this manifest)
** Son-Quijote paintings of Safai will soon be visible
on this site also.