To view the invitation to the exhibition please press  here

             Had the creatures - called ‘human beings’- become rats at an increasing speed recently, for the settlements were transformed into drains? So many cities, conurbations had been transformed into drains probably because the creatures – called ‘human beings’ – had become rats at an increasing speed recently.

            Were the so-called modern (!) human beings destined to become rats? Were the settlements all polluted, could one not give up all he had – just like a Don-Quixote – and go out to the highlands?

            (Having taken the image of transcendence as his guide, the man set out his way for the mountain peaks where he looked for purification.)

             Cervantes had killed Don-Quixote but Son-Quixotes were alive, each of whom was a symbol of uncompromising lives that were pregnant with principled struggles. Each was a beginning to become a ‘human being’, a lance against passions for possession, a sword against the love of ego, a shield against longings for being admired. Each was a mature spirit to be peeled off from their body cage in order to attain divinity; their goals were boundless. And end/less were the Son-Quixotes; the Son-Quixotes were end/less.        

            (The man learnt to be ‘a man’ from Son-Quixotes that he painted on papers, on clothes for months.)

             Mountains were still full of mysteries, full of miracles: One day a pure white sparrow, among the flowered brunches of an almond tree said “Hello world!” How divine it was for this white (as if sunken in lime) sparrow to sustain – as if denying its species, nevertheless – its existence!

            The letters from a quite young person – who furthermore resided in cities – to the man in the mountains those days were dispersing tones of maturity, vibrations of whiteness around.

            (The man gave the name of Albino Sparrow to that juvenile.)

             Everywhere the man in the mountains lived was full of Son-Quixote paintings in the end.

     “Take us away...” was what they said, “Maybe a few captive souls thus have us in mind and give up to be converted into rats. We are enlivened remedies for the ‘white sparrow souls’ squeezed among brown sparrows.”

            (The man heartily felt the enthusiasm to introduce ‘Son-Quixotes’ with the ‘white sparrow’ in the city. He came down to the cities from the mountains.)

             Those who had become rats completely; who had just begun to become rats; who were trying not to become rats listened to Son-Quixotes. The Son-Quixote paintings lined on the walls whispered into eyes and hearts the principle, the necessity that the struggle is to be carried out against our egos, the soundness of solitude for days, without wearying of what they did.  

            However, they had perceived that the so-called transcendent youngster, who was assumed to be Albino Sparrow, actually was a rat that had fallen into a vessel of yoghurt and then had feathers stuck on.

      (Having cut off the root named ‘Hope’ from the very deep, the man has been hawk’s wing and pure cloud.) 

            The Son-Quixotes took no notice for the agony of being mistaken: “Even though you consumed the hope, you have to shed colour on Albino Sparrows, the ruthless rats and us, the Son-Quixotes to help us live forever.” they kept uttering: “We are to be introduced to the real ‘white sparrow-souls’ residing at unknown whereabouts; thus might be a remedy, a way, a light for them. The first one was an illusion but maybe second, third or fifth...”

            (Slipping his collar from the hope, the man wrote these on paper, painted these on cloth.)

 * ('Son' means 'the end' in Turkish, i.e. the original language of this manifest.)