Mahmut Celayir

In the mountain village of Bingöl, my hometown where I spend my summers, I embark on long journeys in nature during the afternoons. For me, everything begins with these journeys. With curious and inquisitive eyes, I observe the stones, birds, insects, and turtles. I accompany the waters and the smells. I sit with the shepherds and listen to their earth-scented stories. The texture of the land, the diversity of plant forms and colors, and the warm, enveloping light of the sunlight immerse me in the dizzying motion of a cosmic movement. I feel as if I melt into a void, blending with the earth. This journey gradually transforms into an inner journey, an experience of existence. It is a lost paradise, a search for identity. In a way, it is the integration of a collective memory with my own personal history. Abandoned old roads carrying the texture of centuries, traces left behind, the intertwining of time and space... Migrations, exiles, and memories engraved in stones. It is our adventure and fundamental existential thoughts in the naked solitude of a painful geography.
As the day progresses, shadows grow, and the dialogue between light and darkness becomes more distinct and harsh. As bright areas give way to darkness filled with uncertainty and unease, the journey comes to an end. When I return home in the happy tranquility of completing a mysterious and mystical ritual, I find a density of visual impressions in my mind. Over time, I try to transform these impressions into colors and forms that float in energized areas filled with light.
As a storyteller of land and nature, the paintings I create, in which I question identity and memory backgrounds within the norms of contemporaneity, emerge as a result of such an adventure.