the earth is looking at itself through me 


16.09.21 - 10.10.21 KOLİ Art Space İstanbul TR

 


“A fantastic world surrounds me and is me. I hear the wild song of a bird and I crush butterflies between my fingers. I’m a fruit gnawed by a worm. And I await the orgasmic apocalypse. A dissonant swarm of insects surrounds me, light of a burning lamp that I am. I exceed myself then in order to be. I’m in a trance. I penetrate the surrounding air. What fever: I can’t stop living. In this dense jungle of words that wrap themselves thickly around what I feel and think and experience and that transform all that I am into something of my own that nonetheless remains entirely separate from me. I watch myself think. What I ask myself is this: who is it in me that remains outside even of thinking? I’m writing you all of this since it’s a challenge I’m forced to accept with humility. I’m startled by my ghosts, by what is mythical and fantastic — life is supernatural.

-Clarice Lispector-


“The Earth is looking at itself through me”, an excerpt from Clarice Lispector's book “The Stream of Life” is the inspiration for the title of the exhibition.
Özge Horasan's relationship with nature is an open game that is linked to encounters through causality and connections. Neither a representation nor a thing. An intermediary feminine language, a fruitful exuberance. Her working discipline, that is aimed at recognizing and researching matter internally, not externally, carries a modern mystical understanding to the space it transforms.
The first thing that stands out in Horasan's works is that she accepts the existential dynamics modestly and brings fluid contexts. Her practice is as “fertile” as it has a multi-faceted and transformative intermediary aspect.
In this context, it is an endless game of meaning-making through suspense and differentiation. Meaning becomes the action itself, the life itself, that will simply be born out of the process.

Tuba Kocakaya

According to the cosmocentric view, nature is the face and the living symbol of the divine. Matter is overflowing with the power of the immaterial; the immaterial finds expression in matter. The human, with their immortality charged with mortal substance, is a walking paradox.
The immaterial is reached by going through the weight of matter, simply by touching it. In a way, this means opposing abstract thought with a divine simplicity. Matter as comforting familiarity, impersonal memory, tangible thought.
The nature of the touched material determines the thought. The idea settles in the empty hand. Thought oscillating from macro to micro, micro to macro becomes disembodied when poised with the language of the natural. It remains impersonal. My hand knows, my hand does. I am present and not present, too.
My relationship with natural materials both disciplines me and comforts me. I wander, find plants, stones and earth. I go where they call me, I take as much as they want to give. I watch thoughts that don't know where they come from. I crush, crumble, reassemble. Looking from afar, diving into it, working in my own little lab. I extract its sap, borrow its essence, multiply it, distribute it. I take the color, I give the color. I assimilate its body and shape, transforming it into the thought of my hand. That's how the weight of the matter gets lighter for me.