Mert Özgen's artistic approach, which emphasizes conveying human stories through faces, takes center stage in his series "Rainbow," where he now focuses on portraying Drag Queens. Each portrait in this series features six different fictional figures, representing the various colors of the rainbow flag and the stories symbolized by them. The accompanying sparkling jewels reflect the illuminated and glamorous side of drag stage performances, celebrating the bold and free identities of drag queens who challenge societal gender norms by embracing the flexibility and diversity of gender.

In the tapestry of human cultures, the scorpion weaves a symbol of the shadowed realms, embodying danger, death, and malevolence. My art draws from this rich symbolism, particularly the ancient Egyptian mythology where the scorpion is entwined with the essence of Selket, the goddess who stands as both guardian and avenger. Her dual nature mirrors the scorpion’s own, a sentinel against evil and a harbinger of death, capturing the delicate balance between protection and destruction.

Through my work, the scorpion becomes a visual metaphor for the mysteries that lie beneath the surface, a powerful symbol of transformation, and a testament to the profound beauty found within the shadows.

all sad people like poetry;

happy ones like the sun.

Broken...

Its dictionary meaning; malfunction and deterioration.

What it actually means is insecurity.

In slang it is disruption and destruction.

Its real meaning is “Reality”.

Its real meaning is “Reality” because everything is partially broken. Because, in fact everyone is partially insecure.

Because, in fact everyone is partially destructive.

Now take what’s broken, insecure, and destructive, then get in front of a mirror. And carefully combine each with a beauty within yourself.

You will see the truth.

If you dare.

Beautiful will become more beautiful and real will become more real.

Your wound will heal as it gets deeper.

*

When one looks into someone else’s eye, they actually look into themselves. And every time they look into themselves, they catch some else’s eye.

Mine SÖĞÜT 2019

Galeri/Miz - Oct 1st-29th 2019

storyteller noun [ C ] 

UK ​ /ˈstɔː.riˌtel.ər/ US ​ /ˈstɔːr.iˌtel.ɚ/

​a person who writes, tells, or reads stories.

operating theatre - noun [ C ]

 UK  /ˈɒp.ər.eɪ.tɪŋ ˌθɪə.tər/ US  /ˈɑː.pə.reɪ.t̬ɪŋ ˌθiː.ə.t̬ɚ/ uk us operating room

a special room in which people are operated on in a hospital

portraiture - noun [ U ]

 UK  /ˈpɔː.trɪ.tʃə/ US /ˈpɔːr.trɪ.tʃɚ/ specialized

the act or art of making portraits

04 December 2014 - 02 January 2015

Galeri/Miz/Tesvikiye

That morning rose to a clear day. The sun was shining over the rooftops of the old, brick buildings that still resembled the 17th century textures. It seemed like even the shadows were playing hide and seek, they were invisible. It was an incredibly bright and yellow day for Fall. ‘M’ got ready as if she was getting ready for the red carpet; she took out her Oscar de la Renta dress, decorated with roses red as blood. She sat down in front of her mirror and examined every inch of her face, her skin felt like white marble. After putting on her pearl earrings, her lips came to life with ‘rouge pur couture’. As usual, she organized her table and burned all the newspaper clippings of the letters she took from the library, in the large porcelain sink located in the kitchen. She put all of her jewelry in a pearlescent box, along with a note she wrote, and placed the box next to the table where she keeps her plaques. She put a few drops of Chanel No5 behind her ears. She loved the smell of jasmine, but lilac had something different. It was her favorite flower, and red was her favorite color. Today, she wanted everything to be red. ‘M’ was determined to make everything neat and flawless.

When ‘M’ entered the hotel, she was holding an ordinary and empty luggage.  Abruptly, a young boy approached her and grabbed her bag. She knew he was new at first sight. She got into the elevator and waited for the young boy to press for the 12th floor.

-Yes, ma’am. Our manager is really happy to have you here again. He is a big fan. He told us that he went to see you in Vienna many times. He didn’t forget that you liked lilacs and thought you would like it.

-Please, thank him for me.

-I hope you will be comfortable in your room.  Please let me know if you need anything.

-Everything is amazing. I was just hoping for it to snow today. This street would have been really silent. And everything would be white… I only have one thing to ask; I don’t want to be disturbed.

The walls of the room were blindingly white, and the dark wood furniture hadn’t been polished since the 19th Century. Thick, maroon curtains matched the rose knittings on the bedding. She took off her smooth, red leather Louboutins next to the bed. She sat down on the chair covered with Victorian style fabric and slowly touched the paper with her fountain pen; the ink filled the little cracks that were almost invisible.  She wrote a letter for someone that never existed; she filled the paper with words that would never reach their rightful owner. She was worried about delaying her decision again, she didn’t want to give up.

She has been many women: Bizet’s Carmen, Bellini’s Norma, La Traviata’s beautiful Violette and now after many years, she is Madame Butterfly once again. Tonight is Madame Butterfly’s premiere and it has been intense with rehearsals. The dagger for the closing scene of the play was on the table where she wrote the letter. ‘M’ grabbed the dagger and looked at it with childlike curiosity. She played with it like she played with men, music, clothes, jewelry and love; carelessly. She paused for a second, but not because she was scared. Slowly, she started to press the tip of the dagger against her collar bone and started to slide it in her chest. It created a narrow red path on her skin. The smaller cuts started to expand. She felt her veins drying, as the red started to spread over her white skin. She looked at the mirror facing her and waited for death, smiling. It was just red and her hands were smoking blood. She still had her red lipstick on. Silently, her trembling blue eyes went cold. The bleeding took the smile away. When life left ‘M’’s body, the room’s chalk-white walls were completely red.  Everything was all red as she wanted; except the lilacs. There was a distinct smell of lilacs.

26 November - 14 December 2013

Galeri/Miz/Tesvikiye

Body: the most sacred room on the ground, then most intimate and just 'a room of one's own'. The visibility of this room is the "flesh": the fence of the body, the existence in the middle of 'in' and 'out', between privacy and public, dream and truth, perceptional and mystical. It is such an interface that links the earth and 'self' with all its permeability that stuck between the visible and invisible. On the other hand, 'face' is the one that interprets 'in' to 'out', puts the body into words and where the expression comes into being. 'Face' has been transformed into a text that were it provides to perceive the invisible; that text takes place on the whole and face becomes absolute representation of the body with all of its openings and visibility.

The portraits that the artist formed by completely separating from the white ground, monopolized this inner reflection. The hushed space and the rest of the body emphasis the autonomy of the portraits. Clefts, wound, marks, and layers of the paint are symbolic; they create a dialogue between in and out by resolving and softening the solid boundaries of the flesh and tear down it's inflexible structure. These partial fragmentations on the smooth flesh, are life it self. It's a common share to society from individual or leaving the intimate in other words. Portrait now tells it's own story with the layers of the flesh. Clearly, now face turns into a communication network. It's a story of a woman; a woman who carries the maturity, silence and the whiteness which were born from it's own pain of creation, covered with clefts, holes and wounds.

I close my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.* 

(*From Sylvia Plath's 'Mad Girl's Love Song'.)

Dearest,

...You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came.

...What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness.

I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.

V.

1941