From the very first moment, each of us shapes the ground of our lives with our own hands. As the ground is, so naturally the upper part submits to it. However, instead of escaping from this submission by calling it destiny, we can, despite all pain and difficulty, build with respect for that ground and in harmony with it, creating an outcome that may be much calmer and more refined than we had expected. The surface I have created here actually concerns the plans we make for our lives. Yet when we start to build upon it, it never remains the same as before; we evolve toward what our path leads us to. In the end, we sometimes feel incomplete or hollow inside. We don’t know what the road will bring, nor can we predict it. I started from my roots, which belong to one of the dozens of civilizations that have passed through Anatolia, to reflect in my works, layer by layer, the different parts of my existence such as having lived elsewhere for many years and, above all, being Armenian, a minority identity without belonging, without place, without acceptance. Because of the suffering my people have endured throughout history, and the cracks that pain has caused in our souls, generation after generation, the pain, the incomplete lives, or the wounded dreams somehow take shape in my works. As can be seen here, despite a general appearance of confusion and crisis, there is also a certain calm, or vice versa, we find confusion within calm. I, like anyone who in any way tries to have their identity accepted, prefer to appear as solid as a rock, like the fabric present here despite its wounds. On the other hand, it can also be seen that, using fabric in a completely different way, contrary to its nature, or the marks left by the impacts of life can surprisingly bring calmness, and many different “unpredictable” elements can, in fact, exist in perfect harmony. Like a person pointed at by others for seeming different when, in reality, they are not. It depends on how we look and how we perceive. These works speak precisely about the life of each of us. For this reason, I wish that the viewer, even for a moment, looks and confronts their own life, perception, and empathy. What did we expect to see from the outside? What did we encounter? What were the things we imagined or wanted to see? Thousands of lives continue to flow with their general order and normality, I would even say with ignorance. However, as we see in the works, suddenly everything can shatter, and the gears of order can turn in opposite or different directions, creating chaos. But chaos can also be positive, because it breaks order, creating serenity in a disordered life. Just as prejudice can turn into trust. “Orderly” does not always mean “right.” A norm or an imposition is not necessarily good for each of us. The main reason I use fabric and pins in the works I create to express myself is, first of all, my textile education. Throughout my studies, I was always told: “Fabrics and pins will be the instruments of the music in your imagination. However, the roughness of one must never overshadow the elegance of the other.” My goal in using fabric in its raw, untreated form is to represent the simplicity and nakedness of our lives and souls, which become leveled. The pins, on the other hand, symbolize the scars left by the difficulties and chaotic processes that each of us experiences. The truth is that everybody hides his own pain, at the cost of not showing it outwardly, imprisoning it inside like thousands of invisible pins.