Untitled 

Curator: Standing before us is an intriguing "Untitled" painting by Fikret Mualla Saygi. Executed in acrylic, it depicts a group portrait that pulls you right in, wouldn't you agree? Editor: It does! Immediately, the rawness hits me. The brushstrokes are so immediate, almost impulsive. The figures look stiff, like a photograph taken before people knew how to relax in front of a lens. A little awkward. Curator: Saygi often gravitated towards genre scenes and portraits with an expressionist bent. There's a definite touch of naive art in there too. Do you see how he captures the essence of Parisian life? Even though his life was filled with torment. Editor: Absolutely, this is the avant-garde bohemia. But it's filtered, not romanticized. The hues feel almost acidic, heightened by those heavy outlines. The little girl with balloons offers a sharp contrast, her hopeful innocence a mere performance against the adult backdrop of anxieties. Curator: Perhaps, yes. Saygi used these kinds of figures to show a complex socio-political moment in Turkey. As an artist living as an expat he depicted an idealized version of this reality. It feels like we're peering behind the curtain of polite society, doesn't it? Like the backdrop could fall down at any moment. Editor: Precisely! And the materiality—the impasto of the acrylic—adds to that sense of unease. Each stroke is a declaration. Look how he uses blues and greens as if casting shadows even when there are none, as if painting shadows of internal angst. It’s strangely compelling, even beautiful. Curator: I find this work so striking because, on the surface, it looks simple, almost childish. Yet it pulses with profound melancholy. Each figure holds secrets, anxieties, aspirations that the other figures in the portrait cannot see or never will. Editor: I think this reminds us that art isn't just about what you see. It’s also about how it makes you feel, and the conversations it starts. This has given me pause, making me rethink first impressions in a whole new way.