When the Darkness surrounds, be among those who burn the Great Fire, 2020: a reading in seven lenses
Acrylic on canvas, 65 × 90 cm (25 ⅝ × 35 ⅜ in). Painting by Yiğit Özen.
At a Glance
The hand at the end of the arm reaching to the right is left unable to become a fist, the fingers not quite closed; it could be about to strike, it could be reached out to hold something. The title says be one of those who light the great fire, but the palm is empty, nothing burning is visible in the painting. From here two readings open at once: it has not yet taken the fire, or it has just given it. At lower right and upper left are two pale clusters in the shape of flames, one turned up, one down; which is burning, which dying out, is unclear. The call speaks in the plural, presuming a group called those who light, whereas on the paper there is a single body. This gap is familiar; it resembles the language in which responsibility is dumped on a single person. Instead of the factory's chimney your plastic bag is spoken of, instead of public transport your car; once the solution is written to a personal budget it is cheap, disturbs no one, and if you fail to manage it the fault stays yours.
The body is worked up muscle by muscle, each lobe ringed with its own edge and overlapped. This is the method of the flayed écorché plates; there each lobe corresponds to a real muscle, here it fits no anatomical list, the same lump repeated over thigh and belly and arm. Muscle ceases to be knowledge and turns into a unit of fill; the series' bubble logic here imitates anatomy. Only this hardness is a mimicry; the edges are blurred, the lobes painted hollow, what is beneath unclear. One who enlarges himself also says he carries something to protect. The head is drawn between the shoulders, the eyes dropped to thin slits, the face nearing an animal profile and choosing no target; perhaps before it there is only darkness.
The ground is dragged not with a brush but with a stiff card or spatula; sharp, straight roads scrape what is beneath and bring the orange, blue, green back in thin slices. The figure, though, is brushwork, dark red lines passed over the pink while it was wet, both sides of the line soiled. On the same body wet, dry and scraped, three surfaces side by side. The step stays heavy, no advance, the weight shifted from one leg to the other. At lower right a pale form fallen from the body lies, the figure just about to tread on it; it walks by treading on a piece broken off from itself.
Form and Composition
A stepping motion holds the body slanted from head to foot close to the diagonal and sets up the single carrying diagonal, and when the body breaks in opposite directions at shoulder and hip level a zigzag emerges from top to bottom. The arm that stretches to the right and curls up marks the right edge as the painting's longest horizontal, while there is no counterpart on the left.
A stepping motion holds the whole body slanted. The head in the upper right, the feet in the lower left; the line joining the two goes close to the diagonal of the crop. This single diagonal is the composition's carrier. The body breaks twice on this line: once at shoulder level, once at hip level. The breaks are not in the same direction but in opposite directions; in the end a zigzag emerges from top to bottom.
The head stands near the top edge, with a two-finger gap between. Its round form is the painting's largest single mass and has concentric rings inside it. An arm stretches to the right, breaks at the elbow and rises, ending in a hand that goes as far as to touch the right edge. The fingers of the hand are open and look up. This arm is the painting's longest horizontal; it covers about a third of the width and marks the right edge. There is no corresponding arm on the left; there the shoulder mass descends straight down and stays a hand's width in from the left edge.
The body is built from overlapping lobes. In the chest region two large lobes side by side, at belly level three lobes one on top of another. As they descend the lobes lengthen and turn into legs. Both legs are visible: the left descends upright and ends in a foot near the bottom edge, the right breaks forward at the knee and stretches to the right. The right foot spreads horizontally at the bottom edge and the crop cuts off its tip. The distance between the two feet is the width of the body.
The ground is layered and directional. In the right half broad slanted drags descend from the upper left to the lower right; in the left half there are more vertical and shorter marks. In the upper left corner a mass of light value stands, its edges uncertain and not touching the figure. Thinning downward, it vanishes in the middle of the left edge. This mass works like the figure's counterweight.
The contour is drawn with light value. The surround of the mass is closed with a whitish line, and the inner compartments are separated with the same line. For this reason the figure's inner order can be read from outside. The distinction collapses most in the lower right region; the texture of the foot and the ground go the same way and the boundary disappears. The mass holds three quarters of the crop, and the void gathers only in the right central region. There the area beneath the arm is wide; its height a head, its width a hand. In the lower left corner there is a second void, but narrower. The distance between the top edge and the head and the distance between the bottom edge and the foot are almost equal; the figure is centred vertically, and stands shifted to the left horizontally.
Colour and Light
The muscle boundaries of the flesh-coloured pink body are given with dark red lines, and the scattered orange yellow patches within it, as the pink's only different warmth, leave a flushing. The value is squeezed into four or five registers in the middle region, and separation from the ground comes not by lightness but by saturation; the pink is clean, the muddy background dirty.
A flesh-coloured pink holds everywhere on the body. It has come out of a mixture of white and red, in some places close to old rose, in others almost raw meat. Lines have been thrown over it in a darker red; the boundaries of the muscles are given with those lines. The paint is thick and doughy, raised in ridge after ridge where the brush has drawn it. The white too is mixed into the same dough, standing apart nowhere. At the middle of the muscles there are orange yellow patches. Between melon flesh and honey, small and scattered. They are the only different warmth within the pink; they pull towards yellow rather than red and leave an effect of flushing in some places on the body. Their quantity is small, but they prevent the pink from staying monotonous.
The background is muddy. On the right and below a dark olive green, in the centre a grey going to brown, above navy patches. All of these are mixed into one another; in some places the brush has dragged two colours in a single stroke and left mottled bands between them. On this ground it is hard to find a clean colour; every tone has been dirtied with another. The salmon column at the upper left is of the same family as the figure. Orange is mixed into the pink, but it is paler and more matte. It stands like an echo behind the body; when one looks there the pink of the figure looks more saturated. At the right edge there are a few more orange and mustard patches, which pierce through the darkness of the ground.
The value range is squeezed into the middle region. There is no bright white on the surface, nor any absolute black. The lightest point is the white scrub at shoulder height on the body, the darkest point the brown green mixture at the middle right. The distance between them is about four or five registers. In spite of this the figure separates from the ground, because the distinction is made not by value but by saturation; the pink is clean, the background dirty. The transitions at the edges harden here and there. On the right shoulder the pink rides directly onto the dark green of the ground and a thin white line is left between them; the paint there is laid twice, one over the other. On the left side, on the other hand, the pink has mixed with the ground and left a dirty beige, the arm and the background melting within the same dough.
The light source is not shown. The light strips over the body could have stood like an illumination, but they all follow the muscle lines and none of them gathers in a common direction. Where the feet touch, the ground does not darken, and there is no cast shadow either; the green continues there without a break. The colour on the face is the same as the one on the body, only the red lines have grown denser there. The area around the eyes and the mouth is darker, the forehead lighter. In the lower right corner there is a signature thrown in white, standing thick over the dark ground beneath it.
Iconography, Myth and Title
The arm reaching ahead in the dark and the solitary body set up the classic image of the narrative of the hero who steals fire and brings it down to humans, but since the palm is empty it is uncertain whether the fire has been given. The imperative in the title draws the viewer into the scene; the body's being red and fleshy calls up the flayed body, the price of the one who brings fire.
A pink body comes forward out of a dark ground and reaches its right arm ahead. The hand open, the fingers separated, the palm seeming to face up. Its head is large, its forehead protruding, its eyes set in deep hollows; its mouth small and closed. The shoulders wide, the body built from muscular masses, the legs separated as though walking. Beneath the feet the ground is not clear, there are only broad dark-coloured brush marks. The boundaries of the body have not been closed off with distinct lines.
The title builds an imperative sentence. It says be one of those who light the great fire when the dark closes in. This is a structure close to the language of catechism and testament texts; counsel is given and one is asked to choose a side. In the scene, however, there is no fire itself. There is neither torch nor flame nor spark. The palm of the figure reaching out its hand is empty. Then two readings open up: either it has not yet received the fire, or it has just given it. The empty palm does not separate the one awaiting the giving from the one already given. Titles built in the imperative draw the viewer into the scene as well and await an answer from them.
The narrative of the hero who brings fire is found in almost every culture. The figure who steals from the gods, brings it down to humans, and pays the price for it. The visual equivalent of that narrative is most often the same: a solitary body, a dark background, an arm reaching ahead. The figure's body here being so red and fleshy, on the other hand, opens a second layer. It stands like a flayed body; the state of one who has undergone punishment. And this is indeed the fate of the one who brings fire. In those narratives the price is always the same: the chain, the rock and a repeated torture.
The expression of the face draws the scene away from the tone of heroism. The eyes tired and slipped downward, the brows heavied, the mouth saying nothing. This is not a posture of victory but a posture of carrying. In the posture of carrying the shoulders drop forward and the head follows the load. In folk tales the person carrying fire usually runs; the figure's step here too is opened out, the left leg brought forward. Yet its weight seems leaned back, as though it struggles to advance.
The dark areas in the background are made of layers riding on top of one another. On the right they slip to green, on the left to pink and blue. Around the figure there is a white ring of scraping; the only sign that suggests light comes out of the body. In the lower right corner there is a pink cluster opening upward from the ground, in the form of a flame. In the upper left corner another similar cluster stands, but that one sags downward. Two flames, two different directions; which is burning and which is going out is not clear. This uncertainty also leaves open at which moment the scene stops. Where the figure has passed there is no footprint.
Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious
The end of the arm reaching forward has stayed unable to become a fist, and the ambivalence between striking and holding spreads to the body. The inflated masses imitate hardness but their insides are empty, and a body trying to protect itself is also saying that it carries something to be protected; advancing by treading on the fallen limb in the lower right gives away its posture.
At the end of the arm reaching to the right, the fingers have stayed unable to become a fist. A hand neither fully closed nor fully opened. It could be about to strike, or reaching to hold something. This ambivalence spreads to the whole of the body. The figure seems to be making a move forward, but its feet do not keep up with that speed, they press slowly. The mismatch between desire and movement has stayed suspended within the painting. The gaps between the fingers are open, none touches another. The other arm has stayed behind, broken at the elbow and stuck to the body; while it sends one side forward it draws the other side back.
The body is inflated. Shoulders, chest, hips, calves; all puffed up and laid over one another. These heaps that look like muscle are in fact soft; their edges blurred, their insides painted empty. That is, hardness has been imitated, not truly earned. Enlarging one's body to protect oneself is an old solution, animals puff up their fur. Here too there is a puffed-up surface, what is beneath it uncertain. Someone trying to protect themselves is also saying that they carry something worth protecting. In the transition between chest and belly there is an inward collapse; that is the only place where the swelling does not continue. The blurriness of the edges also makes uncertain where the body ends.
The head is drawn in between the shoulders. The brow region has grown heavy, the eyes descended to thin slits, the mouth small and closed. The face is stretched forward, moving away from the human and approaching an animal profile. Whether it is looking I am not sure; the insides of the eyes are not filled. A face preparing to attack usually looks, chooses its target. This face does not choose. Perhaps there is no target before it, only the darkness surrounding it. Where the ears ought to be there are two round protrusions, spilling outside the head. The width of the face has come close to the line of the shoulders.
The back is closed off with dark green and brown strokes. No ground line, no wall, no stage. It has surrounded the figure as a dark mass. I could not find in the painting the fire named in its title; nothing burning is visible. It is as though the body itself had taken on the burning, the only difference between it and the darkness around it being its brightness. Within the darkness a few light patches can be made out, like forms left in the distance; I could not make out what they are.
In the lower right a pale form, separate from the body, stretches on the ground. It could be a foot or a fallen limb. It stands in the direction the figure is stepping, and the figure is about to tread on it. A body that advances by treading on a piece fallen from itself; this detail tells me more than the whole posture. The distance between the ankle and that form is about a hand's span. The step is not completed.
Society, Power and Technology
While the call speaks in the plural and says be one of those who light the great fire, a single figure walks on the paper, because once responsibility is transferred to the individual it is your carrier bag that is talked about instead of the factory's chimney. There is no spark in the hand it holds in the air, and because asking the salary of the person granted the title of hero is counted shameful, a free epithet is handed out and no pay rise is talked about.
A lone body steps forward, its right hand in the air and its palm open. A muscular body, a shoulder brought forward, a large foot planted on the ground. The title, meanwhile, speaks in the plural; it says be one of those who light the great fire. So there is a group called the ones who light it. But on the paper that group is not there, there is only one person. That the call is plural and the image singular is the whole matter of the picture, to my mind.
We all know how this language is built. You do something, you do not give up. The transfer of responsibility to the individual is a transfer worth dwelling on. Instead of talking about the factories' chimney, they talk about your carrier bag. Instead of talking about the state of public transport, they talk about your car. Proposed solutions are always charged to the personal budget and to personal will, because what is personal is cheap and disturbs no one. And the conclusion is ready: you did not try hard enough. To be able to hold a person responsible for his defeat you must first tell him he can do this job on his own. This is the real message beneath the language of motivation; if you do not succeed, the fault is yours.
The area around the figure is dark and disordered. Where it is going is not clear, there is no road ahead of it. In calls of this kind the target is never described in any case. Darkness is mentioned and passed over; by which decision and by which budget that darkness thickened is not told. Walking towards an undescribed target disturbs no one either, because no one takes it upon himself. Describing a vague enemy works; everyone places his own enemy in that void and behind the same sentence people who resemble one another not at all are gathered. This crowd looks like a crowd on the first day, disperses in the second week, because no common demand has been written. The slogan is strong, the demand is weak. And the lifespan of a movement is measured not by the height of its slogan but by the single clause it was able to write.
In the face region there are two large eyes and a mouth turning downward. This is not a resolute expression, more of a tense one. The faces of people given the role of hero are usually like this in any case. The same thing happened in the months when we applauded healthcare workers; people were called heroes, no pay rise was talked about. Asking the salary of the person granted the title of hero is counted shameful, which is exactly why it is granted. To people working in the mine, in the hospital, in the fire service the same epithet was handed out. The epithet is free, the equipment is expensive. When the applause is over, what is left is the shift rota.
The way the hand stands in the air holds nothing. Empty. In the hand that is to light the fire there is not even a spark. The ground beneath the feet, meanwhile, thickens towards the front. The step the figure takes falls exactly there, at the darkest place, and behind it there is no one's footprint.
Art History and Comparison
In the écorché plate each lobe corresponds to a real muscle; the lobes here fit no list, the muscle has fallen to a unit of filling, and the bubble logic and the lobe logic come close here. Rodin strengthens the movement by casting off the head and arms; here nothing has been subtracted, the head has been enlarged, and the stride stays heavy without taking a direction.
The muscles are set down one by one, in separate lobes; each ringed with its own edge, overlapping, dark lines left between them. The figure is walking, one hand raised into the air, its fingers open. Its head is large in relation to its body, its eyes two large almonds, its mouth small and drooping downward. The area behind has been stirred with broad brush movements, nowhere setting up a space.
To show the body muscle by muscle was the business of anatomy plates. The flayed figure, that is, the écorché, was used for centuries in painters' studios as a means of learning; the name, direction and manner of connection of the muscles were memorised. In those plates the aim is correctness, each lobe corresponding to a real muscle. The lobes here fit no anatomical list. The same form is repeated between the thigh and the belly, and the same lump is on the arm too. That is, the muscle has ceased to be knowledge and turned into a unit of filling. The series' bubble logic and the lobe logic of the anatomy plate come very close to each other here; both build the body from a repeated unit, one knowingly, the other unknowingly.
We see the same method in the comic strip too. In Kirby's superhero bodies the muscles are ringed one by one in ink, exaggerated, broken away from real anatomy; the aim is to convey the feeling of power quickly, because on the page there is no time. The body here carries the same exaggeration, but the stance the superhero requires is missing. There is no move, and no target either. The raised hand is not a fist but an open palm; as though raised to stop or to show something. In the comic strip the hero's face too gives the direction of the narrative, the brows knit, the jaw tenses. The face here is not tensed, it looks out with two large eyes and its expression does not suit the muscular body at all.
The walking figure is a sculptural subject in its own right. In Rodin's walking man the head and arms are cast off, and only the body carrying the stride remains; the subtraction is to strengthen the movement. In this canvas the opposite has been done, nothing has been subtracted, and moreover the head has been enlarged. The stride nonetheless stays heavy; the legs thick and splayed beneath the body, the feet as though stuck to the ground. The direction of the movement is unclear, the figure is not going forward, in its place it transfers its weight from one leg to the other.
In the series' 2020 group this work is among the single-figure, large-scale ones. While in the crowded canvases of the same year the body splits into bubbles, here the splitting imitates muscle; that is, the same unit is arranged, this time in imitation of anatomy. The title speaks of darkness and a great fire, but in the painting there is no flame, nor any dark event. In the lower right corner the signature and date stand squeezed into the place where the paint has darkened.
Material, Gesture and the Viewer's Experience
The flat marks in the back area came not from a brush but from a spatula; the smooth scrapings brought the orange, blue and green beneath back in thin slices. Within the figure three surfaces, wet, dry and scraped, stand side by side; while the scraped region gives light back flat, the region heaped with brush breaks it with its mounds.
The broad flat marks in the back area do not look as if they came from a brush. Their edges are very sharp, their insides too almost smooth; there is no bristle mark, only a straight track the paint left as it was dragged. Only a spatula or a hard card can do this. On the right side five or six such passes have ridden over one another; each pass partly scraped what was beneath and the underlying orange, blue and green came back to the surface in thin slices. In some places the scraping went so deep that the weave of the canvas came out and the paint stayed only in the hollows of the loops.
At the edges of this scraping the paint has swelled. The material the tool pushed gathered at the end of the track and formed ridges a millimetre or two high; in the lower right corner these are thickest. Those ridges were never returned to afterward, they dried as they were. The peach-coloured area in the upper left corner was dragged in the same way, the navy beneath spurted from its edges and a toothed border was left between the two colours.
The figure, on the other hand, is entirely brushwork. Plenty of white has been added to the pink, the consistency left dense, and the volumes filled with broad strokes. Before the filling was done, while the paint was still wet, dark red lines were passed over it; these lifted the pink beneath and on both sides of the line the pink was soiled. On the line of the hip this soiling is at its clearest. The yellowish orange patches over the belly are placed at the same wetness too, seeping into the pink and their edges melted.
Inside the face the tempo changes. A much smaller tip came into play, seeking the brow hollows and the mouth with short curves, each curve a separate touch. The fingers of the fist are of the same fineness too, one by one. Against this, on the left edge of the body the white is dragged with an almost dry brush; there the paint clung to the crests of the canvas, did not go down into its hollows, and the edge of the figure became misty. Within the same figure three separate surfaces, wet, dry and scraped, stand side by side. The pink beneath the feet is the last and most hurried move too; left with two short pushes and stayed on top of the ground's dark without mixing into it.
Ninety by sixty-five, an upright canvas. Hung at eye level the figure's fist stays at the level of my shoulder. Looked at from two metres back the pink mass stands before the dark area. At a metre that dark area ceases to be depth and comes forward with its own scraping marks. At thirty centimetres the figure and the ground sit on the same plane; both are reduced to the paint thicknesses on the surface and the difference between back and front turns only into the kind of tool. Looked at from the side this difference opens further, because the scraped region gives light back flat, while the region heaped with brush breaks it with its own mounds.
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