Turkish visual artist Hair of Medusa is an evocative artist who combines freedom and sophistication, rebelliousness and nobility. In her most recent work, HoM collapses the boundary between dreams and memories through scenes that become dreams-as-memories or memories-as-dreams.
We sat down together (over a shared Google Doc) to get some answers to burning questions we’ve had about this MakersPlace staff favorite and rising star in the crypto art world.
MP: Can you describe one artwork or series from your oeuvre that you feel was pivotal in your artistic practice?
HoM: I can say that the ROOM series, which I like to work with recently, is very important for me. I care about this not because it is different in terms of technique and style but because it stems from experience that has been lived directly. I can define my art as adapting to the daily experience (and progress) of life.
MP: Your work often features faceless human figures — or at least bodies with heavily distorted or masked faces. Do these figures have identities for you? Or are they more Everywoman/Everyman?
HoM: I paint blank faces for those who don’t or can’t live their lives fully. Yes they all have an identity for me but these characters are never happy or sad enough. I present fragments of their lives and destinies as their permanent realities rather than temporary passages to try and capture dark aspects of the human condition.
MP: The dense colors, narrow hallways, and encroaching that so often features in your work gives quite the claustrophobic impression. Is that an intentional mood or does it arise quite naturally? (Was any of this inspired by nearly two years of COVID-related lockdowns?)
HoM: Actually, the most direct inspiration for the design of the “room” series was the earthquake we experienced in my city of Izmir. We had to leave our house and I observed the emotions of many earthquake survivors who stayed in the relief tent and the memories of their lost homes. After the harsh realities I encountered in those periods of my life I started to think;
Was it the people in our lives who made our lives important? Or was it where they lived that mattered?
Was it the sunlight filtering through the window that made the room beautiful? Or was the important thing the forgotten flower vase in the corner?
Was it the old items that made us feel alive? Or do we feel alive because we see ourselves in the mirror?
It’s like we’re all walking on an old wooden bridge that swings wildly between sides of the world; if we can’t find anything to hold on to, we fall off into the void.
Now imagine the room where your crib was when you were a child. Can you remember? Where and how did your mother first love you? Can you remember where you made love for the first time? So where and how did you end your life?
Memories that make me think of all this begin and end in…
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