Necdet Sen ~ 19 October 2001
We set out together.
We were more or less at the same age. We used to sketch something that was supposed to be a "caricature" on the worn-out, brown colored tables by leaning over the thick sketch papers, which SCHOELLER was written on.
Life (whatever it is) gave us the opportunity to run in the same lane next to each other. We would hang out in tripe soup shops in Sirkeci, and kebab houses in Sultanahmet, take the bus and the boat in the morning together, and show our drafts to each other before "big brother" see them.
Weren't there minor differences amongst us? Yes, there were. I was leftist as I am now. The others did not care a pin what politics are. As I do now, I would not have a bite without sharing it with my beloved. But, some would do. As I do now, I would sweat my guts out to be able to write and draw in a way that satisfies me, instead of doing bag of drawings in a brace of shakes to save up from the number of circulation. Most of them were tied up with the idea of having a green thumb. I said "no" to what my conscience could not accept but, most of them did not even know the meaning of it.
I was at the beginning of my journey. Like anybody else I needed money and to have my way cleared out. However, I had also brought with me the trait of contentment that enables me to reject some opportunities presented in golden tray.
The other guys jumped over the opportunities I rejected. There were times they snitched on each other. There were times they knocked each other's block off. They slept over their debt. In every step they took they had quarrel and split in thousand pieces afterwards. In every split the sale number of their magazines fell down. Yet their desire to strike it rich never lessened.
In their eyes "opposition" meant something only if it can be reflected to the sale numbers. However, faithful reader could not have seen the fine difference. He put everyone of us in the same scales.
Years passed by. While some of us were getting poorer, some climbed up the ladder of success very quickly.
What could be the main component of the break-up of their alliance? Could it be talent or diligence?
Never! Could it be sheer chance? It couldn't be either. What was it then?
Even though we were all seen same class of people under the titles "artist", "caricaturist" or "humorist" for some of us (in fact for very few of us) the act of writing and drawing was a matter of existence and searching of truth but, for most of us it was just a run-of-the-mill jumping-off place which leads to the prosperous life.
Searching of profundity and virtue, which did not mean anything, not even now, to easily deceived majority, who cannot distinguish the sheep from the goat always determined with an undoubtful certainty that who would be rich and who would not.
The literate class called "artist" both the ones who cannot accept becoming rotten, dirty and scoundrel and the ones who can.
I know I am gonna die on my beam-ends like many of my heartbroken friends. This is inevitable because money flirts with the one who loves it.
Yesterday's tyros used to butter me up with compliments such as "Sir, I am a huge fan of yours. You are magnificent. I keep all your stripes in my closet". Their being goody-goodies paid off well with prosperous and luxurious life. While they are enjoying the life thoroughly they will find out that I bit the dust, and probably comment as " he was a classy guy but, a bit of cranky"
Moreover, few among them with the urging feeling of fidelity would write panegyrics upon my work and my personality, of course without forgetting to sprinkle some anecdotes about how cranky and irascible man I was.
But I believe none of them would be willing to think over the causes of how quickly they climbed up the ladder of success while the artist they admired so much were withdrawn in silence and forgotten.
Instead of questioning why are so obedient my old friend would create myths about my cantankerousness.
Neither they nor these respectful readers, who can perceive "the meaning" only when they saw it the shelf of the supermarket would try to see the truth behind why on earth the humor and the caricature are at the disposal of newspaper tycoons, playing three monkeys against plotting and intrigue, and criticizing only what they are allowed to.
Do not assume that the history of art tells the history the best. The art historians of tomorrow will search in today's newspaper and periodicals and stamp "the best" on the most popular pieces.
Tomorrow's good boys would disregarding the bitter truth that in front of whom one has to bow, and with whom one has to hook up in where in order to get his drawings printed in stylish hard cover, and write the today's history of art by looking at these stylish hard-covers.
"The history cannot be deceived". This is bullshit! The truth is that the history is no more than getting the lies of yesterday approved today and the lies of today approved tomorrow.
I always wonder how many talented young people had to bury their talent inside thanks to the incapable editors, jealous colleagues, dogmatic historians, parrot fashion intellectuals, and useless crowd who cannot sort out the sheep from the goat.
Again, I wonder that letting alone one should rise against unfairness how come a man can keep his silence against open lies, injustice and Byzantine tricks to protect his self-interest.
Every single person is an accomplice of the crooked business which they pretend to be complain about unless he/she interrogates the journalist who misleads the public by twisting out the truth, instead of being the messenger of the truth; the anchorperson who gives a distorted account of what has actually happened; the caricaturist who washes his hands off from his main responsibility, which is being the common sense of the society, and draws whatever he has been told to draw by newspaper tycoons; the politician who betrays his electors; the civil servant who neglects his duties, and the intellectual who tries to exploit the society's conscience.
Here is the novelist who only speaks and writes of his own mind and satirizes the world of press and broadcast at the cost of losing his job and getting voted off the group at one side. At the other side there is the self-seeking opportunist caricaturist. If you are one of those people who put both type of caricaturist in the same basket I want you to do something for me.
Please take all your compliments extended to me back. I would rather be labeled "obstinate" which has been stuck on me as a clear evidence of collective foolishness than be seen in the same elite category with those opportunists.
Questions give birth to questions. What keeps charlatans and despots stand on their feet? Fear. Obedience. Partnership in crime. And of course hypocrisy. May be my being obstinate is another way to name your unwillingness to confront yourselves .
As long as you don't take a clear stance against corrupted behaviors, and promise yourself not to tell a lie, no matter how small it might be and not to deceive yourself and the others you will not be able to refrain to be deceived by the liars and the tricksters better than you.
It is you who subscribe those newspapers and try to find something worth reading in it. It is you who repeat all those rubbish columns parrot fashion, and call those who are incapable and greedy "as caricaturist". Last but not least, it is you who forward their silly scribbles to your friends… The jokes that you laugh at and the insincere artistic postures that you affirm are revealing your calibre.
Please do not ever admire me with confusion in this rush.
I swear to God I feel embarrass if you do so. Take my name out of that list.
Life is running through me with all its colors and harmony. If I am not able to share it with you this is more of your lost than mine.
I have not been doing graphic novel for years. I have never thought what is its cost to me but, I know what my prize is: Serenity.
During the last five years that I did not write graphic novel I've got rid of the ache sitting over my hearth. Now, I can respire without pain.
Sleepless days and nights, persistent heartaches, deferred leisure times, wearisome working hours by locking myself in. All these was just to share something with you, believe me .
Since the genetic coincidence dropped a dash of eternal light of this universe into my palm as an obligation I should have given this gift back to its true owner, that is to say, you and the life itself.
However, I saw with resentment that one has to play by the rules of the consumption society. To be able to give what he has taken before to everybody without asking anything in return, tolerate the intellectually handicapped secretary asking "what the subject is", and please the editor who cannot write a book, the film producer who cannot make a movie, the music producer who can neither compose nor sing One has to first pass the marketing exam.
Well then, I am off my responsibility. It does not seem to me that my way will ever cross the way of those who search the meaning of life where everything is sold and barcoded.
I have never had business with money. Few bites to chew, one or two rags to wear would be enough for me.
A year ago I could not help myself to buy a computer with last of my savings and start to design this web site. As I said I am trying to pay the life back. I expect nothing but a sincere smile.
But even so, there will always be some goons saying "do not click on his web site. Lets have his goose killed". There will also be others saying that "his seclusion and loneliness is just a strategy of "marketing". There is likely to be people who will call me "megalomaniac", "narcissist", "egocentric".
No matter how I waste my breath, my voice would not go beyond the mountain of toughness and no love. I am sure of it.
One thoughtful comment, one sincere request in last five years could have made me return. Thanks God. It did not happen!
Thanks to all of you HIZLI Gazeteci readers, I owe you my health and my happiness.
Translated by Camay Ozalp
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