Order emerging from chaos

Yasemin Şenel’s solo exhibition Kargaşa / Pêle-Mêle / Disorder is on view at G-Art Gallery from October 28 to November 22, 2025. We spoke with the artist about her intuitive relationship with painting, rooted in the concept of chaos

Interview: Berfin Küçükaçar

Yasemin Şenel

Your exhibition title repeats the same concept in three languages. Does this multilingual gesture relate to identity, or to the circulation of your practice across cultures?

I live in the French-speaking region of Belgium, where I also studied. Since most of my exhibitions have been in France and Belgium, the texts about my work are usually written in French. Over time, I developed a French-speaking audience who follows my practice. When exhibiting in Turkey, I naturally wanted to use Turkish. It wasn’t an obligation but a desire. To reach both French and Turkish speakers, as well as those who speak neither, we added English. Thus, the language of the exhibition, much like the structure of my paintings, became multilayered by nature. It reflects both the plurality of the places I live in and the multiplicity of my practice.

Did you also start painting in Belgium?

I was born in Samsun in 1953. Back then there were no galleries or museums. Apart from a few images I saw in newspapers and magazines, I had almost no access to art. But I was drawing from a very young age. I didn’t talk much; I drew everything.

In high school, my teacher didn’t like my landscapes, saying they didn’t look “real.” Years later, when I revisited those paintings, I realized my approach was actually close to Seurat or Cézanne. Perhaps no one could name it back then.

I went to Belgium to study psychology, but one day I passed by the Academy of Fine Arts, walked in, and never left. I studied painting and interior architecture, and I’ve been in Belgium ever since. My first exhibition in Turkey was in 1986 at Siyah Beyaz Gallery. Being here again now feels meaningful, as the memory of these lands always finds a place in my work.

Yasemin Şenel, Aslan, Kelebek ve Genç Kız, 35x50 cm, Mixed media on paper, 2025

Let’s begin with the main concept of the exhibition. What does “chaos” mean to you?

For me, chaos is both a reflection of the world we live in and a form of escape from it. The world itself is already complex. We coexist with humans, animals, and objects. Trying to create order out of that chaos forms the core of my paintings.

My studio is a complete mess; paints, brushes, papers everywhere. Yet my paintings emerge from that disorder in a kind of pristine harmony. Controlling that chaos, transforming energy, makes me feel grounded. Perhaps that’s why painting is a way of life for me. If I don’t work, I get sick; I get headaches, I become irritable. Painting means both breathing and finding inner balance.

Yasemin Şenel, Pembe Panter, 70x90 cm, Acrylic on canvas, 2024

Chaos and order seem to coexist not only in this exhibition but also throughout your work. When finding balance between the two, what guides you—intuition or formal control?

For me, chaos is not just a theme but a method. The elements I use are diverse: monkeys, flowers, insects, humans, skeletons... I create a world as tangled as life itself. But I don’t leave that chaos uncontrolled; I construct the composition with great care. Color is my tool for creating order. Everything must come together as a whole, even in contradiction. That’s why I never erase overlapping layers in my paintings; I keep them visible, because the traces of the past are part of the painting’s memory. However, if a mark disrupts the composition’s balance, I cover it.

There’s always a kind of struggle between me and the canvas. Sometimes it feels “stubborn”; no matter how much I work, it resists me. At that point, a silent battle begins: either it wins, or I do. When the work no longer resists, I know it’s finished. It’s done when it stops looking back at me.

So your process unfolds quite intuitively. How do you begin a new work?

I never start with a plan or sketch, because planning kills the energy of the moment. If I planned everything, I’d just reproduce myself. Everything develops spontaneously; I start with whatever is in my hand, brush or pencil. Lines follow one another, layers accumulate. Some stay visible, others are erased. It’s like memory, some traces surface, others remain buried.

Over time, both the past and the present coexist within the painting. Each preceding line becomes part of the past, yet continues to live within the work. That’s why there’s always a sense of collective memory in my paintings.

For me, no layer completely erases the one beneath it. Some fragments always remain, visible from underneath the surface, like memory itself. Every second, every brushstroke creates a new past. If a line doesn’t disturb me, I keep it; if it disrupts the composition, I cover it. But it never truly disappears, it continues to live within the painting.

Yasemin Şenel, Le cri de la foret, 90x125 cm, Acrylic on canvas, 2021

In your paintings, recurring figures such as masks, birds, and snakes evoke both mythological references and unconscious symbols. What kinds of memory layers do these images reveal?

These figures emerge naturally; I don’t plan them—they appear instinctively. I never want to “depict” a subject, because that would turn into illustration. I’m interested in mythological stories like the Epic of Gilgamesh, but I don’t paint them literally.

For instance, in one work inspired by Gilgamesh, I didn’t draw the king or the gods. Instead, I tried to convey the atmosphere, the feeling of that time. Sometimes I draw a lion’s face, half in profile and half frontal, just like the intertwining of past and present. This is how the sediment of time remains embedded in my paintings.

The female figure also holds a central place in your work, creating a space of subjecthood beyond representation. What is its aesthetic and conceptual significance for you?

For me, the female figure is both existential and symbolic, a source of life, like the earth itself. The earth gives back whatever is sown into it, even more abundantly. But we must care for it, protect that cycle.

My female figures often appear with their faces covered or turned away; this represents both visibility and concealment. We all have parts of ourselves that we hide.

These figures embody the complexity, strength, and quiet resilience of being a woman. I often surround them with recurring motifs, lace, patterns, textures that become almost meditative gestures. While painting, I disconnect from the outside world; time stops. The process becomes a kind of therapy.

Left: Yasemin Şenel, Kırmızı Şapkalı Kız, 20x20 cm, Acrylic on canvas, 2023

Right: Yasemin Şenel, Carnaval 2, 75x75 cm, Acrylic on canvas, 2022

Lastly, I’d like to ask about your medium. Do you think painting still offers a transformative space today, or is it more a means of witnessing ruptures?

I believe painting still holds transformative power, though it’s debatable whom it transforms. Today, people are drawn not to art itself but to the glitter around it. For me, painting is a way of responding to the world, of conversing with myself. Maybe that’s why I feel ill if I don’t paint. I wake up early, go to the studio, and always stop at a certain hour in the evening. Because this isn’t a job, it’s a need. Sometimes I ask myself: “What else could I do?” The answer is always the same: nothing. Painting, for me, is both a way of living and a way of listening to myself.