Robots That Don't Know How to Slow Down and Pictures That Create Memories
- Ahsen KÜÇÜKÇALIK
- 2 minutes ago
- 6 min read
I was recently watching footage from the World Humanoid Robot Olympics held in China. When I saw some robots failing to slow down after gaining speed, crashing into walls, falling to the ground, and even scattering parts everywhere, I initially laughed at their clumsiness. Then, strangely, I realized I felt sorry for them.
Because I saw myself in those robots in a way.
I thought about the situation of people who live, work, produce, and at the same time try to connect with art, especially in big cities like Istanbul. And myself too…
The fast-paced, performance-oriented, and goal-driven nature of business life; the ceaseless traffic on the city's highways; the constant stream of tasks to complete, messages to answer, and goals to achieve…
Most of us can't even make time for artistic activity amidst this fast pace. And those who can fall into another misconception: that art should also be created at the same pace.
But art doesn't rush.
And when a person can't keep up with this pace, when they don't find the work they produce fast enough, good enough, or "successful" enough, they become disappointed. After a while, they give up, saying, "Maybe I'm not talented enough."
Perhaps the problem isn't talent.
Perhaps the problem is that we forgot to slow down.
Nature is in no hurry.
Try pausing for a moment and observing when you're in nature.
Look at the trees.
To the birds, to the flowers, to the earth…
You realize that nature isn't trying to rush anywhere.
A tree doesn't think about its next goal. A flower doesn't say, "I must bloom faster." A bird doesn't calculate how productive it was today.
They all exist in their own rhythm.
Only at that moment.
You don't just observe it, you begin to feel it after a while.
There are almost no living creatures in nature that create art in the way we understand it. Artistic creation seems like a behavior unique to humans. But humans are ultimately a part of nature.
Perhaps that is why artistic creation, like nature itself, lacks any haste.
When a painter stands in front of their canvas or paper, they don't just create a painting.
It actually creates the present moment, the now.
So how truly "now" are we?
How much of the time you spend in your daily life is truly present in the moment?
Think about it.
Most of the time, our minds are either dwelling on an event that has already happened or envisioning a future that has not yet occurred.
Something you said yesterday…
There's something you need to do tomorrow...
You have a project to finish next week…
The next meeting…
The next target…
Even though our bodies are in the same place, our minds are often in another time.
However, when painting, especially when we truly immerse ourselves in the act of creation, this constant back-and-forth movement of the mind begins to slow down.
The moment the brush touches the canvas, the relationship between the paint and the surface, the change in light, the encounter of one color with another…
All of this calls you to the present.
Painting is not about stopping time; it's about truly being within time.
What is social media teaching us?
Today, the fast-paced consumer culture of social media has begun to change the way art is perceived.
Especially in the field of visual arts, videos that show quick results, create a sense of performance, and produce a "before-and-after" effect within a few seconds are attracting more attention.
Yet, a magnificent work of art that emerges from 50 hours of solitary work by an artist in their studio—after backaches, repetitions, failed attempts, waiting, erasing, redoing, and long silences—is sometimes compressed into a mere 10-second video.
I think this is a consequence;
The viewer may not feel the 50 hours behind the artwork when they see those 10 seconds.
And without realizing it, he is setting a false standard for himself:
"I should be able to do it that quickly too."
And when they can't do it:
"So, I guess I don't have the talent."
He finishes it in his mind before it even begins.
Learning to slow down in the workshop
A significant portion of the students who come to my workshops are women who have been or are currently in the workforce, working both at home and outside the home.
I have observed a common characteristic in many of them over time.
When they come to the workshop, they bring their professional speed with them.
They want to start as soon as possible, make progress as soon as possible, and achieve a good result as soon as possible.
The moment they pick up the brush, a great commotion begins.
In addition, they have very high expectations of themselves. They magnify even the smallest mistake, constantly criticize their work, and strive for perfection.
Sometimes, my job is to remind them to slow down before teaching them what to do .
Depending on the energy of the workshop, this is why I sometimes have them do a short moment-focused meditation before starting work.
First, stop.
Breathe.
Bringing our bodies to where we are.
Then we pick up the brush.
Because for creation to begin, we first need to be there.
The full hive needs to be emptied.
What triggers the creative process is often very simple:
Picking up the brush or pen.
Even if you don't know exactly what to do.
Because often, the things that are waiting to come out are already accumulating inside you.
Thoughts.
Feelings.
Lived experiences.
What you see is a light.
A face.
A color.
A longing.
A fear.
Perhaps a feeling you can't even put a name to...
These accumulate over time, like filling a bucket.
And when the bucket is full, you need to empty it.
Art is sometimes the way to empty that bucket.
You empty it so it can be refilled.
But there's something else very important here:
You need to wait for the hive to refill.
You don't have to produce anything all the time.
You don't have to be creative every minute.
You don't have to constantly come up with something new.
A person needs moments in their life when they are idle, standing still, observing, doing nothing, just as much as they need moments when they are full of activity.
Because things accumulate in those moments of silence.
And sometimes, when you think you're not doing anything, there's actually a lot going on inside you.
Perhaps the issue is not about creating, but about existing.
Modern life tells us that we need to produce constantly.
Faster.
More.
Better.
More visible.
More successful.
But a human being is not a machine.
And art isn't a production line either.
The value of a painting isn't determined solely by how many hours it took you to create it.
Perhaps the true value of the picture lies in how fully present you were during those hours .
If you are truly present during those three hours you spend in front of a canvas, you won't just be producing a painting in those three hours.
You'll also get to spend time with yourself.
Perhaps you'll hear a side of yourself you haven't heard in a long time.
Perhaps you'll release something that's been building up inside you.
Maybe you'll just breathe.
And perhaps you'll eventually realize:
I actually find myself in those moments when time stands still while I'm painting.
Final word: Don't confine your soul to time.
You are souls with artistic creativity.
But for the soul to be free, we need to stop constantly chasing after time.
So how are we going to do this?
By staying in the moment.
So how do we stay in the moment?
Sometimes, without doing anything at all.
Sometimes by observing nature.
Sometimes by breathing.
And sometimes, by picking up a brush and standing in front of a canvas.
Because painting is not just about painting a picture.
Painting is about creating memories.
And perhaps this is the greatest gift we can give ourselves amidst all the hustle and bustle of life:
To pause for a moment.
Slow down.
And actually being there.
Ahsen KÜÇÜKÇALIK
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