Who decides whether a work of art is good?

As you spend hours wandering through art fairs, seeing more exhibitions, and being exposed to more artworks, certain questions begin to arise in your mind. Things that initially seem surprising start to repeat themselves after a while. At a certain point, you reach a point of saturation. Always the same things, similar works, soulless, monotonous, mechanical productions… Or the conceptual frameworks, ornate explanations, and lengthy narratives placed behind the artworks in an attempt to create difference and evoke emotion in the viewer…

After a while, I started asking myself this question:

Where is a good work of art? Who decides whether a work of art is good?

Leading international art fairs like Art Basel, Frieze, and Contemporary Istanbul are platforms where the art world seeks the new, the different, and the unprecedented. We see artists, galleries, and curators constantly striving to say something new, develop a new language, and present something that has never been done before.

So, is there really anything that hasn't been done yet?

After the Renaissance, with the invention of the camera, the necessity of painting to perfectly replicate reality began to be questioned. Reproducing an image as close to reality as possible was no longer the sole purpose of painting. Impressionism, Expressionism, and countless other movements that followed transformed the expressive possibilities of art. Each redefined the boundaries of what art could be.

Today, in the vast field opened up by modern and contemporary art, almost anything is possible. Material, form, concept, technology, body, space… everything can be the subject, medium, or essence of art.

Artificial intelligence has also entered this field. Now, with a command of just a few words, it's possible to produce technically impressive and aesthetically flawless images. Moreover, this doesn't require years of drawing practice, color acquiring knowledge, or mastering a particular material.

Does all this take us to a new place? Or does it simply allow us to produce faster and in greater quantities within our already expanded field of expression?

Perhaps we need to change the real question now.

Instead of "What hasn't been done before?"...

What have I yet to discover about myself?

Is the difference in the work itself, or in the artist?

The real source of difference lies not so much in how unusual a form the artist comes up with, but in how deeply they perceive the world.

Imagine two people looking at the same tree. They both see the same trunk, the same branches, the same leaves. But one sees only a tree; the other feels the traces of time, the resilience of life, the silence, the loneliness, or perhaps a completely different emotion of their own.

Although they see the same thing, they perceive it differently.

Isn't art a bit like that too?

The artist's distinction lies not solely in their skill, technique, or chosen subject matter. It is concealed in their relationship with the world, in how closely they can connect with themselves, in how deeply they can feel, and in the extent to which they can bear witness to their own inner world.

Because every person's vibration is different. Each of us perceives the world differently, our experiences, fears, joys, wounds, and discoveries are unique. It's not necessary to invent a new form to reflect this difference in a work of art.

Sometimes hundreds of artists can paint the same flower. But while one artist's painting shows only a flower, another's allows us to touch life itself.

This is where the difference I'm looking for begins.

As the artist's self-awareness deepens, their work also acquires a unique depth. This depth may not always be explainable, measurable, or conceptualizable. Sometimes it can only be felt.

Perhaps this is precisely the most powerful aspect of art: its ability to touch places that words cannot reach.

So, who tells us it's a good work of art?

You enter an exhibition. You read a long description on the wall. You learn which concepts the work questions, which social issue it points to, and what intellectual background it is based on. You listen to the curator's text and the artist's explanation.

After a while, you start looking at the work differently. Perhaps it gains meaning. Or perhaps you just feel like it has.

So, what really happened?

Did the artwork touch you, or did what was said about the artwork determine what you should feel instead?

Of course, conceptual frameworks, knowledge of art history, and curatorial texts are valuable. They can help us understand the background of a work, grasp the artist's intentions, and discover layers we might not notice at first glance. Not every work needs to be immediately understandable or evoke an immediate emotional response.

But there's a fine line here.

It's one thing to approach a work of art to understand it, and quite another to believe it's valuable simply because others have said so.

Museums, galleries, curators, collectors, critics, and the art market all play significant roles in shaping the art world. These structures can largely influence a work's visibility, circulation, and market value.

But is being visible the same as being valuable, being sold at a high price the same as being good, is being included in an important collection the same as leaving a deep impression on people?

Just because a work is institutionally recognized doesn't mean it has to be meaningful to every viewer. Similarly, the fact that a work isn't immediately understandable doesn't prove it's worthless.

The real challenge lies in developing the ability to make this distinction.

It involves learning to trust our own feelings, thoughts, and intuitions.

The viewer hearing their own voice

In the art world, there are times when the focus is less on the artist themselves and more on how the work was chosen, the narrative surrounding it, and the authorities that endorsed it. Sometimes I feel even the artist's own words can be overshadowed by the work itself.

But art is not just something that is produced and exhibited. It is also an encounter.

An artist creates something. The work leaves the artist's hand and begins its own journey. It encounters the viewer. It can evoke a different feeling, a different thought, a different association in each viewer.

The audience should also have a say in this match.

We should be able to say when we don't like a work of art. We should be able to criticize the selection in an exhibition when we find it inadequate. We should be able to clearly express how the works we encounter in a biennale or museum make us feel and think.

We don't need to be art historians, have studied art, or gain the approval of a particular group to do this.

Of course, acquiring information, understanding its context, and avoiding hasty judgments are important for evaluating a work. However, this does not mean we should disregard our own experience.

Standing before a work of art, we can ask ourselves these questions:

What awakens it in me?

Does it make me think, surprise me, disturb me, or excite me?

Does it show me something I hadn't noticed before?

Or do I only think it's important because I know what's been said about it?

Being able to hear the voices of others without silencing our own in the face of art... Perhaps that's the balance we need.

Don't we have the right to desire what is beautiful?

This raises another question: Is the purpose of art necessarily to be beautiful?

No. I don't think art has to produce only beauty. Art can disturb, provoke thought, confront us with darkness, and disrupt our habits. Sometimes it wants to get closer to truth than to beauty.

But beauty is also a legitimate domain of art. Sensitivity, grace, harmony, refinement, and the power to inspire admiration are not values to be underestimated.

Why can't we hope that the works we encounter in some exhibitions will surprise us, make us think, uplift our spirits, or even simply make us feel good with their beauty?

Why do we always feel like we need to be disturbed, shaken, or taken out of the ordinary?

Seeking beauty is not superficiality. Just as a work of art being ugly, harsh, or disturbing does not automatically make it profound.

The value of a work of art cannot be measured solely by how pleasing it looks. Nor can it be measured by how strange, provocative, or unusual it is.

I think the issue is about what the work aims to achieve and to what extent it succeeds in achieving that aim.

If a work of art disturbs me, there may be a reason for it. If it deeply affects me, there may be a reason for that too. But to automatically accept that something is profound simply because it is disturbing, or shallow simply because it is beautiful, isn't that surrendering to another mold?

While defending the freedom of art, we must also protect the freedom of our own judgment.

An artist must experiment, make mistakes, take risks, and even fail. Because it's impossible to know beforehand what the new will become.

However, respecting artistic freedom should not mean unquestioningly glorifying every piece of work that emerges.

We might find a work of art absurd. We might try to explain why, think about it, and still not like it. We might not see the value that others see in it.

Similarly, we must acknowledge that something that seems meaningless to us today may acquire a different meaning years later.

The important thing is neither to belittle every innovation nor to blindly glorify every innovation.

Perhaps what we need to do is learn to separate the bubble created around a work from the work itself. No matter how impressive the narrative that inflates the bubble, we must also be able to look at the work's own existence.

Because sometimes a work of art is much more than what is said about it.

Sometimes, he is overwhelmed by the weight of what is said about him.

A new era in art: Not more forms, but more awareness.

Perhaps the real hurdle for art is not finding a previously unseen form, but deepening one's own perception.

I'm talking about something more than just producing more, creating more stimuli, or surprising more.

From seeing more deeply.

From feeling more refined.

Being able to witness more of what is happening within ourselves.

As the artist deepens their self-awareness, their work bears the traces of this journey. As the viewer develops their own awareness, they not only look at the work with their eyes; they encounter their own experience. Without waiting for someone else to tell them what to feel, they begin to discover what the work evokes in them.

Then our relationship with art may also transform.

We don't have to know beforehand what a work of art is supposed to tell us. We don't necessarily need lengthy explanations to understand it. Sometimes a color, a glance, a movement, a light, or a detail in the silence is enough.

Evoking emotion doesn't always require grand pronouncements, striking visuals, or complex narratives.

Sometimes the most profound impact is revealed in the simplest form.

Perhaps this is what we are looking for: an expression that exists without force, that doesn't shout to prove itself, that doesn't go to extremes to attract attention. An expression that is natural because it is born from its own truth, powerful because it is nourished by its own depth, and elegant because it can be content with its own existence.

I call it the grace of the divine.

That indescribable subtlety in something truly being itself…

So, where is the good work of art?

Perhaps in the largest hall of a museum.

Perhaps on the wall of a gallery.

Perhaps in the studio of an artist that no one has discovered yet.

I don't believe that a good work of art can only be found in certain institutions, collections, or among works sold at high prices. Likewise, I don't dismiss the value of a work that has institutional recognition simply for that reason.

In my opinion, a good work of art should be judged by how closely the artist approaches their own truth; by how authentically they establish a relationship with the form, materials, and intention they use. And when that work encounters the viewer, it should gain a completely different dimension when it can make room for a new thought, feeling, or awareness within itself.

There may not be a single measure for this. Perhaps there shouldn't be.

But this doesn't mean there are no criteria. Technical proficiency, expressive power, originality, intellectual depth, mastery of the material, and the relationship the work establishes with its own purpose can all be parts of our evaluation. Each viewer may give different weight to these factors.

Isn't that part of the beauty of art? In the fact that the same work can evoke different responses in different people…

However, we must not forget one thing: questioning the mechanisms that determine the value of a work does not mean declaring our own taste as the absolute truth. While defending our own viewpoint, we must also be able to make room for the differing opinions of others.

What we need is not to create a new authority, but to become a more conscious, freer, and more sensitive audience for art.

So, when we enter an exhibition, visit a museum, or a biennale, let's take our own experience seriously. Let's consider why the works that affect us do so, and why those that don't resonate with us fail to do so. Let's question, criticize, and discuss. Let's not accept what is presented to us as true simply because it is presented.

Let's protect the artist's freedom to experiment. But let's equally defend the viewer's freedom to dislike, criticize, and make their own judgment.

Because art isn't complete just by producing a work; it continues to live on through the relationship we build with it.

And perhaps the new chapter to be opened in the art of the future will not begin with doing something that no one has ever done before, but with being able to truly look, for the first time, at what stands before us all.

Perhaps we should now look for difference not only in the work of art itself, but also in what we can discover within ourselves while viewing it.

If we ask where to find good art, perhaps we should first ask this:

When we look at something, do we truly see it, or do we see what is shown to us? Art opens a door for us; a door to questioning. But if we can't even question that, how can we question other aspects of life? We accept what is presented to us as true, still believing we have no power over our lives, and thus surrender to those who seek to gain power over us.

We were created as highly conscious beings, too intelligent to believe that we were created as victims...

Ahsen Küçükçalık