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Spotted figures of so-called schizophrenia In a three-month period I experienced, the effect of the psychosis I entered, as defined by psychiatrists, increased and reached a schizophrenic point. As one of those who are rarely aware of their own condition, I consider myself lucky. I knew what I was experiencing, harboring neither fear nor anxiety. The figural spots flowing before my eyes, though not as colorful as I depicted them, would not be wrong to describe as extraordinary. The human mind is free and rich in variation; whether I call them mutant faces or entities, it is a limitless creator. A science fiction of its own. The contour variations of the figures emerging and moving on the surface were rich. The contour boundaries and the patterns they contained were adjacent to each other, sometimes nested, overlapping, and side by side. I watched their flows from surfaces, grounds, and sometimes from the atmosphere at varying speeds. Sometimes a figure that attracted my attention more would slow down, allowing me to observe it thoroughly. I think I was the one directing the flow speed of these figures. Neither fear nor anxiety about the future overwhelmed me. It was as if I knew deep down that what I was experiencing was temporary. I am fortunate to have been able to possess this fearless consciousness. What if I were trapped inside a schizophrenic with rich visual abundance, what if I were stigmatized. According to psychiatry, schizophrenia is a syndrome seen as chronic, not acute, and has continuity. First, I received the support of psychiatric medications, but then I gave up because I got tired of going to the hospital every month. The journey was two hours. I struggled without medication, got bored, felt overwhelmed, but this situation carried me to a point where I should be. The medications didn't prevent these illusions, but they solved my sleep problem and relieved the fatigue created by the unique thing I was experiencing. My long-standing curiosity about mysticism and metaphysical subjects also made my current situation seem like a blessing to me. My reconciliation with this extraordinary syndrome, which I found interesting rather than terrible, was easy. The detailed quality of the patterns I observed was amazing. Sometimes mythological beings mixed among the amorphous faces that waved the flag of freedom from every angle. These were winged white and black dragons. This mythical figure has always impressed me. At my mother's request, who became aware of what I was experiencing, I was admitted to a clinic. About three months. Apart from all the interesting and unique figures I encountered, there were also special people I was happy to meet. They welcomed me with an interest that amazed me. They talked to me as if they had knowledge about the special thing I was experiencing. Some called me a god, some an angel, some gave me different names from Anatolian myths that I didn't know and now don't remember. I didn't think much about how this happened and what it meant. The hospital was of no benefit to me other than gaining weight. Before, during, and after the hospital, while I was in the syndrome, there was a team consisting of women and men talking in my head. This team observed me anatomically, tried to calm me with suggestive words, and made me feel that they were with me. The approaches of this suggestive team talking in my head, with the sensitivity of doctors, made me think of them as angels. After all, I was watching a different dimension or witnessing the game my mind was playing on me. Sometimes they made me smile and relax with their ridiculous comments, keeping me away from the fear I would feel. Sometimes they told me to kiss and love myself. It was as if they tried to keep me away from fear by normalizing this extraordinary situation with realistic approaches. They made me feel that it was temporary. This visual and auditory "acute schizophrenia" syndrome that I experienced for three months with attacks that intensified from time to time remained as an unforgettable experience in my mind. In short, if there is an extraordinary high-frequency phenomenon, I think I briefly came into contact with it. Schizophrenia is not a temporary illness that comes and goes. The fact that these metaphysical experiences consist of the totality of ancient human experiences being seen as meaningless and devoid of meaning reminds me of an arrogant blindness. Ignoring the metaphysical world, belittling it, and considering it suitable for ignorant rabble should leave a person in shame. Metaphysics is the first step taken towards curiosity and truth. We have entered an age where acceptable experiments are being conducted regarding the reality that other constants that can exist outside the evolutionary constants—nutrition, reproduction, and geographical adaptation conditions—can see different dimensions. From Carl Jung to Freud, the dilemma of modern man is that the order he exists in is far from showing him the truth. In this endless order of possession and competition, the individual knows his own truth and has been in cooperation by nature for hundreds of centuries. In the early periods of Islam, enigmatic figures like Hallaj-i Mansur said they encountered Allah in their meditations. A scholar like Ibn Arabi expressed that Allah made him write one of his works. More rational masters like Ibn Rushd could openly express that they did not believe in fate and the afterlife. This polyphony disappeared over time. Spirituality and its practices seem to be deliberately corrupted. The sharing of mystical experiences and esoteric secrets added much to man but was hidden from ordinary people according to rules. The point I want to reach is this: Including the Abrahamic religions, which I prefer to call truth, any human or community that considers a nature, a mountain, a majestic animal sacred; attributes divine powers to it; accepts a more spiritual atmosphere even if it resembles or doesn't resemble mythological existential forms that may belong to different dimensions—the occupying environment created by the modern world and the value of material seem like enemies of the conscience that the metaphysical world creates in its essence. The pain and meaninglessness suffered by the being enslaved to incessant gain and possession—human or product; and some people's lack of importance or inability to make sense of these cores makes him more human. The isolation and alienation of mind and being causes humans to distance themselves and establish an imaginary world for themselves, devoid of lost meaning. What I experienced was exactly caused by this. When I was alone and in pain, when I started to help myself with meditation and some mystical exercises, and started reading every source I found, something must have been triggered. An escape. Schizophrenia may be one of the methods found by the human mind; a conscious or unconscious, reflexive choice. I know schizophrenics who are satisfied with the world they enter during schizophrenic attacks. Most are unique and original with the poems, plastic arts, or different practices they produce in their own worlds. Another important feature of theirs is that they don't carry concerns like being understood or liked. Most schizophrenic attacks, of course, don't contain the spectacular excitement that I am said to have experienced. What was extraordinary was that, despite the psychiatric acceptance that it is seen as acute, not accepted, and claimed to continue, my syndrome harbored the feeling from the beginning that it would have an end. The neon colors I felt in my focused meditations and sometimes saw in the sky made me think that modern mystics say that this impressive level I reached in a short time is sometimes reached much earlier, sometimes after many experiences, and that both are normal. In this case, I doubted whether what I experienced was a schizophrenic attack or a visual and auditory experience if my concentration capacity was above normal. I cannot consider myself to have experienced a troublesome Sufi experience, but could I have reached the level of fana fillah, in my workshop all alone, without using any psychiatric medication; only with meditation, losing myself in the patterns I drew randomly with free hand, and the dhikrs I performed from time to time, and also with the compositions of Gurdjieff, born in Kars, who tells the world that telepathy is possible, harmonizing Anatolian melodies, spinning around in the middle of my workshop? The deprivation caused by a tragic and painful separation I experienced seemed to lie at the heart of the matter. In fact, the whole effort began with the aim of getting rid of this deprivation. Suddenly falling from a devotion to a nothingness. My escape from this nothingness was possible with non-stop production. I tried to record the illusion flowing before my eyes with paint, pencil, and surfaces. The joy that got stuck was reflected on the surface. My first works were upcycle assemblages with waste materials on large-sized house doors. Over time, I became completely abstracted from a search. After the medications I quit, my sleep became forbidden; staying awake for days made me tense but carried me to a tired but intense consciousness. I watched the clouds. My view was a boundless horizon. First, I looked for figures in the clouds. These shapeless or shaped figures in this totality flowing before my eyes became my source of inspiration. What else could I try to depict. I enjoyed it. Here, these figures, mostly drawn with mixed techniques on 70x100 duralit, are replicas of these observations. I tried to draw some of them as if they came from another artist's drawing. Quite a difficult endeavor. A person's drawing is like their own fingerprint; I didn't want to follow a certain style and pattern. This endeavor of mine could continue throughout the flow of the said moving figures. Defining my works as "abstract graffiti" seems appropriate to me. Although each created figure has separate forms from each other, when they come nested, overlapping, and side by side, they reach a composition and wholeness. In this age when new physics can observe geometric shapes from other dimensions, I too tried to convey the figural interpretations belonging to another dimension that accompany these geometric shapes and that I once witnessed with excitement—perhaps produced by my mind, perhaps as sacred plants show us—as much as my hand allows; with the agility of a street artist's or graffiti artist's tag.