Turkish Art Fairs: ArtNouva

The sprawling corridors of ATO Congresium broke through Ankara’s habitual gloom between October 21–25, 2026, replacing it with a palpable artistic dynamism. Returning for its third edition under the concept of 'Space–Artwork Encounter', the ArtNouva Fair wove a vast network uniting over 100 galleries, esteemed fine arts faculties, and independent initiatives around the production of roughly 1200 artists.

In sharp contrast to the exclusionary ticket–pricing policies of other fairs that reduce art to an elite commodity, ArtNouva’s core ethos centered on accessibility. Yet its true character lay hidden not merely in the diversity of the exhibited works, but in the interactive spaces it offered.

Spanning five days, 24 panel discussions addressed fierce debates ranging from the transformation of the contemporary art market to artificial intelligence. Visitors were not relegated to passive spectatorship; through 18 hands–on workshops, they stepped into the backstage of canvas, ceramics, and material manipulation, becoming active participants in the creative process.

While experimental art practices [00:10] drew significant interest, traditional mediums inevitably maintained their presence. Consequently, viewers accustomed to straightforward animal drawings could occasionally be startled upon encountering conceptual works skirting the very edges [or seeking the absolute boundlessness] of art.

The scarcity of video art was hard to miss. While some gallery booths showcased the works of their represented artists or complemented their ongoing exhibitions with a natural fluidity, others [paralleling global art fair dynamics] adopted a model of selling floor space by the square meter directly to artists. By extracting profit from artists already struggling under immense burdens, this practice blurs the lines between art, hobby, and craft, ultimately compromising curatorial integrity.

A gallery’s fundamental purpose, once a network is established, is to bridge collectors and artists within a productive volume of business, and [if possessing vision and power] to actively guide consumption habits. Therefore, the widespread adoption of used–car–lot–style business models by Turkish art galleries remains deeply disheartening regarding content.

Months ago, during a meeting, a conversation crossed paths with an art professional discussing how high–Kelvin white light is more effective for artwork documentation. Later, an individual who had opened an art gallery [having joined the meeting midway with a dismissive "well, our primary field is construction, blah blah"] suggested that warm yellow light better conceals flaws. Flaws! "Art is a mode of expression, not a science; what flaw?" I thought that evening. Even if the premise were flawed, an artist’s mode of expression is precisely what it is [what does 'flaw' even mean? Flaws belong to manufactured commodities]. Then it crystallized in my mind: these people already viewed the artwork as a mere product, nothing more than a visual commodity bought and sold.

Fashion designer Seren Erdoğan’s [10:04] series Beyond the Form, presented at UPSK, prompted reflections on where wearability begins and how it can be manipulated by employing striking elements such as the female body, focus, attention, and color. Interdisciplinary touches are always mesmerizing. Sometimes even we artists are astounded by the structures that emerge when a generated form inspires an entirely disparate discipline.

Another memorable series belonged to diorama artist [22:01] Melih Şentürk, featured at the DIAROMA booth. Rather than depicting a cataclysm from the year 2149, his works tackle a theme of awakening centered on the preservation of nature and natural resources. Imbued with a post–apocalyptic sentiment and constructed from salvaged materials, these miniature, dilapidated structures aim to preserve the minute details of remaining human.

With her series Under Construction, Damla Albayrak [34:12] explores the states of laying bare a contradiction. She redefines completion not as a goal, but as an imposed form of closure [one that she consciously rejects within an ongoing posture of resistance]. Against the fixation of form and the reduction of identity to a single surface, she pushes the viewer into a perpetually open space, prompting them to reflect on incompleteness not as a flaw, but as a methodology intersecting with de–individuation and consumerism. Thus, her works refuse to lead the viewer toward a sense of conclusion; instead, they generate a process that restarts with every single gaze.

Located within the space of the Anatolian Visual Arts Association, Berkay Akçay’s Transform and 360 series [37:19] stood out as the most compelling technological works. Utilizing identical physical entities to generate multiple artworks through a fixation of attention and directional focus, these pieces immobilized the viewer in front of a synchronized booth and screen, waiting to be perceived.

The most professional presentation of artwork labels at the fair belonged to the selections of Arete [39:43], Ceramic Street [36:49], and Mass [00:35]. Arete simultaneously curated its layout with generous hanging intervals and color harmony, offering a refreshingly spacious viewing experience [an exemplary counterpoint to galleries densely packing paintings onto a few square meters without breathing room]. Within the Keep Quiet ceramic works, I must also mention how Ezgi Şendal’s [38:41] frosted–glass presentation generated a magnificent Schrödinger’s cat–like mystery operating at the boundaries of the artwork's presence, absence, clarity, and visibility.

If galleries were to utilize non–marking hanging tapes [or screws on designated walls followed by post–fair repairs] rather than the utilitarian metal hanging apparatuses, it would lend a far more professional impression to their institutional stance in future fairs. Even so, it is worth noting that this remains an international and commonly adopted shortcut.

Frankly, the vigor of works by emerging artists resonated with me far more deeply than the offerings of established names. The Fresh Ankara section constituted the fair’s most ambitious project. Brought together by ATIS Fairs [founded by Bilgin Aygül] following an open call and selection committee process, this section served as a bridge for students and graduates aged 17–27 from Fine Arts High Schools and University Fine Arts Faculties across Turkey. By expanding representation opportunities and routing 100% of sales proceeds directly to the artists, it marked their first major encounter with the professional art ecosystem. Operating under the overarching vision of "Today’s Youth, Tomorrow’s Artists" and curated by Prof. Dr. Kıymet Giray, the selection demonstrated that these young creatives are already artists from whom people have much to learn today. Furthermore, 10 artists chosen from this group will earn the opportunity to participate with two works each in the upcoming ArtAnkara and ArtContact Istanbul.

One might argue that art, much like other industries, suffers immensely from age hierarchies where older generations trample the youth [a quintessential Middle Eastern habit]. Recently, during an interview addressing the status quo perpetuated by civil society organizations and art stakeholders, I used the phrase 'gerontocratic terror', and as you can imagine, the Instagram comments followed suit. In fact, those who reacted to the term precisely exemplified the very phenomenon I was critiquing. Looking down upon the youth from an ivory tower no longer serves an art world where 'masters' merely churn out horses. We desperately need a reckoning, one that honors ideas rather than validating outdated models of perceiving the world and the aging individuals clinging to them.

Tutku Mine Atik’s works [08:04] Passion I–II–III, featured in the selection, constitute a psychological research space rooted in an early childhood illness and the sediment left in its wake, transforming the boundaries of personal memory into ontological and perceptual inquiries. Taking the fragility of the act of remembrance and the metamorphic potential of memory as her departure point, the artist analyzes the practices of seeing, perceiving, and rendering existence meaningful across the canvas surface. Constructing compositions where the gaze is deliberately constrained, pushed to inaccessible focal points, or trapped within a single center, Atik suspends objective ties with the outside world, immersing the viewer in an uncanny, ambiguous, and visceral atmosphere. This posture [visualizing the subconscious layers of the mind and the individual’s conflicted relationship with their own corporeal and spiritual entity] evolves beyond a purely autobiographical transfer. Instead, it shifts into a philosophical inquiry focusing on the fragility of reality and time’s transformative power over consciousness. Throughout her practice, the canvas functions not merely as a technical medium of representation, but as a meditative surface where introspection transforms into mental cartography, the limits of vision are tested, and the artist rebuilds both herself and the world anew.

Sculptor Umut Kılınç, in his work The Wanderer [13:07], subverts the phenomenon of 'movement' [universally recognized as the simplest indicator of vitality] by translating it into stone, the most static and rigid state of matter. The rhythmic and seemingly purposeless motion exhibited by a motionless, stone–like mass across a surface generates an illusion that we are witnessing the first tentative steps of a primitive organism; yet, this phenomenon is an entirely engineered artifice. Kılınç has not merely transformed the natural form of the material through carving or physical interventions; by forcing the object into an agency diametrically opposed to its own essence and true nature, he has successfully fractured the boundaries of form on a conceptual plane.

Additionally, a close examination of the works by Berat Mücahit Esen, Habip İnci, Hilal Akyol, Diyar Acar, Eda Güzel, Gamze Kuruoğlu, and Zeynep Çelik [all featured within the Fresh selection] is strongly recommended.