Each spark is an invitation, not an announcement.

Why Are We Turning to AI?

Choice, comfort—or a necessity we did not choose? AI can help us work, create and find words when we feel stuck. But what draws us towards it: convenience, curiosity, pressure to keep up—or the comfort of an interaction without human judgement? As we turn to AI for answers, ideas and even reassurance, what are we gaining—and what might we be leaving behind?

In a world where AI can give us almost any answer, are we still learning how to ask the right questions?

Original artwork created for the salon, October 2026

Machines can now hand us an answer in seconds — but an answer is not the same as understanding. The questions we ask shape what we find, what we notice and who we become. When answers are abundant, what becomes rare is a good question. Think beyond the machine: who decides which questions matter? How do we keep our curiosity alive when the answer arrives before the wondering? There is no single right answer. We invite you to look, question, and share your perspective — art opens the conversation, and your voice gives it meaning.

A kind of reverse sublime

Dağhan Dönmez, from a letter to the salon, 27 September 2026 · translated from the Turkish

Just as in Wim Wenders's film Wings of Desire. In the film, one of the angels who drift above the city of Berlin, listening to people's thoughts, asks to give up his immortality and become an ordinary, embodied, imperfect human. When a piece of armour falls on his head from the sky, he wakes half-conscious and sees the blood on his head. He smiles. He returns to the happiness of small things, of ordinary things. Against Kant's concept of the sublime — that blend, in short, of admiration, awe and divinity — it is the beauty of the ordinary that captivates. A kind of reverse sublime!

Which moment on a stage still lives in you?

Theatre happens once, in a room, and then it is gone — except it is not. A line spoken in the dark, an actor's pause, a stage emptied of everything but light: some moments stay for years. The salon's theatre room gathers plays from Turkey, Portugal and across Europe from the last twenty years — and asks what the stage left with you. Which performance, which line, which silence do you still carry?

Which film frame still lives in your mind?

Cinema is the art of the frame — yet the frames that matter most are the ones that follow us out of the theatre. A hallway in Kış Uykusu, a train platform in Cinema Paradiso, a river spirit in Spirited Away. Beyond the Frames is the salon's cinema room: more than a hundred films to watch, and the questions they leave behind. Which single frame from a film has stayed with you for years — and what does it keep asking you?

What beauty is walking past us unnoticed?

A ripped poster on a street wall is something most of us regard as rubbish and walk by. But look again: it holds a perfect harmony of movement, colour and multi-dimensional depth — an allegory. The painter Sinan Yasdıman sees and captures this harmony with his DAPP technique, putting the beauty in death right before our eyes, showing rebirth after death: presence coming out of absence. What have you walked past today that deserved a second look — on your street, in your field, in a person?

What if connection was a form of creativity?

This is the question the salon was built on. We usually treat connection as luck — chemistry, timing, circumstance. But maybe meeting another mind is something we can practise, compose, get better at, the way a painter learns colour. Answer it from where you stand: one sentence from a book, one image, one topic from your own work.

The Unfinished Room

Oil on linen, anonymous, c. 1974

A room painted from memory: one wall complete, one wall only sketched in charcoal. The painter never returned to it. What does an unfinished space ask of the person standing inside it?

Can you be known by someone who never agrees with you?

We often mistake agreement for intimacy. Yet the people who understand us most precisely are frequently the ones who argue hardest. Where does recognition actually live?

Draw the thing you have never been able to say

No skill required. Ten minutes, any material. Then tell us only what the making felt like — not what the image means. We are practising description before interpretation.