Some people, every morning, step into the world as if it were a blank page; others awaken with an inner flame that blazes to bring something new into a monotonous world.
Prof. Orhan Kerkezi is not merely a teacher; he is the guide who, with a single spark, ignites that same fire within each generation, teaching them what true creativity and creation truly mean.

On May 26 and 27, 2025, at the Faculty of Arts, a hot lava of emotions and artistic adventures became accessible to a broader audience. It wasn’t simply the organization of two exhibitions—it was an expedition through the labyrinth of the minds of the new generation of our artists.

“I know what I eat, but I don’t know what I’m creating”

May 26, 2025 – Department of Musical Arts

In this exhibition, the musical note did not remain on the staff. The dense melodies and harmonies that are usually heard in the form of sound, on this day, touched every visitor, student, and professor through the sense of sight. The notes of joy, sadness, melancholy, and every other emotion crashed against the wall, transforming into color, structure, emotional presence.

The music students set aside their instruments and picked up magical paintbrushes. Using colors and other tools that were previously unknown to them, they translated their emotions into form—a story they shared with one another and with us.

At the entrance, a single and powerful sentence:
“I know what I eat and I know what I digest, but I do not know what I am creating.”

That alone was enough to understand that this was not an exhibition; it was a confession, a bold affirmation by someone who fears only spiritual emptiness—not uncertainty, not the unknown, not the challenge.

“23 Colors – Farewell”

May 27, 2025 – Department of Fine Arts

An ordinary corridor became a window into the spiritual cave of our students on the evening of May 27. Darkness spread across the building of our Faculty. Background music, an artistic atmosphere, glances toward the unknown, and mystery led us toward an unforgettable experience.

Each student left behind an artwork and an accompanying text—a final story before parting. There was no lighting. Only the light from the visitor’s phone—a private, solitary beam—that pierced through the darkness like a memory that never fades. Under this light, the truth of the Fine Arts students shone.

Those who entered were invited to sit, to wait, to read, to pause. In a world that runs, this exhibition invited you to become human again—to feel, to not let your soul fall asleep. And when you walked back outside, you understood: 23 colors were more than just a number. They were a hand squeeze in the dark.

For two days, the corridors of both buildings of the Faculty were filled with art—but also with silence, with presence, with the artistic soul. These were days that will leave a trace, because they didn’t speak of beauty on the surface.

It was magic—what happens only when a professor and their students transform into a supernova that conquers the galaxy, not to gain attention, but to illuminate the path toward the future.