It didn't emerge as the result of a single leftover event. There is no specific breaking point in my life that I can explain by saying, "this happened, then that happened." This is a state formed by the accumulation of things over time, where what has been lost outweighs what remains. It is, in essence, the answer given when someone asks, "You used to laugh every day, but now you don’t laugh at all; did something happen?": Not one single thing happened. Everything happened, every single day. Every passing second, every passing minute. First, my laughter diminished over time, then my sleep. Then my dreams, my capacity to love, and finally, my very self. I felt myself slowly vanishing during this process. The same applied to my relationship with the streets. When someone says, "You used to paint the streets so much, now you hardly paint at all," there isn't just one reason for that either. Explaining everything one by one is exhausting. After a certain point, one gives up on explaining. And when you stop explaining, only what is left remains. From my works that once existed in public spaces, on large walls, making people smile, only smaller, more introverted productions remain today. Artakalan is the name of this shrinking, this withdrawal, and this acceptance. This is not an end; it is also a new beginning. I am not severing my bond with what stayed in the past, nor am I denying it. I accept it as it is and embrace what is born from within it. Artakalan is the direct expression of suppressed emotions, accumulated anger, fatigue, and silence. Whatever I was made to feel, whatever I was put through for long years, I will reflect it back from now on. With a harsher, more open, and unfiltered language. Artakalan is not a rejection of Devak; it is the contemporary equivalent of what remains of Devak.