Meet SOMON

Meet SOMON, an artist whose work moves through contemporary mysticism, street interventions, and symbolic language, channeling ancient traditions into modern urban landscapes and disrupting perception in the liminal space between belief and skepticism. Rich with esoteric references and raw intensity, his visuals draw from alchemical thought, numerology, and urban rituals, interrogating how symbols shape consciousness and collective mythologies.

© Courtesy of the artist, SOMON

His process unfolds as a fusion of chance and intent, layering coded marks across public and private spaces, drawing on omens, fragmented realities, and subconscious pattern recognition to explore the space where magic and the urban condition converge, blurring the line between the seen and the elusive.

© Courtesy of the artist, SOMON: Selected Works

What initiated the beginning of your artistic journey, and which mediums consistently engage your creative spirit?

I’ve always expressed myself visually, long before I could articulate my thoughts with words. Like many artistic children, I began with crayons, leaving my mark on the walls of my childhood home. But one memory stands out vividly: when I was very little, I once dipped a mop into the toilet bowl and painted the walls with the sullied water. It wasn’t an act of rebellion—I was a well-behaved boy—it was instinctive, a raw compulsion to create. The reaction it provoked was unforgettable, far from the passive approval of a crayon drawing destined for the refrigerator. That moment, in hindsight, feels like a Pavlovian precursor to my love for street art. It revealed the visceral, unpredictable power of art placed in unexpected spaces.

Later, when I was in art school, presenting work in pristine art spaces and exhibitions, I found the experience hollow. The controlled environment muted the dialogue between the work and its audience. The energy, the tension, the chaos I craved was absent. In contrast, the nocturnal thrill of painting a wall on a busy street while the city sleeps is electric. There’s a rush to it: the quiet streets, the anonymity, and then watching how people react to the piece the next morning. I’ll often lurk around the work after I finish just to see how people interact with it. Some laugh, some are confused, some are mad. It’s always a mix, just like the street itself.

Share the foundational ideas behind BLOOD SEMT MAGIK and how they diverge from the engagement techniques used in your street art.

The concept behind BLOOD SEMT MAGIK emerged from the exploration of omens and symbols that permeate our everyday lives—encounters with dead birds, the significance of lucky numbers, and the influence of celestial movements on human affairs. These seemingly mundane experiences reflect a deep-rooted cultural inclination toward magical thinking and superstition. My engagement with Jung’s works on “synchronicity” during a transformative period of my life further heightened my awareness of these signs, leading me to adopt a form of obsessive attention to the details and symbols encountered in daily life, akin to magical thinking.

Magical practices are deeply embedded in cultural consciousness, particularly in Turkey, where the ubiquitous evil eyeamulet serves as a widely recognized emblem of protective superstition. This symbol, present in nearly every corner of the nation, derives its power from collective cultural belief. Intrigued by this phenomenon, I sought to reinterpret the evil eye by fusing it with the philosophical duality of the yin-yang symbol. This synthesis created a unique, hybrid sigil—a metaphorical Frankenstein’s monster that bridges Eastern philosophy and local Turkish traditions. In doing so, the symbol transcends its origins, representing a convergence of physical, ideal, and metaphysical realities. Hence the name BLOOD SEMT MAGIK.

© Courtesy of the artist, SOMON: BLOOD SEMT MAGIK (2024)

What significance do distinct symbols like the dead bird or numerological elements hold in crafting the narratives within your works?

I kept seeing dead birds for years and instinctively began photographing them. Initially, I didn’t consider their conceptual meaning; I was simply drawn to their visual impact. The way they always seemed to drop dead onto the concrete in a pose that mirrored flight struck me as poetic. Seeing them lying motionless on the pavement, where they seemingly didn’t belong, created a stark and haunting narrative—a visual inversion of life and freedom. I felt compelled to capture these scenes, not out of morbidity, but because they evoked a strange beauty and melancholia. Over time, I began noticing recurring patterns in these encounters, which subtly influenced my subconscious interpretations. I couldn’t help but notice patterns. This tension between coincidence and constructed meaning intrigued me, pushing me to explore the boundaries of how far we’ll go to make sense of random events.

The same could be said for my fixation on numerology. My birth name and birthdate both add up to the number 33, which, in certain spiritual circles, is considered significant—associated with mastery or higher consciousness. So I tried to master it by looking very deeply into it. Then I started seeing 33 everywhere: in clocks, addresses, receipts. But was it truly there, or had my mind simply become hyper-attuned to seeking it out? What began as an innocent observation turned into a strange experiment in pattern recognition. Was I tapping into something larger—a hidden structure to reality—or falling prey to magical thinking, a kind of self-imposed paranoia? I leaned into the ambiguity, choosing to treat these moments as experiments in intuition rather than definitive signs.

Over time, these meditations began influencing my perception of reality and creeping into my work. The recurring presence of omens, numbers, and symbols became fertile ground for creative exploration, even as I wrestled with their validity. Were these signs a reflection of some metaphysical order, or was I merely connecting unrelated dots, like someone looking for constellations in a random scatter of stars? This question remains central to my practice. My work doesn’t aim to answer it definitively but to live in the tension between belief and skepticism. By framing ordinary moments—like a dead bird on the sidewalk or a lucky number on a Nokia clock—as something worth examining, I explore the fine line between the profound and the delusional.

How do you blend modern urban life with ancient themes within your artwork?

Throughout history, humans have always gravitated toward signs and symbols to make sense of the world. Ancient scholars of Hermeticism and esoteric traditions, for instance, meticulously studied the stars, believing constellations held omens or guidance. Warriors used protective charms and tattoos before battle, believing these symbols carried a kind of power. Magic itself was often performed through deliberate hand gestures, while membership in secretive creeds or cults came with specific dress codes and behaviors, ensuring participants looked and acted the part. Sigils and symbols weren’t just decorative—they were meaningful, intentional, and central to belief systems.

What I find fascinating is how, even in our modern, supposedly rational age, we still hold onto these practices, just in updated forms. Astrology apps have replaced stargazing, giving people a quick way to check for signs about their future. The evil eye amulet is still everywhere, from jewelry to car dashboards, as though we still feel the need to protect ourselves from unseen forces. Even streetwear culture has its own rituals—gang members throw hand signs to signal unity, while their coordinated outfits act as a kind of visual spell, broadcasting identity and belonging. Brand logos, in particular, intrigue me. They function almost like modern-day sigils, encapsulating meaning, status, and affiliation in a single recognizable symbol.

What I want to explore in my work is how, despite the advancements of our age, we still echo the same symbolic behaviors of the past. There’s something both universal and timeless about our reliance on symbols to bring order to chaos or create meaning where there might be none. By portraying contemporary urban life through the lens of Hermetic and alchemical traditions, I aim to show how these ancient practices persist in new forms. It’s less about judgment and more about curiosity—this idea that even with all our progress, we’re still deeply connected to the need for ritual and symbolism.

Which current projects are capturing your creative energy, and in what ways are they guiding your artistic path?

Leading up to the exhibition, everything around me felt fast and chaotic—there was this constant whirlwind of activity, and my mind was always racing. Now that things have calmed down, I feel like I can finally take a step back and just observe how everything unfolds naturally. The process of experimentation and reflection never truly stops for me; it’s ongoing, like a form of meditation.

I’m already thinking about what’s next, but I’m not tied to a specific outcome yet. I’m letting the ideas develop organically, and I’m curious to see where they lead. I’m not even sure what the medium will be—whether it’ll evolve into another exhibition, a photobook, or maybe even a film. For now, it’s about giving myself the space to explore and letting the direction reveal itself over time.

What transformative impacts are you striving to achieve in the contemporary art scene, and how do you plan to engage with your audience?

Last month, I painted a wall on the rooftop of my exhibition at Barın Han with my fellow DJ friends, who brought their signature garage and jungle tunes to the space. Their music wasn’t just background noise—it was an integral part of the experience, shaping how people interacted with the art and the atmosphere. This collaboration created a new perspective, a different way to engage with the works. Instead of confining the art to silent contemplation in a traditional gallery setting, I wanted to immerse people in my psyche, to create an environment charged with energy, sound, and motion.

For me, it’s not just about people walking quietly across a gallery hall, sipping wine and passively observing. I want them to drink the cheap, high-alcohol beer that I drink, like we did at the opening. I want them to be pulled into an imaginary neighborhood in my mind and leave with an impression they can carry into their own lives. The art and the atmosphere work together, almost like a portal, to offer an experience that’s personal yet shared. I see art as a conversation, a back-and-forth exchange between my perspective and the viewer’s interpretation. This relationship is at the core of my street art practice, and it’s something I always strive to bring indoors as well.

The rooftop painting, the music, the vibe—it’s all part of expanding what an exhibition can be. It’s not just about the finished works hanging on the walls but about how the entire environment contributes to the story. The exhibition is ongoing, and I’m planning a few more events like this to keep that energy alive. My goal is to continuously blur the lines between art, space, and experience, creating something dynamic and ever-evolving.

© Courtesy of the artist, SOMON: Rooftop Painting Session at Barın Han

Explore how conceptual innovation and self-reflection play roles in your creative process. How do these techniques alter your approach to traditional art forms?

In both my street art and Blood Semt Magik exhibition, self-reflection is essential, but in street art, it often takes on a more direct, public form. I reflect on how the urban landscape itself becomes part of the work and how my pieces might influence or interact with passersby. It’s a constantly evolving conversation between myself, the work, and the audience, which pushes me to rethink traditional art’s role in society.

The intersection of these two—street art and gallery work—allows me to engage with the tension between public accessibility and more intimate, conceptual expressions. It deepens my understanding of art as something that transcends traditional spaces, challenging both myself and the viewers to think differently.