Sanat Ruhun Yansıması mı, Yoksa Sadece Bir Beceri mi?
Sanat Ruhun Yansıması mı, Yoksa Sadece Bir Beceri mi?
Cevat Orhan
Giriş: Yapay Zekânın Fırça Darbesi ve Yeni Sınırlar
Günümüz dünyası, her şeyin bir tuşa basarak üretilebildiği, sanal ve dijital formların gerçekliğin yerini aldığı bir çağa evriliyor. Bu dönüşüm, en eski insanlık aktivitelerinden biri olan sanatı da temelinden sarsıyor. Yakın zamanda bir yapay zekâ yazılımının, insan jürili bir sanat yarışmasında birincilik ödülü kazanması, bu tartışmayı alevlendirdi. Bir zamanlar tuvalin başında geçirilen saatlerin, kilin şekil almasının ya da bir şiirin sancıyla yazılmasının ürünü olan sanat, şimdi algoritmalarla ve kodlarla yaratılıyor. Peki, bir duygu, bir yaşanmışlık ve bir ruh taşımayan, sadece mükemmel bir formdan ibaret olan bu eserler gerçekten sanat mıdır?
Bu noktada, zanaat ile sanat arasındaki kadim ayrım yeniden gündeme geliyor. Zanaat, bir işi teknik olarak en kusursuz şekilde yapabilme becerisiyle ilgilidir. Bir marangozun mükemmel bir masa yapması, bir demircinin kusursuz bir kılıç dövmesi gibi. Bu, öğrenilebilir, geliştirilebilir ve tekrarlanabilir bir beceridir. Oysa sanat, bu teknik mükemmeliyetin ötesinde, insanın içsel yolculuğunun bir yansımasıdır. Sanat eseri, sanatçının ruhunun acısını, sevincini, hüznünü ve yaşadığı tüm karmaşıklıkları barındırır. Bu yüzden bir resim, sadece renklerden ibaret değildir; bir duygunun, bir düşüncenin, bir ruh halinin somutlaşmış halidir. Bu bağlamda, dijital sanat ve yapay zeka tarafından üretilen estetik formlar, ne kadar mükemmel olursa olsun, sanatın bu ruhani boyutunu taşıyabilir mi?
Zanaat ve Sanatın Tarihi Ayrımı
Yapay zekâ ve dijital teknolojiler, kusursuz formlar yaratmada ustalaşsa da, asıl soru şu: Bir eseri sanat yapan nedir? Bu sorunun cevabı, sanat ve zanaat arasındaki temel ayrımdan geçer.
Zanaat, bir
I know that I should have written this agony at least a decade ago. Maybe it was all the cure that I needed but does it really matter whether or not I solve all of this issue all by myself. I mostly even wonder that is it really possible for me to decrease the suffer beyond all of this trouble.
I just read a post on X. I don’t know who said that but it says that past doesn’t exist. It is all in your memories and your brain never knows the original story; because it clutters in time and your brain is always on your own way with feelings, predictions, and misunderstandings. So the thing you suffer from is merely something non-existing. If so, then you are in pain in your very own dream and brain.
The dream which you create, the brain you can always manipulate and you already did is to be able to create that scene of drowning, suffocation or the so-called disaster.
You can keep go on and hurt yourself or you just take a step back and see how it goes; and it seems like it mostly floats since there is nothing that much solid rather than our very dear perception.
Lucky us there are 26 dimensions in the universe that we know, at least I heard that the string theoriticians claim it to be true. So even in the world of quarks there are more than we can ever think; then what about the world that Nietsczhe and Heidegger taught us?
Some of the people know that I identify myself as a metamodernist than a postmodernist; so I should say that the past is perceptional, the future could be predictive and the present should be seen as solid.
This pendulum needs to make us feel alive when we are about to complete this diadrom.
I may use many adjectives when I talk about that diadrom but since I have many feelings right now; I think I’ll pass. Because those feelings all belong to
Bazı hikâyeler tam tahmin ettiğin gibi ilerler. Bazılarıysa son sayfada tüm bildiklerini sorgulatır. 🤯
Ters köşeleri seviyorsan, seni sonuna kadar merakta bırakacak 3 kitap önerisini keşfetmeye hazır ol!
I will be looking Forward to It
“I wish I were dead rather than her being taken,” he confessed and leaned
forward as if he sought reassurances.
“But you are with me.” She spread her hands over his shoulders and
pulled him in until his face was inches from hers. “I’m going to stand up
from this floor, leaking tits and all, and I’m going to burn down the entire
world to get her back.”
He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. His eyes tinged in slight
fear. Let him fear her. They should’ve all feared her from the beginning.
She had it in her. She’d always had it in her. But now the dragon was loose.
Unchained.
“What about your dear peace, Almira? Don’t you want that anymore?”
Alton asked with slight apprehension.
“I want my daughter!” Almira screamed as she clutched him tighter. His
jaw twitched. She couldn’t control her emotions any longer, launching
herself from grief, to anger, to disappointment. She was a storm.
She caressed his face and nuzzled his cheek, then pulled back. He beheld
her carefully, and she smiled, caressing his lip. He fretted needlessly. She
soothed his beard and smiled darkly, pecking his lips.
“Don’t worry, my love. You always called me a dragon. Well… I think
it’s high time I lived up to my name. I will lay countries to ruin to get her
back. Let the Favia feast.”
No not the Princess
“What happened?” she asked.
The king couldn’t answer her. It filled him with shame. Hira, pitying him,
addressed Almira.
“Justan Seaver took the baby,” Hira said quickly.
Almira stared at her, her black eyes penetrating as she went eerily still.
Her lips slacked, she grasped her belly.
“What baby?”
“Almira,” the king whispered. “We’ll find her. He couldn’t have gotten
far. We have ships out on the coast, men combing the city—”
“WHAT BABY?” She stumbled back.
He reached to her, but she moaned and pulled away from all who came
near her.
“Cuzo, I’m sorry—” Sanaa tried, her voice unrecognizable.
But the Queen turned and shot down the hall towards her quarters. They
all rushed behind her.
The Mesedi and Black Knights overwhelmed the hallways as they
searched the castle, but Hira knew, deep in her gut, that it was too late.
Justan was smart. He would’ve planned, he would be where they least
expected. He’d out-thought them.
Hira didn’t know how Almira ran up the stairs, but her determination was
incomparable. When they reached the landing at the high quarters, all the
soldiers and guards were still posted before the chamber, their weapons
clean and their bodies relaxed.
“He couldn’t have. She’s safe!” Almira pushed the soldiers out as they
made way for her, as she shoved open the doors to the chambers.
Inside the chambers was a silent, macabre display of bodies. Two young
Red Guards were dead, one with a blade protruding from her back and
another with a split throat. None of them with weapons at hand. Someone
had calmly ambushed them. A maid laid out next to the antechamber door,
killed in a swift, gory manner.
The Legend Of Zeita
“What I’m trying to say is that I understand legend and whispers of
magic. My people believed—believe—in the wizardry of this old earth more
than the skeptical Istokians.” He flushed. Perhaps not sure how to showcase
this part of his beliefs. “We have a word. It’s called vishap.”
She felt the blood drain from her face as her skin prickled. “What did you
say?”
“Vishap. It means -”
“Dragon.”
“Actually,” he smiled, self-consciously, and had she not been shocked,
she would’ve thought him lovely. “It’s not cut and dry. Vi means return and
shap stands for—and this is a loose translation—life. Together, their
meaning changes. Together they mean returned by a dragon.”
She stared at him, acutely aware of the swaying of the ship. That’s how
she felt herself, lost in the ocean, having little comprehension of the
complexities surrounding her journey. How much she’d changed since she
stepped foot on the Sea Wife.
“Returned by a dragon,” Hira whispered.
He shrugged and pushed back his hair from his face. “In the old tales,
they said that those who were vishap were… a sort of reincarnation of one
who was once powerful. One that Zeita deemed needed.”
Hira’s stomach lurched. “Who is Zeita?”
Justan looked at her almost as if she should know, but Hira didn’t know.
She’d never heard these fables. Her uncle had little time for indigenous
beliefs, so it did not surprise her she was unfamiliar with them. If hard fact
and science couldn’t prove it, he often dismissed it. Legends were
children’s tales. The earth didn’t speak, to him, the earth was dead.
“Zeita. Our goddess. The Great Dragon.” He pointed to the sails of the
Night Serpent. Though they were black, they had the outline of the Istokian
dragon on them. “Istokians took her and made her their symbol without
understanding what she
he can't do it when you are thinking of your ex
Alton watched the thoughts flitter across her face. He didn’t touch her,
didn’t move. He lingered. His heat scorched her. She held herself still,
caught between the need for a touch and the refusal to give in to such a
battle of wills. She wanted him to do something, but he simply bore into her
with those eyes, those feral green eyes. He thrust into her with those eyes–
oh, she flushed and shook and trembled. She desired a coupling.
Desperately.
He made a low noise in his throat. “No, I won’t take you when you
think of another.” His voice was a caged animal, a warning, a wounded
wolf.
She gaped at him. “Husband?”
An indescribable heat spurred between her legs, and they quaked.
“When I’m in you, I want you to say my name. Dream my name and
want my name. Want it so bad that you lose all sense. I want you senseless.”
Then he pushed himself off her, stalked out of her room, and slammed
the door behind him.
She laid like death. Cold and feverish. A deep, confusing fire roared
between her legs. She grasped her womanhood, stunned at her body’s
reaction. It was empty and unfulfilled. She wished she called him back.
Called him by his name, allowed him to push her into the feathers of the
mattress.
Sleep took its time to come but when it did, she scarcely remembered
Edgar’s face.