Fallen Monuments
part 1: bread bodies
''Monuments are built to commemorate a historical event, figure, or social phenomenon. This act of remembrance is not about the past but the future. It stands against "what is to come," defines the space, and is supported by the choice of materials—creating works that are meant to endure.
This project, however, focuses on the moment itself—the very instant to be remembered. In Fallen Monuments, the choice of materials ensures that once the moment ends, the monument also perishes. There is nothing left to remember. These are monuments created to disappear, a tangible reflection of fate in material form.
Today, what we need are no longer singular references—great ideas, inspiring events, pioneering figures, or ideologies. Instead, there are fragments, stories, and poems. For this reason, I do not believe that there are events or figures that must be commemorated by all of us or by certain groups. However, this does not mean that I seek a depiction of today that is separate from the past. Rather, I believe that any moment that includes me as a witness and participant is more illuminating than all the grand narratives and all the so-called brave ones. I honor those who have dedicated their lives to light with love and wish for public squares to be left to the living.
This is why this project does not focus on loss, but rather on the hope created by that loss. From this performative installation, I asked myself: How can matter, through its own mortality, create a moment of encounter? My answer: By writing a bold poem into space.
And thus, I began to dream of Fallen Monuments.
Bread, the most fundamental food of these lands, holds another deep significance. A body filled with bread just to sustain itself, a life lived merely to be nourished—bread, which should never be on the ground, falling to the earth signifies the fall of humanity itself. The idea that humans are not even as valuable as the things they create, and therefore remain fragile, is symbolized by the fall of bread, the most sacred and essential food of these lands.
In five different districts of Istanbul, bread loaves shaped from the body molds of five different people were placed. These bread bodies were part of a process exploring the performance of an object—they were created to disappear, and the way they vanished was determined by the memory and social dynamics of the district where they were placed.
We are in an era of collage and positive mutation, and Fallen Monuments aims to be my manifesto of this time.
Production Process
Plaster molds were taken from five people, bread dough was placed inside these molds, and then baked. Later, these separate body parts were assembled.
Installation
Process
These bodies were placed in public squares by two people. As soon as they placed them, they left the area—ensuring that people wouldn’t find someone to question directly. Shortly after, team members blended into the crowd as random passersby, engaging in conversations and recording audio. Meanwhile, others from the team filmed the scene from a distance.
First Stop: Beşiktaş
In Beşiktaş, a district known for its young and politically aware population, the bread body became an object of debate. Some questioned the message behind the artwork, while others wondered how the state could allow such a thing. Ultimately, a sanitation worker ended the process by breaking the bread body apart and discarding it.
“If someone had placed this here, I would have intervened.”
“Someone made a cadaver.''
"How does the state allow this?"
“Someone came, made something like this, put in all this effort—before saying these things, do you ever wonder why they did it? -Someone brainless must have done this. -You can’t call an artist brainless.''
’‘They should have made it with plaster, not bread.’'
“Honestly, since this morning, the whole of Taksim is full of police. Look, there are no police here, someone has pulled off the ultimate protest.”
“We need to catch whoever put this here.”
*some conversations from the videos and records
Second Stop: Eminönü
In Eminönü, one of Istanbul’s most historically and religiously significant districts, the reaction aligned with its memory and accepted social order. People perceived placing the bread body on the ground as a sin. In response, they broke it apart and stacked the pieces to lift it off the ground, shaping its disappearance through religious sensitivities.
“God will rain stones on us.”
Third Stop: Mecidiyeköy
In Mecidiyeköy, one of Istanbul’s busiest metropolitan hubs, collective anxiety toward public spaces was heightened due to past bomb attacks. Here, the bread body was quickly perceived as a potential threat. Suspecting a political act, people called the police. Civil officers and sanitation workers arrived swiftly, disposed of the body, and questioned those nearby. This reaction highlighted how security concerns dominate the district’s collective memory.
Fourth Stop: Kadıköy
In Kadıköy, Istanbul’s most secular and libertarian district, the bread body was given the longest time to exist. However, it was not seen as a threat but as an object. Men took possession of it, made it "smoke" a cigarette, played with its limbs, and effectively claimed ownership over it. As their interest waned, someone carried the body to the shore. The police arrived but left without intervening. That night, an elderly man, filled with rage, tore the body apart and threw it into the sea.
"This is really terrifying."
"It's weird because it's made of bread—feels subconscious somehow."
"Could this be some kind of spell or something? Like a voodoo doll?"
(Someone breaks off a piece and eats it.) "Dude, this is actually bread!"
"They're trying to say something with this, but... I hope it's not what I'm thinking."
"But still, it's artistic. It's a really beautiful thing."
"Depending on the situation, we could throw it into the sea, but there's nothing wrong."
*some conversations from the video
Last Stop: Karaköy
In Karaköy, with its touristic and transient nature, the disappearance followed a different course. Here, a woman encouraged the surrounding men to destroy the bread body. The crowd mobilized, and together, they threw it into the sea.
“If someone had placed this here, I would have intervened.”
“Someone made a cadaver.''
"How does the state allow this?"
“Someone came, made something like this, put in all this effort—before saying these things, do you ever wonder why they did it? -Someone brainless must have done this. -You can’t call an artist brainless.''
’‘They should have made it with plaster, not bread.’'
“Honestly, since this morning, the whole of Taksim is full of police. Look, there are no police here, someone has pulled off the ultimate protest.”
“We need to catch whoever put this here.”
*some conversations from the video
Deleuze states that art reorganizes the viewer’s internal forces through sensation, and that this occurs through the perception of external forces. I perceive the force applied to matter through my body and think with images. Therefore, making forces visible is also the task of the artist. Düşkün Anıtlar took shape within the framework of material performativity, based on the idea of liberating the intrinsic energy within the whole and solid form of bread by breaking it apart. As its material integrity dissolved, the forces directed at it became visible.
This performance presented a story of disappearance shaped by the memory and social structure of each district. In Beşiktaş, bureaucracy and authority were questioned; in Eminönü, religious norms came into play; in Mecidiyeköy, security concerns were dominant; in Kadıköy, the body was possessed and objectified; and in Karaköy, it was forcefully removed. The bread bodies, through their modes of disappearance, revealed the collective identity of the neighborhoods they were placed in.