MARCH – APRIL ISSUE
“I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS THE HAPPIEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE”
Moments in Our Lives
The cover features sunflower fields. From afar, the yellow light appears like the tranquility of the summer sun, but as you get closer, it leaves a subtle pang in your heart. Because at the heart of this issue is the Museum of Innocence; that long story where the pain of remembering and happiness intertwine. The pages we prepared about the series adapted from Orhan Pamuk's novel and launched on Netflix brought us even closer to this light.
The meaning of the image is hidden in a sentence spoken before: When they were together, Füsun's answer to Kemal's question, "What film was on your mind at that moment?", was sunflower fields. Perhaps it was the happiest moment of their lives.
When you hold our March–April issue in your hands, you will notice a sunflower field standing silently in the cover. That image, turned towards the light, bending in the wind, where yellow transforms into an almost timeless glow… This issue follows precisely that feeling.
In the world of the Museum of Innocence, objects are silent but they do not forget. A bag, a key, a cup, or a pair of shoes hold not lived moments, but often unlived possibilities. Memory here is constructed not with words, but with touched surfaces, with small objects kept. Perhaps that is why this issue doesn't just look at a series; it also questions the meaning of the collected objects, the hidden glances, the small acts of resistance against time.
In our interviews with the creative team of the series, a common sentence resonates: This story is not a period piece, but a timeless narrative. It's a world that allows each reader to carry a different trace of the novel, just as each viewer can construct their own memory from this story. Perhaps that's why the sunflowers are on the cover: not a sign of a scene, but of an emotion, an association, a memory.
The Museum of Innocence is not just a series to be watched; We approached art as a universe unfolding layer by layer, from art direction to the language of objects, from the memory of space to its visual atmosphere. Because sometimes, to understand a story, one needs to listen not to the events themselves, but to the traces left by that story.
There's another reason for this issue. At the 2025 Awards, organized for the first time by the Art History Association, ARTDOG was awarded the Culture-Art Media-Publishing Award of the Year. This award was not just a mark of achievement; it was the visible manifestation of a publishing approach we have championed for many years. The jury's justifications included criteria such as research-based journalism, content production that fosters critical thinking, efforts to make emerging artists visible, connections with the international art agenda, an inclusive editorial perspective, innovative use of digital platforms, and sustainable publishing practices. Each of these criteria was another way of expressing the publishing ethics that ArtDog has believed in since its inception.
Witnessing İpek Duben's Honorary Award and Beral Madra's selection as Curator of the Year at the same ceremony held a special meaning for us. Without the paths they paved, the language of art we speak today would be different. This award may have been given to a magazine, but it actually belonged to a tradition of thought, an editorial conscience, a cultural space we built together.
ArtDog was founded in 2019, but it has decades of experience behind it. We constantly pursue hard work, patience, belief, and even stubbornness. Sometimes it's a small exhibition announcement, sometimes a long conversation with an artist, and sometimes, as in this issue, a series that echoes a novel… In all of them, we try to ask the same question: How does art remind us of ourselves?
Sunflowers turn to the sun. With this issue, we turn to the light of memory. Because we know that sometimes a magazine issue is like a museum: the stories hidden within silently wait to be remembered again one day.
Happy reading.
