(translated from French by Kathleen Caillier 21/4/2014)
What we think about her:
We see Kurmaz's work a tenuous demand of elegance, a sort of adult candor, the maintenance of noble ingenuity, a state of candor almost oxymoronic having met with both wisdom and mastery. Her line is fine and subtle, like in jewelry or as in a spider's weaving. This precious fragility gives life to her artistic creations. This incomprehensible mixture operates wonderfully between lightness and unforgetableness, between just a touch and what cannot be erased. The grace of poetry is with the way her women look out of the paintings, sometimes, tilting lightly, have a singular power of tranquil hypnoses.
In her biographical notes, it is written: The esthetic and philosophical orientation of her creation can be qualified as "metaphysical realism" of which the depth of color is combined with the image symbol in the vibration of objective and subjective worlds.
These women invite us beyond the threshold, they escort us into the history of the painting. These strange beauties are the hostesses of a museum that Kurmaz ceaselessly invents. An incredible museum which opens with the Flemish Primitives and continues with Amedeo Modigliani, Marc Chagall, Jules Pascin or Pablo Picasso. These women are layered in swathes in art history. Swathes, unknown, unheard of, wonderful. The feminine flowers of Kurmaz are a sumptuous gift, an invention of great worth. To see them helps me live and breathe. I now realize that they were part of my secret aspirations long before I ever knew them. One owes a lot to an artist who has given one such a gift as this.
Neither body nor color imposes, takes possession of space. striking the present of Kurmaz's women is multiplied by the quality of suspension that characterizes them: they are flying jewelry, they are light as a butterfly, having the density of air. To see them is to receive them, to let them enter into permanence … the permanence of our lives. Our interior lights shine on such as stained glass windows, indispensible in their being. These rare birds are necessary to orate our intimate skies and render them life.
There is a Kurmaz light, changing, subtle, full of nuances assorted to a mild temperate climate. Nothing is forced by this delicate artist. Even her colorful (beaux reliefs) are so
intimately concocted and linked that they send out a peaceful wave. There is nothing that worries here. And the light unease which the work generates is like a subtle perfume. It's in the essences, at the level of soul that the viewer perceives the charm and that the work reaches her/him. It is what is fragile within herself/himself, that which is frail and sensitive which is called into attention, profoundly moved. The work penetrates the barriers, behind faces, masks, bandages, prosthesis, beyond his/her stilts and foundations , there where there is a bit of crystal and clean water.
Her palette holds some truth, there is honey and clouds in her brushes. These women tell us they are on the fragile cusp of something. the incipit of a poem, a place in which we relearn to falter and quiver.