Brooklyn-based artist Ralfi Berk creates works inspired by the deep-rooted history of Ottoman artisans. Ralfi interprets intricate traditional patterns with new perspectives and modern techniques, bringing them into the present and the future.
Ralfi's current work explores Iznik ceramics and Ottoman woodwork. We had a conversation with Ralfi about his work and production practice, which pays tribute to the most famous artistic products of Ottoman culture that adorned opulent palaces, baths and mosques for centuries.
Who is Ralfi Berk? Can you briefly tell us about yourself?
I was born and raised in Istanbul in 1990. I spent my first 20 years in this vibrant, patterned, visually intense city before moving to America. Tiles, carpets, copper trays, silk fabrics—patterns within patterns. The collective aesthetic preferences of this city, with all its good and bad, have etched themselves deep into my memory, becoming a part of me and inspiring my art.
They said, "Become an engineer and do a 'proper' job," so I did. It went well; after graduating from Sabancı University, I completed my master's at UC Berkeley. I spent my twenties in Silicon Valley and San Francisco, working in the tech industry at various software companies, both big and small. For the past three years, I've been in New York. I moved to Brooklyn, left the tech world behind, and became an artist. I returned to the patterns I love so much.
You have a very distinctive and characteristic design language. What was the process behind the emergence of this visual language?
In my work, I incorporate traditional patterns. I am drawn to patterns that have been embraced and sustained by various peoples and cultures over centuries. For example, the Çintemani—a pattern of three pearls facing each other, surrounded by a wavy lip/flame. This pattern, often seen on the kaftans of sultans in the Ottoman Empire as a symbol of power and sovereignty, is thought to have Buddhist origins. In my opinion, it is an incredibly sensual design, almost pulling the viewer in. Somehow, it has defied time, admired by countless people, and drawn over and over again. That's what fascinates me—some patterns find their way, choosing those who will repeat them. I am one of those people.
Lovers' Chintemani & Escher's Chintemani, 2024
Let me tell you a bit about my creative process. I can’t even draw a proper stick figure when I pick up a pencil, but I notice the beauty and small details that others don’t. While everyone else is watching the sunset at the beach, I’m excitedly searching the ground for beautiful stones, like a child on a treasure hunt. I can spend hours in antique shops without knowing exactly what I’m looking for. I’ve been taking photos since I was young, starting in the early 2000s with a chunky, brick-like DSLR camera my father gave me, one of the first models to hit the market. Even when I don’t have my camera with me, I’m always looking for beautiful perspectives. That visual satisfies me, and I store it in my memory for inspiration later. These experiences have certainly influenced my visual language. For instance, if I’m designing a floral panel, I’ll pull up photos of Iznik tiles that I took in palaces and mosques, find a flower I like, enlarge it, trace it digitally, and add it to the panel. My design process is less about drawing flowers and more like gathering them from a meadow.
Color plays an important role in your work. What emotional and symbolic meanings do you aim to convey through your color choices?
In the early period of Iznik tile production, during the last quarter of the 15th century, artisans could only work with cobalt blue on a white background. This limited color palette led early tile designs to feature elements similar to calligraphy. Over the following century, new colors were introduced—first turquoise, then purple, green, black, and finally red. As the color palette expanded, tile designs became more pictorial over the years. Flowers, reed leaves, cypresses, and peacocks began to fill the Iznik tile panels.
I also enjoy creating similar constraints in my choice of colors and materials. Just as these limitations, originally due to technological reasons, shaped the design language of artisans in the past, I allow the artificial boundaries I set for myself to guide my artistic expression. My goal is to empathize with the artists and craftsmen who came before me. I aim to follow a similar path, trying to better understand the experience of a ceramic or woodworker in 16th-century Ottoman times.
In terms of both the design process and the final product, which project has excited you the most so far?
Recently, my Evil Eye (Grumpy Frog) comes to mind. What makes this piece special for me is that it establishes a connection with the viewer beyond just a gaze. You can hold the brass frog in your hand and move it around the lake. As it moves along the wavy wooden surface, it makes satisfying clicking sounds. The frog clings to the wood with magnetic force (and a bit of faith) at spots it likes, allowing you to leave it there. There's a bit of everything in this piece: a cherry wood body adorned with mother-of-pearl and blue sea shell inlays, a handcrafted Japanese indigo paper frame, hand-carved wooden plates, the brass frog, and even 24k gold. So, where's the gold? Well, the frog is searching for it, circling the lake endlessly. Unable to find it, the frog remains quite grumpy. If you lift the frog and look underneath, you'll find the gold there. Unfortunately, the frog is unaware of this.
Evil Eye (Grumpy Frog), 2024
Can you talk a bit about your production process? Which do you feel more connected to, analog or digital techniques?
I’m actually right in the middle of analog and digital. While I hold onto traditional elements in my design choices, I interpret traditional patterns using modern techniques that were not possible in the past. I create my designs digitally and mostly translate them into physical form using lasers. When it comes to production, the engineer within me emerges. I experiment extensively and systematically note the results I obtain by using different materials. There are times when I focus on my technique for months without producing any artwork. I can be a bit obsessive, of course, and I don’t let go until the quality of craftsmanship is exactly how I want it.
In my new wooden series that I’m currently working on, I strive to use as many natural materials as possible. For instance, walnut, cherry wood, mother-of-pearl, sea shell, paper, copper, and brass. I spend so much time with these materials that I almost develop a personal relationship with them. I try to understand what each one likes, what they don’t like, what will break them, and what will make them shine. One day, I'm lifting and cutting heavy timber that’s taller than me, sanding it for hours, and the next day, I’m trying to shape delicate, tiny sheets of paper that are so thin they wrinkle from the moisture of my hands. This variety nourishes me. While I enjoy mastering a technique, it’s very important for me to expand my range of materials over time.
Can you talk a bit about the sources of inspiration behind your work? Who are some individuals in this field or in different disciplines that you follow with curiosity?
I actually draw my biggest inspiration from the artisans who came before us, whose names we do not know. I’m in love with craftsmanship that deepens through generations and the dedication to skilled work. I examine antique mother-of-pearl inlaid cabinets, ceramic tiles, and brass trays down to the smallest details. I strive to discover subtle details and understand what might have been in the mind of the master who created them.
I’d like to share a few names as well. Contemporary artist Murat Palta has profoundly influenced me with his miniatures for many years; he has served as an example in my journey to find my own voice. I also closely follow the ceramics of Elif Uras; they are truly impressive. Then there’s photographer Amanda Charchian, another artist I’ve followed for a long time. I almost melt when I look at her photographs, and I highly recommend checking them out. Lastly, if we go back 80 years, M.C. Escher is another source of inspiration for me. His work beautifully combines both mathematics and spirit, with a playful touch.
Lotus & Serpent, 2024
Are you excited about the future? What are your plans?
I think I’m at the most exciting point in my life for the future. I’m doing the work I’ve wanted to do for many years, and I’m at the beginning of my journey—what more could I ask for? In the upcoming period, I want to establish a design studio based in New York and Istanbul. My goal is to create architectural and interior design products using my patterns. This could include wooden wall tiles, custom-designed wooden panels, sliding doors, and perhaps marble surfaces and brass trays... Gradually, my plans are taking shape in my mind. I also have a project to design a hammam—a modern take that stays true to its essence, something that hasn’t been done before. Who knows? You might find yourself scrubbing away in bubbles at my hammam. If you’ve visited my studio in Brooklyn, you know that designing impressive living and working spaces holds a special place in my heart.
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