Brooklyn-based artist Ralfi Berk draws inspiration from the rich lineage of Ottoman artisans, reinterpreting traditional patterns with modern techniques to bridge the past and future.
Ralfi’s current work focuses on Iznik ceramics and Ottoman marquetry, paying tribute to the intricate art forms that once adorned palaces, bathhouses, and mosques. We spoke with Ralfi about his creative process and the ways he brings these historic influences into contemporary art.
Who is Ralfi Berk? Can you briefly tell us about yourself?
I was born in Istanbul in 1990 and spent the first 20 years of my life in this vibrant, colorful city before relocating to the US. The city’s collective aesthetic—tiles, carpets, trays, fabrics—with all its beauty and flaws, has etched itself deeply into my memory, becoming an inseparable part of me and the art I create.
I was told “It’s best to become an engineer and have a proper profession” so I did. It turned out great after all. I did my undergrad at Sabancı University and went to UC Berkeley for grad school. I spent my twenties in Silicon Valley and San Francisco, working at various software companies—both small start-ups and big tech—before deciding to make a leap. For the past three years, I’ve been in Brooklyn, leaving the tech world behind, and became an artist, returning to the patterns I love so dearly.
You have a very distinctive and characteristic design language. What was the process behind the emergence of this visual language?
I primarily work with traditional patterns. I’m especially drawn to patterns that have been embraced and sustained by different cultures over centuries. For example, the Chintamani—a pattern of three pearls facing each other, surrounded by wavy lips or a flame. Often seen on the kaftans of Ottoman sultans as a symbol of power and sovereignty, it’s believed to have Buddhist origins. To me, it’s an incredibly sensual design, almost pulling the viewer in. Somehow, it has defied time, admired by countless people, drawn again and again. That's what fascinates me—some patterns find their way, choosing those who will reiterate them. I happen to be one of those people.
Lovers' Chintamani & Escher's Chintamani, 2024
I’d love to share a bit about my creative process as well. I can’t even draw a proper stick figure, but I notice beauty in places where 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, aimlessly wandering until I stumble upon that gorgeous object I didn’t know I needed. I’ve been taking photos since I was young, starting in the early 2000s with my dad’s chunky, brick-like DSLR camera, one of the first models to hit the market. Even when I don’t have my camera with me, I’m always on the lookout for beautiful perspectives. These experiences have definitely influenced my visual language. For example, if I’m designing a floral panel, I’ll pull up photos of Iznik tiles I’ve taken in palaces and mosques, find a flower that stands out, zoom in, trace it digitally, and add it to the panel. My design process is less about drawing flowers and more like picking 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 periods of Iznik tile production, during the last quarter of the 15th century, artisans were limited to working with cobalt blue on a white background. This narrow color palette led early tile designs to feature elements like calligraphy. Over the next century, new colors were introduced—first turquoise, then purple, green, black, and finally red. As the color palette expanded, tile designs gradually became more pictorial. Flowers, reed leaves, cypresses, and peacocks began to fill the Iznik tile panels.
I 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, tracing the path of the 16th-century Ottoman artisans.
In terms of both the design process and the final product, which project has excited you the most so far?
One of my recent works, Evil Eye (Grumpy Frog) comes to mind. What makes this piece special to me is that it establishes a connection with the viewer beyond just a gaze. You can hold the brass frog and move it around the lake. As it glides along the ribbed wooden surface, it makes satisfying rattling sounds, reminiscent of a child's toy. The frog clings to the wooden board with will power (and a hint of magnetic force). There's a bit of everything in this piece: a cherry wood body adorned with mother-of-pearl and blue abalone 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 as well, circling the pond endlessly. Unable to find it, the frog remains quite grumpy. But if you lift the frog and look underneath, you'll find the gold there. The frog remains 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 these patterns using modern techniques that weren't available in the past. I create my designs digitally and translate them into physical form using a laser cutter/engraver. When it comes to production, the engineer in me emerges. I experiment extensively and systematically note the results I get from different material and pattern combinations. There are times when I focus on perfecting 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 meets the bar I’ve set for myself.
In my new Marquetry tile series which I’m currently working on, I strive to use as many natural materials as possible—walnut, cherry, mahogany wood, mother-of-pearl, abalone 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 wrestling with heavy timber taller than me, sanding it for countless hours; the next, I’m delicately shaping tiny sheets of paper so thin they wrinkle from the moisture of my hands. This variety in my creation process nourishes me. While I enjoy mastering a specific craft, it’s equally important for me to expand the range of materials through which I can express myself.
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 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 mastery. I examine antique inlaid cabinets, ceramic tiles, and brass trays down to the smallest details. I strive to discover subtle nuances and understand what might have been in the mind of the craftsmen who created them.
I’d like to share a few names as well. Contemporary artist Murat Palta has profoundly influenced me with his quirky miniatures; he’s been an example in my journey to find my own voice. I also closely follow the ceramics of Elif Uras; they’re 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 expresses complex mathematical patterns in a soulful and playful way.
Lotus & Serpent, 2024
Are you excited about the future? What are your plans?
I think I’m at a point in my life where I’m more excited for the future than ever before. I’m finally doing the work I’ve always dreamed of, and I’m just at the start of this journey—what more could I ask for? In the near future, I plan to establish a design studio based in both New York and Istanbul. My goal is to create architectural and interior design products featuring my own patterns. This could include wooden wall tiles, custom-designed wooden panels, sliding doors, and perhaps marble surfaces… I can’t wait to see how it all unfolds. I also have a project in mind to design a hammam—a modern take that stays true to its essence, something I believe hasn’t been done before. Who knows? You might find yourself being scrubbed away in bubbles at my hammam. If you’ve visited my studio in Brooklyn, you know that designing impressive living and working spaces isn’t just a passion—it’s at the heart of everything I do.
