Haydar Taştan

                                                                                                                                                        May 23, 2025

“The earliest examples of buttons were found in the Indus Valley Civilization (in present-day Pakistan, in Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro). These early buttons were mostly decorative and not used to fasten clothing. They were made of materials such as stone, seashell, and bone. Buttons were also seen in the ancient civilizations of Egypt, China, Rome, and Greece. However, they generally remained ornamental objects. Brooches, pins, and ties were used more commonly for fastening garments. Around the 13th century in Germany, buttons became functional with the introduction of buttonholes. This innovation quickly spread, especially among the European aristocracy. Buttons sewn onto fine fabrics added an elegant touch to fashion.”

This is a direct quote from an AI response to the question “What is the history of the button?” It serves as an effective prologue, the first exercise of a visible collaboration with AI.

A button, in its most basic form, is an object that connects two things: pieces of fabric, the garment to the body, the inside to the outside, the private to the public. In this sense, a button can be read as a metaphor for relationality, togetherness, and connection. It provides a perfect starting point to think about the unity of opposites, the framework of this text.

By its very nature (a philosophical claim that demands discussion, but necessary here for the poetic tone and coherence of the piece), the act of fastening a collar requires an action, a third force. Something that binds two pieces of fabric, yet also allows them to be separated again when desired -of course, a button. From here on, the button will be used- indirectly to represent the unity of opposites, the act of linking one thing to another, and most importantly, to show the harmony that emerges when things meet without losing their differences (unlike stitches that form a seamless whole). I hope that the text itself will take the shape of a shirt.

While we were wrestling with project ideas for the production exercise on AI and Dance, Amna came to me with a suggestion. Our not-so-distant roots took me back to a song I had listened to more than a decade ago. I was in my early twenties, wandering the streets with my hands in my pockets, proclaiming to the world, “I am a walking poem!” I was passionately devoted to the poetic -not as essence, but as a method and methodology, a way of becoming. A song I couldn’t understand lyrically but which, while walking in the rain, carried me to an indescribable spirituality -an esoteric intoxication.

The answer to what we would create wasn’t far away but it was in the form of a question: Is it possible to reach a kind of spiritual transcendence with AI? Can the gap between the material and the spiritual be bridged through body and movement? Can the past be brought into the present? Or to reverse the question: can we travel back in time?

Mircea Eliade (yes, I reference him often, but reflecting on his texts excites me every time) argues that modern people gave time a cyclical direction through rituals, ceremonies, spiritual dances, and gatherings that referenced cosmogonic creation. The modern thus exchanged places with the archaic, and the present moment was suspended. This suspension wasn’t just a meeting with mythical time it was a substitution. Participants in these gatherings left their present time at the door before entering the ritual space, and as the ritual began, they traveled backwards in time and became part of a transcendence that couldn’t be explained through material knowledge.

The first button goes here, at the top -on the collar- where mythical and present time meet.

We had our research question for the project, but we weren’t yet sure what or how we would create. Until… My often boundary-wandering, slow-to-mature abstract ideas met Maren’s time-sensitive, solution-oriented ones; Amna’s analytical approach, shaped by her organizational skills, met Moheman’s get-it-done attitude; and Warrier, with their AI expertise, led us with a calm hand.

The second button goes here: the proper matching of different people.

A director whose films I’m not particularly fond of once said in an interview, “Whenever I’m stuck on set, I ask myself: What would Werner Herzog do?” As a documentary filmmaker, it feels natural to remember Herzog as a question. I, too, continually ask myself: “If Bertolt Brecht were alive today, how would he use current technology?” As someone who believes in reading the world through a Marxist lens and a historicist perspective, there are few things more natural than recalling to myself Brecht in the form of a question.

In a city not far from the Berliner Ensemble (distance is measured not in kilometers, after all, but in terms of acceptance), thinking Brechtian thoughts is both empowering and daunting; his unpredictability, boundless energy, and productivity. Yet one thing I’m sure of: if Brecht were alive today, he wouldn’t resist evolving technologies, nor would he lean on tradition in the comfort of an artist’s detachment. He would certainly challenge it all immersive technology and AI alike. He would think deeply about how to use these tools and find a way.

Our project’s basic structure was as follows:

• We would create real images from a dancer’s choreography: photos and videos.
• These would serve as references for the AI, which would be prompted to generate new images.
• Another dancer would then perform alongside these AI-generated images, and this performance would be recorded and turned into a film.

The third button goes here: human-machine collaboration.

Despite their cultural differences and unfamiliarity with the project’s ontology, working with dancers Paulina and Natalia -who tried their best with great sincerity- was a gift. It would be unfair not to acknowledge my gratitude.

After our shoot with Paulina, we fed the resulting images to the AI and crafted prompts to guide it toward our concept. It would generate new visuals based on the references. But then… surprise. The AI didn’t understand our prompts or more accurately, it revealed a vast data holes. At this point, the following questions arose:

• AI is still a baby and has much to learn. It’s unfamiliar with this concept and likely hasn’t encountered it before -not in a way that could generate useful output.
• Inspired by Godard’s famous quote, “The invention of photography. For whom? Against whom?” we might ask: the invention of AI. For whom? Against whom?

I don’t yet know the answer. But I believe both are possible. Perhaps even more. For now -at least for me- it’s too early to say.

Faced with these data holes, our original idea of building choreography from the AI’s image sequences had to be abandoned. Instead, we decided to have the AI generate new images that resembled the ones we provided — yet still retained some of the AI’s own originality (a subject worthy of debate). The second dancer would then perform their own choreography — perhaps not even choreography in the strict sense — freely, using these images as an open guide. The resulting film would be created at the light level perceivable by the human eye and recordable by the machine.

A poetic experiment in sleeping in the light and waking in the dark. The difficulty of opening the heart of the East to the West. The unconditional determinism of the social over the individual. Thus, not to see technology itself as the ultimate driver of progress and transformation, but to remember the social and economic systems within which these technologies are used…

The fourth button goes here: technological progress and social dynamics.

I don’t know if it’s the difficulty of writing about things that have ended, the strain on memory, or simply the effect of Amna’s beautiful words -but I hesitate to describe what the project Hâl looked like after its completion. Instead, I can’t help but quote Amna: “I noticed something uncanny. As I took photos of the audience, their silhouettes, their gestures — the way some moved, spun, or simply stood still — mirrored the AI-generated images we had created at the very beginning. It felt as though the conversation with AI had come full circle. What began as a digital interpretation of devotion had transformed into a shared, physical experience. In that room, people from different backgrounds and beliefs moved together, not in perfect unison, but in harmony. Just like our project. Just like us. And in that quiet, spinning moment, I thought again of the words: “Haydariyam Qalandaram Mastam.” I am Hayderi, a Qalandar, intoxicated in devotion. And somehow, through the dance, through the process, through each other, we had all become part of that state.”

The fifth button goes here: a digital interpretation of devotion, and a shared physical experience.

The day after this challenging ten-day project concluded, I arrived in Cannes. The world’s most prestigious film festival (Is it, really? Again, the same question: For whom? Against whom?), with its red carpets, celebrity parades, eclectic crowds, the chance-driven adventure of getting tickets, beaches, and heavily protocol-driven events — was, in every way, an interesting experience. Some good films, some bad ones, some immersive works, some sweet, some sour conversations…

After five days of this whirlwind, I found myself at Nice Airport, waiting for my return flight, with only two things on my mind and a song playing in my ears. Scrolling through Twitter, I was hit by a headline that landed like a bomb: Google Veo 3. The most advanced AI-powered video generation tool yet — bearing in mind, of course, how rapidly “yet” evolves in this context. The results were astonishing. Works that outstripped those of just two days prior — visually rich, cinematic (or perhaps better described advertisement aesthetics), and disturbingly realistic, as if shot by human hands. I was in genuine shock.

Looking back now, I don’t find my reaction strange, but I can see why it struck me so deeply. Until I reached the airport lounge and encountered Veo 3, only one thing had been occupying my mind. And its effect still lingers, it’s still with me…

Just as lost treasures must be searched for where they were once buried, I’ve reached a point where I know: the films I love live outside the competition. One such discovery was O Riso e a Faca by Pedro Pinho, featured in the Un Certain Regard section. I didn’t choose it consciously — like I said, the process of selecting films here is more like a game of chance, where you attend whatever appears next. I didn’t know the director, either. But the plot gripped me immediately: a journey into the heart of Africa.

This isn’t the place to analyze the film, nor would that fulfill my desires. I’m concerned with the fire it lit within me; growing day by day, ringing in my ears, moving beneath my skin. In Turkish, we say: Yaktı geçti beni. I don’t know how to render that into English. It burned and passed through me? Maybe. Not quite. But something like that… A film blending documentary and fiction not with stitches but like a collar buttoned and unbuttoned — direct interventions, slaps of truth. Landscapes unable to mask the hypocrisy of modern colonialism. Music and love reaching the soul with sincerity, yet never letting the viewer drift off unaware. There’s so much I could say and yet, maybe nothing at all. That’s the mark of a great film for me. And so I’ll close that chapter here. Without the button.

Nice Airport. In my mind, O Riso e a Faca and Veo 3.

What comes next in the evolution of AI, now that it designs concepts, scenes, mise-en-scène, and even intervenes cinematically within the frame? Will it direct actors? Shape actings; epic, dramatic, minimalist, wooden? Throughout cinema’s century-long history, it has weathered many threats -though for some, these weren’t threats at all. The invention of television. DVDs. VOD platforms. Perhaps they gradually weakened cinema, but they never killed it. I still believe it never will die.

But this time… this development feels like the most serious threat yet. A film made without a set, crew, actors, camera, or equipment. I know it won’t be long. I know this writing will soon lose its freshness.

Nice Airport. In my mind, O Riso e a Faca and Veo 3.

What is cinema?

What is AI?

What is human?

What is history?

What is love?

Of course, I have no answers. Only questions. I keep listening to the same song. From the heart of Africa, from Guinea-Bissau, to Cannes, to Nice, and now to Cologne with love.

During and after my presentation, the main critique directed at the project was the blurred presence of AI, the dominance of cinematic approaches and tools, and my failure to step out of my comfort zone as a filmmaker. I agree with all of it. These are valid criticisms. After twelve years of visual career -starting with photography, evolving through cinema, steeped in pain and madness- it wasn’t easy for me to hand a visual project over to AI. It couldn’t be easy. As dear Frédéric said, “The process is everything.”

The questions in my mind are not in a hurry. They wait patiently, trusting life.

As you know, sewn deep inside a shirt, often on the inner hem, is a small spare button. You rarely need it, not unless you’ve lost one of the bigger ones but you don’t want to lose it either. Should a button go missing, you know that tiny one will preserve the harmony, maintain the aesthetic, match the others. You wouldn’t want to disrupt it with a mismatched piece. That’s exactly where we are now.

Bottoncino— Italian for “little button” — belongs there.

At the bottom of the shirt, sewn discreetly into the fabric.

It hasn’t found its purpose yet. It’s simply waiting.

Waiting for its moment, in the face of life.