Talent Starts, Consistency Crowns

I started university in 2006, at the age of 26. I was studying Fashion and Accessory Design at the Faculty of Fine Arts of Dokuz Eylül University. After reading Mümin Sekman’s book “Kişisel Ataleti Yenmek”, I entered school with a level of certainty about what I wanted that I had never felt before.

But that certainty did not form in a single day.

Guided by the book, I spent an entire year asking myself questions before starting school:

What do I want?
What do I enjoy?
What can I handle?
How compatible are my desires with my mental comfort?

I called this my own little expedition of self-discovery. I knocked on the door of hundreds of questions. With every answer, I got to know myself a little better.

One day in our Basic Art Education class, our teacher Ahmet looked at the class and said something unexpected:

“Everyone should quit school now. Start again at Evren’s age. I won’t see you next week!”

The classroom fell silent. Everyone turned to the teacher in confusion. They asked why he had said that. I was just as surprised.

His answer was thought-provoking.

In many places abroad, the age limit for admission to fine arts education is around 23. Because at that age people tend to make more rational decisions, are less affected by environmental influences, and are more likely to continue what they start with consistency.

I was the oldest in the class. The others were between 17 and 19.

There were extraordinarily talented students in the school. Their drawings were so strong that they seemed capable of competing with Rembrandt, Salvador Dalí, Pablo Picasso and Michelangelo.

Even though I had fairly earned my place in the entrance exam, a thought sometimes crossed my mind:

“How will I ever catch up with them?”

But as time passed, I began to see another reality.

Some came to morning classes hungover from the night before. Some postponed assignments with the overflowing energy of youth. Others simply didn’t come. Because it seemed as if they had endless time ahead of them.

For me, it was different.

I had started school late, and one thought constantly echoed in my mind:

I have no time to lose.

I must graduate before the age of 30 and enter the business world as soon as possible.

Perhaps that was exactly what kept me standing.

They had plenty of time. But I saw that for some of them, that time never came.

Meanwhile, with that sense of urgency—and the joy of studying a field I truly loved—I continued my path. I graduated as the top student of my department, fourth in the faculty, and received the Jury Special Award.

Then my Istanbul adventure began: job offers, transfers between brands, international travels… Along with the energy of my passion for my work, an unexpectedly wide network formed among designers.

That road eventually led me to become Turkey’s number one in Jewelry Design.

But there was an important handicap: I loved my work, yet the sector did not want me to do it in the way I loved. Because the system that generated the most profit in the sector was different.

One of the greatest struggles in my design journey was this: creating an artistic, original and new language within the jewelry that the market called “commercial pieces”.

Perhaps the hardest battle of my career was getting my mission accepted.

But today, when I look back, I can easily say this:

I never worked.

I practiced my art.

If someone asks what mattered most to me in this profession, my answer would be simple:

Turning my work into art.

Life sometimes blocks the roads. Sometimes hope fades. Sometimes a person’s strength runs out.

But the human mind is a strange mechanism.

Just like the phantom pain experienced by people who have lost their limbs, the mind can continue to feel something that no longer exists.

Human motivation can disappear in the same way. The driving force we once believed would last a lifetime can suddenly fall silent.

At that moment, reminder habits step in.

Through repeated actions, the mind finds direction again—just as muscles grow stronger through training.

And over time, you realize a simple but powerful truth:

Whatever you do, if you continue training regularly by remembering and repeating what already exists, the results slowly begin to take shape.

Because success is often not the work of talent, but of consistency.

Talent is a spark.

But what keeps the fire alive is consistency.

So keep reminding yourself:

Never forget what you want.

And let me end with a sentence from Mümin Sekman:

“No effort is ever wasted; if nothing else, it builds muscle.”