YAZƏM
14 artists
Contemporary authors whose works became the visual confessions of a generation
Shusha
He writes the fractures between forms. His images are not beings — they are states. Aliyev works where the boundary between the real and the symbolic turns into pain. His painting is not a narrative — it is a trace. A trace of the attempt to be free while remaining human. His figures are like shards of an inner “self” gathered in a body that can no longer bear the weight. Birds, masks, hybrid creatures — not fantasies, but the visual language of the repressed. He doesn’t depict the world — he shows how this world cuts from within. Color in his works does not convey mood — it disturbs, provokes, exposes. Line is an attempt to hold onto a form that still disintegrates under the weight of feeling. Sayyar doesn’t seek answers. He captures the crack between the personal and the social. Between body and role. Between who you want to be — and who you’re allowed to be. And it is precisely in this crack that YAZƏM is born.
Baku
A painter-poet. His works are delicate, vibrating structures of the soul, as if painted not with a brush, but with inner trembling. Galib works with the halftones of emotion, creating a world where every color is a feeling, and every image — a memory before words. He avoids loud themes, but in his silence there is more pain and truth than in any scream. His art is not a statement — it’s a touch, leaving a trace that cannot be washed away.
Sumgayit
An artist with philosophical and symbolic thinking. His painting is always a conflict — between form and chaos, the body and the system, tradition and personal rebellion. Takhiri’s works are often ironic, but behind this irony lies a deep challenge to the viewer and to cultural stereotypes. He dismantles illusions. Each of his works is an intellectual trap, where the simplicity of form clashes with the weight of meaning. He works on the edge of parable and absurdity, myth and self-portrait — unafraid to provoke, to destroy, and to laugh. Takhiri is an artist unafraid to look at the root — even when the root is corrosion, fear, and grinding tension. There are no dogmas in his art. Only a search — gripping, unsettling, and relentlessly honest.
She left economics like an ill-fitting suit. And chose the silence of the studio, where there’s no need to explain profit — it’s enough to feel the light. Where numbers no longer save, and formulas turn into birds, beasts, dreams, and fingerprints on canvas. She went through the academy, but stayed true not to the school — but to herself. Her works are not about styles — they are condensations of life: from whisper to roar. She paints with emotion, with skin — sometimes even with nails. She is one of those who are not afraid of depth. Not afraid of themselves. She is not about the external. She is about what hurts inside — but can be spoken.
A female artist working with the themes of trauma, memory, and inner feminine strength. Her visual language is built on a tense contrast between decorativeness and pain. Ramina combines drawing, painting, and her own symbolic system to create deep psychological portraits. Each of her works is an inner monologue, where the figure is not posing — but speaking out. She depicts not a face, but an experience; not a posture, but a clenched knot of memories that can only be expressed through paint. There is no theater in her work. Only honesty — on the verge of breaking. This is painting that doesn’t explain — it leaves a trace under the skin.
An artist and image designer. His works balance between dream and reality, provocation and metaphysics. He works with archetypes, trauma, and the feminine image as a mirror of society. Babazade’s visual language is tense, saturated, and precise. Each of his works feels like a fragment of a dream where emotions speak through imagery. He doesn’t describe — he encodes. Figure, color, perspective — become symbols through which fear, defiance, and inner vulnerability can be read. Babazade is not afraid of contradictions — he makes them part of his visual truth. And even when his paintings appear aesthetic — they still unsettle. Because within their silence lives a question one doesn’t want to answer.
Roza came to art the way one approaches a spring — slowly, with gratitude, turning inward. She didn’t reject the past — she rethought it. Leaving economics behind, she carried with her the most important thing: a sense of structure. But replaced calculation with intuition. In her studio, there is the breath of harmony. Forms grown from earth, dream, grass, clouds. Roza doesn’t paint — she cultivates. Each of her works is like a garden: wild, honest, alive. She hears how paint settles on canvas, how fabric stays silent, how shadow looks. Roza’s works are neither protest nor confession. They are a reminder: art can be quiet. It doesn’t have to scream — it can take root. In care. In ritual. In womanhood. She creates a place. Where one can stay. Where it doesn’t hurt to be yourself.
A young artist working with corporeality, repressed desires, and gestures of pain and freedom. In his works, the human figure is often deformed — as a way to visualize inner conflict. The “Blue Bird” in his world is not a utopia, but what remains unspoken. He paints the absence of permission to be oneself. Each pose is a compromise between a scream and silence. His characters do not try to escape — they have already accepted the impossibility of flight. And that makes their gestures even more tragic. There is no comfort in his colors. Color becomes the medium in which desire suffocates. The Blue Bird sits inside — as a symbol of what cannot be freed without breaking oneself. It is in this refusal of illusion that the deepest honesty of his painting lies. He does not offer hope. He gives the viewer what we are used to turning away from: the moment when freedom becomes too dangerous.
