Living solidarity through art means socialising art not only through its content but also through the way it is produced and shared. This begins when the artist is no longer a distant individual but becomes part of collective life. One of the clearest examples of this is the cultural and artistic work in Rojava. What makes it powerful is its ability to reconstruct the sociological bond between the audience and the artist, breaking the fourth wall in the process. Art becomes freer when it belongs and when it draws closer to people.

Imagine a neighbourhood workshop today: creating a mural with children, building a stage in the countryside through collective effort, or playing music in the streets without seeking profit. All are practical forms of solidarity in art. In this approach, the sociological reality that art transforms into is no longer an aesthetic game of the elite but becomes the labour, voice, and imagination of the people.

In a system where art is commodified and sacrificed to competition, socialist art becomes the justice of collective creation and shared thinking. To live solidarity in art is to make art life itself. The real issue lies not in the absence of production, but in the disconnection of our art from life. This disconnection prevents the emergence of a strong aesthetic attitude and fails to foster an ethical stance. It stems from the growing dominance of individualism. This path only gains meaning when walked together.

Moreover, it is not enough for an artist to merely reflect this understanding by changing the subject of their work. Addressing social issues is not sufficient—the act of creation itself must become collective. In staging a play, it is not only the director but also the lighting technician, the set designer, and the audience who must have a voice. Any art that is not created through collective intellect and shared effort inevitably falls back into the grip of individual production.

Today, many young art collectives and aspiring artists are exploring new paths in line with this approach. By producing works independently of both power structures and market relations, they transform the audience from mere consumers into active participants. Communities converting empty shops into theatres in the outskirts of European cities, open-air cinemas in rural areas, or volunteers painting the walls of village schools. These are not just artistic activities, but the seeds of a new network of social relations. We are not bound to use the fixed forms of art that have been handed down to us.

The songs sung by Martyr Delila for her people and the newsreels of Dziga Vertov in Soviet cinema reflect the same tradition. Both responded sincerely to the questions of “what for” and “for whom” in art. Keeping this legacy alive today requires more than remembrance; it demands reconstruction. Art is not only a means of expression, it can become a comrade in the social struggle.

Collective art does not deliver pre-packaged messages to its audience; it invites them to think, question, and even create. This is why Bertolt Brecht transformed theatre into a space of action. Today, new forms of art must be developed where the audience steps onto the stage, and the boundaries become blurred. Our traditional dengbêj (Kurdish oral storytellers and bards) singers, who brought together communities and society, fulfilled this same function. In those times, art held a more democratic and socially rooted form and purpose.

The democratisation of art begins with remembering that it is a right for all. Therefore, solidarity in art is not only about the artist’s intention but also about the way society is organised. As long as cultural policies surrender artistic production to the sponsorship of major capital groups instead of supporting the creators themselves, art becomes commercialised. In such a system, if we sing, we run to stages; if we paint, we are confined to galleries, practicing an art that is closed within four walls, devoid of faces and of life.

In today’s realities, a solidarity-based art can survive only through alternative structures and networks of mutual support. Grants and funds are not what sustain the artist; it is the solidarity of the people that nourishes, strengthens, and gives soul to the work. What ultimately emerges from this process is a deeply social system. For those of us who create, our understanding of what is new and transformative must be rooted in connecting art with the people, including them in its process, and focusing on the artistic growth and collective creativity of society.

Organising music tours through communal effort, printing fanzines through mutual support, or creating free, open workshops, all of these represent this living spirit. These acts show that solidarity in art is not a nostalgic ideal from the past, but a vibrant and ongoing practice.

Living togetherness in art means embracing unlimited creativity, an enduring desire to produce together, and a sincere bond with the people. Social art stands where the aesthetic and the ethical converge. It is not limited to what is merely beautiful or what is simply right; it brings to the stage the living tension that is born from the clash between the two. Rather than fleeing from contradictions, social art moves forward by making them visible.

Art and artists can walk side by side, deepening each other through mutual support and shared purpose. In a world where art is increasingly individualised, collective creation remains both an act of resistance and a source of hope. As long as we continue seeking ways to understand one another rather than merely express ourselves, collective art will remain with us. And this search does not belong only to the stage or the canvas, it lives in the streets, in schools, in our institutions, and everywhere people gather.