An Interview with Özlem Yılmaz on the Challenges of Being a Music Student in Turkey
Stage lights, applause, a magical violin solo… From the outside, music seems like a dream, a passion. But in Turkey, becoming a musician, especially while studying at a conservatory, is a very different reality. Özlem Yılmaz, a third-year violin student at Istanbul University State Conservatory, shared with us the difficult truth behind that dream.
”What I dreamed of was not as romantic as it seemed”
Was studying at a conservatory always a dream for you, or was it part of a plan?
Honestly, it was just a dream. I’ve been interested in music since I was a child, but when I told people I wanted to do it professionally, the first thing they said was, “You want to be a musician… in Turkey?” I got used to that reaction over time, but still wanted to pursue a formal education. I was very excited when I got into the conservatory. But as time went on, I realized that what I dreamed of was not as romantic as it seemed. It was more like a daily struggle.
Why do you think it’s so difficult to study music in Turkey?
First of all, it’s financially exhausting. A good instrument costs a fortune. The ones provided by the school are usually not enough, and on top of that, you have repair costs, bow maintenance, rosin, sheet music… The expenses never end. Also, there’s very little support from the state or even from the school system itself. Our teachers do their best, but as students, we’re mostly on our own. The library is weak, performance opportunities are rare, and we have almost no connection with international programs.
And what about your social life? How does being a music student affect it?
Honestly, I don’t really have a social life. I have to practice violin 4 to 5 hours a day, sometimes even more. I don’t get proper holidays — we even work during national holidays because most of our exams are performance-based. Unlike students at other universities, we don’t have a vibrant campus life, student clubs, or many social events. And then there’s always that one question people ask: “So… what are you going to do with this degree?” That kind of doubt wears you down emotionally.
Do you have concerns about the future? What do you want to do after graduation?
I’m definitely worried. Orchestra jobs are super limited, and salaries in the private sector are low and unstable. If I want to go into teaching, it’s hard to find a position. If I want to stay in academia, I’ll probably hit a wall of favoritism and nepotism. I constantly feel like I’m heading toward a cliff. Right now, the only thing keeping me going is that I genuinely love what I do — but I don’t know if that will be enough in the end.
If you had the chance to choose again, would you still take this path?
That’s a really hard question. Music is still my passion, but if I had known how unsupported and lonely it would feel, maybe I wouldn’t have been so quick to chase it. What I dreamed of turned out to be a fight. Maybe I’d still choose it — but I’d be more prepared, more realistic, and definitely less romantic about it.
Lastly, what would you say to young people who want to study music in Turkey?
You really have to love it — I mean deeply. Because talent alone isn’t enough. You need financial support, emotional resilience, and the ability to deal with constant uncertainty. Still, I believe that music is one of the few things that truly heals people. If it feeds your soul, go for it. But keep your eyes open.
What Özlem shares reminds us once again how much patience and strength it takes to pursue art in Turkey. Music may feed the soul, but in this country, surviving through music demands a soul made of steel.