My work doesn’t speak for itself at all. The photos I take exist because they make me feel something. Most of the time, I can’t even put a name to that feeling, and I’m not sure feelings are meant to be named in the first place.
Maybe some people would call it nostalgia. Maybe melancholy. I don’t really know. Or maybe it’s just the strange ache of wanting to keep a moment that was never meant to last.
Whatever it is, I keep chasing it.
“izlemekle geçmiyor değil zaman
geçiyor
ama dursa bir anlık
elimden kayıp gidenleri görsem yeniden
seyretmeden bu sefer
uzanıp alsam kollarıma
bir şey diyemeden bilemeden
aksa zaman yine
yine kayıp gitseler ellerimden
ama son kez
olsalar”
