the feeling of night is like a silk shroud which makes this chaotic place feel softer; its sharp edges smoother, impressionistic.
Read More
the first time a friend took me to yildiz park — i couldn’t believe that a place like it existed in this city.
Read More
a neighborhood which felt like a village: a nostalgic time capsule along the edge of the bosphorous
Read More
here is a flyer i saw on the street sometime last winter — on one of my daily zombie walks during that berlin winter which never seemed to end. here's the translation of this ad:
"We are looking for a home!
We — two educators - are looking for a quiet and bright 2-3 room apartment, preferably with a balcony. Vozagweise in Neukölln, Xberg, Schöneberg or Tempelhof up to a maximum of 1000 euros" —
email address: feelingofcominghome@gmail.com
Read More
love what you can't control, because what you love — you can't control. isn't that the nature of love (and loss, and life, and the ephemerality and chaos embedded in all things?) that we are transitory way-finders in this life, and all forms of control are just an illusion. places, people, passions — they each have a life and death of their own; a fluid relationship which changes with its seasons. no city or person can remain the same, no matter how hard you love it.
Read More
here: two photos from my last weeks in new york city — the financial district after sunset, in between sunshine and rain (which is to say, in a moment of rainbow) and while crossing 7th (?) ave in midtown, just after exiting penn station. I’m no longer there now, but I still carry the taste of new york under my tongue, like lozenges made out of concrete. and steel. if each city makes you into someone different, then what did new york city make me? a city of sharp edges - such that even raindrops could feel like needlepricks on the skin. here, more than anywhere else, is where you learn to put your birdheart inside a shelf, and wear your lionskin on the streets.
Read More
birth is death is birth. the more I walk down this path of life, the more I think about death as not a thing that happens to us — a fixed event on a linear narrative arc — X character is born, lives, and dies — but as a process that moves through us, through me — an infinite number of times before the body actually dies. (and then, who knows?) it is a process of seeing death as not the interruption to life, but as the mechanism through which life can move; through which life is possible. I only need to look outside to the forest to see proof of this fact: that things die everyday. and things are born from the same soil. the sun and the moon, and the ocean tides — are but rhythms of our own comings and goings. the process of death blurs into the process of birth. and as soon as I feel like I'm experiencing an emotional death, the dark density of that shroud seems to transform, almost overnight, in a blink of the eye, into something sheer and light. the soul, like the moon — is now, and always new again.
Read More
I’ve been in an off mood. this berlin pandemic winter was so dark and so long it was almost… charming. I embraced it with both arms and sunk into the darkness. but now that spring is like a spider-thin, barely-there thread, just forming, I feel an old restlessness in me stirring again; an agitation for escape. for some other world.
Read More
lately I’ve been under the spell of trees. I can spend hours bathed in trees, photographing trees, bearing witness to trees. the photos below are from an almost-spring week in berlin, and a sun-filled day in a forest nearby.
I’ve been thinking about the form and vessel of trees — the architecture of trees — as a metaphor for the life and creations of an artist. I’ve been thinking about art — my body of work, what is a book, what art will truly satisfy me — while staring at trees.
Read More
a new years walk through the forest
Read More