Today is like any other: nothing remarkable, nothing new. And yet, something feels slightly askew, as it always does in Istanbul. You know the story.
Sleepy yet alert, quiet yet restless, banal yet endlessly intriguing. The photographs shift between these states, seeking something beyond the comfort of repetition.
This day is an imagined one, a day that never quite ends — it’s July forever. Clear skies, clinical objects, and an almost complete absence of people in a city that exists in a countdown.
Let me put it this way: this is a brief, bittersweet poem, and in its final verse, you’ll realise it was never about love but something else entirely. With these photographs, I am searching for that verse in Istanbul.
