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I was not planning to spend all my time in that pension, but it started as soon as I arrived there. First I saw E. and Ç. (who had run away from their husbands) I was so happy that they have returned to pension. Last time I saw them was while they were beaten and taken away by a man from my next door. But immediately I also learned that K. has been put to a mental hospital, he was calling his father but couldn’t speak at all, I had to take the phone and talk to tell him that K. only wanted to say that he missed him. I was aware that he was getting worse
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after T. (a prostitute who was living there) has disappeared. I was given the room of T. I couldn’t sleep most of the nights, people were visiting me, I was visiting them. Drinking and listening to music.
I didn’t like the photographs that I took in the pension or maybe I didn’t really feel like taking them. What I was going to do with the feeling I had there
seemed to be more important. I needed some kind of an act, rather than showing the face of E while we were listening music with a similar desperation. I asked her to dance shout or do something that we might find some energy to get ourselves out of that desperation, to change it, to create something new. That was maybe why I was thrown inside the city with no will to access anything, or trying to be a part of it. I had my flash as a tool of some kind of aggression and tried to carry the space that I have experienced in the pension. This also might be read that I didn’t have the courage to do that particular act with
the people in the pension; for now, I consider it as a matter of choice, but can’t claim to be a final decision.
Those photographs might be considered as an experiment for this search of the “act”.
… and this is an image that the girl in the photo drew into my notebook. we met last year in Aksaray, she was selling corn in a park. I loved the figures that she showed me. she hates to dance but there is always a woman dancing in her drawings.