Those unbearable moments of someone disappearing, or worse, someone disapproving of appearing. It’s a different kind of sadness. There’s a certain detachment from whatever one is surrounded with when her body is somewhere else but still permeating every fiber of your being because moments ago you talked, laughed, missed. But if you go to sleep…

Being reminded of something, to me, only occurs when you are seeing something that is not part of what you are remembering. Otherwise, one would only call into conscious what was always connected to that very object. Seeing myself in this picture, I remember the smell of caustic acetone in that room, I remember my…

I met Mickey Mouse in a reception hall in Paris. He was very sweet. I stared at him, waiting for his squeaky voice to speak to me, for his animal body to embrace my small human frame. But he just took me into his arms while his face appeared to freeze. And I guess I…

  There was so much quietness. Better: noiselessness. The opposite of clamor, so many voices speaking soundlessly to the beautiful brashness of crockery, mother’s eyes pointing towards bread, hands dashing across the table. I can breathe easily, I can see myself saying, I can easily breathe. And then, someone leans back into the chair, let…

My father used to call me out when I was losing empathy. I can’t sleep at night, you know? We got some food and we were sitting in the car and he stared through the window pane and he could not look at me, for he knew I was drunk and slowly breaking. And when…

His father used to have a prayer chain, one made of beautiful old amber, each bead oval-shaped and bright. You would hear his voice, trembling its way to pronounce His name. I never saw my father do the same. In fact, I really rarely saw him pray at all. But whenever I would leave for…

I remember my teacher teaching me about vanishing points, where even the objects that are very much present are always pointing towards the vanishing. It is now that I am wondering why I would ever want to draw something where the point is to disappear. Interestingly enough, there were times I would run out of…

I used to visit these allotment gardens when I was younger than the amount of young I am right now. It belonged to the parents of a Turkish friend of mine. I remember the way he used to say „mother“ in excitement, in anger and in shame. Those sounds still resonate in me though I…

You drop the bags in some corner, let’s turn on the lights. And when you finally do, your eyes light up, like they always do when you find something at a moment’s notice. Look at this, you say, smiling, turning at the spot. And my eyes barely move as I am looking, looking at you.