Artist book, all photographs were taken in Istanbul during the period of December 2014 to June 2015
Eliza throws in a high curve an old dervishstick out of the window, hoping that a tree will grow on the spot where it lands. If the window is closed, everything is silent. Heap clouds and seagulls cross the window. A few birds accelerate their speed – others are drifting with the wind. The window frame is filled to the brim with the sky and I let myself sink in this moving image. Shreds of thought of the eve are spinning in my mind: “Raffle with small, white rabbits! Air balloons, lined on a string, float on water, ready to shoot!” And the heavy thoughts of friends hover in the air like the evening light. Glittery silhouettes in all directions and the question where personal roots lie hidden and how we can lay them bare. A young man went barefoot with a passionate look into a mosque and threw himself on the floor – everything in sallow ochre light. A green-lit tree of paradise stood in the middle of the promenade and the paper lanternall alight were flying beyond the dark bodies toward the Sea of Marmara. If I let them in, sounds swash through the window like waves. Seagulls shrill, it creaks and rumbles, a car sends out loud tinting notes and someone whistles a song. Voices call, the ships as well. The bright morning light is blinding me, to an almost painful point. The birds enter my room and disappear in the distant blue, transforming into fleck very fast. Today will be hot. I can hear the invisible muezzins and draw imaginary semicircles from one minaret to another. A cupola of glimmering rainbow lights suddenly extends on the ceiling of the room and I try to connect the dots of the moving structure together. Crimson red lies on marble steps and turquoise pigments on broken window glass. Should get started somehow. Feel exhausted though. A flight of birds is crossing the night, two by two, in a mirror way or illuminated circles. Only kingfishers ride in straight line over the sea. The sky stays indigo blue, and slowly the muggy air comes in through the window with a scent of rain. A shadow just about flew in my arms.
Text: Judith Karcheter, Translation: Aude Fondard
