2018 - 2019
In 2018, I traveled to Turkey to find out more about my family history. I met my mother’s siblings and their families for the first time. I was curious about the place where my mother was born and to see what life she could have had if she wasn't adopted by her aunt, who became her mother and my grandmother. It was a gesture of love between the two sisters as my grandmother was not able to have children of her own. I visited Girmeç, a small village in the countryside near Ankara, and saw the ruins of the house in which my mother was born and ceremoniously handed over as a newborn.
Later, when my mother moved to Germany, the distance widened between her and her birth family. When she found out as a teenager that she was separated from her birth parents and siblings, the reality of her life changed. In recent years, I've realised how little I actually know about my mother’s past, what shaped her to be the person she is today and furthermore how I inherit this unknown past which is part of me, my identity.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
'It flies, invisible' explores the meaning of family, belonging and time, bringing together two realities that coexist. It is the present in which the photographer tries to analytically work through time and approach an understanding of her own origins. Picturesque and abstract landscapes alongside photographs from the past and youth, as well as the inverted images of stones reminiscent of meteorites in the universe, emphasise the coexistence and reverberation of time. Their past becomes our presence and simultaneously symbolises a new beginning.
The feeling of strangeness and the inability to fully uncover the past lies in the alienation and abstraction of visually perceptible reality.