#wordstomymother

This project is a diary that is filled with uninhabited silence. I lost my mother when I was seven. I had to learn to live without her. This diary is colourless. Just like all those years that passed without her.

This is a personal project that I carried out using analog photography, my main medium. This project is like a diary. It is a diary that is filled with uninhabited silence. I lost my mother when I was seven. I had to learn to live without her. When my panic attacks and generalized anxiety became unbearable, I started writing and taking photographs as a way to process and understand my emotional turmoil. In these diaries, I try to show my everyday vulnerability. I have lost my way many times. But I always find my way back. Sometimes, when all you see is darkness, you have to adjust your vision to see again. For me, this is one of the hardest and most courageous things we face. That's what it was like for me in the beginning. When I started making self-portraits, I never imagined the result of suffocating crises would be so pure or lead me to where I am now.

This diary is colourless. Just like all those years that passed without her.

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I forgot your voice and scent a long time ago.

But I didn't forget your face or your dark, striking, sad eyes.

I barely remember your smile, but seeing a recent picture of you smiling made me smile, too.

You were genuinely happy. Going to the carnival.

I could have written about your smile all day, but I was preoccupied with what was going on in my head.

I don't know when you disappeared from my dreams or why.

The years without you have passed quickly, but the longing has not.

I would love to give you the beautiful tulips I've seen everywhere lately and chat with you about the weather.

But that's not possible. I haven't figured out how to find you yet.

Wherever you are in my frightened little heart, happy Mother's Day. Thank you for life.