Big Dreams

"A man dies the day his dreams have died" - Yaşar Kemal

~

I recently came across a short street interview. The backdrop is a city in southeastern Turkey. The interviewer and interviewee are both young man in their early 20’s. 

Q: “What is your biggest dream?”

A: “My biggest dream?...(pause)…I had a big dream…but I can’t remember it now”

Both start to giggle.

Q: “You can’t remember your biggest dream?”

Another short pause.

A: “I swear I can’t remember what it was”

 

 

A few days ago, Instagram recommended me an account. I recognized the name; it was an old friend from university. Back then we were both in the Track & Field team. I ran the long distances, and he was a very good 400m runner. After graduation he made his PhD in the US and then became an academician, a sociologist, at a university in Turkey. The last time I saw him was about 17-18 years ago. What intrigued me with his IG account name was that it ended with “music”. I went ahead and checked his feed and was almost knocked off my chair. He had turned into a musician, a guitarist, a singer and songwriter. Had produced 2 albums and 30 songs. Was doing live gigs and producing video clips. Had his music videos on Youtube, his songs on Spotify. He had grown long hair, and – to rub it really in - it was still black! I’d had no idea that he had all this in him. I haven't asked him how he felt about this transformation, but from my point of view, it all looked like he was living his big dream.

The Rhine and a Poplar

When I first saw Gursky's "Rhein II" I was mesmerised. The 1,9 x 3,6 meter print was hanging high on a wall in the Istanbul Modern museum and it had a presence that gets lost on a screen.  That feeling of awe has stuck with me ever since. Now I live minutes away from the Rhine and it has become a muse, not least due to the lasting impression of Gursky's masterpiece. During my walks I enjoy observing how the seasons, the time of day and the kind of light changes the mood of the river. 

At a very sweet spot there is a poplar tree, which has become a subplot in all the photos I make of the Rhine. On this particular overcast day last January, the waters were high and the tree was half submerged. The sky had a delicate range of pastel blues, a kind of softness that always strikes a chord with me.

Only while writing this post and looking at Gursky's website did I realize that 19 years after "Rhein II" he made "Rhein III". Clearly, it's a river that lends itself to decades of exploration.