Do we appreciate a painting more, or let's say at a higher, more sophisticated level, if we paint ourselves? What about music, literature, poetry? At least from a craft point of view it has to be so. Only when we practice a craft ourselves do we have a much better understanding and appreciation of its history, theory, practices, challenges etc.
In my archive I have a set of a dozen photographs by Turkish photographer Fethi Sabunsoy. It was 2003 when he gave them to me, a few years before he passed away in 2007 at the young age of 57. In the 22 years since, I have returned to these prints again and again; like you would open a small poetry book and re-read the same poems that you have read hundreds of times before.
This picture is one of the gems in the set. He took it in 1998, in an old, traditional coffeehouse in Gaziantep, a city in southeast Turkey. Every time I flip through the photos I stop at this one (and many others) and stare at it for a very long time. The wonderful mood, the silent poetry pulls at my heartstrings. And man, the print! Fethi was a first-rate craftsman.
But let me put print quality aside for a moment. The first thing that always springs to my mind is, what a huge risk to place a window that bright so prominently right on the corner. Fethi must have had time to contemplate the composition and he went for it. As far as I'm aware, in those days it was his regular practice to include the film rebate in the print - a la Cartier-Bresson - so it's very likely he correctly assessed that the rebate would pull in the window and that the risk of a totally unbalanced print was minimal. In any case, what he’s done is masterly.
Every time I hold the print, I tend to scrutinise the glasses and ashtrays on the table. The way light has rendered their edges is just so delicate, so sublime!
Then my eye always wanders to the cheap, lonely light switch, dangling from a thin cord that appears to have a knot in it. I'm sure, before pressing the shutter Fethi noticed this switch, saw how it was illuminated by windows perpendicular to each other, rim lighting it from two sides. He possibly even saw this switch as the "punctum" of the picture (this is the first time I said punctum on this blog) and made sure he placed it in front of deep shadow. Again, absolutely delicate and rendered pin-sharp.
The calendar on the wall also never fails to catch my eye. The date reads 17, the rest is not legible. On the back of the print Fethi has dated the photograph as 18th April 1998. Most probably, on the day the picture was taken the calendar had not been attended to yet.
What else? The sense of depth thanks to the diagonals, the chair in the far window frame, the question why the tables are all racked together (in preparation for a planned gathering?), a portrait of Atatürk hanging in the deep shadows in the upper left corner...the little details and questions go on and on.
I know that Fethi printed this picture on long-discontinued Forte Polywarmtone paper, lending it a lovely chocolaty finish. It is fiber based, 18x24cm in size. Before the year 2000 Fethi was using a Nikon F90x (later he switched to a Leica M6). And if I'm not mistaken, he was using the AF 28mm/2.8 Nikkor (alongside the 50/1.4 and 80-200/2.8 Nikkors). So it must have been this combo he used here. The film was most probably Ilford HP5. I've seen the negative of another photo from this trip to Gaziantep and that was HP5, so that is what my assumption is based on.
On the back of the print Fethi wrote: "The corner of an old coffeehouse is quiet and calm, awaiting the people who will come for a chat".
How a photograph can transport you to another world...
Thank you, Maestro!
