Elifkarakoc | Gallery | Other Writings

We are many things without names or faces. Impersonal objects placed in strange and obscure places. Imagining concepts only meant to be forgotten, while our consciousness remains as simply a steady stream of apathetic emotion. Our existence is one which is strained, and at times- regretted. Constantly balancing frailly upon a weight controlled by only temporary things.


But strangers act as abstract mirrors. Intriguing paintings which awake a once-dormant part of our soul and begin quite stirrings; foreign thoughts and pervasive emotions. Ideas which (before our eyes came to rest on such fragile complexions) we had come to believe we were not capable of comprehending. We are surrounded by them: doorways to worlds we are oblivious of.


A detached but not yet debilitated gentleman who wears his memories as wrinkles upon his face. He lets his eyes drift longingly in the opposite direction. As if waiting for that “something more” to finally find him sitting here- upon this cold, leather chair- and whisk him away to some place different. Conversation falls deftly upon his distracted ears. His eyes are glazed over by wishes left unspoken.


A woman, who sits unmoving beside a window pane; her posture perfect and rigid, and yet frozen in this one moment. Her attention is focused upon an elm tree- whose branches stretch out gracefully, portraying emotions which her arms have never dared to express. The skin on her face is dry and cracked, deprived of precious moisture from tears she has not once cried. She is a proud woman. But as she sits alone beside her moonlit window pane, she cannot help but loath her pridefulness.


Time ages bones while memory ages minds. Dust collects on eyelashes and heartbeats continually draw to a close. There is a cycle to everything- whether love, or death, or hopelessness- and when we take it upon ourselves to become aware of this cycle around us, I believe we will suddenly discover something more fascinating and brilliant than words.


For what else is life, but that?