Street

There was no canopy, and people grabbed their glasses and ran under the roof. In a minute there were only ashtrays on the tables. Some empty, some with the remains of cigarettes. I noticed that each of them was unique, as were the people who, until a few minutes ago, had been talking carefree at the tables, and the problems they were discussing.

The mise en abîme of my inner intranquillity took shape in a set of images that seemed to emerge from an infinite depth of shadow; the movement that inhabits them is no longer that of photography, not yet that of cinema. Rather, it was the movement of narrative, of storytelling.

Nuri Dalmizrak, Mersin, 2024,Turkey