User:Demet Adiguzel/Just Demi

2012

April

3 - Tuesday

Geen school.

Ahoy.

Today I spent half an hour on a bug on the window – not a bug on Windows but good old fashion god-created(!) bug sitting on my window.

It was the first time I used my macro lens for such an occasion and I loved the result because like any other lost soul in the universe, she posed for me. Well the outcome will make a lovely pair with my last photo of a jumping dancer: flying man & sitting fly

Lost

Together

In the Coincidence we call Life.

Amen

4 - Wednesday

‘”This world!” As if there were any other’

So yesterday I was diagnosed with anemia. A common disorder.

But at least now I know the reason behind the fatigue and dream-like-life’ness.

Blood lacks vitamin D, said the doctor. Maybe that ‘s the reason why my soul fancies an ever-sunny city.

Enough with the old lady talk.

And action :

Yesterday I started to read Susan Sontag’s Against Interpretation, I’m also annotating while reading.

Works pretty well with what I am trying to research and write about (for Term2 essay) : Spectatorship, Punctum, Studium and Interpretation in the work of art.

And I feel connected to her.

(While I’m there I browse some Annie Leibovitz images, studied on the Disney ones – fairytales.)

Last night I tried to upload images and use Aurisma for Boerhave Museum Project but stupid technology, to be exact stupid Apple technology did not allow me.

And today while I was working on dancer photos, there was a blackout in the city centre.

No electricity for couple of hours. Forget about the stupid technology and internet and whatever, I couldn’t even heat food.

The gsm operators and 3G were also out, couldn’t reach anyone.

So all of a sudden the crowd was gone and it felt nice and quiet to feel disconnected.

But it made me think : in a post-apocalyptic world what would be my role?

Is it too late to join the girl scouts?

“To remember is, more and more, not to recall a story but to be able to call up a picture”

5 - Thursday

“İnsan çoğu kez her şeyin son bulduğu duygusuna kapılıyor, oysa yaşamın sonsuzluğunu algılayabilmek için bile yeterli değil bir insan ömrü.”

Nice presentation and tutorial with David Pfluger today.

Beginning with sleep deprivation, the day offered different tastes of emotions.

Roots : Turning analogue: One of my new-term-resolutions.

It all comes to me like in a dream and I remember suddenly the long hours at the library reading Tezer Ozlu while everybody else was studying for either accounting or calculus or C++.

And now I forget how I found myself while writing that deep dark feeling I shared with her.

And why today why do I remember, after years, that I have been another person once and why oh why did those years only teach me how to hide me, bury those words in me. Silence.

Rediscovering my insanity under my common or even ordinary look, playing hide and seek with the very feeling of meaninglessness.

I NEED A 16mm CAMERA.

I want to feel the physicality of the image, to be able to touch it with my bare hands. Write on film. With images.

I need a drink…

6 - Friday

There are no words.

I couldn’t resist. Even though I am in the middle of three different books, I had to start to read it again. How and why did I bring it when all my book collection was scattered somewhere I used to call home. But this one is here, this one does not want me to forget, the Chilly Nights of Childhood.

Feeling of nostalgia and homesickness wouldn’t give me a break maybe.

Then I received a letter from 2007, addressed to a future-me, which was supposed to be me. That makes me someone’s future.

She wonders where I am now and says she couldn’t guess because I am one unpredictable gal, could be anywhere doing anything.

Anyway, that’s not the point, she says if I’ve written at least one decent book then I’m in the right direction (I won’t elaborate on how she is strict about the weight.)

That made me want to check what I have been writing all along. I couldn’t fight the urge.

And there, even though I had made back-ups couple of times, I saw that one of the files was corrupted, included only my name and couple of small boxes and emptiness. Without a trace, it was gone.

Even people, after they die, they leave traces. They leave graves, memories.

Nothing. It left nothing to me even though it was for someone who died and left me with only memories.

Her story was gone too.

I can’t possibly name the hopelessness.

All other stories were fine.

Only this one was gone.