summer

When I started my work, I tried to show the beauty of the world beyond its reality. I thought it was like a Lulivash, a wild gypsy who doesn’t care about rules. Where should everything be? Surely, just as I want it to be.

The memories of summer trips, or doing nothing but thinking about the old days… Sometimes we had good times, but sometimes not. It’s nostalgic, with a slight taste of sweetness. The vivid colors of summer flowers and the dark green leaves take us to heaven. Yet, for this imagination, you have to look up, it feels as if the flowers are watching you instead of you watching them. They remind us that we were once young. They smile at us, just as we smiled at others.

When I listen to Vivaldi’s Summer, I feel the tension of memories that hurt me. It’s as if I’m sitting alone under an umbrella with them. It begins softly, as though it’s trying to recall the past, and then suddenly, it happens. One memory leads to another, again and again. Sometimes a shadow of fog appears, and you can’t remember the exact time, so you act as if you’re completely in the past.

Those were hot summers, riding through winding roads in the middle of the woods. The sound of birds and the smell of soil made you feel drunk with life. You were alone with all of this, under an umbrella. What songs were playing then? Can you still remember?