Transient Stay

And maybe one day, this very "transience" will become our way of staying.

A childhood wish was the start of my adventure. A journey of discovery, intuition, and understanding.

I was a child in the heart of nature… in a silence that was only broken by the sound of the wind and the birds. I saw a tiny ladybug, red, with dark spots that looked like a map of an unknown world. I leaned down and carefully used my hand to guide it onto my fingers. I stared at its spots as they moved from one side to the other. I was fascinated by the life of that ladybug in my hands. A small world where a restless creature was moving in a hurry, until suddenly, it opened its wings… and flew away.

Without knowing why, I only wanted one thing:
“I wish I could keep this moment forever.”

At that time, I didn’t have the language to explain this feeling. I didn’t understand how this little creature was struggling to break free from confinement, or the hope that was hidden in its constant movement to keep living.

But today, I know.
That was my first encounter with “transience.”
And my first attempt to resist it.

The transience of moments…
whether painful or joyful is the simplest, yet most poetic interpretation of life.
And at its heart, there is a constant struggle to live,
and a quiet resistance against failures.

The seasons were my first teachers on the path of life and the discovery of truth. Spring, with its blossoms and endless green, reminded me every time that life can start again. Summer, with fruits that reached their peak of color and taste under the light. Autumn, with the glory of its changing colors. A myth of resistance against fading away. And winter, with its minimal white silence that reduced everything to a minimum; for thinking, for seeing deeper, for recovering oneself in absolute peace.

In the middle of these changes, the discovery of light took shape for me, not just as a physical phenomenon, but as something that reveals meaning.

From my perspective, light does not simply show what exists,
but it chooses what can be seen.

And maybe that was where art became a “choice” for me:
The choice of seeing,
The choice of showing,
The choice of standing against being forgotten,
The choice of resistance and resilience,
And finally, the choice of creating.

Years later, when I held a camera in my hand, I realized it was not just a tool, but a continuation of that same choice.

On theater stages, between artificial lights and deep shadows,
among bodies that were acting but not hiding the truth,
I was looking for the moment when “human” and “being” are revealed, not the human who is defined, but the human who, in a single second, breaks out from under the layers:
vulnerable, real, and raw.

For me, art became something beyond beauty…
A question,
a responsibility,
an endless path.

In the place where I come from,
seeing,
being,
and staying
have never been easy…
especially for a woman!

The boundaries were not invisible.
Sometimes they took shape in the body,
sometimes in the voice,
and sometimes in the possibility of being seen.

In such a space…
creating is a form of standing,
a way of speaking, even when no word spoken.

With my camera, I record not just moments, but the gaps
a slice of a hidden truth buried in the layers of an oppressed society,
somewhere between what is
and what should be
and what must be seen.

Humanity and human rights were never just theoretical concepts to me…
they were present in the silences,
in the pressures,
in the exclusions,
and in being ignored.

And art, for me, was the possibility of liberation,
an effort to preserve meaning,
a resistance against the cycle of erasure, even with a small work.
And this very presence is a kind of meaning in itself.

But as soon as I found this path, the geography changed.

This time, as an Eastern woman at the westernmost point,
I think about “being” and “staying” all over again.

Migration for me was not a fresh start.
It was a rupture:
from language,
from the past,
from myself,
and from the definition of being a woman.

And now, migration has become another passage for continuing to be.

In a new place, there is freedom
but meaning must be built from scratch.
No one knows who I am.
No one sees my past.
And suddenly, I must find myself and explain, not just to others,
but to myself.

In the middle of this, something quiet and heavy takes shape:
the pressure to prove
to show that you exist,
and that this “existence,” as a human being, matters
and must not be forgotten.

And this pressure is not always external…
it comes mostly from within:
in the form of doubt,
in the form of exhaustion,
in the form of a silence that sometimes creates a distance between you and creation.

In this distance,
the old question returns:
Why do I continue?

And the answer is not somewhere outside of me.

It is in that same child,
in that same tiny moment,
in that same effort to hold onto something transient.

I create,
because I still believe that seeing is not a simple act
it is an ethical choice,
what we consider important,
what we record,
and what we do not allow to disappear.

I create,
because a human being, without a narrative,
is easily forgotten.

And art,
is perhaps one of the last spaces
where one can
stand against this forgetting.

Today, between two geographies,
between two experiences,
between who I was and who I am becoming,
art for me is not just a path
it is a “necessity”.

Not for success,
not to be seen,
but to preserve meaning.

So that I can still say:
This moment matters.
This human matters.
This life is worth being seen.

And maybe in the end,
everything goes back to that same simple wish

An endless effort
to hold onto something
that is passing by.

And who knows,
maybe one day,
this very “transience”
will become
our way of staying.