Beginning and Uselessness
Winter came. Nothing has changed. Lying on a cold roll-away bed and staring at the ceiling, I noticed a ladder with paint all over it. The ladder, which is now covered with dust, is the first thing I’ve got after renting the studio. Looking around the room, I see undeveloped rolls of film, aspirin pills, unfinished canvases… I start asking myself, “What is the point of doing all these so far? Does photography hold its meaning as art? What is art in the first place? Am I not talented? Would I earn a living by photography?” Questions that had long been ignored pour out.
