#12 | Leibniz-Zentrum Moderner Orient (ZMO)

In my recent series, Wie viel wollen wir uns merken? (How Much Do We Choose to Remember?), collected for the :unmittelbar2024 - 2. Deutsche Sofortbild Kunst exhibition, currently on display in Hannover until November 23 this year, I reflect visually on photography as memory creation and memory construction. Using Polaroid and Fujifilm Instax cameras, these images capture specific moments that blur the line between personal memory and shared experience, questioning which details we keep and which we let fade. Through this series, I invite viewers to explore the theme of selective memory, inspired by the landscapes of Berlin and Istanbul, and to construct their own vision of others’ memories, relying on personal interpretation.

As a researcher of history and memory, I am constantly intrigued by the process of creating memories and the archaeology and structure of memory. What lingers in our minds as individuals? Or perhaps we choose what to retain and what to forget? What forms the collective memory of a particular group? And when does one person's recollections harmonize with the experiences of others?

Born and raised in Kazan, Russia, and after spending several years in Kyiv, Ukraine, I suddenly found myself in Berlin, which I soon came to call home. Initially, however, I knew very little about it; my early trips offered only a superficial glimpse, taking place amid meetings and work, with almost no time to experience the city one-on-one. Moving here felt like an extended 'tourist' trip — you seem to live here, yet everything around you needs to be understood, interpreted, and integrated into a familiar system. This is how photography became a daily practice for me, and my camera a constant companion. My relationship with Istanbul, on the other hand, developed quite differently: it was culturally closer, as if naturally present in my life as a source of inspiration and the center of my Turkic studies.

Over the course of a couple of years, I accumulated photos taken first on my phone camera and then on instant print cameras. Taken mostly in Berlin and partly in Istanbul, where my inner photographer is always activated, these images hold a special place as I have tried to capture and interpret history and human memory through them. This collection became my contribution to the :unmittelbar2024 - 2. Deutsche Sofortbild Kunst exhibition.

In this context, photography as a means of creating memories has undeniably taken on a unique role in the large-scale production of collective recollection. Yet, the accessibility of photography is gradually blurring its value as a tool for preserving moments. Amid the abundance of captured images, some may never truly become part of memory. Additionally, the possibility of editing shifts photography from pure documentation to an increasingly artistic medium. In this regard, instant photos contrast with the endless reproduction of uniform frames. Each instant photo is an almost blind shot, one that cannot be controlled or duplicated. It stands alone and cannot be edited. Moreover, these photos exist physically as artifacts.

But what will the author "read" in these photos when returning to them over time? Will it be the emotions felt at the moment the photo was taken? Or will the author be able to view what was captured through new eyes, seeing something different through the lens of new personal experiences? And what happens when these memories are seen, examined, and interpreted by others? What is someone else's memory, truly? Can we even reach it? Or are someone else’s memories and recollections nothing more than our own interpretation and construction of another’s history?

Alleyway Through the Past

This photograph of a narrow alley leading from the main gates of ZMO to the building suggests a journey through time, where each step might reveal forgotten stories. It is a reminder of how buildings, paths, and broader landscapes remember people, their conversations, and their stories. This photo and the following two were taken with a Polaroid SX-70 Alpha camera.

Ghostly Pier

In this photograph, there is much sky and sea, highlighting the historic pier in the Moda district of Istanbul, along the shores of the Sea of Marmara. The photograph, depicting a pier built in the final years of the Ottoman Empire and having withstood over a century of republican Türkiye, speaks of frozen time, of not belonging to any one era, and of the timeless relationship between city and sea.

Frozen History of Germany

For me, this image of the semi-ruined Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church at the start of Kurfürstendamm is the essence of how Germany preserves its memory of World War II. Here, war is not depicted as glory, as it is in some other cultures that experienced the same catastrophe. Here, war is destruction that must be remembered. The camera captured the church as if it were a sketch, creating not so much an image but a rough outline.

Whose Boat Is This?
This image of someone’s boat off the shores of Istanbul is not part of collective memory. It is more about how collective space, history, and memory consist of many personal stories. It suggests that each person’s memory includes recollections of others—some crucial to our personal history and some less so. It speaks to the role of chance, which cements in our memory a unique combination of events, places, and people. This photo and the next were taken with a Fujifilm Instax SQ40 camera.

Rio-Reiser-Platz, Berlin
In this photograph, I reflect on how collective memory of a person—in this case, the politically active musician Rio Reiser—was publicly commemorated. It raises questions about how society’s consensus on remembering and forgetting certain people is connected to decisions made to immortalize their names.

Each of these images is part of my exploration of the function of personal and collective memories shaped by different cultural and social groups about cities, their inhabitants, and the role of photography within it.

October 31, 2024