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24 Nisan 2015 Cuma
Well, sometimes your palms get itchy… Do some imaginary things
with your fingers unwittingly… Then something comes to your hand and you start
playing with it… No idea what it will become. Yet what will become something
has an idea of what will become. So that happened… I say myself for a while
that I should do something. Mental fatigue I had. Everything’s gonna be fine, I
guess, when my hands create something. One day, we hit the road of Kemeralti to
find some dolls for Şule’s family-constallation-study. We found a set… As we
were talking about the dolls by imagining our wishes, I told “actually it can
be made by hands”, and Şule asked a quesiton which opened me a mind door: “Why
don’t you make then?” My itchy palms and
fingers purled as water knows its way. A joy
captured me deep inside, and I
visited shops to buy some material. When I got home, “Hatçe” grew out of my
hands… A smile captured my face. I hold “Hatçe” in sight nowadays, when I got
blue she makes me smile, everytime… Gives me joy…
From then on the dolls made me lose track of time... I am given
shoddy and wool by my sister, mother and Gülser, the materials flourished. At
every shoddy that comes from my mother and sister there is an old time history.
Their lengths are changing between 10 cm and 3 cm. Even if I want,
cannot make any same. Each of them comes out with their own smile and posture.
I’m trying to make them stand on their feet and it gets beter every day. I’m
sure there is an easy way but I choose this one... They are like life, you
cannot know what wrong is. I learn new things withouts making the same mistakes
again and again. Each learning makes me feel good… Stories comes out of me
while I was making. Next thing is someone comes out of the story...
And so came out the bookmarkers… First came out Little Red Riding
Hood for Judith… In time some come out too. They don’t tell me when they’ll
arrive. When it’s time, they open a door in my hand and take a step forward…
Then travell to other houses or hands, to find their own stories, to get a role
in somebody’s stories.
I have strings, clay, shoddy and chenilles at hands… I cannot hold
my hands and those who want to come out…
My mind runs itself into something, what it gets birth I don’t