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  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

From the Gutters, 2016

My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.

In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the Kurbagalidere River on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way. 

I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new Golden Horn Metro Bridge. If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.

When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’. 

Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016

  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016
  From the Gutters , 2016  My sporadic trips home are beginning to abstract my sense of time. If I travel once a year, the children are taller, the elders are less agile, and Istanbul (yet again) is a whole different city. It used to be sobering to return to the ‘familiar’, yet nowadays, the city is becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The speeds at which it renovates and expands in all directions is hard to keep track of. The skyscrapers liken the cityscape to that of a Western metropolitan area, whilst the modernist apartment complexes on the fringes reshape traditional villages to meet the aesthetics of a heavily developed country. My estrangement with all of this is two-fold in the face of the few things that have remained; things that are seemingly regulated or neglected.  In an effort to overcome my disorientation, I now spend my visits wandering along the waters or returning to the few places that I can remember from my childhood. I recall the  Kurbagalidere River  on the way to school running with human waste. As itturns out, among all of the new developments, it remains unchanged, now bubbling and gurgling under the heat of the sun. In retrospect, this isn’t particularly surprising as the space below the bridge, often referred to as ‘SLOAP’ (space left over after planning), is quite sensitive to becoming overlooked or abandoned in this way.   I found this to be a similar case beneath the site of the new  Golden Horn Metro Bridge . If you go there in the Summer you will likely find the same group of kids I’ve photographed, playing and swimming together. During my encounter, they quickly secured my attention and proceeded to have me repeatedly photograph them. Perhaps it was something out of the ordinary for them, and so they indulged themselves, immediately lending their faces to the camera and directing me to photograph them as they wished.  When I think about this alongside the places that I have visited, what seems apparent to me is that there aren’t many places left in Istanbul to accommodate its growing, impoverished communities. Aside from the city limits, these areas ‘below’ are the fringes of society. It feels as if the commercial interests of the city are quite literally sweeping things under the carpet, not necessarily resolving existing issues. Instead of concentrating resources toward long-term growth, there is a focus on aesthetic improvements, ironically dealing with things via the methods of a ‘Turkish Wash’ or ‘Puerto Rican Shower’.   Kerimcan Goren, London, 2016