Q: So, how has your Greek background influenced your photography and what you see through the lens?
 

A: My situation was unique in the sense that I was born and raised in Istanbul, within the Greek community. I also spent a lot of time in Greece, you know, summers and such, kind of like you. That was a very integral part of my upbringing. I was around art all the time, whether it was in Istanbul or in Greece. Constantinople is completely imperial; it's filled with Byzantine art. Turkey is filled with Greek corners, you know, and you subliminally, as you grow up, record all this information in your brain. It becomes part of the things that you start building appreciation for.

And I think growing up with a Greek background has deeply shaped the way I see the world and what I capture through my lens. There's a natural sensitivity to light that comes from living in a country that is bathed in sunlight—defined by light—that shapes architecture and beauty. And to me, Greece was like a kind of ideal painting. It taught me how to see shadow, how to see textures, how to see contrast, and how all this tells a story. Because to me, light tells a story—and photography, at its core, is a word that means recording light and what it tells through that.

That kind of Caravaggio painting that you witness—going to Greece, being in Greece, having that Greek background—is very much like a chiaroscuro painting happening in real time. And of course, my Greek background also gave me a deep appreciation for history and narrative. Every corner you turn in Greece is hundreds or thousands of years of history, and you find yourself asking those questions like, “How did they do that?” and you want to peel those layers. I think, for me, you naturally become a curious explorer. And my journey has been in capturing visuals.

Whether I’m photographing a person, which is a lot of what I do, or street photography—also, my background comes from photojournalism. This is why I got into photography, because I was kind of playing Henri Cartier-Bresson in Istanbul and Constantinople when I was growing up, shooting the streets of Istanbul. I always look for that timeless quality defined by light and emotion. And I think my photography is not just about catching what's visible—it's about translating a memory and an emotion into a visual form, which is what has always kept my passion so alive toward what I do. I have to say, there's that typical saying, “Find what you love and you'll never work a day in your life,” and it's true. I'm very blessed to have followed that passion for photography.

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Q: Has ancient Greek philosophy influenced any of your visions or creative processes?
 

A: If you think about Heraclitus, you could say that the philosophy he embraced—everything is in constant flux, and that no moment is ever the same—photography, at its core, is exactly that. No moment can be fully replicated ever again.

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Every single moment has its own movement, energy, and it’s a bit like an instant sketch that you’re doing when you’re photographing—something you can never replicate again. This is very true when it comes to street photography. When I capture that kind of work, I’m out on the streets, and the streets are like a giant stage. You are witnessing a live theater—it is in constant flux. You can never have this person that’s in this corner of the street and that person in that corner of the street be in the same exact position ever again. In terms of that statement from Heraclitus—that everything is in constant flux—that resonates very accurately with photography and how I see photography.

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Another one is obviously Plato, and the exploration of ideal forms. That resonates with me when it comes to composition. Whenever I work with real-world subjects or I do portraiture, I always try to find that balance, proportion, and harmony. Those are very important things when you try to create something visual that can also clearly communicate. I think this also speaks to Greek architecture. Greek architecture is beautiful because it embraces simplicity in a stunning way. And I think a good visual, to me at least, means a visual that could have that. That also comes from balance, proportion, harmony—all of which are very, very difficult to accomplish.

You move compositionally one thing from here to there, or you guide the person to turn in a certain way, and all of a sudden that has a completely different silhouette to it. And silhouette, in some ways, also speaks to the form of light, you could say. Because, like I said—Caravaggio, chiaroscuro—the play of light and dark, shadow and highlight. Light is the same. It’s a positive and negative space, which is exactly the proportion.

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I think another one is Aristotle. The idea of living with one’s purpose, which translates to understanding and fulfillment. Those are very important ideals that speak to an artist’s journey or a creative journey—or someone who likes to explore an art form through their own memories. Because I feel like when you are—I don’t even want to call it an “artist,” you know what I mean?—when you’re someone who is invested and interested in an art form, what you do is respond to things, sometimes through your own memories. That’s what creates the response.

For me, photography is a bit of a philosophical act because you're asking a question by creating that moment, clicking that shutter. Especially when you do street photography—something obviously grabs your attention. You responded to that emotionally. You noticed the beauty of it. You noticed the beauty of it so much that you wanted that moment—that is fleeting, that’s in flux—to become present. To become immortal in some ways. So I think there are a lot of connections you can draw between photography and philosophy, and these are some of the points I would draw.
 

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Q: Plato viewed art as an untruthful representation of the physical world, or a false reality. But Aristotle saw it as a form of human expression and instinct. Do you think either of these arguments resonate with you and your work?
 

A: I think Plato’s approach does bring up an important question about authenticity and the skepticism that comes with that. And I do take that thought process seriously. We live in a world that is so saturated with imagery—social media—we’re bombarded with so much. And also, we’re bombarded with so much content that doesn’t really have much depth to it. It’s easy to think that art can detach itself from the truth. I think that’s where Plato’s skepticism makes sense.

As a photographer, you do have some responsibility—not in every form of photography—but if I’m out there in the field and doing an assignment for a magazine or for journalism, I do have the responsibility of capturing something in its truth, in its entirety. And of course, as you frame something, in some ways, you leave some information out of the frame, and you include some information within the frame. So you could say, within the process, you’re choosing what truth to showcase.

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But also, I feel like in photography, what you react to is so quick. It’s not like I’m a painter thinking about what I want this scene in this two-dimensional space on my canvas to depict. I can choose what to paint—what to depict in every single corner of that canvas. Whereas photography’s not like that. At least for me, when I do photojournalistic work, I’m drawn to the emotion of something, to the event. And you capture an instant sketch. So it’s a little bit harder to say, “Did I make a deliberate decision of every single thing that’s in my frame?” No. I saw something, I reacted, and I captured it.

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So much about photography is that it captures something—and then when you go back home and look at your images, you discover so much more of what was captured within that guttural reaction you had in that moment. And I think that’s the beauty of photography, too. It happens all the time—I start editing, and I find all these gems. Or I find a gem that I captured for X reason, and suddenly I find all these other visual clues that speak to that image even more, which is really beautiful.

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When you speak to Aristotle’s view—which in some way I do feel closer to, in how it relates to art—his belief that art is an expression of human nature that helps us explore emotion speaks directly to what I do. There’s a level of catharsis in Aristotle’s approach. That kind of experience has the potential to move people, to connect them to themselves on a deeper level. I also believe art should do that. Art needs to move people. It needs to connect people. There’s a reason why there’s art therapy, you know?

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So I think those are very important elements of art that really speak to someone’s creative process. For me, when it comes to the work that I do—if it’s a portrait—when you look at it, I want you to feel like you’re almost sitting across from that person, like you could have an inner dialogue. That’s the emotional dimension I’m trying to create with the work I put out there.