I’m not an Orientalist. I’m not an Occidentalist. I’m an Oxidizalist. Okay, so there’s no such word, but right now, I’m having a certain romance with the processes of oxidation and crumbling (provided we’re not talking about my own), so I need a term to describe it.
This city has so much beauty, even in its regions of decrepitude, that’s worthy of notice. Call me crazy, but I’m having a kind of romance with rust.
It’s interesting to take a stroll through the old industrial and shipping areas of town and feel the textures, particularly on a wet day when all the colors darken. Just look at the richness of hue, the patterns of wear, the textures in Industrianbul (yes another made up word)— Persembe Pazari, Haydarpasa and other dockside areas.
WILL THE RUSTED RISE AGAIN? FREIGHT CRANES AT HAYDARPASA.
What do you think? Are these things more romantic now that they’re crumbling? I wonder if they’d seem as noble and as striking if they were fresh and new.