Amoung of Ant’s

Before reading this text, I would like to ask you two questions. I am doing this both to make our topic clear and to draw you into the space I want to invite you to.

First, when did you start consciously observing what is happening around you? We need to search for the answer to this question together. Let me leave you a short note on this: if you ask what it means “to be conscious,” I see it as looking around not for any particular purpose, but simply to learn; that is, to receive, within an improvised order, the answer to the question “what is happening right now, what is being talked about here?” In other words, I am not referring to a study like “what do people think in a certain district of Istanbul” conducted for an academic thesis. I am talking about seeking the answer to what is happening there with your own presence. Frankly, this is not field research conducted with the aim of marketing a product either. I am speaking of a form of inquiry you carry out within the time you create yourself, by positioning yourself within the place you are in. Therefore, at this point, we part ways with the esteemed employees of the BBC. That is, I am not referring to observational content broadcast with slightly cold color filters from areas identified as having low income levels.

Second, have you ever felt yourself within a space where observation is taking place? Let me add a short note: this feeling of being observed can be experienced within a belief system as being perceived by a creator, or it can also be thought of as being part of an experiment.

Yes, now we can begin our topic.

I see observing and thinking as actions that move together, as cause and effect of one another. Thoughts make you stop at a certain point in any place and time and look around. Therefore, the first movement that begins at that moment is a journey in which thinking and observation unfold together, and this journey remains open as far as it can go. I consider this action to be a very important movement that allows us to establish a connection both with our own personality and with events that reach us and occur beyond our control. When we see the life we live as a kind of school, we can begin to understand that this school is essentially built upon oppositions. When we take a break somewhere during a journey, arrive at a city square, or encounter a working group, we can see just as with adjectives that the feelings carried by life and by the forms that physically carry life stand upon these contrasts. You can think of this as successive large MMs. Or it may also appear as continuing HHs.

When the question “What is happening?” is asked, all the details of a whole can be presented to you in a way that answers together. However, here one needs to go down to the parts, and to look at these parts, one must see not slow down. I thought a lot about not using the verb “to slow down” here. Because of social media content inflation, such verbs/words can create a sense of aversion. “Slow down, learn to stop, enjoy life…” No, that is not what I mean. If your ways of seeing have not developed, or if sudden sharp changes have not come and gone, you might still be sitting and drinking coffee in some old Burg square.

To make the subject clearer, let us look at the hidden masters of our planet those with roles such as invisible workers, distribution networks, cleaners, farmers, and armies. If you go to a forested area and, during a walk, begin to stop at a point where sunlight touches the soil, you will first start to notice flying insects interested in plants. Then the screen slows a little more, and you can see many things whose names you do not know moving back and forth on the ground. First, you notice the ant that was once taught to you; but as you remain still, you realize that far more small beings are moving there than you expected. As your eyes stay on the ground, after a while you get used to the ants. Then perhaps worms pass by, then springtails appear, then tiny spiders begin to show themselves. Their colors are quite different as well. After a while, who is flying and who is standing on legs starts to blur, as the diversity increases. When the process is completed and you are sure you have finished the first round, the place you first looked at which seemed to contain only bees, ants, and butterflies at the beginning now starts to display the whole, and everything continues in a harmonious flow. The fact that at that moment you may not be able to make sense of the movements of an insect on the ground, and that those insects cannot make sense of the size of your shoes, does not affect the functioning of the whole; this stems from our lack of knowledge.

We can compare this situation, somewhat humorously, to the accident cycle scene in the film Traffic (1971), written and directed by Jacques Tati. Everything appears both independent and meaningless; yet when looked at one by one, each has its own meaning, and in fact the process works in a way that explains the whole through its parts.

While researching whether there is a name for the act of wandering aimlessly among crowds and observing the city, people, and everyday life, I came across the French-origin word “flâneur.” Although this word belongs to the 19th century, we later handed over the craft of generating words and creating meaning to the Frankish tribes of partly Gallic and partly Celtic origin. The matter of observation and meaning-making is not new to our geography. When we take off the garments of our daily rush, we can understand that Heraclitus of Ephesus, a native of Anatolia, had to do the same more than two thousand years ago. And while Lucian of Samosata seemed to be joking, what riddles he offered about us humans. After the end of the first millennium in the known timeline, the traveling and mystery-seeking knights of the East who asked “what is happening?” should also be considered armored flâneurs. In fact, whatever question Ahmad ibn Fadlan was asking in the Asian/Turkic geography, Al-Biruni was seeking similar answers in the Indian geography.

I live in Istanbul, a former Eastern Roman capital that has always remained a hidden candidate for becoming one again. Therefore, I have developed a new habit: observing the foreigners who come to our city, which stands at the crossroads of beginnings, endings, and transitions. However, I conduct this observation underground. If you ask how underground: on the metro line. Although I spend part of my approximately forty-minute commute reading a book, I mostly watch those who arrive, depart, reach, and return. Especially over the past year, during journeys accompanying those heading to the airport in the middle hours of the day and those coming from the airport to the final stop, Kadıköy, late in the evening, I also try to listen to them. Since I live close to Kadıköy once known as Khalkedon I can always be present at the starting point; and if someone joins me, I can guarantee them observation like an anthropologist throughout my journey.

Some, with their large and colorful suitcases, seem to say, “I am a hotel guest,” while others carry large backpacks in the manner of true travelers; they always have with them a tasty sandwich they can eat at any moment and a drink designed to appear beneficial. Some, however, look confused, as if hungover within the general state of things. If they are coming from Sabiha Gökçen Airport and their cheeks are slightly flushed, we can assume they had a drink or two on the plane. On these journeys, I can see tattoos that express themselves, or accessories attached to bags images that I also see as forms of self-expression. Some, with the advantage of having seen many cities, easily lean their backs against the window; the wear on their luggage does not tell of aging but of experience. Truly, their facial expressions resemble heavily stamped passports. Yet not everyone on this route always knows what to do. Especially those coming from the Asian region for work purposes do not physically hold onto each other, but their body language seems to say, “If we let go of each other’s hands, we will get lost here.”

We carry the walk on İstiklal Avenue onto the Istanbul M4 metro line. You sit; people pass by on the screen. Faces ready to discover new places remind me of the eyes that look at me in the places I visit with curiosity.