Keaton Hudson

TURKEY | Monday, 14 January 2013 | Views [207] | View Smaller Image

Vahe had the character and compassion of a grandfather, and while he didn’t particularly enjoy the state of his life in the Home, he distracted himself by playing the piano. This particular afternoon he was commenting much on the amount of construction that goes on now, when I asked if I could take this picture to remember him by.

Servet seemed comparatively keen on his life in the Home, and I would find him weekly on this patio, either just sitting or otherwise smoking cigarettes. This particular afternoon he grew nostalgic as he relived to me his days as a North African bus driver for the British Army. The way I understood he would drive the doctors to their destinations, and I watched as his wrinkled and stretched fingers would retrace his route along the deserts of North Africa. Shortly afterwards I retreated from the porch to snap his pensive portrait.

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Osep had been living in Fransiz Fakirhanesi alone for years, either too far away from family, or else forgotten. He was a photographer in his younger days, and spent most of his time wandering the halls of the Home. He didn’t seem to mind me taking his picture.

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Keaton Hudson

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