Cappadocia, Turkey 1989

Curator: Let’s turn our attention now to Lois Conner’s panoramic photograph, "Cappadocia, Turkey," taken in 1989. What's your immediate impression of it? Editor: A quiet starkness, wouldn't you say? Almost ghostly. The black and white lends a timeless quality. The landscape, punctuated with those geological formations, looks surreal, and it’s coupled with these vernacular building practices and a humble materials infrastructure. Curator: Absolutely, I find myself drifting into its contemplative silence. The sepia tones embrace those iconic 'fairy chimney' rock formations and seem to whisper ancient secrets. You feel that sense of a living landscape where humanity just fits into it somehow. Editor: Right, it's that tension, that conversation, between geological force and human adaptation that really grabs me. I'm particularly drawn to the stacks of what looks like handmade bricks or blocks beside the house—the evidence of human labor. Curator: Exactly, look how the ladder leans almost precariously against the structure. I'm drawn to imagine how daily life plays out against this incredible vista, and wonder if these raw building blocks are meant for making art as much as making homes. Editor: Craftsmanship. These humble structures seem so vulnerable beside that monumental landscape. What were the photographic practices in Cappadocia that could explain Conner’s compositional decision making and how would those impact or contextualize modern Cappadocia street photography, or more broadly Turkey street photography? Curator: I’d imagine Conner may have wanted to record time outside of capitalism, or just record human's marks against it—leaving these little material poems as a document of shared history. Editor: Indeed, you can really appreciate the labor invested here, can't you? All that effort etched into that grand landscape! Well, it certainly puts the notion of progress into perspective, doesn't it? Curator: Absolutely, a truly affecting image.