Viewing a single print, or series of prints, by
photographer
Tuğba Yüksel Öztopçu
borders on the sublime. I first became aware of her photography as
she posted black and white renditions of these images in an online
photography group. I was gobsmacked by the combination of simplicity
of form and composition of her works with the seemingly
contradictory layers of complexity of ephemeral streaks of
condensation and swaths of frost on the windows of Istanbul’s busses,
obscuring her subjects. Whole areas of darkness would loom around
the people she photographs on an almost daily basis with her Nikon,
and it appears that for Tuğba, the dark is accorded the same
importance that light is.
If photography is about light, then Tuğba Yüksel
doles it out in selective, fleeting, and miserly doses. Somehow,
this raises its value – like gold or alexandrite, a commodity’s
scarcity increases its intrinsic worth.
Later, upon further viewing her amazing portfolio of
black and white images, I began seeing color versions of the same
photographs Tuğba captured. To my way of thinking, my immediate
reaction was disdain for the photographer not making up her mind as
to whether the images ought to be in black and white or color. I am
nearly 50, and not only was I trained in film photography, I still
use film exclusively. When one loads black and white or color film,
one is making a commitment to a particular style and the mode in
which he wishes to present his vision; I regard most photographers
in this digital age who share both versions as unable to make their
minds up.
I still do. They do not think differently in black
and white than they do in color, and the meaning of their
photographs does not change when switching from one mode to another.
But, his is not the case with Tuğba Yüksel’s series,
“The Bus,” and my I was wrong in my initial assessment upon seeing
her color photographs.
For what drew me to her black and white method – the
brilliance of chance streams of light, the infinite darkness of
large patches of blacks and charcoal greys – defined the people in
her images in stark tones as almost iconic. Their wearisome daily
commutes, their stolen moments of precious rest and respite from
their labours, the sudden and irrepressible smiles on two lovers’
faces, seemed etched in immortality in Yüksel’s prints.
And yet, when one views them in color, one is
technically viewing the same images, but enters an entirely
different world: Here, the warm golden glow replaces the shimmer of
antisceptic white. The colors are muted, but their presence is
jarring in that amidst the darkness and cold, the presence of hue
drops subtly festive hints and the sanguine into an otherwise gray
daily commute. Now, we see not studies in shades of gray, but a rich
aura of color that suffuses her compositions. Instead of the
immediate made immortal through the freezing of time, we view the
ride as part of life’s continuum, of a rich panoply of emotions and
experiences, her chiaroscuro studies of Licht und Schatten permeated
with the bittersweet depth of life’s attendant little triumphs and
tragedies.
I do not know how old Tuğba is, but from her
photographs she seems very young in years. Do not let that deceive
you: She has what I once heard a rabbi describe as an “old soul.” He
meant the phrase as a compliment. In Yüksel’s vision, we are not
viewing a mere technical or even artistic achievement, but the
emotional commitment of a very wise scribe of light. In fact, what
we photographers call “vision” is wholly inadequate to describe what
she is getting at.
Speaking through her chosen medium bilingually, in
both black and white and color, Tuğba Yüksel imparts her artistic
Weltanschauung with the deftness of an accomplished painter from
eras long since past. Using modern tools, she reminds us that art
was meant to be universal, transformative, and uplifting. It is as
though through her photography, she has found a direct connection to
people’s souls.
Robert JONES
