Mourning in a Brothel

Istanbul. Karaköy. Giraffe Street. No: 14.
A simple address. An address known not only by postmen but by almost all men, famous for its women and forbidden to women.
The place of extraordinary suffering of ordinary people. It is the last branch for poor women who cannot find work to hold on to against hunger.
The pit of despair where those who are getting older are exhausted day by day, where they completely fall and become destitute, and where the rest see their exemplary future.
The encrusted bodies of women who feel the pain of their tomorrowlessness in their pupils as a young leaf falls.
The cry of those who make even death nothing, "this is our humanity" echoes everywhere in this world. Can the humanity of those nicknamed "Husband" towards women, or the humanity of Arabs towards Zargana, be compared to our humanity towards each other? Is the humanity of those nicknamed "mothers" towards their "daughters" far removed from what happens to our children?
Don't be afraid, don't be ashamed, this is a brothel... With its chicks, giraffes, blood pressure sellers, bundle sellers; with the communist ones; A street, house by house, with people who believe the world is flat. With guests from all professions, all ages, all men; This is a country with its spokesmen, watchdogs and peeps.
A world where the deepest pain is diluted with fake laughter, and sadness prevails in the ephemerality of smiles.
Then why don't we mourn…

(From the Promotional Bulletin)

Dough Type: 2 . Dough

Size: 12 x 19

First Printing Year: 2019

Print Number :1. Printing