memory drawn into space

Anı Tarlaları is a field of memory shaped by forty interwoven stories

real,

imagined,

and remembered.

Each story leaves a trace in space: a bend in a wall, a drop in the ceiling, a shift in light.

The building holds these fragments not through function, but through feeling. Movement is shaped by absence, voids become rooms, and every space remembers.

This is not just architecture—it is a landscape of emotions, a map drawn by time,

loss,

and longing.....

Yedikule is a place where history and daily life intertwine. Ancient walls, gardens, and quiet streets hold traces of empire,

exile,

and memory.

Ruins and homes coexist, shaping a rhythm where the past quietly lingers in the present.

Where the plan stumbles, something else takes over

not design,

exactly,

but a kind of remembering.

From now onwards, nothing is resolved here.

Rooms taper off. Walls change their minds. This isn’t architecture as solution

it’s a collection of responses.

A pause instead of a decision. A corridor that doesn’t quite lead, but lingers. Things are left unclear on purpose,

because not all spaces are meant to be understood.

yedikule / istanbul / turkiye

The building unfolds in three layers of feeling.

/ The top is light—a space for quiet memories, soft echoes of love and longing.

/ In the middle, things get heavier: the weight of waiting, of not knowing, of what could have been.

/ Below it all, deep in the ground, is where the pain settles. The loss that doesn’t move.

These layers don’t hold stories they carry memory. Not a hierarchy, but a circulation of feeling

descending into love, rising through grief.

The building’s shape is carved by the stories it holds. Each turn follows the pull of memory, a bend for hesitation, a corridor for longing. Where stories breathe, space opens; where pain lingers, it tightens. Voids hold silence and unsaid words. The form isn’t imposed

it’s unearthed by feeling

Though the building stays on three levels, its ceiling rises and falls with memory. Where stories are light or distant, it lifts; where they’re heavy or unresolved, it sinks low.

This shifting height draws an atmospheric map

charting each memory not in steps, but in weight.

Each collage is a fragment of memory

an atmosphere,

an emotion,

a moment suspended.

These visual stories do not stand alone

they bleed into the building.

The collages are not just representations

they are the seeds from which the spatial language of the project grows.

The section reveals how each room carries a story, not just in its form, but in its weight, light, and silence. Each room is shaped by a specific narrative - some quiet, some heavy, some lost in the walls.

The section becomes a cut through time, showing how stories settle into space.

Music That Plays at Midnight

Long ago, a man played the oud near the school, his melodies drifting through the night, even the stray cats pausing to listen.

The house is gone...

The man is gone...

But when the city falls silent, some still hear faint strings, plucked from nowhere at all.

Door That Leads Nowhere

In the alley behind the site, there is an old wooden door built into the wall. It is locked. It has always been locked. No one remembers what it once led to. Some say it was an entrance to the school’s old storage room. Others believe it belonged to a house that was demolished long ago.

But no one ever sees anyone go in.

Or out.

Bicycle That Never Moves

A bicycle leans against a pole near the corner. The chain is rusted, the tires deflated. It has been there for years, but no one removes it.

Some say it belonged to a boy who left and never came back. Others claim it appears in old photographs of the school from decades ago.

One night, during a storm, the wind pushes the pedals. The wheels turn once.

Then...

...stillness

Garden That Remembers

Once, behind the school, there was a small vegetable garden. The teachers tended it in the early mornings, pulling weeds between lessons. The children hated it—until the apricot tree bloomed. Then, it became sacred. A place to hide, to dream, to whisper secrets into the bark.

After the school closed, the garden was paved over. But something strange happens every spring

a single apricot pit appears in the cracks of the sidewalk,

as if the earth refuses to forget.

The Shadow in the Window

A woman named Leyla used to live in the apartment overlooking the school. She never married, never had children, but every afternoon, she would sit by the window and watch the students play.

Some said she was lonely. Some said she was waiting for someone.

Now, her apartment is empty. The window is dark. But from the corner of your eye,

if you walk past in the late afternoon,

it still feels like someone is watching.

The Lost Kite

One windy afternoon, a red kite escaped from the hands of a boy named Kaan. It soared over the schoolyard, getting caught on the edge of a crumbling rooftop nearby. Kaan watched, helpless, as the wind pulled it higher, until it was gone.

Years later, the school is gone too.

But sometimes, when the wind is strong, something red flickers in the sky

just for a second—before disappearing again.