Murat Harmanlikli - 5 Questions

For Istanbul-based photographer Murat Harmanlikli, a city isn’t just a collection of sights — it’s a collection of unfolding stories. In this installment of 5 Questions, we talk about how his street photography became deeply personal, what makes an image worth keeping during the editing process, and why he prefers the photographer to remain entirely invisible behind the lens.

 I see photographs as sentences within a larger story

© Murat Harmanlikli

1. How has your approach to making photographs evolved over time?

In the beginning, I was mainly focused on making strong individual photographs. As time passed, I became more interested in creating bodies of work rather than single images. Today, I approach photography as a form of storytelling. I often build projects around a concept and think about how images interact with each other to create meaning.

Another important change is that my work has become more personal. Even when I photograph the streets of Istanbul, I am often reflecting on my own memories, emotions, and observations. Photography is no longer just about what I see; it is also about how I experience and interpret the world.

2. What usually captures your attention when you are out walking?

Light is often the first thing that captures my attention, especially when it briefly transforms an ordinary scene. I am also drawn to people, gestures, and the quiet interactions that unfold between individuals and the city around them.

However, my way of seeing is often guided by the stories I carry with me. I usually have an ongoing project or a particular idea in mind, and this creates a framework through which I observe the world. Rather than searching for everything, I become attentive to the moments that resonate with that narrative.

In this sense, walking is not only an act of observation but also a process of discovery. The city constantly offers unexpected details, and occasionally these details find their place within the larger story I am trying to tell.

3. How do you know when an image is worth keeping?

For me, a photograph is worth keeping when it continues to hold my attention long after I made it. It should contain a sense of mystery or possibility — something that cannot be fully understood in a single glance.

Because I often work on long-term projects, I also think about how an image functions within a sequence. I see photographs as sentences within a larger story. A picture is worth keeping when it not only stands on its own but also enriches the narrative around it.

At the same time, I believe that what we choose to keep is shaped by what we carry within us. John Berger wrote that “what we think or what we believe affects the way we see things,” and that we never simply look at an object itself, but at the relationships between things and ourselves.

I often find this true when editing my photographs. What makes me keep an image is not only the subject it contains, but the connections it suggests — the relationships between people, light, space, and my own experience of that moment. I am rarely responding to a single element in the frame, but rather to the way these elements speak to each other.

In that sense, a photograph becomes valuable when it goes beyond the visible surface and continues to resonate with me over time, revealing something about both the world and my own way of seeing it.

4. What keeps you returning to photography?

What keeps me returning to photography is the feeling that there is always something more to discover. No matter how familiar a place may seem, the world never reveals itself in exactly the same way twice. A change of light, a gesture, or an unexpected encounter can transform an ordinary moment into something meaningful.

Photography also helps me make sense of my relationship with the world. Through photographs, I explore questions, emotions, memories, and stories that might otherwise remain unspoken. In many ways, the camera has become a way of paying attention — not only to what is happening around me, but also to what is happening within me.

Perhaps that is why I keep coming back. Photography continues to surprise me. It constantly reminds me that seeing is not a fixed act, but an ongoing process of discovery.

5. If someone looked through your photographs without knowing anything about you, what would you hope they would learn about the person behind the camera?

To be honest, I am not sure that I would want viewers to learn too much about me. What matters more to me is what they discover about themselves through the photographs.

I often think about Gustave Flaubert’s idea that an artist should be in their work “like God in the universe: present everywhere, and visible nowhere.” I find this thought deeply compelling. Of course, every photograph inevitably carries traces of the person who made it — their sensibility, their concerns, their way of seeing. But I do not want my presence to dominate the image or dictate its meaning.

Flaubert argued that the artist should resist the temptation to explain, instruct, or place themselves at the center of the work. Instead, they should create a world that feels complete in itself and allow others to enter it freely. I think photography can work in a similar way. While my experiences, interests, and emotions shape every decision I make — from where I stand to what I choose to include in the frame — I prefer these influences to remain implicit rather than explicit.

In that sense, I hope my photographs function less as self-portraits and more as open spaces for reflection. If someone looks through my work, I would rather they recognize their own memories, questions, or emotions than learn specific facts about me. Rather than encountering the photographer, I would like them to encounter something of themselves.

If my presence is felt at all, I hope it is in the rhythm of the images, in the relationships they reveal, and in the attention given to ordinary moments. Like Flaubert’s ideal artist, I would like to be present throughout the work but never fully visible within it. The photographs may ultimately say something about who I am, but I hope they do so indirectly, leaving room for viewers to bring their own experiences and meanings to the images.

© Murat Harmanlikli

Is there anything you would like to add that we haven’t touched on in this conversation?

Perhaps I would add that photography continues to remind me that the world is always richer than our first impression of it. Every walk through the city offers the possibility of seeing something familiar in a new way.

I often think that photography is less about finding extraordinary subjects than about learning how to see. The camera has taught me to pay attention to small gestures, fleeting encounters, and the subtle relationships that connect people to one another and to the spaces they inhabit.

If there is a common thread running through my work, it is probably this desire to remain curious. Photography keeps me engaged because it continually reveals that there is always another story, another connection, and another way of looking at the world.