I grew up a happy kid. Mom, dad and my younger brother, we made a warm family. As is the case with most men, there was some distance between home and my father. Both when he was at work and at home.
The beating heart of our home was mom. The steadfast lady of the house. She meant everything to our home. She was home. A housewife fortifying dad’s ‘guest’ relationship with home by her presence and with all the endless housework she does.
There are around 14 million housewives in Turkey. Workers who turn groups of rooms inhabited by family members into homes. Bearing the brunt of a job they can never leave or hand over. A job where pay is not even suggested.
Rich or poor, by choice or by force… Once a housewife, your labour is null. Your time, happiness, health, your body and your future are all dedicated to a sacred cause. You become invisible.
That was my motive. I wanted to enter the housewives’ sphere and to tell what I see and hear. I spent days in the homes of 14 women including my mom. I photographed them trying to keep up with housework, raising kids and and on their rare spare time. Because: