All the things we seek in photography—whether we go after them or capture them—it's uncertain if they will always be themselves, whether their subject matter will be themselves, or if the form we create from them will necessarily resemble them. Perhaps in a certain form of photography, the subject is close to itself, where you are obliged or required to record the real thing with minimal change. But when this obligation is lifted, the real thing and its alignment with the subject in your photograph are not guaranteed. For example, somewhere by the Caspian Sea, when I come across an abandoned playground structure like this Ferris wheel, my focus is not on capturing the structure itself from the very first moment, but rather a curiosity to express something that hasn’t yet formed in my mind without approaching this structure. For years, I heard and saw people being hanged by cranes for the heaviest of crimes, and still do. The thought of this event, seeing this event, and accepting this event has always been nauseating to me, and certainly to many others. But now, at this moment, when I approach this real thing, it seems as if this worn-out structure becomes a crane for me; I see its chains, its ropes or belts, and it seems as if the real thing and the presence of this disused and rusted playground structure simply turn into a subject that has lost its initial purpose and become a subject for my photograph: The noose, the crane, and the bitterness of believing in this reality.