design by priscilla young
design by priscilla young
  "I promised we would bask like Ancient Greeks and I would pick you figs and olives. Beyond the hand-hatched fences, gates wide open, the olive groves offered a stillness to do just this. Peering through the spaces between the expressive branches and the small, feathery flowers you could see clear to the Anatolian coast, although blurry in the distance, this, the space unknown. The land is atmospheric, perfumed with myth and cypress trees, an earthy oud fragrance permeates the air. Can you imagine the mythical Phoenician era when there was a lone olive tree, prospering upward and outward, high on the headlands, bearing a most ancient and perfect fruit? The centuries and conquests layer upon each other, remaining palpable in the winds that blow the branches and the seas and the spirits.
There were many calm early morning walks, guided by eyes half closed through yellow farm fields, miles and miles from the little towns. We would be alerted by bells chiming and the bleating of local goats and they would laugh us awaken with their peculiar and playful habits. Their appearance always foreshadowed the breakfast of yogurt and thyme honey we had come to enjoy after strong coffee.
In the afternoons, before the evenings red sun and after lunch under bougainvillea, together we would ride the rolling hills on a white washed scooter. In hand, olive branches, to proffer as a ritual of our own peaceful presence to any sun-tired farmers we met along the route and we always met one. These gatherings and the faces we’d come to know, in the cafes and on the dusty roads punctuated the weeks. We had become transient locals only because we kept a routine and were curious. Community was something I never wanted to escape, it saw the best in me. Somehow, by stringing all these days together, we created the illusion that they will not end, that they cannot end.
A few weeks after this one, we will be home and we will go outside and see October turn crimson. Mornings and afternoons will fill with inevitable obligations, inescapable, they grant us the luxury to follow the destinations in our hearts and allow them to materialize in front of our eyes in the coming months. We will spend early evenings sitting in our favorite cafes on the avenues, watching, red suns replaced by burgundy in our glasses.
We say farewell to seas, to the wine dark depths, adieu to the mysterious sailors, to vermillion heavens, goodbye to the summer of one hundred red suns. Wishfully, I think there will be next year, with all my intentions ringing true, promising to keep memories intact but the undeniable pull of indefinite destinations call . It can never be the same, because above all, nature always sways with change. The Aleppo pines will amend, branches curving outward just a bit more, their scent lingering full of summers past, the fruit will inhabit different hues in their velvety skins and the sea will always be different, nuanced in indigo and cerulean tones, white foam will form marbled edges, unique with every tide but this September night sky will always set with red.”
~Anush Mirbegian

Anush Mirbegian studied fashion, art and language in Florence, Italy and New York. For over a decade, she has worked independently in fashion and art. Having journeyed to over twenty countries, a deep love of travel has become the most fruitful source of inspiration in her work and the origin of For Eyes Like Oceans.

September 2013