When I met Turkish photographer Mehmet Demirci at the Eyes On Main Street festival in Wilson, North Carolina earlier this year, I didn’t immediately have time to connect the dots. He was waving us over to a small roadside fruit stand chopping up a watermelon and offering it to a swath of photographers and their kids who just finished listening to a talk as part of the festival. It was the kind of showing hospitality to strangers moment that should happen a lot more often, and I was touched. Not one to pass up a shared “meal” with a potential friend, we headed over, refreshed ourselves with a few slices, my son’s t-shirt turning pink as the sweet juice ran down his chin.
Once we got talking I realized Mehmet was the author of a submission I had received a few months back. And so we got to talking about his project. It wasn’t about travel or street photography per se. It was about his children. In just a few minutes, he told me about how he’d spent years making photographs alongside his son, Deniz, and daughter, Neva. Not simply photographing them, as we parents do, but creating with them. Letting their curiosity shape the work. Their discoveries determined where his camera pointed. And then together, they turned those shared moments into a small photo book.
I remember thinking what a remarkable gift that was. Not just the finished book, although that’s something they’ll have forever. Mostly, I was impressed with the patience Mehmet had. Enough to slow down enough to see the world at a child’s pace. And his willingness to let go of his own agenda and follow wherever their curiosity happened to lead.
When Mehmet later sent me a copy of their book, Daddy Take a Picture, it confirmed exactly what I’d sensed from our conversation. The forward read like this:
“The book you are holding is a product of the moments I’ve shared with Deniz and Neva. It came to life through their guidance. Whether it was a lizard they spotted during a visit to the park or a rotting pumpkin that we carved for Halloween, I captured those moments through their curiosity.”
Those words say a lot about his approach to both photography and fatherhood.
Most parents naturally document their kids growing up. I’d wager it’s the point in life where a good percentage of photographers get their start. But Mehmet’s project is different in that, rather than asking his children to step into his world as a photographer, he stepped into theirs. He became their collaborator. He was rewarded for this approach too. He told me he learned a lot about his kids by letting them take the lead. “Like what?” I asked him. “Like I learned that my daughter is really interested in lizards. She took so many photos of them!” We shared a laugh about it, but I think we both appreciated the value of having your child open up and share a piece of themselves with you, and the weight of making them feel seen.
“It became an incredibly educational experience for me,” he later wrote me, “seeing the world through the eyes of a child.”
If you know any kids, you know they certainly don’t need help noticing the world. They stop for insects. They become fascinated by cracked sidewalks, fallen leaves, forgotten toys, strange shadows, and just about anything else your gaze might naturally pass over as an adult. Just about everything is worthy of careful observation to a child. Following that kind of intense curiosity means slowing down. Fortunately, slowing down is something street photographers often encourage each other to do.
The project was also something the family got to keep creating together long after the photographs were made. Mehmet wrote, “Working together during the photo selection process was a true joy. And the person who deserves the biggest thanks for bringing this work to life is my dear wife, Necla, for allowing me to be a father and for bringing two beautiful souls into my life, and for sharing this incredible journey with me.” Watching Mehmet interact with his family at Eyes on Main Street, it was clear this wasn’t simply a one-time project, and that his words and the love he feels for his family are sincere.
During the festival’s First Walk, his son proudly presented one of his uncle’s photographs to the crowd. I had a front row seat to a “like father, like son” moment, and I have to say, it was genuinely touching. Not because he was some kind of protege to his father, but because you could sense that Mehmet has instilled a real enthusiasm in his son for observing the world around him, and thinking about what it all means. That’s a pretty valuable inheritance, if you ask me.
Mehmet also told me another story I think is well worth sharing. Years ago, he mailed his mother a postcard from San Francisco. When he returned home, he found it pinned to her refrigerator, where it remained for years.
“That’s the magic of postcards,” he writes. “They’re like silent hugs from afar. Unlike digital messages, they are chosen, written by hand, and dropped into a mailbox. They may get a little worn on the way, but the feeling inside them never fades…and they always find their way to where they’re meant to be. ” The book Mehmet and his kids put together was designed with that same spirit. It’s small enough to fit in a pocket, each page can be removed and mailed as a postcard to someone you love. “Because,” as Mehmet puts it, “sometimes, a small card is all it takes to carry a great longing.”
I’m taking that as a reminder that photographs shouldn’t live only on hard drives or social media feeds. They can become keepsakes, gifts, and pieces of family history. Over the past decade or so, street photography has gained popularity, and these days we often measure the success of a project in terms of exhibitions, publications, or portfolios. But perhaps the most meaningful projects are the ones that strengthen the relationships closest to us.
Mehmet titled his foreword, The Greatest Project of My Life. After hearing the story behind it, it’s hard to imagine a more fitting name.
