<p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Local: <a fr-original-style="" href="https://www.instagram.com/pinar_yolacan/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: rgb(9, 9, 9); text-decoration: none; background-color: transparent; outline: none; cursor: pointer; transition: color 0.3s; touch-action: manipulation; user-select: auto; box-sizing: border-box;" target="_blank">Pınar Yolaçan</a></p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">I have lived in Greenpoint since 2004. In the first few months after I moved here, I had dinner with Cathy Horyn at the Polish restaurant next door. She was one of The New York Times editors at the time, and her family was Polish. We had pierogies. She wrote a piece for The New York Times about my work titled <a fr-original-style="" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2004/11/16/fashion/a-shelf-life-so-short-it-takes-the-breath-away.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: rgb(9, 9, 9); text-decoration: none; background-color: transparent; outline: none; cursor: pointer; transition: color 0.3s; touch-action: manipulation; user-select: auto; box-sizing: border-box;" target="_blank">“Shelf Life So Short It Takes the Breath Away,”&nbsp;</a>which was published as a full page. My landlord stopped by the apartment and saw the paper. He was proud of me and said, “Greenpoint will be popular.” I kept going to this Polish restaurant until it closed a decade ago. Every time I got sick, I would ask for the borsch soup. There was no delivery at the time, but the owner would send his son up with the soup for me.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;"><img src="https://images.aposto.com/2024/11/4/1733390449794.jpeg" style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px; border-style: none; position: relative; cursor: pointer; padding: 0px 1px; box-sizing: border-box;" width="550" ratio="1.34" fr-original-style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px;" fr-original-class="fr-draggable"></p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">Neighbors and memories</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">One of my neighbors was my friend from school (<em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Cooper Union</em>). She was from Israel. My grandmother, who lived in Çanakkale after WWI before moving to Ankara in the 1930s, used to always tell us about her Jewish neighbors. There was a big Sephardic community in Çanakkale until the 1940s, and most of my grandmother’s friends and neighbors were Jewish. She used to tell us this story: once, she was going to buy three eggs, and her neighbor said, “Get four so you can make two and two together.”</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">We had this kind of&nbsp;<em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">komşuluk</em> (a Turkish word that doesn’t exist in English, meaning a close friendship with a neighbor) with my friend here. My other neighbors are Polish. One lady who lives on my (the sixth) floor, probably in her 70s, always tells me when we meet on the stairs, “Keep climbing; it’s good for your heart.”</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">When I first saw this building for the first time, there was a fruit and vegetable store two doors down. I was convinced to move here because of the fruit stall in front of it with 99-cent tomatoes. Despite the six flights of stairs and no elevator, the view was amazing, so it was a no-brainer for me. I didn’t buy curtains for 15 years because the city lights were so beautiful.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">My apartment is both my home and my studio. It has high ceilings and faces west. When I first viewed it, I loved the daylight—it reminded me of the light I used in my&nbsp;Perishables&nbsp;series. So, I thought I could shoot there. I shot most of the images from the&nbsp;Like a Stone&nbsp;series here, along with other works, which are also published in my new book,&nbsp;Mother Goddess. I wanted the models to feel comfortable. Because of the paint I applied to their bodies, I wanted them to have access to the shower. It’s a more intimate setting.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;"><img src="https://images.aposto.com/2024/11/4/1733390474020.jpeg" style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px; border-style: none; position: relative; cursor: pointer; padding: 0px 1px; box-sizing: border-box;" width="550" ratio="1.34" fr-original-style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px;" fr-original-class="fr-draggable"></p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">A neighborhood transformed</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Historically, Greenpoint’s East River waterfront was industrial. It was a working-class neighborhood with Eastern European and Irish immigrants. But Manhattan Avenue, where my building is located, was always the shopping district. In the early 1900s, there was a tram here that went to Williamsburg, as well as a movie theater that later became a concert venue and a dance hall. When I moved here, this building was a Rite Aid. It always had this giant disco ball on the ceiling, and I never understood why until I learned about the building’s history. Now, that building is partially demolished and has become a chain restaurant that sells salads for $15 a plate. People who lived in the neighbourhood and in subsidized housing can afford the rent but can’t afford the neighbourhood as a result of gentrification. Small stores are closing one by one, replaced by overpriced chain restaurants and bars. I wish there was still a theater or a cinema.&nbsp;</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;"><img src="https://images.aposto.com/2024/11/4/1733390501286.jpeg" style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px; border-style: none; position: relative; cursor: pointer; padding: 0px 1px; box-sizing: border-box;" width="550" ratio="1.34" fr-original-style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px;" fr-original-class="fr-draggable"></p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">Environmental concerns and urban development</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">The oil leak in Newtown Creek is considered one of America’s greatest environmental disasters and made this area one of the biggest “superfund” sites in history. Since 1978, 12.9 million gallons of oil and oil-derived waste have been removed. Despite this, in the last 20 years, Greenpoint’s waterfront and toxic sites have been aggressively developed, and skyscrapers continue to rise against the industrial backdrop. Zoning permits issued in the post-Bloomberg era have completely transformed Greenpoint’s industrial character. Factories have been replaced by new luxury residences, including the area around McCarren Park and Pool, a historic site opened in 1936, situated between Greenpoint and Williamsburg.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">When I first moved here, the lots around the park were fenced off due to toxic waste contamination. Soil samples from this century-old park revealed high levels of lead. Cleanup efforts in the area continued intermittently until 2019 for various reasons. However, they were halted entirely due to budget cuts following the Covid-19 pandemic. Because of the limited availability of green spaces, neighborhood residents continue to use the park today.</p>

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