The Goddess’s Pomegranate

Seha Nur Sarı, 2026
Ink and dried pomegranate peel on wood
50 × 50 cm

Here I am, descending to another level once again. I project the darkness within me onto the moon. Or perhaps the moon is projecting its own darkness onto me. As I descend the stairs, the lunar goddess gives me a pomegranate from Persephone. A single pomegranate grown in a garden in Antalya. As I look at it, something happens—something I cannot remember, yet whose feeling I know. I cannot remember it, but I know the feeling. Like my dreams. Like all the moments that came before. Like infancy, like childhood, like the people who have come and gone from my life. Like everything that once existed and no longer does. Their traces are faint. Everything is there in my memory. But in places, remembering is very difficult.

The systolic and the diastolic emerge here too. Something is breathing in and out. Something is moving. Sometimes I contract until there is hardly any room left; sometimes I overflow with exhilaration. Do the things we could not preserve from the past decay? Is decay a form of disappearance? Or does it make room for something new? What is it that decays? The organism? The memories? Or the truths? What is it that gives me this feeling? Are these feelings real?

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