Sinan Çakmak is a photographer who can be described through several nationalities. He presents his images in showcases, exhibitions, and blogs, and often expresses himself by photographing in three countries: Turkey, Denmark, and Estonia.

He describes himself like this: “I think in Danish, I write in Turkish and translate it into English, and I listen in Estonian.”

When did you start photography, and what gave you the push to do it? 

I started quite young—I was around 13. My father was into photography at the time, so I also had access to cameras. At first I photographed nature, because that interested me. At some point, though, I ran out of interest in it and my style moved in a different direction. I began photographing people and city life more.  

I have Danish–Turkish roots: my mother is Danish and my father is Turkish. I grew up in Turkey and had to decide there what I wanted to do as a profession. Photography interested me most, and since I was already doing it, I decided in 1998 to go to Denmark to study commercial photography. I chose that field because it allowed me to get to know most photographic genres.  

At university, I was taught to work across several photographic genres. I got to try both the technical and the commercial side of photography. At the time I was already working as well, shooting documentary photos for several Turkish magazines.

How did you get into documentary photography? 

It started with a photography job opportunity. In Turkey, things generally happen through connections, but since I already knew a few photographers who worked for the press, I was introduced to editorial teams as well. I had the most success when I could tell a story through my images.  

The first time I photographed for an article was a Viking ship built by a Finn. The ship’s crew sailed around Europe and eventually reached Turkey. There I had the chance to meet them and spend a week on the ship. I took photos of them and wrote as well.  

The Viking ship photos mostly focused on their trip to Turkey and the captain, but there was also a look back at how they made the journey happen. I photographed only one part of their voyage, which ran from Istanbul to Turkey’s eastern coast.  

I sent the photo story to the Turkish in-flight magazine Skylife, which I considered a good magazine and, at the time, the one with the widest circulation. Back then you had to mail in your materials, and I remember calling beforehand to ask if they were interested. To my surprise, they wanted me to send the photos. The editorial team liked how I had covered the “Vikings,” and that became my first job as a documentary photographer.  

Later, once I got to know people at the editorial office, I started pitching ideas for photo stories. But in journalism it works the other way around—you have to make the story first and only then pitch it for publication. If the editors liked it, they used it in the magazine.  

What do you pay attention to when photographing on the street?  

Basically everything. Of course I look for different shapes, colours, and so on, but for me it’s even more important that something is happening in the frame. I like it when a photo conveys a certain mood. All of that creates the atmosphere of the photograph. That atmosphere can be created, for example, by using certain colours, capturing a specific time of day, or using light in a particular way. Variety is what matters in an image—especially in a 12-photo series. It’s also very important where and how you use that variety. It can mean the image differs by how close you are to the subject and what time of day you shoot. I use these guidelines when I’m putting a series together, to understand whether it forms a whole. If a series doesn’t have a varied selection, it isn’t balanced as a whole. Sometimes I work in a way that also trains the technical side. For example, I shoot into backlight, which I generally don’t do at all, since I mostly work in colour. 

How did you end up in Estonia? 

My wife is Estonian, and we met in Denmark when I was studying photography there. Even back then we visited Estonia several times. Now we have children who speak Estonian, and we live here. 

At one point we had to decide where to go—we considered Denmark and London. But I realised that it’s difficult to make a living from photography alone. Even when I was working under an Austrian agency, it wasn’t enough to live on. So we decided to come to Estonia as a family, so the children could get a better education and my wife could find work more easily. When I arrived, I had to see on an ongoing basis how things would go. That’s how we ended up here. 

After arriving, I thought I’d try something new, and since I also had another hobby—bikes—I decided to focus on that. By now I have a small bicycle shop in Telliskivi Creative City. I didn’t think I’d be able to do photography here as well, but I’ve still managed to do a little.  

Why did you decide to document life here? 

Estonia has been like a training ground for me, because I visited many times already during my photography studies—since my current fiancée is Estonian. I simply wandered around here and took photos the way I like. At the time I was still developing my photographic workflow and style. Almost every day I walked outside for hours until I got tired.   

For me, photographing is more like training; talent plays an even smaller role in it. That means photography requires more practice and work. I made time for it and got some images. I also spent many hours processing and selecting them. For me, choosing the photo is especially important—sometimes it’s even more important than taking it. 

I kept working on my photos, and every year I came to Estonia to spend time. When I went to show these images to the Turkish magazine Atlas, they liked them. I told them about an unfinished Estonia photo story I could continue working on. I suggested that I go back, spend three months in Estonia, and complete it. They agreed. To this day, that’s the only time I’ve worked full-time photographing in Estonia. 

Did you have a clear goal for this work? What was it? 

Yes—I had some gaps in this photo series. I had a lot of street photos, but they didn’t follow a specific theme. Coming back to Estonia, I knew which photos I wanted to use, so I had a framework, but also missing links, which made the whole task more difficult.  

But when you try to fill missing links, it can happen that you end up with a weak photo that “connects” the others thematically. That was my biggest fear, which is why those three months—when I had to work here full-time—were very difficult. 

At that time, Estonia was in a period when everything was changing very drastically. You could see a lot of Soviet influence on the streets, but at the same time new shopping centres were emerging and people’s clothing style was changing very quickly. I took my assignment seriously and had to visit other towns as well—such as Tartu, Narva, Kihnu—to sense those places and everyday life there.  

In my opinion, photographing everyday life is the most important thing. You can always go to festivals and find people in national costumes, but people don’t wear them on a daily basis. At different events, people do wear folk costumes, and that’s important to them in the long term, but I think it should be shown sparingly. Approaching it this way is how I filled the gaps and completed the photo series in my own way. 

How did you approach people? 

I made candid-style photos (a genre where the subject isn’t posing, is in a natural state, or often doesn’t even notice they were photographed). To this day I don’t ask for permission beforehand, but in Estonia it’s rather difficult to do that. 

What I do instead is photograph. Sometimes I try to make eye contact first and then see whether they give permission through that. I like using that to gauge whether it’s okay for them, but very often people don’t even realise I took a photo. Especially when I’m very close to people while photographing, they look around and don’t understand what or who I’m photographing. 

Could you briefly explain the background of your photo exhibition Estonia 2000?  

The idea for this exhibition started when I moved to Estonia last year and got in touch with several places, including the Dokfoto Centre. I talked with them and  

they offered me the opportunity to take part in the Solaris Centre exhibition project.  

I sent them 2–3 different photos—from Estonia, Gezi, and so on. They were interested in the Estonia photos, which are old, but they went into the exhibition.  

Do you plan to do anything like this again in the future? 

I might participate in exhibitions again, yes. The Dokfoto Centre was interested in my photos, and if it suits them, I’d like to exhibit my Gezi series, because it will most likely become a topical subject again. I’m afraid something bad could happen in Turkey that might start from Gezi. 

I also plan to photograph more in Estonia, but right now I’m busy with other things. I recently opened a bicycle shop, so photography has to wait for now. Maybe next winter I’ll be able to focus on it more.  

I also have unfinished photo projects, for example about Turkey’s coastal region. It’s a photo series where I show life along the Turkish seacoast. The idea is to show that the Mediterranean coast is completely different from other regions in terms of mentality and national spirit. At the same time, I want to photograph Istanbul for it—where the Mediterranean and Turkey meet, but also diverge.  

In the Turkey coastal series, I work from street photography. Even if it isn’t unquestionably made in the street, it’s the way I connect these images into a series. So the photos have their own rhythm, but since the series is unfinished, it also has gaps. I have an overall idea for this series that can be expressed through street scenes. I’d like to finish it one day, but for now it has to wait, because I don’t end up in Turkey—though it will probably happen in the future. It’s my personal project, but I also have several other photo stories for magazines.  

When I worked at the Turkish magazine Atlas, I generally chose assignments so that I could also photograph for my own projects. So if I chose a story where I had to work for the magazine by the Mediterranean or Black Sea, it would be ideal if I could at the same time get at least one image for my own project. 

What motivates you the most in photography? 

I’m not a very creative person in the sense that I can’t create something or imagine it before it exists. I’m not the kind of photographer who has something like that in mind.

I like making art, but I’m not an artist. I’m not creative in that way, so for me photography is perfect. When I photograph, I can search for that creativity. If I’m looking for or find something interesting that feels like art to me, that works for me.  

So I like setting certain boundaries and getting the maximum out of them. Photography is ideal for that. I also think photography shows that real life can be much more interesting than what’s imagined. 

Do you have a favourite photographer who inspires you? 

Yes—two photographers are my favourites, and they influence and inspire me: Alex Webb and Harry Gruyaert.  

I’ve been lucky enough to assist Alex Webb, and we still have a good relationship. It started when he came to Istanbul to photograph and I assisted him there. At the time I was working at the Atlas magazine editorial office when he was producing his Istanbul photo story. But we didn’t meet through Atlas—we met through his wife, whom I had also assisted several times before. So most of his Istanbul series was made with my assistance. 

The other favourite is Harry Gruyaert, who is Belgian. His style is similar to Webb’s, but he has more static photographs with a slower, calmer rhythm. For example, you can see his photos in the book “Morocco.” He’s one of my favourites. He’s also a very strong Magnum photographer, and I’ve had the chance to communicate with him a few times. 

What was it like working with Alex Webb? 

It was very interesting, because it was serious training for me. He worked an incredible amount. For example, he would call me to meet in the hotel lobby at seven in the morning. When I showed up on time, I assumed he’d come down from his room right away—but I was wrong. He came in from outside and had already spent 2–3 hours photographing in sketchy neighbourhoods.  

Then Webb would pick me up in my car and we’d go to other places to photograph, all the way into the evening. Then he’d agree to take a couple of hours’ break, but generally we took only about half-hour breaks and then kept shooting until it got dark. After that, he went to the gym to work out.  

He really did work a lot, and it was fascinating to see how he works and behaves. When photographing people, Webb asked for permission and preferred not to be aggressive, but rather persistent, because he photographed people from quite close up. That’s actually a good quality. Often people didn’t even realise they were being photographed because he was so close. At the same time, he could push a bit to get the shot. It was a very interesting approach, which is why I really enjoyed working with him. 

You can explore Alex Webb’s work on the Magnum Photos website

Please describe how you got one of your photos. 

This photo was taken in Sydney, Australia. It’s an example of good management of coincidences.  

I like the bridge at Darling Harbour because it’s a kind of node—lively and busy with Sydney residents. The architecture there is rather monotonous, not especially exciting, but quite typical for the area. At the same time, I was interested in the trendy black-and-white stripes that many people wore there.  

Walking on the harbour bridge, all of that came together. I saw a woman wearing a black-and-white striped shirt, and nearby another woman with a bag in the same tones. So I walked quickly toward them, knowing I could get one or two frames of them.  

I managed to get a frame of the women from a low angle. A lucky coincidence was a sudden gust of wind that blew the woman’s hair up. That kept her anonymous in the photo, which is something I always prefer. In addition, the stripes matched the background precisely because of the architecture.  

In the end I had two photos—the one I’m sharing with you, and another where the striped bag was more diagonal. But I prefer the first one, because the bag is perpendicular to the other stripes. 

Interview conducted and written by Andra Hamburg