Yalkin’s black and white exposes a different kind of rawness, not the rawness of noir but the rawness of discovery.
But what about the notion that street itself is the issue, not to be taken at face value, at worst is nothing but a construction of photography-as-spectacle? Every young photographer who ventures out into the world (and leaves the studio and its conceptual strategies behind) carries the question: is it ok to do this? What am I really contributing? In the younger generation there is a desire to render things as if they had never been seen before (even though they all know that every picture has already been taken).
Yalkin adds a sense of the material reality of the seen: eyeballs, Leica, film are all as thick as the world and form a kind of unity with it. Like Moriyama’s work, the pictures are emotional, expressive; they employ taboo tactics like long exposure to present an interior view, and yet they don’t convey a sense of alienation, rather a sense of immersion. The poetry and the incongruities of the street are not simply visual but visceral, even aural: you “hear” Yalkin’s best pictures. They carry their own audio track.