Arcin Sagdic

Where are you from? Where are you based now? And can you tell us a little bit about both?

I was born in Germany, but I’m not German, obviously. I’m pretty much a mix from everywhere. My family has Turkish roots, and I grew up speaking Turkish. My mom has partially Russian-Jewish ancestors.

When I was 17, I moved to Tel Aviv, then came back to Berlin, Germany. I’ve also lived in Britain.

How do you feel about Berlin in comparison to the places you have lived in the past?

The difference is huge. At some point, the less you try to understand, the better. It’s really comfortable for the viewer. It works until people start understanding the subtext. Then, suddenly, it doesn’t work anymore.

Can you tell us about your background and how you became interested in the intersection between science and art, particularly quantum physics and gravitational theories?

Ever since I was a child, I’ve been interested in science. I always envisioned having a scientific career. I have a background in Biotechnology and theoretical Mathematics and that background never left me.

I started as a documentary photographer in the middle east. Finding ways to go to Gaza for street-documentaries after which I started collaborating for Slate (Washington Post).

Photography—or any artistic medium—is a very honest form of expression. When you put something out there without words, just through images, it’s different. Language is limited. There’s always this back-and-forth in your mind, but with photography, you can capture something that feels beyond thought.

That’s why, for me, photography isn’t about tricks or commercial appeal. It’s about being honest with myself—capturing the way I see things.

Photography is like a snapshot of time—it’s a factual record, in a way, like science. Do you see that connection?

Exactly! We don’t even notice it, but it becomes part of our thinking.

When I look at quantum physics, for instance, I see it as my DNA trying to grasp the subatomic world—the tiny behaviors of atoms, these little micro-realities.

When I think about it, my eyes light up because it’s like—I’m seeing reality in layers. The deeper you go, the more you realize everything is shifting. It’s a never-ending process, and I love that.

How do you incorporate scientific approaches and ideas into your projects?

I imagine different realities. I think about physical laws and then try to suspend them.

What if there were no gravity? How would our perception change?

For example, the way we see the world is shaped by dust particles reflecting light. But what if gravity were different? How would we perceive colors then?

And in that split second—how would we experience reality before it all shifts?

Exactly. That fleeting moment, that millisecond of existence. What would we see right before we pass away because we can’t survive in this new environment?

In your statement, you mentioned tactile applications and manipulating negatives to simulate atmospheric differences and parallel aesthetics and realities. Can you explain your process?

I use different methods to alter my negatives. I don’t know how to explain it in a simple way—maybe it’s boring to talk about—but essentially, I experiment.

I take a medium-format negative, soak it in a distilled water bath, and add chemicals. I mix in reds and other colors because, no matter how much you try in Photoshop, you’ll never get it right. There’s always a raw quality missing.

I drip the chemicals—drop by drop—and wait. Sometimes for two minutes, sometimes six hours. I document each stage and pick the one that feels right. I might add cyan tones to intensify the reds. Each effect I add will be inverted.

And there’s that element of chance, right?

Totally! You can’t plan everything. The moment you can plan it, it stops being art—it just becomes a process or craftsmanship.

You’ve mentioned your fascination with destruction and transformation. How does that manifest in your photography, motion projects, and sound collaborations?

Creation and destruction go hand in hand. I take that very literally—I destroy my negatives. I’m not one of those photographers who handle their negatives with pristine care.

Yeah, no smoking near the negatives!

Arcin: [Laughs] Exactly! But I touch mine. Of course, I won’t right after putting moisturizer on my hands, but in general, I don’t mind. Being open to destruction opens up a whole new world of lucky accidents. Entropy!

When it comes to sound, I don’t make music—I record noises. I use my iPhone to capture sounds in raw form. The iPhone’s limitations actually make the recordings sound more analog, more textured.

So you embrace unpredictability?

Absolutely. That’s the beauty of it—letting go. It’s like being a freelancer. You have to trust that things will work out.

By manually reworking your photographs during the analog scan and printing process, you create images that feel both ancient and digitally rendered. Can you talk about the significance of this aesthetic?

We all grew up with images from history—whether colonial artifacts or early scientific photographs. I didn’t set out to make my work look “old,” but those references are in my subconscious.

I was never into fiction or novels. I preferred scientific or historical texts—something I could learn from. So, when I create images, I naturally draw from that knowledge.

That said, I don’t care about proving that my work is analog. I shoot everything on film, but I don’t feel the need to show it off. Photography is a tool, not the end goal. The magic isn’t in the medium—it’s in how you use it.

It’s funny how digital tools are always trying to mimic analog aesthetics.

Yeah, and it can get boring! Maybe not for you and me, but for many people. That’s why photography struggles to be recognized in major museums—it’s often too technical. But it doesn’t have to be.

In pushing the boundaries of photography, what new possibilities have you discovered?

I don’t know if it’s about “pushing boundaries.” We always try to reinvent the wheel, and maybe we won’t succeed—but in trying, we discover other things.

I use photography to materialize something I feel deeply—something I can’t express in words. And when photography’s limits become apparent, I push past them. Maybe by manipulating negatives. Maybe by destroying them.

As an interdisciplinary artist, can you tell us more about your work in motion and sound?

Yeah! I’ve worked on projects like 111 and other collaborations with artists—single-shot video works.

I love conceptual filmmaking. Remember early Radiohead videos? The ones that made you think, “How did they do that?” Like the camera flying through narrow streets, weaving in and out—it’s mesmerizing.

I also love intensifying still moments. A single photograph is limited—it’s one moment in time. But video allows you to extend that moment, to heighten its intensity. When you pair that with sound, it becomes something else entirely.

What do you have planned for 2025?

There are many exciting projects coming up in 2025, including two book publications. Stay tuned! (Post Human)

Where can we find you online?

You can find me here: arcinsagdic.com & @arcinsagdic