Murat Yıldız

Murat Yıldız rises each morning before the sun hidden by the lush hills of Trabzon, where he scrubs plates until his knuckles ache at the little diner on the edge of town. Raised in a stone house high above, Murat's ear is finely tuned to the symphony of bird calls that accompany his dawn walks down the steep paths. He obsesses over identifying wood by the color of its smoke, his hands always carrying the scent of soap and black tea as he navigates the precarious balance between preserving the diner and providing for home.