Under Pink
Returning without a plan, Kıvılcım S Güngörün arrives in Koh Phangan, a place that feels both distant and familiar. Nights unfold on a motorbike, days repeat themselves, and the island begins to settle in.
Rather than documenting events, she observes atmosphere. Streets that shift in the absence of people. Some places draw her in, others are left for daylight.
The photojournal unfolds through short texts written by the photographer, each accompanying a group of images. Together, they trace an unexplainable pull, a stay that extends, and a place that becomes harder to leave.
A photojournal by Kıvılcım S Güngörün
I return to Koh Phangan after years. I wasn’t planning to be there, but suddenly I am, and everything feels a bit dark and empty. With that feeling, I ride a motorbike at night, mostly at night, circling the island again and again.
I like the darkness. It makes the lights feel more vivid than they are. Maybe it works the other way too. The darkness feels wider.
Some places have more character at night. Spots that feel dull during the day become strangely attractive under those lights.
The emptiness, the absence of people, makes some streets more photographable. Still, I can’t pass without leaving a trace on the image. And there’s a taste I’ve been missing. The inside of my water, and a bit of palm.
One of the most interesting things about the island is how little swimmable shoreline it has. The sea stays shallow as far as you can walk. Because of that, fishing boats anchor in certain areas more often. My favorite bay is Chaloklum, partly for its depth, and for the fishing boats too.
In the places I go, I find myself visiting certain trees. This one is said to be very old. Some say 6000 years, some say 600. The number doesn’t really matter. I go stand next to it, and you can feel it anyway. In its thickness, its height, and the way it pulls me in. There are some places I don’t go to at night. The oldest trees around are maybe among the few things I prefer to see only in daylight.
I’m there during the rainy season. I like the rain in Asia. The air is warm, and getting soaked is not really a problem, even though you still try not to get wet. Riding a motorbike in the rain is slightly nerve-wracking, but you do it anyway. The rain becomes part of the day. Mud, humidity. It all feels kind of okay when the air is warm.
Winter rain is better from the inside. Monsoon is better from within.
The air is humid and warm during this time. Not unbearable for me at all, just a different kind of seasonal experience, separate from the four we know. I really like it. I even like how it makes my hair more wavy. The difficult part is shooting in the street. The balance between the camera and the rain cover becomes important, and somehow the cameras still take damage. When it rains, I usually can’t shoot.
But at least it’s tropical air.
The island’s warmth somehow feels good to me. I stay for more than fifty days, and leaving this place, never part of my plan, becomes harder with each passing day. While my night rides continue almost every evening, during the day I circle the same places again and again, gathering small bits of information.
According to local rumors, the island rests on a massive pink quartz stone. It’s believed that this natural stone heals you, makes you feel better, shifts you in a positive way. Because of that, anyone who comes to the island once ends up returning a second time. The island pulls you back, almost without you knowing. Maybe a bit like me. Unplanned, staying longer than expected, under the influence of quartz.
And then, everything: just pink
