Throughout its history, Antakya was a meeting place of cultures, beliefs and trade routes, as well as a centre of traditional crafts. During a visit in 2010, I photographed the making of silk, from the cocoon to the woven fabric. Two years later, in 2012, I entered a small weaving workshop in the city. Although the materials and working environments were different, both encounters revealed a tradition rooted in human labour and skills acquired over many years.
The silk-making process I observed in 2010 began with cocoons being heated in vats of hot water. The fine silk fibres obtained from the softened cocoons were drawn out and prepared as thread by experienced local women using traditional methods. It was fascinating to watch these seemingly fragile fibres become threads ready for weaving through a process requiring patience and skill. The women's experience, attention and dexterity were essential to this delicate stage. The prepared silk threads were then woven into fabric on traditional wooden looms.
The work did not end when the weaving was finished. Once again, women's labour came to the fore. Experienced women carefully examined the silk scarves and shawls one by one, checking for flaws in the weaving and preparing the fringes at their ends. Their attention to the fabric, its threads and the quality of the finishing work was essential in bringing each piece to completion. From preparing the silk thread to inspecting the finished textiles, women's work was an integral part of traditional silk production. I wanted my photographs to record not only the tools and techniques, but also this labour, which is not always as visible as the finished product.
The small workshop I encountered in central Antakya in 2012 offered a very different setting. Here, a craftsman was weaving elegant shawl-like textiles from threads other than silk. The workshop was modest. A wooden loom occupying much of the room, rows of parallel threads and a few simple tools made up his working world. I photographed the weaver at his loom, checking the threads as the cloth gradually took shape. I was especially drawn to the contrast between the loom's intricate arrangement of threads and the craftsman's calm, practised movements.
Looking at these photographs today, I cannot help thinking of the devastation caused by the earthquakes of 6 February 2023 in Antakya. I do not know what became of the craftspeople, the women involved in production or the workshops I photographed. What is certain is that the city's everyday life, small places of work and traditional craft communities were profoundly affected alongside its buildings. Photographs I once made simply to document people at work and their skills have acquired another meaning over time. They remain in my archive as visual testimonies to Antakya's craft traditions, the shared labour of women and men, and the city's everyday life.