issue 41|chasing wonder, reflected

Here she comes: the end of summer, bringing a certain sadness. Like the song—yes, exactly like that. I love that song.

I got that summertime, summertime sadness
Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh, oh

I love it when Lana Del Rey sings it. It moves me deeply when Patti Smith covers it in memory of her late husband during her concerts—a moment I adored experiencing with my teenage niece last summer. Time really does fly; she just turned sixteen.

I have Lana Del Rey’s voice on repeat as I write this issue of the attention span.

I’m feeling electric tonight.

I wanted to write a lengthy essay about the recent SAIL event in Amsterdam—a monumental gathering that takes place every five years, bringing together hundreds of tall ships, historic vessels, and maritime enthusiasts from around the world. In the essay, I hoped to link my love for tall ships and the ocean with a dreamscape of escape and departure, as well as with the collective pain carried by maritime history. I wanted to write about the wounds woven into all our histories, and about how we search for beauty in a broken world—how violence and beauty coexist in that fragile space.

But then summertime sadness arrived, carried by shifting winds: warmth fading into chill. We’ve reached that moment when you wrap a scarf around your neck yet still insist on one last ice cream of the season, holding onto the hope of one more outdoor swim before it all disappears. For me, it always brings a deep melancholy. The essay on decolonising SAIL will have to wait…

Photographer Nana Kofi Acquah says in this wonderful and urgent episode of the Photography Ethics Podcast that every photograph is a self-portrait. I’ve always sensed this, though I’d never heard it spoken aloud until now. The idea carries many layers: to see yourself reflected in others, in a landscape, in the fragments of a collective memory inscribed upon public space. It is the quiet wish to merge with what you witness—to dissolve, to escape, to surrender. Each image is a search, uncovering another facet of yourself in the fleeting gesture of a stranger, in a moment that will never occur again, not quite the same.

That is also how one’s values and ethics are ingrained in one’s artistic practice, something Nana Kofi Acquah dives deeper into throughout this episode as he speaks about the complexities of what consent means in photography.

My love for photography grows every day. Even though I explore other art forms—writing, printing, collage, and painting—photography remains my favourite medium because it is where I feel the deepest connection to the world, and to moments in which I recognize myself. In every photograph, I feel as though I am chasing a version of myself: real, imagined, longed for, or forgotten.

I switched off the repeat button, and Summertime Sadness gave way to This Is What Makes Us Girls. Somehow, it fits the photographs I’ve chosen to share with you. None of this was planned—there’s a kind of magic in that. Maybe this is how we write fiction.

Do you also move through life with music in your ears, creating films in your head? I think every time we set a soundtrack to our lives, we’re doing more than just brightening the ordinary—we’re weaving connections with the world through the imaginaries we create. We uncover the stories left untold; we seek beauty where ugliness abounds. I don’t believe you need to be extraordinary—or a poet—to feel these things. We are all capable of wonder. Only the depths of our wounds and our loves differ.

This is what makes us girls
we all look for heaven, and we put love first.

Yet the “love” Lana sings about actually contradicts the point I want to make (especially when she later adds, “We don’t stick together ’cause we put love first”). Still, much like with religion, our experience of art is selective: we take from it whatever resonates most with us.

I hope you will forgive me if these summertime sadness musings have taken the place of a well-crafted essay. From my melancholic heart to yours, this is all I have to offer today.

Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That, baby, you the best

A FEW THINGS THAT MAKE ME THINK AND FEEL…

• I recently read In the Rhododendrons: A Memoir with Appearances by Virginia Woolf by Heather Christie. It is a superb book (with a beautiful cover), part memoir, part biography of Woolf, and part meditation on the things we cannot change and the ways we might transform—if we dare. Christie’s voice moved me deeply, and the fact that part of the book unfolds in Kew Gardens and Richmond, where I spent a weekend this summer, created an unexpected bond between my own experience and the narrative. The book is also a gem because it critiques, with intelligence and clarity, both the historical and cultural context of the UK and Virginia Woolf herself. Christie does not shy away from offering sharp insights into the violence of colonialism and into Woolf’s own deeply ingrained colonial, antisemitic, and racist attitudes.

• I came across the work of Magdalena Abakanowicz by chance this summer while visiting the Noordbrabants Museum in Den Bosch, where her monumental textile sculptures were on display. The exhibition was part of a three-part event across Brabant: the second at the Textile Museum in Tilburg, and the third a rare opportunity to see Bois Le Duc—a permanent installation she created in the 1970s for the Municipality of Den Bosch, normally closed to the public. Born in 1930 in Poland, Abakanowicz came of age during the Second World War. Despite the constraints of living under a Communist regime, she built an international career, and today her work is held in numerous public and private collections worldwide. I invite you to watch this video on the Tate Modern website and discover her spectacular “Abakans”. 

• On 12 August 2025, Anoushka Shankar returned to the BBC Proms at Royal Albert Hall to present the world premiere of her full Chapters trilogy with the London Contemporary Orchestra, conducted by Robert Ames. The performance was broadcast on BBC Radio 3. I feel lucky that, for some magical reason, I can still access the BBC Sounds app and listen to all the programmes—perhaps because I re-downloaded it while in London at the end of July, though it’s sadly no longer available overseas. Luckily, the album is available on streaming platforms. Let yourself sink into Shankar’s soundscape: it is superb and soothing.

ABOUT + SUPPORT

Canan Marasligil (she/they) is a writer, literary translator and artist based in Amsterdam. She established the attention span website and its newsletter to publish their work independently: making the time to reflect, analyse and imagine.

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