My father passed away when I was three years old. Because of losing childhood memory, I don’t have any first hand pictures of him. I only had the frames - I got to know him through photographs. And to me, taking photographs was always a way of keeping him alive. He was my childhood hero in the stories. Then with the passing of time, I came to realize that my Mom was the real hero. Canan. That’s her name. In Turkish, ‘can' means life, and ‘canan' means beloved. After my father saw my mother for the first time, he used this exact phrase: ‘Ya can, ya Canan’. Meaning 'either I’ll be with her, -or I will die’. Two years ago, I had my father's camera repaired and began using it to photograph Canan, and our relationship. Photographing my mother with my father’s faulty old analog camera has enabled me to see Mom as the living hero that she is, with all her flaws and vulnerabilities. Through “Can’an” I have been seeing that reality does not exist without imperfection and flaws.