Istanbul is a city that looks back at you. As I walked through its streets, I began to notice how often the eye appeared. On doorways. In tiled ceilings. Hanging from shop walls. Resting in the palm of a jeweller’s hand. The Nazar Boncuğu was everywhere, watching quietly, offering protection without noise.

What stayed with me was not only the symbol, but the feeling behind it. The eye looks outward, but it also turns inward. It protects, but it also asks you to notice where you are and what you carry with you.

That feeling became stronger inside the mosque spaces, especially in the quiet beauty of the Rüstem Pasha Mosque. The blue and grey İznik tiles did not feel like decoration. They felt like structure. Eyes, stars and geometric rhythms moved across the walls with a calm, repeating strength. The blues changed with the light, sometimes deep and solemn, sometimes sharp and electric. Grey softened the pattern, like time settling into the surface.

Those tiles stayed with me long after I left Istanbul. Not as a picture, but as a way of thinking. When I returned home and picked up my yarn, I knew this jacket could not be plain or straight. It had to grow like a mosaic. Piece by piece. Motif by motif. I chose cobalt blue, navy and grey: blue for light and insight, navy for depth and memory, grey for endurance.

The jacket began with two large hexagon shapes, worked separately and then joined to form the body. Around them, I placed square motifs like fragments of tilework. Some hold floral centres; others feel more geometric. Together, they create rhythm without becoming too loud.

The wavy neckline reminds me of the Bosphorus, moving softly between two shores. The handmade eye tie at the front became the final detail, a small talisman holding the meaning of the whole piece.

Nalani – Amina’s Eye Jacket is not just something to wear. It is a quiet sentinel. An eye turned toward the past, stitched carefully for the future.