I took a white paper and put it in front of me. As if I decided to make a big sketch at the end. As if it will never finish. I had a tick, 6B sketch pencil in my hand, like good old days. The paper was empty and there was nothing first. It was really very difficult to draw something for the memory of my Master. Even to put a mark was a challange. And time came, I began to draw by going back and front retrospectively with the words. In the end, I traveled with him over the years. The memories and moments lined up in a row in the foggy past. What have I learned, what have we learned from him! Was it ‘art’ or ‘architecture’ which we learned in a legendary temple, a school called Fine Arts Academy of ‹stanbul. Yes we did, both. But it was more than that, far more than that. Although the ‘hoca’ of every one of us was different, I am sure that through him we all have found some clues of the secrecy of the art of real architecture of life. That is what the sketch is intending to draw for our unforgetable teacher, a Mediterranaen and an ‹stanbulian Master, an architect, Muammmer Onat.