Inside the building, vases, teacups, saucers and other crockery lay jolted from their places in cabinets and shattered multicoloured glass and broken stone covered the floor among pieces of silverware, a candelabra and smashed wooden furniture.
Sincan walked through the store salvaging what he could: a portrait of his father, a cartoonish image of Albert Einstein with his tongue out; a faded copy of the Mona Lisa.
In one room, a wall collapsed on top of his collection of Turkish antique glassware.
"I saved a bit, the rest is under there and I don't think it's all broken. When we tidy up here a few more glasses will come out, God willing," he said with a toothy grin.
'WE'LL REBUILD'
The earthquake left many of the historic buildings in a city with a strong history of religious diversity in ruins - including churches dating back to antiquity and many of the city's old mosques.
The imams who used to make the Muslim call to prayer five times a day also left, Sincan said, prompting him to take on the sacred task himself.
"I'm not hearing the calls for the prayers. I have been praying for 20 years, and so that hurt me," he said.
Several times a day, he climbs up the stairs of his building onto a patio perched above the street and, in a loud voice, calls believers to pray.
"It is a matter of honour for Turks. We say that the flag doesn't go down and the Adhans (call to prayer) don't stop," he said.
A man who has made a living from old things, Sincan said he took a historical view of the earthquake's devastation.