You could say that a Byzantine Studies Research Center at Boğaziçi University has been a long time in the making. Alexander Van Millingen (1814–195), one of the first professors at Robert College, was a renowned scholar of Byzantine Constantinople and well known for his 1899 book Byzantine Constantinople: The Walls of the City and Adjoining Historical Sites. In his will, Van Millingen instructed that his entire collection of books be given to Boğaziçi’s library – these volumes were the cornerstone of what would become one of the best university libraries in Turkey.

Prof Dr Gülay Barbarosoğlu, the rector of Boğaziçi University, told us this story at the official opening ceremony of the centre – the first of its kind to be attached to a public university in Turkey – on November 24. Sitting as we were in Van Millingen Hall, in what was formerly the reading room of the library and now the rector’s conference hall, the ties between Boğaziçi and Byzantine studies were as clear as the Bosphorus.

Prof Dr Nevra Necipoğlu speaking at the opening

Next came the director of the centre, and a leading scholar of Byzantium, Prof Dr Nevra Necipoğlu, sister of the Ottoman architectural historan Gülru, who wrote what ten years on remains the book on Sinan. She took to the podium to introduce the centre in more detail and welcome two illustrious speakers who would be presenting their research. Practically beaming, she emphasised how ‘incredibly exciting’ this moment was for her, as something that she and many others had worked on for quite some time. She explained how the study of this period, with its vibrant political, cultural and religious life, had become an integral part of the Boğaziçi curriculum. The university also contributed to the advancement of Byzantine studies within Istanbul through the organisation of major conferences, such as the one on the monuments, topography and everyday life of Byzantine Constantinople held in April 1999. In her eyes, this was an important juncture demonstrating Boğaziçi’s serious engagement with the field.

The poster from the 1999 conference organised by Boğaziçi University

According to Necipoğlu, the centre’s aims are manifold – to contribute to the development of Byzantine studies, preserve Turkey’s Byzantine heritage, provide direct access to material remains of the Byzantine civilisation, and foster joint studies with other universities (incidentally, Koç University had opened a centre for Late Antique and Byzantine studies only two weeks earlier). There will also be a focus on the medieval Balkans and the early Ottoman Empire, more specifically the transition from the Byzantine Empire to the Ottoman Empire. In this undertaking, the centre will be bolstered by Boğaziçi’s other faculties, in particular its well-regarded department of history.

Support for the centre was evident not just from the crowds that packed the conference hall to its rafters, but also from the many prominent academics who championed this venture. Necipoğlu paid tribute to two scholars who would have been only too happy to see the centre finally open: Prof Angeliki Laiou, her PhD advisor at Harvard University who inspired and mentored an entire generation of Byzantine scholars before passing away in 2008, and Prof Vangelis Kechriotis, a beloved professor of history at Boğaziçi and a member of the centre’s advisory board, who died in August.

Theodore II Laskaris, Emperor of Nicaea, from the History of George Pachymeres

She then handed over the podium to two respected scholars. Prof Dimiter Angelov of Harvard University – whose great-grandmother attended Robert College – gave a lecture on the 13th-century Byzantine emperor Theodore II Laskaris and what his writings show us about the political and socio-economic realities in the aftermath of the Fourth Crusade, Laskaris’s activities as Emperor of Nicaea and his search for identity in Anatolia. Next came Prof Maria Mavroudi, currently at UC Berkeley, who gave a nuanced analysis of Byzantine philosophy and science at the court of Mehmed the Conqueror, with a particular focus on the various historiographical approaches to the intellectual achievements of the Byzantines and the Ottomans.

With these initial talks, which illuminated the depth and range of recent scholarship on the Byzantine Empire, the centre is off to a good start. As Necipoğlu stated, ‘There’s no reason why Istanbul should not fulfil its predestined role to be a preeminent centre for Byzantine studies.’ The same could be said for all other areas of academia that are closely linked with Istanbul – there are numerous aspects of both its history and environs that are neglected or deserve special consideration. For the moment, however, we applaud this development and look forward to seeing what it brings to the study of Byzantium.

The first three images were provided by Boğaziçi University.

My favourite bassline is, without a doubt, from Jackson 5’s hit song ‘I Want You Back’. It’s a playful, melodic and funky beat that does more than just ground the song – it makes it memorable. Listening to ‘I Want You Back’ on repeat as a kid, I learned for the first time how a bass could be the star and not just the supportive sidekick. Forget Michael Jackson’s smooth vocals, it was the deep, powerful bassline that got stuck in my head for days, randomly popping up when I was least expecting it.

The same could be said for Thundercat, the alter-ego of bassist and singer-songwriter Stephen Bruner, who played at Salon IKSV on Tuesday night. He takes the bass out of the shadow of backstage and thrusts it into the spotlight, where it leads songs that are equal parts psychedelic funk, jazz improvisation, soul and delicate vocals.

The show began on time, as concerts at Salon IKSV often do – a godsend on weeknights. Bruner, who was joined onstage by Dennis Hamm on piano and Justin Brown on drums, kicked off the evening with ‘Song for the Dead’ from his latest mini-album, The Beyond / Where the Giants Roam. What sounds ethereal on the recorded track was filled out in this live performance. Bruner still sang in a robust falsetto, with Hamm harmonising, but the addition of drums, which Brown played with a ferocity that left his notes sounding like gunshots, amplified the number. I felt like I was watching a jazz group go full tilt, and it was only the first song.

He moved next to ‘Tron Song’, from his album Apocalypse (2013), which features more fast-paced and straightforward tracks. The number opened and closed with Bruner’s mesmerising vocals, but the middle of this track was dominated by his nimble and speedy bass playing – as were almost all of the evening’s songs. His six-string bass, a custom instrument with a maple neck and body, produced a bright tone and allowed him to play a much wider range of chords than one would normally expect from a standard four-string bass. For the funkier parts, he would use a filter and envelope (most likely a Moogerfooger of some kind) to create synth-like sounds.

As the evening progressed, the crowd seemed to recognise more of the songs and sang along more fervently (admittedly liquid courage could have played a role as well) – the woman next to me practically propelled herself forward as she belted out the lyrics of ‘Complexion’, a Kendrick Lamar song that Bruner covered (Bruner was a major contributor to Kendrick Lamar’s 2015 rap album To Pimp a Butterfly, which recently garnered Lamar 11 Grammy nominations). The bass and drums combined to create a heavy, dark sound that felt more like a wake-up call than a descent into gloom.

The best moments, though, were when Bruner and his bandmates would ‘break’, so to speak. At the end of ‘Them Changes’ – by far his most funkadelic song – Bruner broke into giggles as he sang the last bit of solo vocals, the calming falsetto that seemed to end most songs. Similarly ‘Lotus and the Jondy’ began with a burst of Bruner’s surprised laughter, and during the song Hamm, Brown and Bruner seemed to delight in each other’s musical decisions, almost as though they were pushing the musical limits to get a reaction – a widening of the eyes, a mischievous smile – from the others.

It was times like these that made me feel like I was at a jazz concert. The almost imperceptible nods and signals jazz artists give one another when one soloist takes over from another or the song enters a new phase. But I wouldn’t describe it as a jazz show. Yes, there was comping at times, during which the soloist would kill it while the other two had his back. More often than not, though, each member of the band would play around one another, creating a nuanced, playful and layered composition that continually surprised as it concocted new mixtures of funk and jazz.

Yet despite the spontaneity within the songs themselves, the overall arch of each number seemed to follow a similar pattern – soft vocals, instrumental build-up with various solos, soft vocals. This repetition became a bit tiresome by the end of the show. And even though the last song before the encore – ‘Oh Sheit, It’s X!’ – perfectly captured the excitement of the room, the encore itself was a bit flat. I imagine they were trying to slow things down, but the last few songs paled in comparison to the jubilant funk numbers that preceded them.

Whatever gripes I had, they quickly faded. And Bruner’s bass has stayed with me. I even found myself singing the opening bassline for ‘Them Changes’ as I was making breakfast this morning (though it hasn’t replaced ‘I Want You Back’ as my favourite bassline – at least not yet). Bruner’s live show at Salon revived my love for the bass and demonstrated how this oft-neglected instrument can lead the way in exploring what lies beyond the boundaries of jazz and funk.

All photos provided by Salon IKSV.

If you missed YapıKredi’s exhibition, Işte Benim Zeki Muren last year, spare a few minutes for this small show at Mimar Sinan University about the non-musical offereings of Turkey’s Liberace. As well as a rare chance to get inside the marble halls of Zeki Muren’s alma mater on the Bosphorus, where he studied decorative arts from 1950 to 53, the exhibition offers an introduction to Zeki Muren’s less flamboyant side (it’s all relative) as a textile designer.

Zeki Muren famously designed his own costumes – some so heavy with sequins that he sometimes performed encores in a dressing gown – and a small selection is displayed here. The main interest of the show, however, are the water colour cartoons of textile designs that Muren made while a student and later. The later designs are abstract, while others beg to be turned into elegant curtains; all, however, are joyful and optimistic, with a canny use of colour. In the middle of the room is a rare example of a signed Zeki Muren carpet, adapted from a textile design.

Zeki Muren left his worldly possessions to the TEV (Turk Egitim Vakfi) and the Mehmetçik Vakfı (Foundation for Disabled Veterans and Families of the Martyrs), and the YapiKredi show came about after trunk upon trunk of photographs and designs were discovered in a basement of a building in Istanbul. Someone should turn these designs into wallpaper or textiles and
make sure that Zeki Muren’s artistic talents do not get forgotten again.

The exhibition runs from Dec 6-21 in the Mimar Sinan University Findikli Campus, in the garden and in the Osman Hamdi Bey Salonu.

Artists, it’s time to flex your proposal-writing skills – applications for the Moon and Stars Project winter grants are due on January 31. Founded by The American Turkish Society in 2002, the Moon and Stars Project highlights and supports the best of Turkish arts and culture in the United States, and their grants programme is an important part of this undertaking.  

The Moon and Stars Project grants, awarded biannually, aim to encourage the development of Turkey-related art by offering project and residency grants for burgeoning and established artists. There is no pre-determined amount for each grant; rather the funds awarded to each project are determined by its scope, the availability of total funds and the number of projects selected.

Past projects include the translation of Sait Faik Abasıyanık’s short stories by Archipelago Books, a non-profit press devoted to contemporary and classic world literature. Roger Norman reviewed the final product, a book entitled A Useless Man featuring selected stories translated by Maureen Freely and Alexander Dawe, in issue 53 – an appropriate inclusion for an issue dedicated to the Princes Islands considering that Sait Faik spent most of his short life (1908–54) on Burgazada.

There are some parameters that applicants should keep in mind. Residency grants are awarded only to projects under the auspices of an arts and culture organisation in Turkey or the United States. Applicants are required to include a letter of invitation from the relevant institution(s). Grant recipients are asked to provide a report upon completion of the programme containing visuals and detailed works about the project, and to recognise the American Turkish Society in all written material related to the programme. Finally, due to limited resources, funding for film production, education programs, attendance of biennials and field/research trips is not offered. Project grants in support of travel and accommodation costs are extended only to projects which will be exhibited in the United States.

In order to apply, please submit a completed application (download here), a covering letter detailing the funding request, supporting materials (eg music, literature, scripts, etc), a CV (artists only) and visuals of past projects (if applicable) to grants@maspny.org. Any supporting material not suitable for electronic format can be mailed to Moon and Stars Project / The American Turkish Society, 54 W 40th St, New York, NY 10018.

If you are in Istanbul this December and would like to see the Moon and Stars Project in action, Mixer Karaköy will host the Young Photographer Award 2015 exhibition from December 22 to January 8. This prize, established and funded by a generous donation from Haluk Soykan, has been awarded annually since 2010 by The American Turkish Society.

What is a painter without paint or a brush? The ZERO: Countdown to the Future exhibition at the Sakıp Sabancı Museum more or less answers that question: a member of the ZERO art group, a network of avant-garde artists who wanted to wipe the slate clean in the post-war period and make a fresh start when it came to the creation of art. This large-scale exhibition, which ends on January 10, demonstrates how the ZERO artists replaced traditional painting with works that explored and emphasised the materials used to make art, including light, movement, space and colour.

The ZERO art group was formed by Heinz Mack and Otto Piene in 1957, with Günther Uecker – the third core member – joining in 1961. Recent graduates of the Düsseldorf Academy of Arts, Mack and Piene were tired of the destruction that resulted from the Second World War and the dreary years that followed. According to Piene, the title ZERO was not viewed ‘as an expression of nihilism – or a Dada-like gag, but as a word indicating a zone of silence and of pure possibilities for a new beginning as at the countdown when rockets take off’. There was neither strict membership requirements nor any definite national organisation, which allowed ZERO to expand into a bona-fide international artist network until 1966, when Mack formally disbanded the group. 

The first room of the exhibition featuring work by Lucio Fontana

The exhibition at the Sabancı Museum is one in a series of global shows organised by the ZERO Foundation at such museums as the Guggenheim in New York, Berlin's Martin-Gropius-Bau and Amsterdam's Stedelijk Museum. The works are displayed according to theme, and generally grouped together with other pieces by the same artist – Mack, Piene and Uecker feature heavily, with a few other ZERO artists like Yves Klein and Piero Manzoni making an appearance.

Yves Klein, ‘Pure Pigment (PIG 1)’, recreation of 1957 work, dry, powdered ultramarine blue pigment

The first theme that hits you right over the head as you enter the exhibition is ‘colour’. The recreation of Yves Klein’s 1957 work ‘Pure Pigment (PIG 1)’ demonstrates the incredible power of monochrome. A large section of the floor is covered in powdered ultramarine blue pigment in a way that emphasises the material itself and the surface it creates. Unburdened by figurative elements, the viewer is free to consider her own perception fully. Overall the piece is bursting with joy – it left me feeling euphoric and with a bounce in my step.

Another theme is ‘vibration’, which was the focus of the eighth evening exhibition that Mack and Piene organised in their studio in Düsseldorf in 1958 and seems to permeate almost all of the works on display. The ZERO artists viewed this concept of visual movement as antithetical to the static surface of traditional painting. The aim was to create works that seemed to be set in motion, which in turn would invite the audience to participate in an interactive experience where they had to confront their own perception.

Heinz Mack, ‘White Rotor’, 1958, wood, corrugated glass, paper and electricity

This movement is not only illusory – some of the works are powered by motors. The way in which paper shapes slowly circulate behind corrugated glass in Heinz Mack’s ‘White Rotor’ (1958) is mesmerising. The motor – hardly perceptible – adds a theatrical element to the work.

Günther Uecker, ‘White Object’, 1961, nails on canvas on wood, sprayed

Günther Uecker’s 1961 work ‘White Object’, a canvas full of nails at different intervals and angles, also exudes the sensation of movement and vibration. Although it is non-motorized, the piece seems to be set in motion and changes continuously from different viewpoints and under different lighting. It’s unclear where the nails end and their shadows begin.

Heinz Mack, ‘The Sky Over Nine Columns’, 2012–14, 850,000 tessarae (mosaic stones, 24-carat gold leaf) on a construction of composite and platform in steel

The vibration in Uecker’s piece is contingent upon light. The ZERO artists viewed light as a symbol of energy and innovation, as well as the ideal material for creating art – its abstract and evanescent nature symbolised a break from the inertia of traditional art. Their works incorporate the dynamism of light and reflection as a means to transform the viewer into an active participant. This interest in light as a material is made crystal clear before the viewer even steps foot in the museum – Mack’s towering sculptures dominate the mansion’s courtyard and glitter with 24-carat gold leaf that comes alive in both sunlight and lamplight. 

In the museum, the section focused on ‘light’ is dominated by Otto Piene’s works, many of which utilise smoke (soot) to create hazy grey and black forms against a light background. My favourite is ‘Fireflower’ (1965) one of Piene’s fire paintings (main featured image). In these later works, Piene applied a layer of solvent to pigmented paper and then proceeded to burn it, creating images in the residual soot. He pierces the darkness with light, and creates dynamic and organic structures that bring a breath of life to the work.

Otto Piene: ‘Black Light Ballet Drum’, 1967; ‘Light Disc’, 1963–86; ‘Light Ball’, 1971–72; ‘Light Cylinder’, 1975–90

Although Piene is best known for these fire and soot pieces, his light ballet was the more compelling piece even though it utilised light in the most literal sense. Composed of four motorised light-based sculptures, the work occupies its own room at the museum. The sculptures create delicate moving creatures on the dark walls and ceiling that improbably change size and shape. The play of light is engrossing and encourages participation, whereas some of the fire and soot works feel more remote and inaccessible.

Heinz Mack, ‘Rotor for Lightcurtain’, 1967, aluminium, wood and plexiglass

The concept of light extends beyond Piene’s work and includes Mack’s ‘Lightcurtain’ series. Also incorporating a motor, his ‘Rotor for Lightcurtain’ piece creates a moving shadow consisting of aluminium, wood and plexiglass. It shimmers in an indistinct manner that forces the viewer to confront the pictorial surface. The various layers, when taken together, form an object that visualises the movement of light. 

Günther Uecker, ‘Everything Flows’, 1972, nails, wood and nettlecloth on wood

The bottom floor of the museum is largely dedicated to ‘space’ and Uecker’s exploration of spatiality using nails, an artistic idiom that he discovered during his days as a painter. According to an exhibition plaque, Uecker describes the nail as a material ‘which imposed itself on the space in which we live, and which enabled the reality of that space to express itself through light and shadows’. This intrusion into space is best seen in his work ‘Everything Flows’, where large nails jut out from a piece of wood in a way that manages to be both menacing and delicate.

The exhibition ended in the same way it began – with works by Lucio Fontana. A generation older than the other ZERO artists, Fontana was a father figure of sorts to the group, providing them with inspiration. Not only do his pieces and accompanying quotes bookend the show, but they also ground the exhibition and supply the context necessary to understand the development of the ZERO movement.

Lucio Fontana, ‘Concetto Spaziale’ (‘Spatial Concept’), 1957–8, incisions on paper canvas

Fontana cites his biggest discovery as ‘the hole’, by which he means ‘going outside the limitations of a picture frame and being free in one’s conception of art’. By slashing and perforating the surfaces of different materials, he rejects traditional art and literally looks behind the canvas to find what is hidden there. Like many of the works on display, they can at first appear bewildering – it’s true that the sharp outlines of art are being blurred. But this exhibition demonstrates how ZERO artists approached these new beginnings with careful consideration and inexhaustible creativity, creating art that ultimately enlightens our sense perception by challenging it.

Sometimes a burst of colour can go a long way in lifting your spirits, especially during the bleak midwinter. So if the short days and overcast skies are bringing on the winter blues, it will do you some good to visit this year’s Young Photographers Award exhibition at Mixer in Karaköy. The small show, which opened last week, emphasises polychrome photography in all its splendour.

Organised annually by The American Turkish Society, the competition draws some of the best photography students in Turkey. Previous years’ entries have captured the unease and sorrow underlying the rapid modernisation and urban renewal in Turkey, often in monochrome. Yet these subjects are generally absent from this year’s crop of photographs, which are more focused on the human form, as well as abstract images. 

Murat Kahya, the winner of the 2015 competition, has chosen a subject that is miles away – both literally and figuratively – from Turkey. For his project ‘New Americana’, Kahya travelled thousands of miles by car across the American Southwest to photograph the colourful landscape that serves as the backdrop for the ‘American dream’.

In these bright images (above and main featured image) he captures a land that vibrates with possibility even as it stands still and empty. ‘These photos bring the viewer to the world of the “American dream”, frequently imposed upon us in movies, magazines, books and all kinds of media,’ explains Kayha in an artist’s statement. ‘I explore the underlying reality of this dream by showing the U.S. with its movie-set like decors, but without its stagers.’ Kayha wanted to discover and document the American way of life that he had found through the works of Walker Evans, Stephen Shore, Joel Sternfeld and Robert Frank, whose photographs were displayed at the 2015 FotoIstanbul festival. 

Honourable mention Melih Aydemir also utilises colour photography to create vibrant and punchy compositions that imply both stillness and movement. In this carefully composed action shot, the viewer sees a hand without a body and a knife in mid-flight, heading toward a green house plant. The plain white background, the saturated colours and the shadows created by the direct lighting are reminiscent of recent trends in fashion photography.

Another honourable mention is Ümit Erdem, whose photographs document fishing at night. In the vein of Ara Güler, he explores the prosaic world of the everyday working man. In this instance, one of the men on the boat is caught at rest, framed by the wares of his trade – flourescent lights and fishing nets piled high – and the dark emptiness of the beyond.

Sinan Arslan’s work titled ‘Fragmentation’ shows body parts splayed out of a tiny tub. The two arms on either end of the tub are especially cheeky and draw your eyes up to the wayward hand and head sticking out of the pink shower curtain; the dismembered body, meanwhile, remains hidden, a horror that we are left to imagine.

In this photograph, Doğan Şahin captures a metal worker trying to control and tame a surging fire. The undulating flame, which dominates the image, almost takes on a figurative form – like a horse rearing up on its hind legs – as it asserts itself.

This shot, taken by Eda Emirdağ, is one of my favourites, mainly because of its play on perception and its trompe l’oeil effect. A pair of scissors, apparently being held under water in a pool, is in the centre of the photograph, but the way that the scissors intersect with the different layers of the water is what holds the eye – it creates a visual illusion that makes you question whether up is in fact down.

The exhibition, which is on display until January 8, 2016, features work from all the nominees, so there is much more to explore.

The last time that AyşeDeniz Gökçin came to our attention, she was adapting the music of Pink Floyd for the classical piano, with a nod to Franz Liszt (see ‘Magical Movements’, Cornucopia 50). Some of those Floyd songs dealt with serious subjects such as insanity and alienation, but now the young Turkish virtuoso has moved into even darker territory with her Nirvana Project.

The pianist uses the music of the American grunge band Nirvana to dramatise the final five years of the life of their singer and guitarist, Kurt Cobain, who shot himself in 1994 at the age of 27 – Gökçin’s own age when she launched this project. As you might expect, some of the music here is fairly bleak, but there are flashes of unexpected beauty when this graduate of the Royal Academy of Music channels the styles of composers such as Prokofiev and Rachmaninoff. Highlights include her sensitive renderings of the song ‘Heart Shaped Box’ and Nirvana’s signature hit, ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. And it’s exciting to wonder what on earth this ambitious musician will tackle next.

Nirvana Project is available digitally on iTunes  and on CD

Photograph by Charles Hopkinson

The people of countless nations across the world are connected by the wonderful, enduring tradition: coffee-drinking. For millions, this universal dark liquid is an everyday treat, a comfort and a stimulant – a tonic to slow the frantic pace of modern life for a few precious moments.

Turkish coffee had a rough ride in the last decades of the 20th century. Imports were prohibited for a time in the 1970s in a forlorn attempt to correct the trade deficit. And then there was the silly 1990s fad: the ‘concept restaurant’. If you weren’t sure you were in one, you asked the waiter for Turkish coffee and had your head bitten off: ‘Not here! Not part of the concept!’ Emporio Caffe Armani on Maçka Caddesi, in the beating heart of Istanbul café society, was a typical culprit. Happily those days are over. Turkish coffee has regained pride of place. It is almost worth joining the long queue outside Mehmet Kurukahveci’s irresistably chic 1930s coffee-roasting shop in the Spice Bazaar just to inhale the delicious smell. Even Caffe Armani now happily serves kahve in the İstinye Park shopping mall, sade, orta or şekerli.

Last year, the Topkapı celebrated the decorous palace art of drinking coffee. Tomorrow, a grittier exhibition about the story of coffee-drinking, Three Cities, One Coffee, opens in the coolly modern, subterranean Milli Reasürans Art Gallery. It runs until February 27 and by all accounts is not to be missed.

The exhibition focuses on the coffee-drinking customs of three great world cities.

Cairo…

Istanbul…

and Vienna.

Combining modern photography with choice excerpts from a wealth of history and literature, this exhibition explores the true story of the global passion for coffee.

Who discovered it, who brewed it for the first time, and who popularized it in different parts of the world? Is it true that an Ethiopian goat herder, a Yemeni dervish, and a Ukrainian nobleman were all responsible for bringing coffee into our lives? These are just a few of the questions that the exhibition addresses –  in Istanbul – as it reveals the colourful and surprising history one of the world’s favourite drinks.

Curated by Suna Altan, organised by the newly founded Mehmet Kurukahveci Cultural Centre, and featuring the perceptive photography of Manuel Çıtak, the show brings the cities of Cairo, Istanbul and Vienna together in a unique way to celebrate the joys of kahwa, kahve, Kaffee, or coffee.

The reclining woman’s light pink dress is disappearing before my eyes – the thick material of the ankle-length, long-sleeved dress becomes ever more pellucid until it is only an outline framing the woman’s naked figure.

In this video installation, the first work to greet you as you enter the Bare, Naked Nude exhibition at the Pera Museum, Özlem Şimşek offers a contemporary take on Halil Paşa’s 1894 painting Uzanan Kadın (unfortunately this painting could not displayed in the exhibition). Whereas the composition of Halil Paşa’s painting merely suggests a version of the ‘reclining nude’ pose – his subject is fully clothed after all – Şimşek’s video goes one step further by making the woman’s dress dissolve until she is, in fact, nude.

The story of the nude in Turkish art – how we went from Halil Paşa’s painting to Şimşek’s video installation – is the focus of this small but dynamic exhibition. By charting the evolution of nude painting from the late 19th century to the mid-20th century, during the transition from empire to republic, the exhibition definitively demonstrates how nudes became one of the foremost genres in Turkish art, joining the ranks of portraiture, landscape and still life. 

The representation of the naked human body is just that – a genre, as opposed to a subject. From its origins in ancient Greece, the nude became an important aspect of the Western European aesthetic and a primary educational tool through which artists learned anatomy and ratio. Live models were an indispensible resource: capturing their unlimited repertoire of poses and visual expressions allowed artists to develop the skills necessary for multi-figure compositions.

The first section of the exhibition explores this idea of the nude as an educational tool. Sketches of nude models by Turkish artists who studied at Sanayi-i Nefise Mektebi – the Academy of Fine Arts in Istanbul, established in 1882/83 – cover the wall and a faux eave.

Photograph courtesy of the Pera Museum Blog

The nook is reminiscent of a garret, and in this cosy, intimate space I felt as though I was wandering around a studio rather than a museum. The sketches range in date from early- to mid-20th century.

Mehmet Ruhi Bey, ‘Nü – Cormon Atolyesi’ (‘Nude – Cormon’s Studio’), 1912, pencil on paper, 62.5 x 47.5 cm, Esin Arel Tunalıgil Collection

There is a large number of male nudes. Mehmet Ruhi Bey’s sketch of a scowling man who looks ready to start a fight is a study in anatomy – no muscle or vein is overlooked. It is in the rendering of the model’s steadfast expression and wrinkled face, however, that Mehmet Ruhi Bey truly demonstrates his skill.

Nuri İyem, ‘Nü’ (‘Nude’), 1950, pencil on paper, 31.5 x 22 cm, Evin-Ümit İyem Collection

Fast-forwarding 40 years, Nuri İyem’s Nü (Nude) sketch is a cubist study of the female form. İyem plays with symmetry in a way that creates stark contrasts, while at the same time incorporating soft, feminine curves.

The cultural climate, specifically the public perception of nudity and the use of live models, differed greatly between when Mehmet Ruhi Bey made his sketch in 1912 (firmly in the midst of the Second Constitutional era) and when İyem’s sketch was completed in 1950 (more than 20 years after the founding of the Republic). While it was only marginally acceptable to use male live models in 1912, female live models were commonplace by 1950.

The story of Ottoman art’s engagement with this controversial genre, however, stretches even further back, to the mid-19th century. Although the first generation of artists sent to Paris in the 1860s – Osman Hamdi Bey, Süleyman Seyyid Bey and Halil Paşa, among others – made studies of live models there, it was understood that this subject matter would not be tolerated in Ottoman territory. Cultural motivations, described variously as tradition, custom, practice and virtue, lay claim to the public portrayal of bodies.

Nude postcards similar to the one above further blurred the lines between art and obscenity. This poscard is from a later date – 1907 – but they first entered the Ottoman Empire in the 1890s (Seyhun Binzet Collection)

The transformation of Ottoman visual culture in the 19th century, which ran parallel to the modernising Tanzimat reforms, had enough hurdles to overcome in the popularisation of Western-style painting and other art forms with which the public was unfamiliar. Thus the issue of the nude, which required stripping the naked human body of its sexuality, was always on the agenda for the next generation.

Starting in 1902, students at the Sanayi-i Nefise Mektebi began to use live models – men only, and often wrestlers – in their drawing and painting classes. These male models began to pose nude in 1906. Yet it was not enough for this generation of art students, who had learned of the presence of nude female models in European art schools and unsuccessfully lobbied the authorities for the chance to draw from live female models in the academy. The use of men as opposed to women may be understood as an obligation, not a preference. Some of the rare examples of these works are on display in the exhibition.

Hikmet Onat, ‘Erkek Model’ (‘Male Model’), undated, oil on canvas, 71 x 43 cm, Merey Collection

Hikmet Onat’s undated oil painting of a male model wearing a loincloth is a compelling attempt at capturing the internal structure of the human body using broad, dark shadows.

It was only in the 1920s that paintings of naked women were publicly displayed. Namık İsmail, İbrahim Çallı and Melek Celal Sofu, three artists who studied in both Istanbul and Paris, showed their sumptuous nudes at the Galatasaray Exhibitions, which were sponsored by the Ottoman Painters Association and became a fixture of the Turkish art scene during the early Republican era.

Namık İsmail, ‘Çıplak’ (‘Nude’), undated, oil on plywood, 81 x 65.7 cm, Private Collection

My favourite of these paintings on display at Pera is Namık İsmail’s Çıplak (Nude). While most of the artworks in this section of early nudes depict the woman from behind, often reclining, this painting features a woman facing forward, kneeling on the ground and leaning on her left arm. Despite this forward-facing position, her gaze is downward – she could almost be asleep – suggesting shyness. The tension created by the focus on her torso and breasts, which are rendered in bold, dramatic brushstrokes and bathed in light, and her introverted gaze makes the painting feel intimate and sensual.

Mihri Müşfik, ‘Aynalı Gözde’ (‘The Sultan’s Favourite with Mirror’), undated, pastel on cardboard, 85 x 68 cm, Suna–İnan Kıraç Collection

After contextualising the rise of nude painting in the early 20th century, the exhibition divides into sections showing different types of nudes. Many of these are undated, such as Mihri Müşfik’s work Aynalı Gözde, the most riveting piece in the section on nudes with mirrors.

Neşet Günal, ‘Dörtlü Güzellik’ (‘Four Beauties’), oil on canvas, 136 x 126 cm, Gregory M. Kiez & Mehmet Kutman Foundation Collection

Those that are dated are mostly spread between the 1930s and 1950s, including my favourite of the allegorical nudes, Neşet Günal’s Dörtlü Güzellik. This large painting from 1951, which features four women in various poses, is reminiscent of Gaugin, but with female bodies that are outsized and almost cartoonish in shape.

It’s tempting to mark the creation of the Turkish Republic as a milestone – a divider between the old and the new, the dated and the modern. However, the desire of artists to paint nudes, and their subsequent chafing at and agitating against cultural restrictions, was a social dynamic that existed before the Republic was founded and continued during its early years.

Yet one cannot deny the strides that were taken in the first decade of the Republic. Under the directorship of Namık İsmail, Sanayi-i Nefise Mektebi was made co-educational in 1927 and training with live models – both male and female – became a part of the curriculum. Full integration, however, was an ongoing process as opposed to an immediate change, as evidenced by photographs from the period in the exhibition book. Public perception of the nude was also by no means a settled issue, and debates over whether nudity in painting was obscene continued well after the Republic was formed.

Zeki Kocameni, ‘Çıplak’ (‘Nude’), 1941, oil on canvas, 93 x 72 cm, Sema-Barbaros Çağa Collection

The remainder of the exhibition demonstrates how artists in the Republican era developed their own artistic identity and style through the nude. In a section dedicated to the repertoire of nude poses, Zeki Kocameni’s painting Çıplak is a colourful take on the standing nude and has the inklings of modernist forms.

Cemal Tollu, ‘Pencere Önünde Model’ (‘Model in Front of the Window’), Paris, 1939, oil on canvas, 64.5 x 50 cm, Lucien Arkas Collection

Cemal Tollu’s seated nude in Pencere Önünde Model (Paris, 1939) also shows the artist’s gravitation toward modernist movements. This painting drew me in and held my attention for quite a while, mainly because the subject seems forlorn. It’s as if she is a part of the city – at least in terms of shared colour – while still being an outsider, with her curves juxtaposed against the straight lines of the urban roofs and chimneys.

Sabri Berkel’s ‘Odalık’ (‘Odalisque’), 1951, oil on cardboard, 60 x 47 cm, Fatma Saka Collection

It is stirring to see the stylistic diversity that began in the 1930s, especially once one has gained a better understanding of the battle to introduce the nude to Turkish art. Through this genre, often utilised in a painter’s earlier period due to its place in art education, it is possible to observe the ways in which Turkish painting expanded into new forms of expression and perception. Sabri Berkel’s Odalık, for instance, is an explosion of colourist ecstasy which displays a desexualised female body.

Bedri Rahmi Eyüpoğlu, ‘Çıplak’ (‘Nude’), c 1930, oil on canvas, 80 x 60 cm, Lüset-Mustafa Taviloğlu Collection

The exhibition ends by focusing on four artists in their search for style. It was particularly intriguing to see how some of Turkey’s most prominent modernist painters forged their understanding of form through the nude. Eren Eyüpoğlu and Bedri Rahmi Eyüpoğlu produced a number of nudes that were in a conversation of sorts, while the series of nude paintings by Bedri Rahmi Eyüpoğlu show his stylistic development, from figurative works, like Çıplak, above, to more abstract pieces.

The Pera Museum has expertly told a fascinating story of modernisation in Turkey through the medium of the nude. It is remarkable that the museum and the show’s curator, Ahu Antmen, managed to present such a cohesive exhibition, considering that many state museums holding significant examples could not lend works due to the process of inventory-checking. Regardless, they were able to reveal the history of the nude in Turkish painting and the challenges it posed to both form and culture – something lovers of history and art history alike will delight in.

Main picture: Özlem Şimşek, ‘Uzanan Kadın (Halil Paşa'dan Sonra)’ (‘Reclining Woman (After Halil Paşa)’), 2012, video, 01.27 loop, courtesy of the artist.

You can visit ‘Bare, Naked, Nude’ at the Pera Museum until Sunday, February 7.

The book of the exhibition is available from Cornucopia’s bookshop at £16.75.

The exhibition is featured in the Connoisseur pages of Cornucopia 53. 

The Orthodox church certainly knows how to lighten what is otherwise the grimmest week of the year. I am standing on the freezing shore of the Golden Horn at Fener waiting to watch one of Great City’s most ancient rituals: the tossing of the crucifix into the Golden Horn on the day of Theophania, known in the West as Epiphany. Whereas the Western Church focuses on the visits of the magi to the Christ child on January 6, the Eastern Church celebrates his baptism.

Around me are countless bearded men – not just Greek orthodox clergymen but cameramen. So many of the latter, in fact, that the Syrian children looking on ask if a film is being shot. There are also 17 brave swimmers, or dalgıç (divers), as they are known. A lot of Greek is being spoken; all the swimmers without exception have come from Greece for the occasion.

As they undress, their ecclesiastical tattoos are revealed to all – rosaries and crucifixes cover their torsos, redefining the term ‘pectoral cross’. Among the swimmers is one woman, Fotini, a peroxide blonde literature teacher from Alexandropoli, whose sixth race this year’s will be. There are also two brothers in their teens. A surprising number of policemen hovers unmenacingly, although this might just because we are standing next to their station on the Golden Horn.

A police boat and two police divers in wetsuits stand at the ready. The suspense is almost unbearable. As the swimmers wait on the edge of two small fishing boats, they clap their thighs, light another cigarette, or in one case, jump in to test the water. The call to prayer is heard from a local mosque. Where is His All-Holiness Patriarch Bartholomew? Has he lost the cross? For once in Istanbul, you can’t blame the traffic.

After about an hour, the bells of the Patriarchal Church of St George ring out from across the road, and the procession arrives, first in vermillion, then sky-blue cassocks. The Patriarch blesses the water and then tosses the crucifix into the freezing water. The swimmers dive in, and swim very calmly and curiously slowly, or at least it seems to those of us who are watching fully-clothed, towards the floating cross.

The winner, a sports teacher called Nikos Solis, from Greece, grabs the cross, kisses it, and then profers it to each swimmer to kiss. He has apparently guaranteed himself a year of health and prosperity. He is hauled out of the water and presented with a golden cross on a chain, before microphones are thrust into his face like an Olympic sportsman. “How is the water?” ask the Turkish journalists via an interpreter. “It was cold but I am so happy it does not matter”, replied Solis, looking anything but ecstatic. Others were more cheerful. “This is my fourth time”, explained one, “but I won it in 2011. If you are not Orthodox, you cannot imagine what Constantinopolis is for us”, he added when I asked if he had come especially from Imroz, where is from.

If you missed it this year, make sure you catch it next January. The Epiphany service at the Patriarchate in Fener today was in full swing by 10.30am and goes on indefinitely, as Orthodox services tend to. The swimmers eventually jumped in around 12.45pm. A tea shop facing the Patriarchate was doing a roaring trade in tea and toasties for those who needed a breather. In the meantime, there is Russian Orthodox Christmas to explore  today (7th January) in the various roof-top churches of Karakoy.

Anatolian rock is a bit of a boy’s club. Or at least that’s how it seems at first.

Anyone who loves this amalgamation of folk, rock and psychedelic music is more than familiar with Barış Manço, Erkin Koray and Cem Karaca. But, outside of the much-sampled Selda Bağcan, where are the women?

In an article in last week's Reorient magazine, Kornelia Binicewicz dives deep into Turkish music from the 1960s and 1970s in search of female musicians. The resulting piece, titled ‘Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am’, explores the development of the music industry and the role of women during this period of cultural upheaval.

Binicewicz writes about the pop stars of the 1960s, such as Ajda Pekkan and Füsun Önal, who dominated the airwaves with their covers of European and American hits and stole the spotlight with their chic, barely-there clothes. She highlights how these pop stars embodied women’s dreams of social freedom which often didn’t come to fruition with this particular anecdote:

‘I heard an interesting story recently from Özgür Erkök Moroder – an artist and director living in Berlin – that perfectly echoes this “pattern”. Özgür told me about his mother, who established a girl group in 1965. The Daisies were beautiful, modern, and sexy; they sang in French, and covered songs by France Gall and Marie Laforet. They had all been raised in wealthy and established Turkish families, were all very well-educated, and had many aspirations. Their dreams of showbiz and making it big in the music industry, however, fizzled out as soon as they married and settled into family life. The miniskirts were put aside, and, as Özgür said, they became exactly like their mothers and grandmothers before them, as if “nothing had ever happened”; their revolution came to an end.’

Punctuated by YouTube clips and LP covers, the article goes on to document the various female artists who rose to the top of their respective genres – like Esin Afşar, a major folk musician, and Gonül Akkor, whose music ‘showcases everything characteristic of Arabesk music’ – while at the same time painting a broader picture of the music scene during these two decades. The best part, though? There are enough new-to-me Turkish female singers for at least a week’s worth of YouTube searches (and a glorious week it has been down the YouTube rabbit hole).

If you want to learn more about how these women ‘flirted with styles such as cha-cha, tropical, go-go, yé-yé, and rock and roll’, explored their Turkish identities and ultimately produced ‘music both appealing and unique’, you should click here and read the full article.

Main image is courtesy of Reorient magazine.

Is it coincidence, or the nationality of the last Jameel Prize winners, Turkish fashion designers, Ece and Ayşe Ege of Dice Kayek (see Cornucopia 44), that means Istanbul will host the fourth Jameel Prize? Whichever it is, today’s announcement that the Pera Museum will be the first external venue for the prize gives us all something to look forward to on June 8. The first three prizes were launched at London’s V&A, and they will host it again in 2018, which goes to show that the Pera Museum’s contemporary art world clout doesn’t stop at Grayson Perry.

Awarded every two years to a contemporary artist or designer inspired by Islamic traditions of craft and design, this year’s prize shortlist of 11 contains two Istanbullus: Canan and Cevdet Erek.

Canan, whose solo show, The Shining Darkness, is currently at Rampa Gallery until February, lives and works in Istanbul. Having made her name as an artist who defends women’s rights, Canan will show two Ottoman-style miniatures made in 2014: Resistance on Istiklal Street and Bosphorus Bridge. The first is a representation of the resistance during the Gezi Park protests of 2013, while the second illustrates a moment when a group of protestors succeeded in crossing the Bosphorus Bridge to reach Gezi Park despite the use of water cannon and tear gas by the police. (Canan is giving a talk entitled ‘The Artist’s Body as an Instrument of Struggle’ at the Pera Museum on January 27 as part of the current show, This is Not a Love Song.)

Cevdet Erek is an artist working specifically with sound, space and rhythm. For the prize he has entered a series called Ruler, in which he takes the humble instrument of measure and converts it to an instrument representing time using the Muslim daily prayer times to mark the sequence of day and night as a repetitive and subtly changing black and white pattern. Ruler 100 Years (2011) pits the years before the Turkish Alphabet Reform in 1928 in Arabic numerals against the dates coming after the Reform in Latin numerals. It also refers to the shift from the Islamic calendar to the Gregorian calendar in 1926, hidden in the Arabic part of the ruler.

The other shortlisted artists are: David Chalmers Alesworth, Rasheed Araeen, Lara Assouad, Sahand Hesamiyan, Lucia Koch, Ghulan Mohammad, Shahpour Pouyan, Bahia Shehab and Wael Shawky.

Visitors to the 2015 Istanbul Biennial Saltwater will remember Shawky’s enthralling film shown in the Küçük Mustafa Paşa Hamam, in which Murano glass puppets enacted the story of Hussein’s fall at Kerbala, as part of his Cabaret Crusades – also see Puppet Master, Victoria Khroundina's review of his Serpentine exhibition in London in 2013–14. For the prize he has entered part 2 of the trilogy, The Path to Cairo.

As an Istanbullu, it’s easy to take the breathtaking beauty of Islamic geometric designs for granted.

To start, many of the city’s architectural gems highlight Ottoman decorative arts that are more floral than geometric in design. As John Carswell wrote about the venerable Rüstem Pasha Mosque and its paradise garden of Iznik tiles in Cornucopia 13: ‘Nobody in real life ever grew one [a garden] that combined the natural flowers familiar to all Turks with the most unnatural chinoiserie deriving from the peony and the lotus, cloud scrolls and arabesques.’

Some of the tiles in Rüstem Pasha Mosque

Enchanted by the curvature of tulips rendered in cobalt blue and scarlet red, you could be forgiven for overlooking the geometric designs that adorn so many surfaces, from textiles to ceramics, building facades to knickknacks. But a series of workshops and lectures next week will open your eyes to the intricate and engrossing geometric designs that are found the Islamic world over.

Eric Broug, an author, educator and artist specialised in Islamic geometric design, will be giving two workshops and two lectures at MEF International School in Ulus from January 28–30. There are a limited number of spaces left in the workshops – Friday’s workshop is aimed at beginners who want to learn how to draw these complex geometric compositions, while the workshop on Saturday is for those who already have some experience with this art form and want to expand their knowledge. 

There are more spaces available for the lectures. On Thursday evening, Broug will give a talk on Seljuk and Ottoman geometric designs. Some of the greatest masterpieces of Islamic art and architecture are from these two periods in history, and Broug will use these as examples to demonstrate the creative process of Islamic geometric design from a craftsman’s point of view. These geometric compositions do not easily reveal how they are made, so it’s helpful having an expert like Broug illuminate the process.

The exterior of the Great Mosque and Hospital of Divriği (Copyright: Richard Brotherton, 1984)

The lecture on Saturday evening will address design in a contemporary context, specifically how we can benefit from the opportunities technology offers us while still staying true to the design traditions of Seljuk and Ottoman craftsmen and builders. The presentation is aimed at architects, designers and students of these disciplines, but of course the general public is welcome as well.

The chance to work with and learn from Broug is a real treat. The lectures and workshops also offer the opportunity to discover the many masterpieces of Islamic art and architecture found in Turkey (we’re partial to the Great Mosque and Hospital of Divriği – Cornucopia 43 contains a 26-page guide to its mad, exuberant architecture). You may even learn to see Istanbul and its environs through a new lens, discerning the many patterns that embellish this city.

Tickets can be purchased from Eventbrite. You can also purchase Broug’s books – Islamic Geometric Patterns (£14.95) and Islamic Geometric Design (£39.95) – from the Cornucopia bookshop.

Main featured image: The bronze entrance gates of the Blue Mosque in Sultanahmet (Source)

In splendidly illustrating the disappearing beauties and remaining monuments of ‘Istanbul Unwrapped,’ the two most recent issues of Cornucopia’s timely and moving series have recalled how Edward Barton, Queen Elizabeth I’s second ambassador to the Porte, came to be buried on Heybeliada in 1598.

A photograph of Barton’s tombstone, relocated to the Haydarpaşa Cemetery last century, appears in issue 52 (p. 87), while the original site of his grave in the cemetery of a former Greek church on the island occasions a brief note in the most recent issue that Barton ‘fled the city to Heybeli during an outbreak of plague in 1597 but actually carried it with him and died on the island’ (issue 53 p. 98).

Contemporary fascination with the circumstances of Barton’s death generated confused accounts both of the cause and location. In London in 1624, his sister was claiming that he had been poisoned by Ottoman nobles who feared he was trying to convert Sultan Mehmed III to Christianity. The tale that Barton ignominiously fled to Heybeli but nevertheless died there of plague appears to be the invention of the author of the entry in the first edition of the Dictionary of National Biography, published at the end of the 19th century.

In 1931, Sir William Foster’s edition of the letter-book of Barton’s Istanbul contemporary, the Levant Company accountant John Sanderson, cast clear light through letters circulating among the English communities in Aleppo, Istanbul, and London at the time of Barton’s death. From these we learn that Barton died not of the plague but of dysentery, ‘the flux’, in the English house in Pera and that his body was taken to Heybeliada for burial amidst some considerable ceremony.

Perhaps the most revealing letter, by the ambassador-in-waiting Henry Lello, is dated 15 February 1598, in which he writes of 'the lose and untimely death of my Lord Ambassiattore here, which how dollorus it hath ben unto me God...knoweth. And to discourse to you of his sicknes and maner of his death, funerall, and what sence hath happened, would aske a long time, which I now have not, but refer you to my next... He was buryed honorably, having about 300 persons accompaninge his corpes to the watterside and so retourned, for he was buryed at the monistary 20 miles of. The French ambasitore and he became frinds before his death.’ (cited Foster, p. 174)

Whether the sieur de Brèves, the French ambassador with whom Barton had regularly crossed diplomatic swords, attended the funeral or not, his funeral was clearly an occasion of some considerable ceremony and public interest, befitting not only Barton’s personal status but that of the English community in Istanbul.

Professor Christine Woodhead’s new and scholarly entry for the revised on-line Dictionary of National Biography does a wonderful job of evoking the intriguing details of Barton’s career – from the 21-year-old who carried letters from the sultan to Ottoman governors in North Africa guaranteeing the security of English shipping, to Elizabeth’s 30-year old ambassador plotting against the Habsburgs, and to his honorific but controversial invitation to accompany Mehmed III and his army on campaigns into Hungary in 1596, all culminating in his untimely death at the age of only 35.

Confirming Lello’s account, the Venetian agent of the Fugger banking family reported: ‘They write from Constantinople on the 11th February that the funeral of the late English envoy was carried out with great solemnity and attended by many distinguished gentlemen and representatives of foreign countries.’ (Fugger News-Letters, 2nd Series, 302).

Edward Barton was, in Professor Woodhead’s phrase, ‘a major figure in early English-Ottoman diplomatic relations’.

Among the monuments of ‘Istanbul Unwrapped,’ Barton’s tombstone memorializes not simply his death but a funeral that was a notable event of international importance.

Scholar Squirrel

So wrote Lawrence Durrell in Balthazar (The Alexandria Quartet), 1958.

Since arriving in Athens I have heard a curious story, told and retold in different ways. It is about the removal of the palm trees from the urban landscape of Athens as a way of visually ‘re-orientating’ the city towards Europe rather than the ‘Orient’. This urban legend has been told to me three times: once as happening at the end of the Ottoman Empire’s sway over Greece, the second time at the end of the Second World War, and the last at the time of the Junta in the seventies. I'm still trying to work out if any of these different versions are true.

Omonoia Square, Athens, 1900

Imagine A Palm Tree is a work already in progress as I write from my studio table in the midst of preparatory drawings on paper and the walls of the top floor café at the Benaki Museum's Islamic Art Collection here in Athens. Commencing in earnest in April, it will be a series of events framed by a floor-to-ceiling mural covering the walls, doors, window frames, and any surface available to me.

Weevil larvae of the ‘Rhynchophorus ferrugineus’

It will no longer be a symbol of overspending in the Olympic Games of 2004 (imports of palm trees rocketed as a way to provide shade and a look of luxury. It also brought the red beetle). It won’t be uprooted in favour of metro ventilation shafts (as was the case in Omonoia Square in 1927) or pulled apart for local holy days that feature palm leaves. It will no longer be a symbol of East, or West.

Omonoia Square, 1927, construction of the ventilation shafts for the train station below

Instead it will reflect upon other aspects of its representation, in western decorative art (think Owen Jones and Thomas Hope), Islamic architecture (the first mosque in Medina was held up by its delicate column trunks) and perhaps most importantly its modern life.

Did you know that Guillaume Apollinaire wrote a calligramme love-poem in the shape of a palm?

Guillaume Apollinaire, Hommage à Lou de Coligny-Châtillon

Or that in Bedazzled, when Peter Cook as Satan asks God to be let back into Heaven, it's the palm trees in the Great Conservatory at Syon House that boom back at him: No chance mate.

Or that mobile phone masts and wifi can and have been disguised as palm trees in public spaces in South Africa? That California has a huge problem with drone enthusiasts flying their hobbyist aircraft into their branches? Bet you didn’t!

Peter Cook in Bedazzled (1967)

Palm Tree Telecommunications tower, photographed by Dillon Marsh

The top floor café of the Islamic Art Collection has been closed for the past year as a direct result of the financial crisis. The aim of the project is to bring life back to the space, encourage new visitors and provide the setting for a series of events reflecting on European and Islamic art, and the position of Athens between these two worlds, now and in history.

The Benaki Museum's Islamic Art Collection is a rich trove of objects and artworks relating to this history. It seems vital at this moment in time to encourage more people to explore these works and engage in dialogue around them.

For myself, the Benaki offers the opportunity to paint on a huge scale in a public space and engage with the museum visitors on a daily basis from atop my ladder as I work. If you come along, I might even make you a cup of tea or coffee on the house! In my previous projects at Leighton House in London and Witte de With in Rotterdam I worked in public to engage with visitors and I intend to take that practice even further in Athens.

Komt Hier Aan Deze Gelen Vlaktes, Probe, Arhem, 2015

It could be something like the above - a project I worked on earlier this year with Probe in the Netherlands. The mural at the Benaki will fill the whole space in the same way, and will surround the viewer with colour, light and pattern as they walk into it.

Study for Imagine A Palm Tree, by Navine G. Khan-Dossos, 2015

I just feel the Athenian palm has suffered for long enough.

Palm Tree, Keramikos district, Athens

Appropriately for a time of crisis in Greece, where budgets for cultural production have been hit hard by the financial crisis, and artists and institutions rely on the support of those who love the arts and believe in the importance of dialogue between culture and society, and between different histories and traditions, Imagine A Palm Tree is completely financed by crowd-funding.

The mural installation will take several months to paint, beginning now in January 2016, and it will be open to the public until September 2016, and perhaps beyond. During this time, we will use the café as a project space to welcome new audiences, run a series of events, talks, and workshops with local artists and schoolchildren, and bring new visitors to the museum. Do come and visit!

Navine G. Khan-Dossos,
Athens January 2016,
www.khandossos.com

ABOUT THE ARTIST Navine G. Khan-Dossos (b. 1982) is a visual artist, based in Athens. One of the preoccupations of her practice is the complex relationship between Islam and the West. Khan-Dossos's approach to her research is rooted in a traditionally ‘western' History of Art education, while her painting is based on a rigorous training in the philosophy and crafts of Islamic art. Her interests include Orientalism in the digital realm, geometry as information and decoration, image calibration, and Aniconism in contemporary culture. Khan-Dossos studied History of Art at Cambridge University, Arabic at Kuwait University, Islamic Art at the Prince’s School of Traditional Art in London, and holds an MA in Fine Art from Chelsea College of Art & Design, London. During 2014 – 2015, she has been a participant at the Jan Van Eyck Academie in Maastricht. She has exhibited and worked with various institutions, including The Museum of Islamic Art (Doha), Witte de With (Rotterdam), The Delfina Foundation (London), The Library of Amiens (Amiens), Leighton House Museum (London) and the A.M. Qattan Foundation (Ramallah). She has published work in The White Review and The Happy Hypocrite.

There are certain benefits to befriending a pistachio trader, as Serra Taşkent discovered during one of the many childhood summers she spent on Büyükada at the Splendid Palas Hotel – built by her great-grandfather in 1908. There she used to enjoy walking around the tables during dinner service, chatting to all the guests. On one occasion she approached a man who was sitting at a table by himself – an odd sight in a place where people usually ate in groups – and began talking to him. ‘Of course my mother showed up a few minutes later and said, “Come along, let the man eat in peace,”’ she remembers. But he told her mother that he was alone, and was enjoying her company.

Four days later, several huge bags of pistachios arrived – a luxury in those days – addressed to Serra. Apparently, the man she had befriended at dinner was a trader. Serra reckons that she had probably told him about her daily trip to the market to buy 100 grams of pistachios for her father to enjoy with his nightly drink. ‘Next thing you know, this guy sends these sacks of pistachios to us,’ she says with a laugh.

The Splendid Palas Hotel, with its twin cupolas. Photographs by Monica Fritz

Serra’s tales of growing up in a sumptuous island hotel immediately bring to my mind the Eloise series of children’s books by Kay Thompson, in which the mischievous Eloise lives in the penthouse suite of the Plaza Hotel in New York City and runs amok in the luxurious surroundings. It’s tempting to imagine the young Serra as Eloise incarnate.

Yet the comparison does not stand up to scrutiny. Whereas Eloise uses the Plaza as her personal playground, irritating staff and visitors alike, Serra describes a childhood where the fun and games were restricted to the family’s apartment on the top floor. ‘I was a very talkative child, but we were raised to be discreet with everyone. We were not allowed to run, not allowed to chat too much, not allowed to dress poorly in the hotel,’ she explains. ‘And we couldn’t ask for anything from the hotel’s waiters, not even a glass of water.’

Serra depicts a Splendid Palas that was both decorous and intimate. In those days it served as part summer residence, part short-stay hotel, with many a guest returning year after year to spend their summer months on the island.

Many of these often elderly guests would winter elsewhere – in the United States, Italy, Greece – but would flock back to Büyükada in the warmer months to see their families and preserve their connection to this wondrous place. Playing backgammon, organising card tournaments, singing in the salon, hosting dinner parties… they relished the chance to be together and their élan was magnetic. According to Serra, the hotel was ‘the life of the island’.

Despite developing a professional career totally unrelated to the hotel and spending less and less time on the island, Serra found herself drawn back into its orbit after joining the family firm, Hamamcıoğlu, in 2001. By this time the Splendid Palas hadn’t been renovated in years – if not exactly in a state of disrepair, it was certainly on its way there – and Serra gradually began organising small repairs: ‘Nothing decoration-wise, only changes to make the building safer. We were changing the windows, the balconies, the carpets, the walls…’

Around four years ago, though, Serra’s family came to a crossroads with the Splendid Palas, which was looking worse for the wear. Would they renovate it completely? Would they sell it?

After mulling it over, Serra says, ‘We said no, let’s try to fix it because this is our home.’ If there was any uncertainty about whether they had made the right decision, it was soon put to rest.

While renovating the bathrooms on the first floor, Serra looked high and low for decorative ceramic tiles – she wanted something different from the marble-effect tiles currently in fashion – and ultimately picked one with a geometric design of circles and triangles in dark blues and reds. When the renovations were almost complete, one of the rooms had a problem. ‘So we had to dig down deep,’ Serra says. ‘And when we did, we found a tile from 1908 that was the exact copy of the one I had chosen. I’d never seen this before; no one had seen this before. Years ago they did that bathroom like that. It was amazing.’ She shows me pictures of the tiles on her phone, and they’re eerily similar. She pauses, then resolutely declares: ‘I decided then that it was fate.’

Yet when it came time to redo the interiors, Serra felt that the job went beyond her skills: ‘I’m not an architect, I didn’t have a vision.’ She struggled to find a designer whose vision chimed with hers and wouldn’t risk spoiling the hotel’s charm. By a stroke of luck, Serra’s brother met his old friend Luc Lejeune of Noor Design while on vacation in February 2015. Within three days Luc was on a flight to Istanbul, and soon after had drawn up plans for the redesign.

Work began in the middle of March 2015 and the hotel re-opened on April 15 – a very quick turnaround. Serra continued to add a chair here, a desk there, right up until the end of the summer. They were still fine-tuning even after the start of the 2015 Istanbul Biennial in September, during which William Kentridge’s video installation ‘O Sentimental Machine’ was displayed on the first floor. 

A corner of the bar, with a photograph of Sakızlı Kazım Pasha, Serra Taşkent’s great-grandfather, who built the hotel in 1911

The result is a contemporary reinterpretation of old-world splendour – it still has a certain faded grandeur, but with less emphasis on the ‘faded’.

The common areas have been transformed into clean, crisp, bright spaces with white walls and long, gauzy curtains. Breakfast is served in the hotel’s finest crystal and refurbished furniture from the original Pera Palace adorns the entrance and salon. ‘We want to remind people of the old days but with new luxuries,’ explains Serra. ‘And we’ve found that the small touches make a huge difference.’

And indeed, despite being only 74 rooms, this feels like a grand hotel, one that harks back to the Splendid Palas of Serra’s childhood – a cherished island enclave that melds luxury and homely hospitality.

The Splendid Palas Hotel is closed for the winter season and reopens in April 2016. Online bookings can be made through Cornucopia. Visit the Cornucopia Hotels Collection.

If you’re looking for inspiration, Shakespeare’s mellifluous verse is certainly a good place to start. Or at least that’s the philosophy of the Istanbul Arts and Culture Foundation (IKSV), which announced today that the theme for the 44th Istanbul Music Festival is inspired in part by a line in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night: ‘If music be the food of love, play on’.

Orchestra of the Swan

The festival, always much anticipated by classical music lovers, will commemorate the Bard of Avon on the 400th year of his death with a number of themed performances related. The main event will take place on Friday, June 3, when the Orchestra of the Swan (based in Stratford-upon-Avon), the soprano Ayşe Şenogul (main featured image) and stage actress Tilbe Saran will perform Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Aya Irini. The young British violinist Tamsin Waley-Cohen will also be on stage that evening as the soloist in Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto, the composer’s final large orchestral work.

Murray Perahia

As in past years, the programme includes the recognisation of certain artists for their musical accomplishments. This year's Lifetime Achievement Award will be presented to the legendary pianist Murray Perahia before his performance at Aya Irini on Monday, June 6. It’s sure to be a marvellous concert, and enhanced by the soaring setting.

Yaşar Kemal

Another performance that is not to be missed is the world premiere of Michael Ellison’s total music theatre, based on Yaşar Kemal’s 1978 novel, The Sea-Crossed Fisherman. Ellison’s work, with Simon Jones’s libretto and stage direction, Zeynep Tanbay’s choreography and NohLab’s video scenography, promises to be a complete musical and visual feast. The Sea-Crossed Fisherman will premiere in two sessions, as a matinée and a soirée at the Süreyya Opera House on Saturday, June 11.

Sponsored by ECA Presdöküm Sanayii AŞ, the 44th Istanbul Music Festival will continue many of the initiatives that have made it so popular. The free open-air concerts will again take place on weekends in June, allowing a wide audience to become better acquainted with classical music.

Surp Yerrortutyun Church (known in Turkish as the Üç Horan Kilisesi), one of the stops on the ‘Music Route’

One of the new additions to this year’s programme is the ‘Music Route’ event, which offers festivalgoers an excursion full of music and history. On the opening weekend, audience members will visit five churches in Beyoğlu – Surp Yerrortutyun Church (Üç Horan Kilisesi), Church of Panayia Isodion, Sent Antuan Lower Church, Palais de Hollande Chapel, and Crimea Memorial Church – over the course of one day, with a different performance at each church. It will make an already rich programme even richer – music lovers in Istanbul are once again spoilt for choice.

The festival runs from June 1–24. Click here for the full programme. Tickets will be on sale as of 10.00 on Saturday, February 13, and can be purchased from Biletix and IKSV’s main box office.

All photographs provided by IKSV.

The abundance of films at this year’s !f Istanbul Independent Film Festival can make a cinephile feel like Augustus Gloop in the Chocolate Room at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory – just as Augustus fell head first into the chocolate river on account of his voracity, your desire to see everything could leave you overdosing on the silver screen.

But fret not, we’re here to help narrow down the field. We waded through the extensive programme and put together a list of our highlights. !f Istanbul, currently in its 15th instalment, has again chosen some of the most inventive and underrated films from the previous year, so there are plenty of first-class movies that didn’t make the cut. If you’re curious about what we missed, you can find the full programme here.

A still from ‘Anomalisa’

As in prior years, the festival is screening a number of heavyweights that come with the critical stamp of approval. Anomalisa, the film directed by Charlie Kaufman and Duke Johnson and starring stop-motion puppets, is kicking off the festival. The story follows the author and motivational speaker Michael as he selfishly struggles with loneliness and love. It’s a sad yet beautifully rendered philosophical meditation on the human capacity for connection.

A still from ‘The End of the Tour’

Another film that wrestles with human connection is The End of the Tour. Directed by James Ponsoldt, the movie is set in 1996 and chronicles the interactions and conversations over several days between the reporter David Lipsky and the much-lauded novelist David Foster Wallace. It’s these conversations – fraught with unease and punctuated by uncomfortable silences – that ground the film in reality and make it shine.

There are also several much talked about documentaries being screened. Istanbulites will be particularly interested in Grant Gee’s Innocence of Memories (main featured image), a film that weaves fact and faction to create a thoughtful story about the city of Istanbul, the Museum of Innocence and its creator, Orhan Pamuk. The movie has recently received quite a bit of press for its screening at Orhan Pamuk’s Museum of Innocence exhibition in London. Whether you love Pamuk or love to hate him, Gee’s documentary provides an interesting and thoughtful perspective on Istanbul and how it relates to Pamuk’s work. As a bonus, Gee and Pamuk will give a talk about their collaboration on the film at Cinemaximum Kanyon on February 27.

A still from ‘The Wolfpack’

The Wolfpack, winner of the 2015 Sundance Grand Jury Prize for best documentary, is also a compelling watch. The director Crystal Moselle uses a vast archive of home movies to paint a portrait of the six Angulo brothers – nicknamed the Wolfpack – who have spent almost all of their entire lives locked away from society in an apartment on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Exceedingly intelligent, the brothers only knew of the outside world through the films they watched obsessively and recreated meticulously, using elaborate homemade props and costumes.

A still from ‘The Man Who Fell to Earth’

While ‘!f Music’ has a wide selection of the latest documentaries on musicians ranging from Janis Joplin to Kurt Cobain, we think most music buffs will be chuffed to see the festival’s homage to David Bowie. The Man Who Fell to Earth, a science fiction masterpiece featuring Bowie in his acting debut, and The Hunger, a vampire film starring Bowie that has evolved into a cult classic, will both be screened.

It’s certainly exciting to see films in Istanbul that have been feted by the international media. But it’s also refreshing to learn about new directors and storytellers, especially from the region.

There will be screenings of several shorts made by directors from Turkey. The festival organisers have arranged them into three thematic groupings – ‘Cannot Be Trapped!’, ‘Dreams and Walls’ and ‘Elephants in the Room’ – and the audience will be able to vote for which director should be awarded with an all-inclusive trip and accreditation to an international film festival.

A still from ‘Bağlar’

The ‘Love & Change Competition’ features two fascinating works that tell more local stories. The first is Bağlar, a documentary directed by Birke Baş and Melis Birder about a basketball team hailing from Bağlar, a district of Diyarbakır that is entangled in Turkey’s Kurdish conflict. The filmmakers document how the Bağlar sports club, founded by a 37-year-old schoolteacher, brings a new meaning to the boys’ lives and a renewed hope for the future.

A still from ‘A Syrian Love Story’

The second is Sean McAllister’s A Syrian Love Story, a poignant take on how the Syrian revolution is affecting the relationship between Amer, a Palestinian freedom fighter, and Raghda, a Syrian rebel, as well as the lives of their three children. Filmed over three years, the documentary presents the hope, dreams and despair of a family that is forced to seek asylum.

The female perspective is also well represented at the festival. Mustang, which was screened at Filmekimi 2015 and has been nominated for an Oscar in the Best Foreign Film category, is playing again for anyone who missed it last fall.

A still from ‘Speed Sisters’

Speed Sisters, meanwhile, gives feminine power a whole new meaning. A documentary about the first all-female racing team in Palestine, it weaves together the women’s lives on and off the track. The film offers a unique perspective on life under occupation and the struggles these women face in pushing back against stereotypes.

!f Istanbul also hosts several related music events and workshops. Assent, a virtual reality project at DEPO, looks particularly interesting. The multimedia artist Oscar Raby has created a ten-minute virtual reality documentary that tells the story of how his father witnessed a mass execution in the aftermath of the 1973 Chilean military coup. It’s a bold project, and one that displays the ways in which 3D technology can improve storytelling.

Non-Turkish speakers should note that all films will be screened with English subtitles. You truly have your pick of the lot, so go forth and take advantage of this rare opportunity.

The 15th !f Istanbul Independent Film Festival runs from February 18–28, and the films will be screened at four cinemas in Istanbul: Cinemaximum City's Nişantaşı, Cinemaximum Kanyon, Cinemaximum Budak/CKM and Beyoğlu Fitaş.

Tickets go on sale on Friday, February 5. Film festival screenings often sell out quickly, so we recommend getting your tickets as early as possible.

A tube train approaches a station, tracks rattling noisily, the blinking headlamps blinding and the heavy metal carriages sending tremors through surrounding structures and human bodies alike. The experience of standing in a station as a train pulls in, an elemental aspect of city living, is difficult to duplicate.

Just as problematic is attempting to recreate the street art that adorns train stations, sidewalks, building facades – the city is an endless canvas for discussions of its past and future, and trying to wrench street art from this environment only serves to undermine and cheapen it. Global Karaköy’s The Art of Banksy exhibition, dedicated to the renegade street artist, manages to do just that in its attempt to reconstruct the graffitied station, complete with oncoming train.

Entering the exhibition, I’m willing to overlook artificial touches meant to conjure up Banksy's unique blend of whimsy and edginess. I merely raise my eyebrows at three adults crammed into a graffitied van, the only light coming from electronic tills and credit-card machines. Sad approximations of a dingy salon – complete with a plaque announcing ‘Abandon Hope’, a prescient warning – and a graffiti studio, the first two rooms in the exhibition, seem odd curatorial decisions, but I forge on.

Any hope I had left for an intelligent and clever take on Banksy’s art evaporates when I reach a long, narrow hallway designed to look like a city street, complete with strong-smelling black rubber (approximating asphalt) and an overhang simulating train tracks.

The tinny rumbling of a underground train – almost inaudible and with none of a real train’s visceral vibrations – pushes me over the edge and forces me to accept the show’s larger failings. Though there is nothing counterfeit about the works on display, the exhibition as a whole feels bogus.

Two prints of ‘Police Kids’ (2003), but done in different colours

Screen prints of Banksy’s designs from the early to mid 2000s line the walls, many unsigned and featuring the same image rendered in different colours. His iconic images – coppers kissing, kids running in police vests, a protestor throwing flowers – still carry weight, but their presentation fails to do them justice. The glazing material used to frame the prints causes a glare, while some areas of the gallery are so dark that even the glare would be welcome.

This show is so poorly put together that when I exit and see a gift shop full of fridge magnets, mugs, canvas bags and prints, I can’t help but wonder if it’s one of Banksy’s subversive parodies – Exit Through the Gift Shop, indeed.

Yet Banksy’s team – he is now represented by the non-profit Pest Control – denies that he had anything to do with the exhibition. Instead, Steve Lazarides, Banksy’s former agent, who possesses a significant amount of the artist’s work, has teamed with the Turkish businessman Kemal Gürkaynak to organise this so-called tribute to the artist and activist. That Banksy himself is not involved explains the limited scope of the show – for there are no works dated after 2008, the year Lazarides and Banksy parted ways after almost a decade of collaboration.

‘Guantanamo Bay’ (Source)

Certain works remain relevant, if not exactly timeless. 'Guantanamo Bay', featuring a hooded detainee in an orange jumpsuit inserted into a neo-romantic depiction of a setting sun with waves crashing on a beach, still cuts deep. Yet I can’t help imagining that it would have been more powerful to see it displayed at Crude Oils, a 2005 exhibition organised by Banksy and Lazarides in an empty shop in Westbourne Grove, London, where 200 live rats had the run of the space.

‘Crimewatch UK Has Ruined The Countryside For All Of Us’ (Source)

‘Guantanomo Bay’ brings to mind another work: ‘Crimewatch UK Has Ruined The Countryside For All Of Us’. Stencilling an image of police tape on an oil painting of the English countryside, Banksy defaced and reframed a pleasant landscape to make a point, in this case that the UK has been vandalised by an obsession with crime and paedophilia. Further underscoring his point, Banksy smuggled the piece into Tate Britain in 2003 and glued it to the wall – such a cheeky act used to be the only way you would see his work within the confines of a museum or gallery.

Context is crucial to street art, which has been described as ‘a democratic form of popular public art probably best understood by seeing it in situ’. Anyone in Istanbul during the Gezi Park protests will remember the importance of graffiti and street art in expressing dissent and creating group cohesion. As Christiane Gruber writes in her article ‘The Visual Emergence of the Occupy Gezi Movement’, the rhetorical and pictorial messages of Gezi, although conveying serious concerns, ‘were often humorous, witty and intellectually alluring in their use of wisecracks and satire’, with such levity offering ‘biting commentary’.

Left, Stencil of a whirling dervish wearing a gas mask with Mevlana’s invitation to ‘come yet again’ (sen de gel), Christiane Gruber, Galatasaray, June 14, 2013. Right, ‘X-Files’ graffiti, taken by author, Istiklal Caddesi, February 9, 2016.

One only needs to compare the image of a whirling dervish wearing a gas mask with an invitation to ‘come yet again’ (one of the symbols of Gezi) to the street art on Istiklal today – among other bland images, the face of an alien hawks the reboot of The X-Files television series – to grasp how the potency of street art is determined in large part by how it relates to its surroundings and speaks to the current climate, whether political or cultural.

Banksy’s most recent mural in London, January 2016 (Source)

Banksy fully understands the importance of context in creating powerful narrative-driven street art, and has built his reputation on culturally relevant and strategically placed images. Just last month he painted a mural opposite the French Embassy in London showing Cosette, a character in the Les Miserables musical, with tears in her eyes and a can of CS gas lying beneath her as a way to criticise the apparent use of teargas on refugees in the Calais ‘Jungle’ camp.

Even Lazarides’s eponymous gallery fêtes Banksy for his ‘shrewd use of context, the written word, chutzpah and humour’. Yet it seems Lazarides wants to have his cake and eat it too: Banksy’s subversive art speaks to the masses and can be spread freely through the internet, yet at the same time it is a commodity to be packaged and sold – entry to the show at Global Karaköy is 35 TL per person, and the gift shop is chockful of Banksy-branded merchandise.

In a recent article in the Financial Times, Lazarides was asked whether moving his London gallery from funky Fitzrovia to the exclusive Mayfair, a venture underwritten by a seven-figure investment, runs counter to the edgy vibe of street art. Lazarides answers that the artists he represents 'have never been anti-capitalist, they are pro-human rather than anti-capitalist. It is about protest, it is quite often political, more political than anti-capitalist. Even Banksy isn’t really anti-capitalist.’

‘Christ with Shopping’, 2004, three-colour screen print on paper. Notice the glare caused by the glazing materials.

Yet the works of Banksy on display in Istanbul suggest otherwise. In ‘Napalm (Can’t Beat That Feeling)’, a naked, crying girl is being led by Ronald McDonald on one side and Mickey Mouse on the other. ‘Christ with Shopping’, meanwhile, presents Christ on the cross, with shopping bags draped from his hands. Both works comment on the dark underbelly of rampant consumerism.

Similarly, Lazarides’s claims that ‘Banksy’s activist artwork could have an impact in Istanbul, which is at the epicentre of the global refugee crisis’ are easily dismissed by the fact that none of the works in the show addresses the current refugee situation, which only came to global prominence in the years after Banksy and Lazarides split.

Whatever excuses can be made for putting Banksy’s works in a gallery, the final outcome is the same. You’re seeing street art that lambasts capitalist institutions, war-mongering states and the outrageous prices people are willing to pay for art, in a gallery established by a holding company and located in area of Istanbul where buildings are being torn down and rebuilt at an incredible profit. What’s subversive about that?

‘The Art of Banksy’ exhibition runs until Monday, February 29.

Travelling to Gordion in 1950, scholars from the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology (Penn Museum) couldn’t have foreseen the treasures they would unearth. Seven years later, a team of archaeologists would behold an extraordinary sight inside Tumulus MM (Midas Mound), the largest of Gordion’s man-made burial mounds: the skeleton of a king in what was left of a cedar coffin, surrounded by bronze bowls, serving vessels, wooden tables and food remains from an extensive funeral banquet, all in an excellent state of preservation.

A black polished goat jug (c 760 BCE) which was excavated from Tumulus P, the burial chamber of a royal child (Source: Museum of Anatolian Civilisations, Ankara)

Several spectacular objects from this tomb, sealed nearly 3,000 years ago, are currently on display at the Penn Museum, along with finds from other excavations in Gordion, best known as the capital city of ancient Phrygia. The Golden Age of King Midas exhibition is extraordinary not just because it presents these rare ancient artefacts but also because the majority of them will be travelling to the States for the first time – around 120 objects, like the charming goat jug above, are on special loan from four museums in Turkey. The aim is to tell the story of Midas, the very real, very powerful ruler of the Phrygian kingdom from circa 750–700 BCE.

Tumulus MM, with other tumuli in the background (Source: digitalGordion)

Readers in the Philadelphia area should jump at the chance to see these treasures in person – they can cast a spell, as I experienced during a trip to Gordion in the summer of 2006. While most memories of this group outing have faded and worn around the edges, some details remain radiant. It was a bright day, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky as we drove over the plains of central Anatolia. The incongruous mounds that dotted the landscape – tumuli, as we would later learn to call them – ironically injected a bit of life into the static scene.

The monumental wooden burial chamber in Tumulus MM. Dated to circa 740 BCE, it is the oldest known wooden building in the world. (Source: Penn Museum Gordion Archive, R Liebhart 2007)

What sticks in my mind the most, though, was our journey into the centre of the striking Tumulus MM, a dank, damp place unlike the site’s other excavation areas. One of the archaeologists from Penn excavation team led us down the dim tunnel into what is believed to be the tomb of Gordias, King Midas's father.

Upper part of the wooden tomb chamber with inscriptions visible on the beam to the left (Source: digitalGordion)

The tomb's wooden beams reminded me of those my father lovingly cares for in our centuries-old barn – except the beams in Tumulus MM are almost 3,000 years old. Their continued existence is staggering and did more to confirm the immeasurable quality of ancient history for me than anything before or since.

While it’s easy to focus solely on Tumulus MM, Gordion is a massive excavation site – about 2.5 miles wide – and there are other fascinating finds to marvel at. The exhibition will display a small section of the oldest known coloured pebble mosaic floor, originally found in the citadel building and dated to the late 9th century BCE.

A watercolour by Joseph Last (1956) of the coloured pebble mosaic floor inside the citadel at Gordion. A portion of the mosaic will be on dispay at Penn Museum. (Source: Penn Museum Gordion Archive)

Visitors can also see fragments – and remarkable watercolour recreations by the renowned archaeological illustrator Piet De Jong – of the famous ‘Painted House’, built about 500 BCE and excavated in Gordion’s citadel during the 1950s. The murals in the ‘Painted House’ provide a rare glimpse into life in Gordion long after the death of King Midas.

The unprecedented collection of all these objects under one roof tells the broader story of a golden age presided over by a legendary king – it is the commemoration that King Midas and his capital city of Gordion deserve.

The exhibition runs from February 13 until November 27, 2016. It was realised in collaboration with the Republic of Turkey and with support from several individuals and institutions, including the Turkish Cultural Foundation.