Caro-tivity

This Istanfool Cant-stop-inople

2011-02-21T20:24:00.000-08:00

(title credit: Molly Doell)

So for my first weekend in Gölcük, I left. As kind as the people are, I would be going crazy with loneliness and boredom there, especially knowing all the fun stuff I'd be missing here in Istanbul. Armed with one giant purse stuffed with a weekend's worth of belongings, I set off.

Travelling back to the big city was a surprisingly complicated endeavor. From Gölcük the bus deposited me off at a huge bus station, an otogar, all the way on the Asian side of Istanbul. From this otogar in Harem, it took another bus to get to the ferry port, Üsküdar, and then hop on that ferry to Beşiktaş on the European side of town, and then get uphill from there to Taksim. Good grief!

Thanks to my unwavering lucky stars (maşallah), I made friends with the woman I was sitting next to on the bus, and she showed me the free shuttle between Harem and Üsküdar, then which ferry to get on (and paid for my token despite my protests), then brought me to the dolmuş taxi station in Beşiktaş-- but the line was a block long! Not enough time...we tried to catch a cab but literally EVERY cab was full. Eventually, as she and I stood hopelessly on the side of the road near Dolmabahce Palace, a cab pulled to the side and the passenger asked if we were going to Taksim. Duh, we were. He let us share the cab-- turns out, of course, that he was an actor on a famous TV serial slash model. Ohh Istanbul....

I bid my new friend farewell in Taksim Square, put on some makeup in a restaurant bathroom, and went to go find Yiğit, a nice guy I had met through Dilara. He was with a group of friendly Turkish university students, and we all hopped on the free shuttle that took us to Santral Istanbul, a contemporary art facility with a focus on environmental science-- it is housed in the Ottoman Empire's first major power plant building (aka cool-looking place). We excitedly entered the party, which was essentially a huge advertisement for the brand Camper's. Fine by me because this meant free activities, live dj's who played absolutely acceptable music (meaning little to no American 80s music for once), and free Belvedere. Party! One girl (who was exactly like Erin x Claire Wright, awesome) tried to teach me to bellydance, but despite having stashed my enormous purse in a huge old generator I was still unable to master this Middle Eastern art. Should have studied my bellydancing kit from Grandma Dewey. Shoot! The one snag was when Yiğit disappeared at the end of the night, stranding me at Santral Istanbul. Fortunately his friends were still around, and I caught a ride with one of them back to Taksim.

From Taksim I ditched that group, feeling a little out of the loop and miffed about my near-abandonment. I found Serhan at Line Bar (of course) and was happy to be around my good friend and those familiar faces. Of course we ended up being out ridiculously late, which felt even later than usual because in Gölcük my sleeping schedule had reversed back to that of a normal human....

Luckily we made it in time the next day to catch some performance art at the phenomenal Arter gallery, finally got some delectable fresh fish soup, and although the Hercules & Love Affair show sold out (SO sad) we went to a nice housewarming party in Örtaköy for artist Genco Gülan who told me that my psychology major would be "perfect" for a career in art. Yes!

Sunday was the last day of Huseyin Çaglayan's futuristic fashion exhibit at Istanbul Modern, so I had to hit it up. Fabulous videos, but the clothes, although cool, felt like some high-budget Project Runway: Jetsons Edition. I can't pretend I didn't like the black dress loaded with diamonds that shot our red lasers, or the pulsating LED light-dress, but I just don't feel like clothes belong in the Modern.

I sadly bid farewell to Istanbul and began the long journey back to Gölcük.

Gölcük (pronounced Gull-jewk)

2010-12-26T01:26:00.000-08:00

In Istanbul, when I told Turkish people I was going to Gölcük, their reply was either a confused "Where?" Or an incredulous "Why?"

When I reached this town, a mere two hours away from Istanbul, I quickly understood their unenthused responses. Gölcük is a very small town, and is known primarily for being a navy shipyard and the epicenter of a devastating earthquake ('99).

Everything is within a 5-minute walk of downtown. Downtown meaning a couple restaurants, a market, and a big Ataturk statue. Golcuk is not especially pretty...much of the town was destroyed by the earthquake and has been rebuilt recently, so there are older dilapidated structures interspersed with new boxy-shaped buildings, punctuated by depressingly empty lots of cleared-out rubble.

They might skimp on house upkeep, but not on satellite dishes! (yellow building = new, teal building = old)

So why was I there? Another internship, secured through SCU, that paid for my housing in return for my unpaid labor. Thus, I was an intern at the Golcuk Municipality Art Gallery. It is the only contemporary art venue in the whole city, and was built a few years after the big quake. It is actually an art center: a two-story building, with a split-level exhibition room, a café, a small library, some offices, a big meeting hall, and a reception room. It also has an atelier, which means facilities for making traditional Turkish crafts like marbling and calligraphy.

I arrived in Golcuk the night of Monday, October 18th, met at the bus stop by Sule, a 26-year old Turkish woman who works at the art gallery with me. She walked me to the Teacher Guest Hotel, a tacky yet welcoming lodging that was a five minute walk from work.

Teacher Guest Hotel. Yes, that was literally its name.

I barely met anyone in Golcuk who spoke English, other than two English teachers, Sule, and another woman I worked with named Dilek.

I liked Sule and Dilek, and considered them friends.

Sule, always smiling. SO nice. Her mother insisted on doing my laundry for me.

Travelling and meeting lots of people raised the question of how to define friendship. Some people were so generous before I even got to know them very well, inviting me to meet their family and travel to their hometown. Instant bffs. Others who I'd met multiple times and know much better were reluctant to offer me their couch. Hello?? I am homeless!

And, what if I like someone as a person, but I don't agree with their actions or like their friends? Can I consider someone a friend who I have a good time with but wouldn't trust to truly watch my back?

In Turkish, the word arkadash means friend. It translates literally as "behind the back." Which I think encompasses what a friendship means.

All of these new faces, acquaintances, companions, and friends made me miss my best friends back in the US. They are utterly irreplaceable, and it's so good to be back here again. Although, now I miss Istanbul and my friends there....bittersweet!

Marbling class with Sule, Zeynep, and Didem. Fun even with a language barrier.

A Prisoner Predicts my Future

2010-11-21T12:29:00.000-08:00

Can you imagine if the White House had a harem? I got a dose of Turkey's fabled Eastern exoticism when I realized that the Dolmabache Palace, which was relatively just constructed (1843), has a large, um, "women's headquarters." I assure you that section is not in use today. The palace's wildly ornate Baroque/Rococco decorations were pretty, especially the enormous pure crystal chandeliers, but I did have one big complaint: I hated the painted "marble" pillars and fake painted wall carvings which included fake painted-on jewels. This, in a palace? Fake painted jewels that look like they're from a stage backdrop at a community theater!? Just leave it plain or spring for the real thing! It made me feel like I was at Disneyland, not in a real palace.

One heck-of-a front gate

But forget the fake stuff. It was time for a real glimpse into my future via some Turkish coffee and a professional fortune teller. I was excited to see what my future had in store, and for free! Well, free with a 15-lira cup of kahve. Dilara, who scheduled our appointment, led us from Istiklal Street to a surprisingly modern café; I'd been expecting smoky incense and shimmery tapestries, not Beatles posters and Tarkan music. The friendly, plump old woman looked into my cup, had me write my name and birthday on a scrap of paper, and proceeded to analyze my present, past, and future (as translated by Dilara). Of course I don't believe in coffee fortunes, but I wanted to experience this novelty. At the very least, hearing someone else "explain" you makes you think about your life in a broader sense, rather than just the minute details of everyday existence.

What this lady didn't predict was that I'd have my fortune read again two days later; this time by an ancient Kurdish woman who learned the trade during a long stint in jail -- she'd been imprisoned in Iraq for dissenting against Saddam Hussein, and as the sole supporter of her family she learned the art of coffee reading, told inmates' fortunes, and sent the money home. The young Zeynep from TCF came with me to Huseyin's carpet shop, where the Kurdish lady was waiting. She was the mother of the wife of Huseyin's best friend Heinrich, whose family I'd met (including his two über-süper young kids) the day before at another Beşiktaş game.

As Heinrich's wife translated from Kurdish to English, I was most surprised by the uncanny similarities between this reading and my previous one. Whether these predictions are really based on the coffee dregs or just on a vibe I give off, I will never know. Either way it was almost spooky. The lady kept telling Zeynep she'd meet a man and get pregnant. "It better not be soon, I'm only 17!" she laughed nervously.

This visit to the carpet shop may be the last time I see Huseyin, because when I get back to Istanbul he will have gone off for a 5-month trip around the world. A middle-aged carpet seller is a rather unlikely friend to have, and people (including myself, sometimes) question his motivation behind this friendship; but hey, actions are most important and he's consistently shown generosity and a caring spirit to me and my friends. And confirming his sincerity, half-finished on the loom in his store hung a carpet that among a floral pattern spelled out, "Let the beauty of what you love be what you do. -Rumi." Just as he had promised.

The rest of my final weekend in Istanbul included a rendezvous outside Burger King at Taksim Square, which is the most-utilized meeting point in the city. BK Lounge is always flocked by people sipping Efes slyly out of black plastic bags, eyes searching passers-by for their companions. We all went to a bar called Papillon, where my friend Chris was DJing an eclectic selection of music from Classixx to Ludacris. Sunday night was my friend Sara's housewarming/birthday party, at which I felt more American than I had in the past two months, thanks mostly to the flip cup and beer pong. For the weekend's final nightcap, Serhan and I went to get beers and tantuni, from that delicious late-night restaurant featuring the tomato-y burritos. The Turkish-speaking waiter sang and danced and communicated that I shouldn't leave for Gölcük, where I have another internship starting Monday October 18. This farewell moment reminded me of leaving the kebap waiters by my senora's apartment in Madrid, when I had to fight back tears as I said "Adios amigos."

While I am not anxious to leave Istanbul, I am excited to go to Gölcük and have a change of pace. Serhan's nocturnal lifestyle coupled with the revolving door of his apartment left me exhausted at times. He was a great host in Istanbul, and refused any payment from me for my time at his apartment. I did buy him some soups and beers here and there along the way, but that almost doesn't count because of all the free beers and food I gained from going around town with him. I will probably see him again when I'm back in Istanbul, unless his next movie works out in which case he will be in Syria. We'll see!

Zeitgeist

2010-11-17T09:09:00.000-08:00

I have read that Turks love conspiracy theories, and spending time here has proven that theory to be true. Devrin, one of Serhan's best friends, especially enjoys talking politics.

Some ideas I've heard here:

2009 Turkish political cartoon

- We hate fascists and populists
- Go socialism!
- USA's war on terror is a farce
- Bush is BFF's with bin Laden
- Bush is an oil-snatcher
- Bush sucks
- 9/11 was committed by the US government
- The entire world is run by a group of uber-rich elite families, who control the media, world politics, and economy
- Soon, the world's oil will be depleted and energy will turn to Boron, of which Turkey has huge deposits
- Therefore, Turkey is in a major position of power in regards to the world's future, also as a gate to the Middle East, so the world is obsessed with this country

   Devrin is a 40-year-old Turkish filmmaker who lived in Texas for six years, so he speaks wonderful English (sans Southern accent). He has been a good friend, and he enjoys telling me his radical ideas. "Don't be offended, okay? Am I making you embarrassed?" he asks, after explaining that the moon landing was faked.
   "No, Devrin, I enjoy hearing a variety of opinions about different subjects. Conspiracy theories are interesting," I reply.
   "These are not conspiracy theories- they are the truth! Open your eyes and see with your heart!"

I admit that watching Zeitgeist at 5:30 am did make my head spin. Or was it the lack of sleep?

Here in Turkey I also discovered this politically-charged gem of a song, by Faithless: "Inaction is the weapon of mass destruction..." thanks to one of Serhan's friends, an accomplished writer named Eyuphan Erkul. He showed us the music video at his home in the Prince's Islands, and I showed him  M.I.A.'s Born Free video. Turns out many Turks are fans of Romain Gavras.

Eyuphan's 8-year-old daughter Zehra tried to teach me Turkish, but succeeded only in teaching me two words: "fat" which is şişman and "farted" which is pırt yaptı. "Serhan pırt yaptı, Serhan pırt yaptı," she sang, dancing around the kitchen. Eyuphan cooked us chicken, and I brought a bottle of rakı to share as a thank-you (which Eyuphan shattered on the floor, after only a glass. Sh*t's strong.).

The lovely thing about the Prince's Islands is their peacefulness- there are no cars on the islands, only bicycles, an occasional golf cart, and horse-drawn carriages. We took a carriage from the village near the dock up to Eyuphan's house, which had a beautiful views from the balconies. He didn't speak too much English, but we talked about the history of the Prince's Islands: royal family members, jealous of the imminent sultans, viciously blinded them shipped them out here. Hence the romantic name, Prince's Islands. But maybe it's just a conspiracy theory....

All the World's a Stage

2010-11-09T06:49:00.000-08:00

A Preface Worth Pouting For

Please appreciate the following photos, because after I posted them my flash drive erased itself, along with nearly all my pictures from this trip. I didn't scream, or cry, or punch a loaf of bread, I just sighed and am holding out a pathetic bizarre hope that somehow, someone in the states will be able to retrieve the files. The disk drive still says 80% full, so the photos can't really be gone....can they? Don't answer that unless its good news.

Other bad news, summer is gone; yaz yok. I have officially started wearing tights under my pants and I don't know what I'll do when it actually gets cold-- apparently this bone-chilling air is "nothing." LA, I miss you! In spite of my constant shivering, time is flying by for me here in Istanbul, nights turning to morning before my eyes. For example...

Add caption

All of a sudden, the critical night came and went that my stuff should have been moved out of Dini's apartment (because of her family's imminent arrival). But there I stood watching the sun rise over the Bosphorus bridge, my packed suitcase and miscellaneous bags still littering her apartment. I couldn't very well wake up Timur, Paolo, and Katherine (the residents of my next CouchSurfing destination) at this hour, so the reasonable option was to take my stuff to Serhan's apartment as he so generously offered. Me, him, and Melda, a girl my age who spoke zero English, hopped in a cab, swiftly collected my belongings, and hightailed it back to his place with a box of fresh pastries in hand. The sun shined through the curtains as I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

even bleary eyes can appreciate an Istanbul sunrise

And that is how it came to be that I would live in the apartment of a Turkish actor for the next two weeks. His spontaneous hospitality not only included free housing (thank you), but also a wealth of knowledge about the city, its people, where to go, what to see, and where to get the best fresh fish soup. Another bonus? Since he was between acting jobs, he had unlimited free time, as did I. Kismet.

Shoe-shining and ironing --
typical for Turks! (spot Americans with
their wrinkly clothes)

So Serhan lives a bohemian Turkish lifestyle- constantly meeting people for magically free tea and coffee, staying awake all night and sleeping much of the day, talking politics and truth and creativity. I've adapted to this nocturnal schedule, because I always enjoy running around Istanbul with him and meeting more and more people. It seems like all of his friends are actors or actresses, or musicians, or directors, or photographers, or writers, which jives with the reputation of his Cihangir neighborhood, which is known by some as the "Hollywood of Istanbul."

It's funny because when I first met Serhan I definitely didn't believe he was an actor. "Yeah right," I said, playing the part of the wise skeptic after he showed me the trailer to Cehennem 3D, a horror movie he said he was in. "That's not you."

"It is!" he replied, but didn't force the subject. Turns out it was him, and soon enough we were watching the film on its opening night, Serhan occasionally translating some of the Turkish for me. During the film's intermission (it's a Turkish thing) I met some of the other actors and actresses in the film, including the token "hot chick" who was totally destined to a grisly death. "Memnun oldum," (nice to meet you) I said, as we kissed each others' cheeks. Sitting back in the theater, a fresh Coca Cola Light in hand, the movie continued. Two minutes later, the girl I had just met was butt-naked onscreen in the throes of a 3D sex scene, before bursting into flames and becoming a grotesquely charred corpse. This was one of the weirdest meeting-someone experiences I've had.

"Serhan, can you please tell me before you get sick of me, so that I can move along to another apartment?" I asked, after being here for a week.

"I appreciate your existence!" he replies. "Let me be your guide."

Other than my now-nocturnal sleeping schedule, it has been an ideal living situation. Yet strange. Part of Serhan's very generous and sharing nature is his tendency to bring home what I can only describe as "stray girls." Meaning that most nights we end up coming back to the apartment with at least one other girl, young women who seem to randomly have absolutely nothing to do the next day, and without even asking permission feel entitled to come over, blab until 7 in the morning, and then finally go to sleep, not waking until late the following afternoon. I mean, I knew what I was getting myself into, because even the first night (morning, rather) when I moved in, we had been accompanied by Melda.

The hip-pincher

Tip. Of. The iceberg. Since then, at least seven or eight more have slept over. Two have left love notes for Serhan, one dramatically hidden in the pages of a book. Another barged over noisily at 4 am, became extremely offended when me, Serhan, and the other two girls there asked her to quiet down, and then left as quickly as she had come -- although even more loudly, literally stomping and screaming in her tshirt and tights that were not meant to be pants. Serhan showed me in his phone that she was listed as "Başak Deli" meaning "Crazy Başak."

Some of the girls have been friendly and silly, others pinch my cheeks and hips (which I learned means "fatty"), some speak English, and some only drink rakı. Some just want company, others seem to want Serhan. "Dude, if you want some alone time, just let me know, I can clear out," I tell him. So far, he hasn't taken me up on that offer. In any case, Serhan is always obliged to extend the Turkish hospitality to these young ladies, I have yet to see him refuse a girl who wishes to come back to the apartment. He manages to conduct these affairs in the most gentlemanly of ways.

Efes, ne güzel

So how do these marathon bar-hopping nights keep piling up? Evenings begin in my friend's office, which is located above that bar I love called Café Turco, the one with the live music next to the gay bar Sugarclub. Sharing Efes and freshly rolled tobacco cigarretes (I can't argue with the "smokes like a Turkish man" stereotype), more people gather up at Devrin's film editing office. (When I first met Devrin, at the same time as Serhan, Devrin told me he was a "director." I, playing the part of the wise skeptic, assumed "porno director." I was wrong.) Eventually, someone leads the way to the first location of the night.

They don't dress up for Halloween, but they do dress up to party!

A Birthday Party: I wasn't sure exactly where we would all end up, as usual...I tend to just say "sure" when an opportunity to go somewhere presents itself. Birthday party? Why not? So we hike up six or seven floors of rickety stairs in a large, old apartment building near Taksim Square. The festivities were in a huge, elegantly decrepit flat, plaster crumbling away to reveal bricks beneath. The party was hosted by an artist who owns the apartment as her studio, and it was elegant 80s themed, playing American and Turkish 80s hits (of course). Projections lit up the walls, and there was fresh fruit to much on, an open bar, and a man dressed as an angel sprinkling golden glitter everywhere (that would somehow invade my suitcase, leaving me glittery for a week). I ended up meeting many more people including some shiny-chested makeup artist which resulted in this:

"Next time you let me make-up your body, ok?" Not okay.

Between Hayal Kahvesi and Line Bar

Another Birthday Party: The other night we went to a birthday party at a restuaurant that rained balloons from the ceiling and featured a cake topped with a sparkler so wild it looked like something Lady Gaga would use to light her cigarettes. They gave out free stuffed animals, so I got a cute pink bunny rabbit that travelled the night with me, bar-hopping. We went to see a friend of Serhan's band play, called Grup Entu. They play laz-rock, meaning Turkish rock music from the north Black Sea coast, that uses instruments like the ney and this big bagpipe-ish device called a tülüm. There I learned from a friend about the Green Card Lottery- the US gives out 50,000 green cards each year. Crazy! I felt so dumb for not knowing about it.

Devrin, Friend, and Serhan

Too sleepy for tantuni?

After the parties, it's time for the bars, although it takes forever to get there because Serhan seems to know everyone, and they always want to stop and chat. His friends are happy to meet me and luckily many of them speak English. What keeps the bars here fun, in spite of the lack of perfect electronic music, is the good quality live music. Whether it's Latin, reggae, a girl with a lovely voice, or a Pink Floyd cover band made up of a father and son, it's always a surprise. Serhan even sang a song while Devrin played the drums for him! [Really missing my photos right now.]

The nights always end at a restaurant that serves tantuni, which is kind of a spicy tomato burrito thing, where everyone has one last beer as they teach me outrageously inappropriate Turkish words.

Couchsurfing and the Necessity of Unemployment

2010-11-06T01:09:00.000-07:00

Ceyda (pronounced Jayda) at Kahvedan

Wow. It's Joao.

Sunday, September 20, I invited tiny French-Turkish Ceyda (my new dorm roommate) to accompany me to Joao's photo show at Kahvedan -- he is the Portuguese artist I met at the opening party of Caravanserai. His pictures were black and white, double-layered photographs in which by chance, the subject matter of the photos played off each other, in a juxtaposition, or narrative, or an unexpectedly intriguing combination, like bubbles that seemingly carry away tables at a café.

a terrible quality photo of Joao's photos

Ceyda and I ate gözleme, an awesome Turkish version of a crepe filled with cheese, spinach, and potatoes. We chatted with Joao about his time here in Istanbul, his art gallery in Slovenia, and how he makes his art. For Joao, Istanbul represents the final stop on his massive journey from Western to Eastern Europe, with art being his primary travel agenda.

Gözleme, çok güzelmiş.

Ceyda and I asked each other questions about our respective cultures, and I spoke clearly and slowly so she could understand me more easily. Her unique accent left me baffled as she kept asking me what I thought about "Toilette" and if I'd read it or seen it, and what it meant in English. Umm.....

Turned out she meant "Twilight."

(I must mention another funny mistranslation: In Kappadokia, the tour guide kept explaining how their volcanoes are now inactive "according to the scientologists.")

As we stood near the photos, a middle-aged man in a tight, bright, sky blue polo shirt and a gold necklace approached us, sipping rosy liquid from a wineglass. He asked in English where Joao was from, and they got into an intense conversation about some past European political railroad fiasco that I had no clue about, regarding a location where the English-speaking man had lived.

I asked the man where he was from, and the answer was New Jersey. "What do you do now?" I asked. He laughed. "Well, for a while I lived the life of unemployment. It's a life to live! Unemployment is necessary! Finally I got around to really looking for a job, and that's when one day, I realized: I wouldn't hire myself! And that's when I got creative..." He mysteriously changed the subject.

Joao ended up inviting Ceyda and me to come visit Caravansarai another evening, and then she and I walked back to the dorms together- Ceyda had to study for an English exam. In Turkey, students take an English test, and achieving a high enough score on it can save you a year of schooling and $7,000. She didn't pass the test. Maybe because instead of buying an English practice book that night as we walked home on Istiklal Street, she just bought CD after CD. I bought a pocket-sized book of Rumi's poetry.

Was Rumi the inspiration for
Mother Ginger? hmm...

This is such a day: the sun is dazzling twice as before
A day beyond all days, unlike all others- say no more...
Lovers, I have great news for you: from the heavens above
This day of love brings songs and flowers in a downpour.
-Rumi

I've become a fan of Mevlana Rumi's poetry, who was a Sufi mystic, since I came to Turkey. Rumi is the inspiration behind the still-celebrated Whirling Dervishes which remain a popular tourist attraction I have yet to enjoy. My favorite quote attributed to Rumi is "Let the beauty of what you love be what you do."

Huseyin the carpet seller and I had been discussing Rumi and when I told him this quote, he loved it. "Çok güzel! I will have the girl weave it into a rug!" he waved his hand excitedly toward the headscarved lady who is always bent over a small loom in the front of his shop. Setting down my tea, I replied, "Yeah right." I rolled my eyes at Huseyin's constant tactics of flattering young women. It would be a lovely rug, though. ("Çok güzel," pronounced "choke gooZEL", echoes through Turkey all day long. It is a multi-purpose exclamation of approval about everything from a gorgeous sunset to a well-prepared meal to a fancy dress.)

Huseyin and the homing pigeons who live
on the roof of his shop.

Speaking of insane Huseyin (who is uncannily like hippie Luke, only Turkish and carpet dealing and fifteen years older), he is wildly helpful and generous when it comes to anything regarding Turkey. I told him I was looking for a place to stay beginning September 26th (when my dorm housing from my TCF internship would expire), and thanks to him I connected with Dini. "I'm sure you can stay with her, she is like a daughter to me!" Huseyin exclaimed, excited to put us in touch.

"Like a daughter, huh, that's interesting," Dini reacted to my story of Huseyin's description of their friendship. Later Huseyin would hint to me that their friendship was at some point more than platonic-- truth or lie I'll never know (my instinct says "he wishes"), but certainly a reinforcement of Huseyin's notorious lady-killer persona. The book "In Turkey I am Beautiful" hammered this point home, not that you can't tell just by looking at him. "Ooof, watch out!" my Turkish girlfriends warn me wide-eyed after seeing his photo.

from the terrace at Caravansarai. (after the cloudless 4 years of SCU, I love clouds)

Friday night, September 25, was officially my last night in the dorms, and the night that Ceyda and I had accepted Joao's invitation to dinner. We were joined by the other artist-in-residence, a Polish man named Dominik, on the rooftop terrace of Caravansarai, all of us delighted that the clouds held in their rain until the delicious meal was finished. We drank Spanish wine and playing children's fortune-telling games, and talked passionately about art in conversations dangerously verging on cliché.

Rarely sighted in Turkey: a Man in the Kitchen!

At DogzStar, enjoying American 80s Music (of course)

After the home-cooked dinner, we descended the usual dizzingly spiral staircase out onto the streets of the unlikely industrial neighborhood of Karaköy, climbing the steep hill to Galatasaray and exploring some of the bars. I wouldn't have pegged Dominik as such a dancer, but he flailed around until his glasses literally fell off his face, reminding me all for the world of a foreign Dwight Shrute after a few Four Lokos. His intellectual appearance was punctuated by a fierce row of stitches above his right eye and a purple circle beneath it- at Tuesday's attacks on the art galleries, he had been assaulted: he was thrown to the street, punched, and kicked, which ended in a hospital visit.

Speaking of violence, my next brush with it was while I was staying at Dini's aparment (as she had generously fulfilled her offer of hosting me). Apparently living with Dini doesn't constitute true CouchSurfing because I met her through Huseyin....whatever, I think it counts. Dini, a pretty, curly-haired Canadian of Indian descent has been working for two years as an English teacher here in Turkey. Her demeanor was a hybrid between super-laid back and manic cleaning activity -- she had been extremely busy preparing her apartment for the imminent arrival of her "minimalist" aunt and mother. I have helped her move furniture, remove trash, organize shelves, and beat rugs off the balcony (a very tiring task, actually, leaving us in awe at the old Turkish women strong enough to do it alone). Luckily I love redecorating.

Dini at the apartment, giving off a proper English-teacher vibe

The violence? Dini's unknown (apparently with good reason) and psychotic upstairs neighbors were chucking glass bottles off their balcony and screaming, their stomps shuddering through the ceiling. Her friend Gökselin jumped up and locked the door, and called Timur to ask if he should call the police. Dini was unconcerned. I put in my earplugs and went to sleep.

Gökselin, Timur, Katherine

Since moving in with Dini, I've hung out with people I met through her a few times, and had planned on staying with her friends Timur, Katherine, and Paolo after my time at her apartment ran out. This plan would spontaneously change at the last minute. Stay tuned!

MMW. Wood on the gee-tar, me-ow!

The Monday after I moved into Dini's, I went to go see a Medeski Martin & Wood show! Zeynep, from TCF, asked me to come with her and a friend. They wereboth 17 years old...so young, I know! I felt old. Jazz is so entertaining to watch live because of the wild faces that the musicians make (of pleasure, or disgust, or like they're struggling on the toilet), and they way they seem so disconnected at times and connected at others, yet the music always remains in sync. I was excited to see a melodica make an appearance.

he scat-sang along with his piano the whole time, super entertaining

The week at Dini's passed quickly, teaching me the joys of Glee, how to buy curtains in Turkey, and the magic of Yemek Sepeti delivery service, a website that magically delivers everything from fresh-cooked fish to a box of sugarcubes right to your door in minutes. I certainly miss staying at her welcoming apartment, where the tapestries and laid-back atmosphere made me feel right at home.

We must fight! For our right! To PARTY!

2010-11-01T07:28:00.000-07:00

"A nation devoid of art and artists cannot have a full existence."
-Mustafa Kemal Atatürk

Office of Contemporary Istanbul

Monday, September 21, I was invited by my new coworkers (from my volunteer internship with Contemporary Istanbul, an upcoming art fair) to attend some gallery openings. Of course, I was stoked. Ada, Zeynep, Duygu, Bugra, (three ladies and a dude) and I walked from the office in Taksim Square downhill to the district of Tophane, not far from the Istanbul Modern which is right by the sea.

Looking out the window, you see Taksim Square. Busses, TV screens, hotels....

We visited four galleries, located close to each other in a San Francisco-ish neighborhood of vintage stores, boutiques, restaurants, and galleries. We all oohed and ahhed at some expensive but cute mary-jane shoes through a store window on our way to the first gallery. This night felt like a miniature version of San Francisco's First Thursdays or San Jose's First Fridays, less crowded but a definite good turnout at the venues. I even spotted some familiar faces, like Julie and Annika (the American owners of Caravanserai artist-in-residecy center) and Joao (the Portuguese artist I also met at the opening party of Caravanserai).

3d installation by Mehmet Ali Uysal at Pi Artworks.
(I just kept thinking of the entrance to XS in Vegas, though)

The art tonight ranged from sophisticated doodles, to paper mosaics, to video art, to commercial-type photographs of naked models like Gisele. People enjoyed free bottles of beer and glasses of wine, sometimes walking out to the sidewalk with drinks in hand. In Turkey, it is legal to drink on the streets (although not as encouraged as in Spain, where bars tip your drink into a plastic to-go cup when they shut down). Since indoor smoking has been banned in Turkey, drinking on the streets has especially increased at venues that lack a smoking patio or garden area.

Duygu at GaleriNon....what she's holding could prove deadly.

At the third and final gallery we visited, GaleriNon, my jaw dropped at the art I was seeing. This gallery, by far the most crowded, had the most controversial art. A cartoonish statue of the esteemed Kemal Atatürk depicted him, the beloved founder of the Turkish Republic, as a fallen angel on the ground. Graphics on the walls transformed minarets and Turkey's cresent into dollar signs. The flag was pictured backward and made of meat, images of women in full headscarves holding weapons blared black on white canvases. These works are by a "group" (apparently just one person, though) known as ExtraStruggle, and the title of the exhibit is "We did not do this, you did," a title that some consider prophetic based on the events that soon unfolded.

Bunu ben yapmadım, siz yaptınız. Extramücadele 2010.

Ataturk was the first sculpture you see when entering.
People tried not to trip over him in the crowded space.

I had just ascended the stairs of the split-level gallery when a commotion broke out in front. "Fight?" we asked one another, half-excited, half-nervous, and ever so curious. Yelling ensued, and from the squabble by the front door came the noise of extremely rough banging against the giant, two-story glass windows and front doors. It was a wobbly thumping noise, like the sound of a body being slammed agains the window, flexing it almost to the point of breaking; I could only see the tops of people's heads through the window from where I was standing. The glass door was being pushed shut, and I figured that we would be safe inside. Then the coughing began. And escalated. People covered their mouths with their hands, and with scarves, as eyes teared up and turned red, and everyone's shoulders shook with convulsive coughs. Some sort of gas had been sprayed inside the gallery, and I had no way of knowing what kind, or how much.

WTF!

"Do not breathe," Bugra instructed, and held his nose. "Tear gas." I breathed shallowly, and joined the crowd that was funneling up a small staircase. My heart was pounding as I entered a large room that looked like a storage area for the gallery's art. The windows would not open, but I was able to breathe without coughing. I certainly did not receive the worst of the spray; other people seemed almost completely unable to breathe or open their eyes as they struggled up the stairs. I peered cautiously out the window, looking for police, or whatever might be happening, but I couldn't easily see anything and didn't want my head to pop up in the window like an easy target. Who knows what else could happen!

Duygu, a 22-year-old Turkish girl, motioned me back to the staircase, and we continued our ascent. People asked each other what had happened, wondering if it was the politically controversial art that sparked such radical behavior. Certainly possible. My nerves had calmed a bit, but I was still worried and feeling trapped. At least at this point it seemed that the tear gas was the worst of the attack, and that the coast had cleared. Now, reading the news, I know that it was pepper spray and not tear gas, but at the time that had been the general consensus. People began to move back downstairs, still coughing uncomfortably.

We tried not to breathe as we finally slipped out of the building, under the white iron fence that protects the storefront at night. I followed Dugyu's example and left my beer bottle inside the stairwell, rather than bringing it outside as I had without a seond thought all night.

GaleriNon protects its large windows, closing the metal grate.

Outside, some people spoke with the two or so policemen who were present, and everyone asked one another what had happened. Here's the story I heard there: Athough this neighborhood seems progressive and artistic, many inhabitants are very conservative Muslim fundamentalists, who are upset at the drinking that happens at the art gallery openings. In the recent past, markets and restaurants that serve alcohol have been damaged and harrassed as well. This evening was a more extreme version of this reaction to the drinking. While Galerinon was hit the hardest, with the pepper spray and a fight at the door, at the other galleries, violence had erupted as well, and three people were hospitalized. Weapons had included sticks, stones, bottles, oranges full of sharp material that exploded upon impact after being thrown, and fists and kicks. Women were hit as well as men. Some windows were broken.

Aftermath. I stood quietly during much rapidfire Turkish

What a confusing situation! It did make more sense that alcohol drinking was the reason for the attacks than the art, because anti-Kemalist art would not offend fundamentalists (who are rather anti-Kemalist themselves because they reject Mustafa Kemal Atatürk's "modernist" ideas). People who would be offended by anti-Kemalist art would probably be cultured/intellectual and certainly wouldn't hate-crime an art gallery. But really, how could such crimes be committed without the influence of alcohol? Cold-blooded attacks! Why wasn't anyone being handcuffed? Were we safe now?

As my companions and I walked cautiously up the street back toward Taksim, we passed a group of men ranging from ages 15 to 25. A cop car was just pulling away, and the males were laughing. My female coworker, Ada, began angrily talking to them, shaking her fist. Ada was quickly ushered away by Zeynep, although it was clear that tiny Ada wanted to stand her ground.

goons in stripes

"What happened?" I asked her a couple minutes later.

"Those guys said that they were the ones who committed the crime and broke the windows," Ada replied, her voice icy with disgust at the night's events. "They said they didn't care to speak with me because I am a woman."
"Will they get in trouble? I saw the cops right there."
"No, they will not get in trouble. Welcome to Turkey."

I followed Zeynep, Duygu, and Ada into an apartment building, down stairs, up stairs, down a hallway, and finally into a posh garden with outdoor fireplaces where people were peacefully eating, drinking, and chatting. We sat down, still rather shocked by the night, and ordered tea -- and nice, cold, beer. "This restaurant had to close their usual entrance because of harrassment," Ada said, explaining the strange roundabout entrance to cafe Limonlu.

Apparently, the police tend to turn a blind eye towards this radical conservative outlash against modernist progressive behavior. This injustice demonstrates the Turkish political climate that results from a "secular" government in a 99% Islamic nation, and the pressures that the secular/modernist minority suffers in the face of this.

I returned to Galerinon later to get a look at the art I'd missed seeing on that hectic night. The gallery had, I thought, a ton of visitors considering it was a weekday afternoon.

Red heads are Ataturk's

"Turkish Republic" with the flag backward

Was this backwards meat-flag commissioned by Lady Gaga?

ubiquitous symbols in Turkey, note the Efes

In Turkey, some people feel that the government is letting Islamicism "creep" into Turkey's politics, but technically the ruling party is upholding the secular constitution, at least they claim to be. It's a question of how the rules are enforced, like what crimes do police actually arrest people for? Turkey is currently governed on a constitution written based on the one authored in 1921 by Kemal Atuturk, who can be compared to a tough-loving father for Turkey: pushing a Muslim nation to surrender their fundamentalist practices, like wearing headscarves and praying five times per day, in favor of "modernizing" Turkey and Westernizing culture.

Since that night in Tophane, there have not been any attacks like it, at least not that I have heard of. Until yesterday, October 31, when a suicide bomber let loose in Taksim Square -- but that was actual terrorism rather than simply extreme harrassment.

Maşallah.

In conclusion, let's admire this graffiti'd door in the very district of Tophane:

Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls

2010-10-19T07:45:00.000-07:00

Mr. Erdoğan, Turkish Prime Minister, said that “he did not believe in equality between women and men” and that “women and men were different and complementary.”

The gender dynamics in Turkey, or at least, Istanbul
First of all, there are way more men than women out-n-about. In many alleys (which Istanbul residents prefer to call "streets"), men loiter outside restaurants, on benches, at tiny tables playing backgammon, chatting on the corner, and smoking cigarettes. Women might be seen working in a shop, but are rarely spotted biding their time on the sidewalks. It's weird to walk down a street and be the only woman in sight.

Where da ladies at?

Lately, women have begun opening their own female-oriented teahouses so that they can go spend time out of the house without the social pressures of being in a male-dominated teahouse. Women stay inside their homes most of the time, it seems, because wandering around town raises questions of sexual fidelity and purity. This same sentiment influences the wearnig of modest clothing and headscarves.

Is women-free the way to be?

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails Are the men here especially forward or vulgar? Not more so than in other cities, I think. True, I can't understand what they say under their breath occasionally when I pass by; this might be a good thing. At bars and dance clubs, I haven't experienced any men being too overly persistent; once again it's just like in America but with a language barrier. Apparently Turkish women have a local reputation for being quite conservative, and making a man work very hard for that first kiss. So Turkish men have different expectations that other cultures when it comes to first encounters, I would venture. However, they also have more possessive tendencies. A random thirty-or-so Turkish man invited me for a soda as I was passing by his travel agency, and I agreed to sit and chat. The conversation was allright. When I said "Goodbye, I will go meet my friend now," the Turk asked, "Is it a man friend or a woman friend?" A totally unnecessary question, said in an unecessarily aggressive tone. Needless to say, I never met up with this soda-chat man again.

I have heard disturbing stories of women being inappropriately touched on public transportation, and sitting there crying instead of saying something about it. As an American woman, I would never put up with treatment like that! However, there are also valiant men who, when they witness a woman being hassled, will punch the criminal and ask them, "If that was your mother, how would you feel!?" (Well, Huseyin the carpet-seller told me that story about his own bravery, but I've heard similar tales from other sources.)

My own butt has been grabbed twice- once walking down the street (to which I screamed "Ayip! Ayip!" meaning "Shame on you!!!!") and once in a mosque, on Bayram, by a Spanish kid who must have been like 14 years old and wanted to take a photo with James and me. Disgusting. In that situation, I simply exited the mosque so as to not cause a scene, but everyone who I've told the story to instantly asks "Did you slap him? I hope you slapped him!"

Moments before the crime: kid in "Touch Me Tease Me Kiss Me" shirt is the culprit, of course

A man named Jihan who is married to an American woman here in Istanbul informed me that Turkish people value honesty so heavily, that when a woman's purse is snatched, the public will attack the theif, mercilessly beating him until the police show up to protect the criminal by throwing him in the mini-cooper cop car. The public shouts, "Leave him to us! Leave him to us!" and returns the purse to its rightful owner. (Where was this in Madrid when my mugger, hands pinned behind his back by a security guard, was simply let free back on the streets? Justice!)

Can't Buy Me Love

Another interesting gender dynamic: in Turkey, prostitution is legal. This explains the boldness of the scantily clad prostitutes who wander the streets at night-- not in huge numbers but here and there I've seen them. They are dressed way more modestly than other hookers I've seen, wearing tight polo shirts and skirts instead of fishnet unitards and fur coats. In certain alleyways, male prositutes lean out of the windows of gayly painted buildings, batting their huge eyelashes seductively at passers-by. It is no secret what commodity they're selling. (I wanted to take a picture but my friend warned me that if I pulled out a camera, they would throw "who knows what" at me. I didn't risk it.)

Rainbows and Butterflies

As in any big city, Istanbul has a thriving gay culture. One of my favorite bars, Cafe Turco, which has outdoor live music, happens to be located next door to Sugarclub.

Outside Sugarclub

Late at night, SugarClub empties and the music-watchers at next-door Cafe Turco are treated to a sparkly, flamboyant parade of short shorts worn by sassy men striding to another location in Istanbul. It's great that homosexuals in Istanbul can embrace their lifestyle, because in other parts of the country people certainly cannot express themselves so freely.

Much conservative Turkish culture condemns homosexuality. One of the only ways to avoid the mandatory 15-month military service for males is to claim homosexuality. To verify your claim, you are subjected to a "humiliating examination" including the requirement of presenting photographic proof of your homosexuality. Then, the military informs your parents that you are a homosexual, which for some Turks, may be a fate worse than death.

(Interestingly, ancient Turkish history includes unabashed bisexuality, in hamam bathhouses, during wars, and in general hedonistic life, from transvestite royal court performers, to sultans' affairs with men, to poets and artists freely exploring their sexuality.)

witnessed at a birthday party...this angel man sprinkled gold glitter everywhere

Head to Head

Talking about gender also merits mentioning the headscarf controversy. Many Muslim women wear scarves on their hair, many do not. Outside of the cities, it rarer to see uncovered women. Some wear the scarves with long dresses that cover the neck, wrists, and ankles. Some wear them with unflattering beige or gray trenchcoats. Others wear the scarves with long, billowing black robes, which carry a hefty price tag in shops. Kurdish people, the minority from Eastern Turkey, wear their scarves loosely, with hair fluttering out. Other women wrap their scarves tightly under their chins, wearing an elastic cap underneath to prevent a stray hair from escaping.

Jen in a scarf

"Why do some women wear scarves, and others don't?" I asked a Turkish female friend. "Well..." she said, lowering her voice to a near-whisper, "those with money don't wear the scarves, you see, usually. It's the other people, the non-modernist ones, who wear thes scarves."

The word modernist carries many connotations in Turkey: it refers to a pro-Western sentiment, the denial of practicing fundamentalist Islam because of the strain it puts on Turkish-Western culture relations. The government in Turkey is secular, the only example of a secular government of a primarily Islamic nation. This is a result of the 1924 constitution written under Ataturk, the father of the modern Turkish Republic, who made a number of extremely modernist "improvements," like exchanging the Arabic alphabet for Latin letters. Still working on their bid for the EU, modernist Turkish citizens are deeply alarmed when the secular government seems to support fundamentalist Islam in any way, like when they attempted to lift an 80-year ban on headscarves in government-related jobs and institutions. This attempt to lift the ban failed, so the headscarf rule remains the same- politicians, lawyers, judges, teachers, etc. may not wear the scarves.

I had perceived the headscarf conflict as a freedom of speech issue prior to coming to Turkey. Why can't people wear headscarves wherever they want? I asked myself. Isn't banning them a form of discrimintation, of restricting freedom of speech?

A woman I worked with at TCF explained to me the reality of the situation. "This country is 99% Muslim. The government is secular, and the non-Muslim minority is fighting for their rights to be able to not wear a headscarf without being discriminated against. How does it feel, to walk down the street and see the women judge you as a sinner, because your hair is showing, because your knees are showing, because your arms are showing..."

Are you a sinner?

Another Turkish woman explains that the solution is simple. "If you are acting as a customer of a government institution, like a civilian person in court, a student in school, or visiting a doctor, you should be allowed to wear what you want. If you are working for the government, like as a teacher, a judge, or a doctor, you should not be allowed to display any religious symbols." Her explanation sounds good to me.

In the news on October 12, a headline blames the "wide gender gap in Turkey" on the ruling party's policies. In the Global Gender Gap index, out of 134 countries, Turkey is listed at 126, "meaning it is among the countries making the least progress in ensuring equality of opportunity for men and women. Iceland topped the list, while Yemen came last." They make this list according to the percentage of women in the workforce and in higher education, among other figures.

Are you college educated?

"Although Turkey’s existing legal framework favors empowerment of women in the country’s social, economic and political life, the laws are not properly implemented." -Hurriyet Daily News

Official TCF Tour

2010-10-11T11:47:00.000-07:00

At 1 am on September 13, I received a text message from my TCF supervisor, Hulya: "If you come to work one hour early tomorrow, you may join us on the TCF Istanbul tour. Sorry for the late notice."

Hulya giving presentation in TCF Office

Thank goodness I was still awake to receive that message! "I'll be there," I texted back. "sana da tatlı uykular güzel kız," I heard back instantly. Since I had no way of translating this message at the time, I hoped it wasn't any critical information. Fortunately, it meant something like "have pretty, sweet dreams, girl." During my time at TCF, Hulya was an enigma to me. She clearly cared about my well-being, but sometimes I felt she despised me as a human. Like, part of me wonders if her accidentally forgetting to tell me about the tour until 7 hours before was a subconscious way to prevent me from coming....who knows. I think she is overworked. Sometimes she's in the office really late, and sometimes literally all night long. I haven't written about work too much because I feel like my TCF position wasn't super exciting other than the artisan interviews. Adrian, Jen, and I all felt like "trophy interns," meaning that TCF wanted Americans here but didn't necessarily need our help other than our continent-bridging existence in the office.

I made it to work in time. The TCF Tour consisted of a Turkish tour guide named She-man and 30 travellers from the USA, who were teachers, lawyers, curators, professors, civil service workers, photographers.... They had all been nominated by someone who had done this tour in the past, had to write a brief explanation with their reasons for embarking on this tour, and then were hopefully accepted on the trip. The participants had only to pay for a plane flight- their hotels, food, tours, etc. wereall covered by the TCF organization. Pretty good deal for them, minus the lack of freedom regarding the schedule and the grueling breakneck pace that She-man used for the tour. "Hurry up! Hurry up! Hello?! Can you not see that everyone is waiting for you!?"

She-man

This is what a three-headed, thrice-beheaded
bronze snake sculpture looks like.

The Americans arrived at our office at 9 am and then received a presentation about our extensive website and our co-organization, the Turkish Coalition of America. We were soon herded onto a bus, and shuttled over to Sultanahmet, the older part of the city. After seeing the Hippodrome (which is a fountain, an Egyptian obelisk, and a beheaded bronze snake sculpture, exciting but nothing like San Francisco's Hypnodrome), we peeked in the Blue Mosque until they kicked us out for prayer time, and then visited the Hagia Sofia. The Hagia Sofia was beautiful, magnificent, and serene, minus She-man yelling at us to hurry up and move along faster. Intricate ancient murals of Christian images remain on some walls, and the domes were decorated either with original mosaics or painted in the same pattern as the mosaics, mostly a deep golden yellow with green and red accents. Big arabic symbols, gold calligraphy on black backgrounds, steal the spotlight as you stand beneath the largest center dome.

Hagia (Haya) Sofia

In the pavilion of the Archaeological Museum

My job was to keep people from getting lost or falling behind. The tour guide was going at a fast-forward pace, and the laggers' slowness was directly proportional to the size of their cameras. Luckily we had a leisurely lunch of delicious sarma (vegetarian/rice stuffed grape leaves) and manti (spiced lamb ravioli with yogurt garlic mint sauce). We laughed at cute kittens playing with flowers, and then walked to the archaeological museum, where all I could think about was my future kitchen tile. It was a treat to walk around with some of the museum buffs, one of whom is an expert on Islamic art.

The Crowded Grand Bazaar

We ran through the bazaar, and I happily sampled many flavors of Turkish Delight. Every time I turned around, a smiling salesman was brandinshing a silver tray loaded with the gummy sweets, always so tempting...I think the best flavor is honey pistachio. The Turkish name for this candy is Rahat Lokum, which means morsel of contentment.

Massive hunks of Turkish Delight, dried figs, apricots, dates

I made good friends with one member of the TCF group, Brad, a video documentary filmmaker who lives in Austin. He was a good twenty years younger than most of the other Americans in the group, and was therefore grateful for my company during the Istanbul part of the tour. I enjoyed meeting him, and getting to show him my favorite bar in the city, a place where they always have live music, and introducing him to two of my Turkish friends, Serhan and Devrin. Another part of the tour I liked was having the opportunity to speak with the various curators who came because they all had good advice and interesting opinions about what we saw.

The rest of the TCF Tour included an ebru (marbling) workshop, a cocktail dinner party at upscale modern Turkish luxury goods store Armaggan, hearing a blessing sung by an imam in a mosque, and Topkapi Palace. The tour continued around Turkey, but I was not invited to join the travelling leg of the journey.

Brad and I

Garden at Topkapi Palace

Topkapi

The Imam singing a blessing- it was lovely

TCF Tour Group at the Ebru Workshop

Using tools to manipulate color

Crafting time, oh joy!

Then came the weekend. Saturday was particularly fun- Dilara, her friend Ege and I went to the grand opening party of a new artist-in-residency center called Caravanserai. It was founded by two American women who now live in Istanbul. The crowd was big, the food was plentiful, and the artwork was varied and interesting. Some of the art includes permanent installation-type pieces, like shadow-box staircases and an iron tree-lamp on the terrace. Caravanserai is located in the rather dangerous industrial district of Karakoy, fairly isolated from the rest of the art community. Hopefully it will spur more art venues in the area. It's like five stories tall, with a large gallery hall, kitchen, two bedrooms, rooftop deck, and exhibition rooms.

One funny activity they had that night was the Ms. Kumpir (Miss Potato) contest, where people decorated baked potatoes with a variety of toppings, took a picture in one of the tiny stage-like backdrops, printed it out and assigned their potato a title like "most photogenic" or "best personality." This went well with the performance art I witnessed (although didn't understand, Turkish language...) of a woman pretending to be Miss Universe and doing a hysterically emotional speech in the center of the gallery.


She walked down the grungy street in this	fancy gown

Eger and Dilara, outside Caravanserai

I also met one of the residents, a Portuguese artist named Joao who invited me to his photgraphy show opening at a cafe the next day. After Caravanserai, the three of us met many of Dilara's friends at a bar where we shared some drinks. It's so nice that so many young people speak English! After that I went to a rooftop bar of a nearby hotel to meet my American friend Omer- it was his friend's birthday. I wasn't in the mood for uber-expensive cocktails and a disco, though, so after that bar I headed back to the dorm.

Ta-da!

Siyah! Beyaz!

2010-09-25T05:28:00.000-07:00

Extreme Fans

So for the final night of Bayram, Saturday 9-11, James and I went to a Besiktas futbol game. I was so excited because futbol is a huge deal in Europe and especially in Istanbul, where there are three teams and a frequent question is which team you support. Besiktas is my team of choice for a few reasons: first, Jen had been a fan and it was easy to follow along, second, one of the security-desk ladies here loves them so much that she actually has their eagle mascot tattooed on her shoulder, and lastly, their colors are black and white stripes which is just perfect.

victory!

Huseyin and Ekrem

We went to this match (vs Ankara) courtesy of Huseyin the carpet dealer, accompanied by another Turkish dude, Ekrem. Ekrem and Huseyin wore ridiculously fluffy hats that looked like alpaca afros, one black, and one white. Besiktas is notorious for having the most outlandish fans in the world, yelling wildly the entire game, every game, and achieving extremely-well coordinated cheers. The fans parade through the streets chanting for their team in a giant mass of black and white stripes, passing around bags of beer and questionable-looking cigarettes. It was fabulous. And we ended up winning, 4-0! I asked Huseyin what one of the cheers meant, but he refused to translate because it's so inappropriate. And there were kids present! I was afraid there wouldn't be any other females at the game, but there were a few. Apparently ten years ago the crowd would have been entirely men.

Right after the futbol game ended, the big screen at the stadium turned to the Turkey-Slovenia basketball game, in which Turkey won with a slam dunk in the last minute, sending them to the championship! The stadium emptied in a wildly happy mood, celebrating a dual victory in addition to the general sentiments of the religious holiday, Bayram.

Afterward, we all headed to a dance club on a rooftop in Taksim, Club 360, and danced the night away with loads of tourists and scantily dressed women spinning in hula hoops suspended from the ceiling. Looking across the twinkly lit city and munching on the first-class fruit platters they serve, I had one of those moments where I think to myself, "How am I even here right now?" Those moments happen a lot here in Istanbul.

creepy men ogle dancer-lady at Club 360

And speaking of ridiculous Turkish futbol moments, let me take you back in time for a little anecdote...

Jen, Sukru, and me

An innocent "Oh, I can play soccer too," remark I made within an hour of arriving to Istanbul somehow led to Jen (an avid soccer player) and me on a rented soccer field 2 hours from our dorm in the middle of the night with twelve Turkish men who didn't speak a word of English. This episode brought to you courtesy of Şukru, the 45 year old chaffeur of Turkish Cultural Foundation, who likes playing soccer and has two sons, age 19 and 22, and somehow orchestrated this whole futbol tournament. One intense round of soccer resulted in me scoring one goal, Jen scoring four, Şukru scoring one, and at least six sore legs the next day --I can't speak for the Turkish dudes. I'd say that Jen and I repped American women's soccer at least adequately.

The Team

As a thank-you to Sukru for the whole soccer shebang (he drove us to-from the field, getting us home at 2 am), Jen and I purchased a soccer ball from Adidas in the colors of his favorite Istanbul team, Galatasaray, and when we gave it to him at work the next day his eyes actually teared up. Since I barely do any work in the TCF office, Sukru and I often practice Turkish-English via google translator and elaborate pantomimes. He is very thoughtful and sometimes makes little Turkish snack platters to share, of simit, cucumber, tomato, and cheese.

Simits rule. They are bagel-ish dough covered in sesame seeds and cost 50 cents

And speaking of sports, did anyone see the USA beating Turkey to win the World Championship of Basketball? Thank goodness James was around to watch this game as well, so that I wasn't the only USA fan in the area. James, my new roommate Merih (a 24 year old Turkish girl whose name means "Mars"), and I met up with her frieds Aidan and Brak at a nargile in Tophane, which was packed with people smoking water pipes and watching the game.

Merih and Brak

Tophane is famous for its cluster of nargileler, with beanbag chairs cluttering the floor and waiters nimbly avoiding the neon red coals of the myriad hookahs. Hookah here is known as shisha, which apparently is the more universal name for the flavored tobacco. The air is hazy with sweet-smelling smoke, and everyone from old men to teenagers pass the embroidered pipe hoses in circles, sipping tea or soda through straws from the can. Women in headscarves exhale deep puffs of smoke, while other women wave their hands before their faces, clearly distatesful of the smoky environment. The click of backgammon pieces is forever present in the background; people play this game everywhere you look in Istanbul. I even learned to play that night, although I never actually won a match. Yet.

Aidan, backgammon master

I like living with Merih, who speaks Turkish and English. She has taught me some Turkish cooking techniques (did you know you can microwave eggplant?), some Turkish words, and can answer my random Turkish questions. She is from Ankara, and will be moving to Italy on September 29th. We are rarely in the apartment at the same time, because she works "construction control" late at night. I know she's studying to be an interior architect, but the fact that she has two cell phones and mysteriously goes to work at 11 pm many nights has left me scratching my head.....

More new roommates: Ceyda (Jay-da), age 21, a Turkish girl who grew up in Straussberg. She is tres petit, very sweet, and a lovely suitemate. She is another great resource on Turkish, since she is fluent in both Turkish and French, plus speaking some pretty good English.

Ceyda

And in the final room of the apartment? Three South Korean girls, whose giggles echo down our little hallway all day long, as they take photo after photo while enjoying the dormitory lifestyle. They also speak English, and are so endearing with their forever-cheerful smiles and uplifting lilting voices. Everything I say to them is instantly responded to in giggles.

So, Minji, and See-hee

Last night, we feasted in the dormitory, with Korean pancakes, eggplant pasta I made, Pakistani curry and biryani, a chocolate cake, and more. James came to visit for this dinner, which was nice because he is impossible to get ahold of since he doesn't have a phone, and I've barely seen him since he moved out of our dorm.

Multicultural FoodFest

After this, my suitemates and I decided to finally go disco together, so Merih, Ceyda, the Koreans, and I went to a famous club next to the Bosphorus bridge, called Reina. They provide giant, soft white scarves for the ladies freezing in the windy night air on the elaborate deck next to the rainbow-lit Bosphorus bridge. Of course, we met a bunch of Americans. Tiny Ceyda had one giant cocktail and ended up talking in a mixutre of English, Turkish, and French- so no one could quite understand! The Koreans danced together, smiling and giggling when Lady Gaga came on and rarely straying from the heat lamp situated near our table. The Koreans had so much fun before we even left the dorms- they must have taken 200 pictures in every pose from the "peace-sign asian" to Charlies' Angels, shrieking with so much laughter I would have sworn they were drunk. And this was before they even had a sip of alcohol!

pose experts right here

Very tall German-American man

It makes me a little sad to be leaving the dorm when all this excitement is happening here, but at the same time I think wherever I live next will have a whole new dynamic to offer. Tonight I move in with a Canadian girl named Dini for the weekend.

Goodbye, suite dorm!

Iyi bayramlar!

2010-09-22T06:39:00.000-07:00

So my weekend began on Wednesday (September 9), thanks to the Islamic version of Christmas, Bayram. Bayram is a celebration of feasting, drinking, and visiting family...something like Mardi Gras x Easter.

Bayram shenanigans: people jumping off Galata bridge in their underwear

I wasn't sure what I would end up doing with all these days of freedom, especially because Jen was in Italy, Adrian was involuntarily imprisoned in his room thanks to an extreme bout of food poisoning, and my Turkish friends Zeynep, Dilara, and Omer were out of town with their families or to the beach. Not to mention that almost all the museums and all the art galleries were closed as well. However, luckily for me, a new American had just moved into the dorm. James, a 21-year-old exchange student from a school in Atlanta, has turned out to be a good Istanbul-exploring companion. He is a minister-in-training for a Christian Charismatic church and loves fresh Nikes and an R&B beat. "You're a real sister, ya know?!" He told me after I shared my Istanbul wisdom with him.

James

Because of Bayram, almost all the shops in Istanbul were closed on Thursday and Friday, and the streets near our dorm were eerily quiet and empty. So James and I headed to Sultanahmet, the old part of Istanbul, which is home to many of the famous sights like the Hagia Sofia mosque, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, and more. Because Sultanahmet is so touristy, the venues do not close for the holiday, and it felt like all of Istanbul had invaded those tiny cobblestone avenues. James and I first visited one lesser known mosque by the Galata bridge, that I think is called Yeni Cami (New Mosque).

Hair covered in the mosque

As James and I walked in the blazingly hot afternoon sun past the outer walls of Topkapi Palace, I noticed a kitschy-cute poster outside a shop that read "In Turkey I am Beautiful." This piqued my curiousity, so we entered the store. We were instantly greeted by a silver-haired Turkish man, and before we knew it, we were sitting on a floor littered with antique, handmade carpets, munching on Turkish delight and hazelnut chocolates, sipping home-brewed çay. Most tea in Turkey is simply black tea, but some people make their own mixtures- this was clove, sage, cinnamon, and linden flower. Tasty.

James and Huseyin

After a lesson on acrylic vs. silk vs. wool carpets, and what is a kilm vs. what is a carpet, Huseyin, the shop owner, invited us to see the rest of the store and have some kahve (coffee). His two dogs followed us down a spiral staircase, into what looked like an Anthropologie meets Aladdin carpet den. The ceilings were draped in tapestries, racks of traditional Turkish garments lined the walls, and stacks of carpets were piled in every corner. If this weren't enough, what I thought was a mirror reflecting the carpeted room we were in was actually a little portal into yet another shaggy-floored, exotically colored and patterned space, this time with a coffee table, little Turkish stools, and a couch.

The two dogs, miztures of Husky, German Shephard, and wolf, snuggled down into the fluffy floor and began to nap. "Zizou, the grandmother, sleeps 23 and a half hours a day," Huseyin joked. The grandson puppy was a little more lively. Huseyin chatted with James and me for one hour that quickly turned to two, about everything from growing up in Kappadokya, to travel, to religion, to politics....

Eventually, a super-energized and enthusiastic man who looked like he was about to go on a safari came sweating into the room followed by Huseyin's shop assistant. "How much? But how much??" He gestured wildly at a carpet hanging on the wall, his voice thick with a German accent.

"That one is not for sale, my friend," Huseyin replied.

"But you must tell me a price! What is the price? How much?"

"I cannot, I cannot. I can't sell."

"What, must you keep me stooopid, forever?? I do not wish to be stupid, tell me a price!"

I sipped my kahve, and James sipped his tea, as we glanced at each other wondering if we should leave.

"My friend, I have had that carpet since I was seventeen years old..." Huseyin began a story that I have now heard more than once, about purchasing a carpet for a couple hundred lira that was later carbon dated by Sotheby's to the 1400s. It was clear he was practiced in the art of selling carpets.

"Okay, but how much? How much is the price? Do not keep me stupid, I tell you!" Roland, the German man, knelt down on the floor, running his hands over the carpets unfurled around him.

James and I crept upstairs, and left to visit the Blue Mosque. This Islamic temple is not so much blue, but rather gets its name for some intricately painted blue and white tiles that are supposedly very unique. It would help the lack-of-blue situation if they changed the carpet from bright red to blue. However, sensibly, they chose blue swaths of fabric for unprepared female tourists to wear over their hair or knees. I had brought a scarf, but even though my dress covered my knees, it was not long enough for this mosque (Yeni Cami hadn't complained, earlier). I wrapped the fabric and tied it at my waist. Strangely, some women did not have their hair covered- I am not sure exactly how they determine what's allowed or not....

Blue Mosque

After the mosque we stopped at a restaurant that Huseyin recommended for some kofte, which is spiced meatballs. On our walk back home, we passed the shop again, and waved at Huseyin to thank him for his generous hospitality. Before we knew it, we were back in the basement of the shop, tea in hand, watching Roland, the German, chain-smoke cigarettes.

Me, James, Roland and Orhan Pamuk's "Istanbul"

"I stopped smoking, I tell you, but spend six thousand euro on some carpets and look what happens..." Roland seemed happier, satisfied, victorious. However, he kept eyeing a small red-and-yellow embroidered silk carpet on the wall. "I just cannot decide if I want that one too...."

This unlikely group of the four of us passed another good hour in the patterned textile room, weaving tales together from all parts of the globe. When the evening finally wound down, Huseyin invited James, Roland, and me to come back the following evening for some barbeque. Barbeque...that sounded good. We agreed, and began the walk back home across the bridge as the moon sparkled across the Golden Horn waters.

Bayram Festivities near Sultanahmet

I know this post is super long, but I must continue the story. The next day, James and I made it to the barbecue, and brought along figs and brie cheese as a thank-you. Jen came also- she had just returned from Italy and it was her final night in Turkey.


the little doorway, James and Jen model-posing

After some tea as we waited for Roland and chatted with Kimberly, another guest who is a professor originally from Texas, we all headed to the lower floor of the shop, where the decor was just as magical as it had seemed the previous day. Waiting for us, spread out on paper laid over the carpeted floor, were roasted shish kebabs, roasted tomatoes, garlic and onions, bread, yogurt dips, homemade pickles, chicken, baba ganoosh, and salad. Awesome. We ate and ate, talking about a million different things as the night grew late and Huseyin grew sleepy. Some Australians came downstairs to examine the carpets, playing tug-of-war with the puppy using Crocs.

Jen, Me, James, Roland, Kimberly, Huseyin (his brother Mehmet took the photo)

A book lay on the coffee table, titled "In Turkey I am Beautiful."

"Hey, it's like the poster," said Jen, referring to the poster that had led me into this shop in the first place.

Huseyin explained that a friend he had made in Turkey who was from Australia had written a book about his travels in Turkey. Apparently Huseyin plays a large, somewhat ridiculous role in the book. I can believe it. He's quite a character, and tells a good story. He ended up giving both Jen and I copies of the book, and he enters the story on page 2. The night ended with an invitation to a futbol game the following night.

Jen, James, and I walked home together, stopping for a final Turkish beer with our blonde companion, since her flight to the USA (with Adrian) was the following morning. I am now the only TCF intern left, and the only SCU student, and my 3-bedroom apartment was now nearly empty.

Dr. Seuss + Star wars + Indiana Jones + the Flintstones = Kappadokya

2010-09-09T16:44:00.000-07:00

Thursday night after work, Jen, Adrian, and I took an overnight bus to the city of Kappadokya, a village in the center of Turkey. It was a twelve-hour ride through dry deserts where nearly every stop required paying a lira for the privilege of peeing in a porcelain hole in the ground....but let's not dwell on that. Finally, we made it there.

The Hostel

A worker from our hostel, Traveller's Cave Pension, picked us up at the bus station and drove us up a hill to our hostel. In a daze after our long trip, barely believing our eyes at the scenery surrounding us, we unpacked in our cave. Yes, our room was a cave-room.

The Cave-Room

We stumbled upstairs for some breakfast before being shuttled away for a tour, a 9:30 - 6 pm bus ride and hike through the surreal, cavernous stone territory of Kappadokya.

Memories from Kappadokya:

The Underground City of Derinkuyu: An 80-meter deep, 8-story cave-city from centuries ago, which the Christians built to escape persecution. They dug deep trap-holes to deter attackers, and it seemed like Harrison Ford could be lurking behind any corner. I wish. It is the largest of several underground cave cities in the area. We ran through the tunnels, up and down long yet teensy tiny staircases that we had to basically hunch over and crawl through, which half the time led to dead ends full of tourists speaking about 20 different languages trying to tell people to stop coming in so that some of them could get out. This "city" even had schoolhouses, kitchens, churches, and graveyards. But the bathroom? That remains somewhat of a mystery...

School. Old school.

Uğur (Ooer), our guide, leads us through the cave

Derinkuyu

Hike through Ihlara Valley: Leafy trees and flowers actually grew in this part of Kappadokya, since a "river" (looked more like a tiny creek) flows through Ihlara valley, and all along the canyon walls beside us were hollwed-out rooms and pigeon-houses. Finally we got to a lodge-type place where our group was served fresh roasted meat and vegetables with rice, and that delicious Ramazan pidesi. We saw little painted cave-churches too.

Pigeon Valley: Or as Uğur called it, Pigeon Walley. The inhabitants of Kappadokya relied on pigeons for eggs and fertilizer etc., so they carved out little holes in the stone for pigeons to roost in. These things were everywhere.

See the little pigeon-pockets above?

Yaprakhisar Panorama: The cone-shaped rocks in the pictures below are rumored to have been a filming location for Star Wars. Fact or fiction?

Selime Monastery: Cartoonish carved-out windows, pillars, and tunnels into the soft rock face of a spiky mountain...spectacular views, secret tunnel passageways, bright sunshine....I could picture the lorax sitting atop one of these toontown cone-houses.

Göreme Open Air Museum: Like ten cave-churches in a one km radius.

The didn't have professional artists for some of the churches, so some churches
including the one above, are decorated with crude doodles instead of well-proportioned paintings

Çavuşin, the Old City: these ruins were moved out of a mere fifty years ago. People are able to just walk right up and explore them.

Fairy Chimneys: rocks like something out of a Dali landscape, eroded over the years by wind and rain into these surreal formations.

Ali the Taksi Driver: (Whose grandmother, incidentally, lived in the "Old City" caves until she was age 18) convinved us to climb up inside one of the fairy chimmney mountains. This is the vertical tunnel Jen and I climbed. It was some steps, then a circular tube with hollws on the left, right, front, and back to use for feet and hands. Adrian stayed below and held our purses for us.

Jen peeking down from Part 1 of the Tunnel

hello down there!!

Personal pottery lesson from Ali's friends, kick-powered wheel, ancient style

Wine tasting at a Kappadokian vineyard...

Tea and hospitality from Ali at his hostel, where we met Laura, another traveler from Switzerland.

Amazing clay-pot kebap dinner, with tons of freebies because we now were friends with Ali...

Got to crack the clay myself!

Adrian got a little carried away with his clay kebap....the terra cotta Kappadokian soil now runs through his veins...

I really wish I did the balloon ride. I'll have to go back....

Surreal sunrise, watching a flotilla of hot air balloons drifting quietly over the village of Göreme (geh-re-me).

And below, Umit plays the saz outside his shop:

so darling, yes?

Plus the hospitality of the shopkeepers, meeting their families, sharing çay, enjoying the warm night...

Kappadokya was a magical place.

Tea-riffic

2010-09-04T08:08:00.000-07:00

"Conversations without tea are like a night without the moon," as the saying goes. With the rate at which they drink it, you'd think that Turkish people had been guzzling tea since BC-- but this tradition is actually relatively new (circa 1900). I've only been here two weeks and I feel like I've already been treated to gallons of free çay. From artisans in their booths, to before or after meals, tea in my friend's house, tea with families ending the night outside their shops in the street, tea with the security ladies at the dorm...

The other day I was walking around Istanbul, and wanted to find this random palace called Yildiz Palace. It's far less famous than all the other palaces here but I was nearby and figured, hey why not. Eventually I found my way to a tiny ticket kiosk, after getting a bunch of directions and a nice shortcut thanks to some security guards. I purchased my ticket for the student price of one lira! That's like $.75 (Can I still count as a student? I think so.) It was strange because no one else was around, like at all, but finally I found the Palace. Or so I thought. I tried to enter the ornate building, but was stopped because I guess I needed to wait for the guided tour. The woman asked in English if I'd like some tea while I wait.

Sure!

I asked the group of people who sat at an outdoor table drinking tea if they were waiting for a tour, too. They laughed. Apparently they were all workers here at this building, which isn't even the obscure Yildiz Palace, but rather its even more obscure summer garden "cottage." I was the only tourist anywhere. And by waiting for the guided tour, it meant drink tea as long as I wanted, chatting with the workers and learning some Turkish from them, and explaining that thank you, your 35-year-old son sounds wonderful, but I'm not looking for a spontaneous arranged marriage at the moment. Eventually I got a personal guided tour of Yildiz Şalet (chalet), since still no other tourists had arrived. One lira well spent.

I've been enjoying the Turkish lifestyle in general here. It's not quite as indulgent as Spain was, in terms of 3-hour lunch break siestas in the workday, but Istanbul does have that relaxed European Mediterranean vibe (if you're not in the middle of Taksim Square, that is). Taking time to enjoy a cup of tea, drinking some raki with a deliciously long dinner, walking in the warm nights down Istiklal Caddessi, a street that never empties...

Speaking of work:

Georgetown U in the TCF offic

Gulhan giving her talk as the GU travellers listen so attentively...

The other night, the other interns and I were treated to dinner with the Georgetown University study abroad group, thanks to our connection through the Turkish Cultural Foundation. We met up at a restaurant near Galata Tower, and shared a traditional Turkish dinner with them. This means a never-empty basket of fresh bread on the table and a wide spread of mezes, or appetizers to start. First are the cold mezes, like white cheese, yogurt with eggplant and garlic, spicy cous-cous, mixed vegetables, chicken-pepper-walnut spread....these are followed by hot appetizers, like cheese-pastry puffs, stuffed grape leaves, and grilled mushrooms. In my experience here, the main courses are usually insignificant compared to the awesome mezes.

During the mezes the drinks begin, and at this dinner I partook in some raki, the traditional Turkish liquor. It tastes like licorice, and is extremely potent. The waiter pours some clear raki into an empty glass, and then ice and a good amount of water is added. The liquid turns a milky white colour. I like raki; the flavor is quite strong.

raki'n

This dinner also included fasil, a Turkish traditional music that is played with stringed instruments and drums, with singing in voices that reminded me of Flamenco singers in Spain. Eventually, after everyone's wine and raki set in a bit, we were all up and dancing -- until the Georgetown professors shooed us off to the bars.

The bars in Turkey? Good, in the summer, thanks to all the rooftop venues that will shut their patio doors in the winter. The music? Let me tell you what the playlist in one night included:

Johnny Be Good
Great Balls of Fire
We Will Rock You
SuperFreak
Groovers in the House
Lady Gaga
Old school Snoop Dog

And this all was dj'ed by a guy who looked like a Euro-rave Tiesto fan....

intense bar trick at Ritm Roof

My Future Looks Like Dirt

2010-08-23T21:36:00.000-07:00

Did you know that a Turkish tradition is to tell your fortune by reading the coffee grounds in your cup?

Step 1: Make the coffee, by taking a giant scoop of extremely finely ground coffee, putting it straıght in the boiler pot, and adding one tiny mugful of water. Add sugar to taste (I like one cube). Wait for it to boil and foam up, and it's ready. Pour it in the cup.

Step 2: Drink the coffee. When you're done, disgusting-looking brown goop will remain in the bottom- the coffee grounds.

Step 3: Place the saucer on top of the cup, hold it tightly, and swirl it three times.

Step 4: Quickly flip them over, together, so that it looks like this:

Step 5: Wait patiently for the bottom of your mug to cool completely. Many people place a ring or coin on the cup to speed up the cooling process and ward off bad omens. You know it is ready when it is as cool as the saucer on which it is resting.

Step 6: Lift up the cup...

to reveal your fortune! This is mine:

Step 6: Allow your friend to look for shapes in the grounds in the cup, and in saucer. Don't influence them, don't try to control your destiny! Their interpretation represents your fortune.

My friend Dilara, a Turkish university student who also works here, read my fortune to me. One of the images she saw was a little brown bird holding something, a rose, in its mouth. Do you see it diving down toward the bottom of the cup in the picture below? It's beak is facing down and left. She also saw some people, a man on a horse, and more birds. Hmm..

In spite of this tradition, Turkish people live their lives not on coffee, but on tea. Çay ("chai") is flowing constantly here in the office. This is what the tea brewer looks like:

Mystified? I was at first...the big silver part heats up water all day long. Above it rests the white teapot, which holds a lot of tea and not much water. The super-strong tea is kept hot all day long because of the boiling water beneath it. You take a little tea-cup (they all are shaped like the little glass one in the picture) and pour in a bit of the bitter Turkish tea, to your liking. Then you use the spigot to fill up the rest of the cup with super-hot water, and then you may add sugar. Never milk.

Above: Zeynep and I at the TCF office

So what do I do in the office, besides tell coffee fortunes and play with the çay-maker? Among some typical intern tasks, I have the unique assignment of interviewing local artisans about their wares. A Japanese woman (who also speaks Turkish and English) is in charge of this project, which is a Who's Who of Turkish art and culture. She's alreay catalogued hundreds of these artists. She is in the picture below, along with Zeynep, a 17-year-old Turkish American girl who also works at the Turkish Cultural Foundation.

Zeynep takes care of the whole speaking-Turkish part, and I take pictures of the artisan and their handcrafted goods. One interview that we conducted on Monday has already been added to the website. Check it out here.

The shopkeepers are all nice, and grateful for our support, so they give us cold water or tea and invite us to sit. Below, I am sitting in front of intricate hand-made needlework lace, sipping some çay.

But my overall job, in a nutshell: I work for the Turkish Cultural Foundation, which is one of the organizations that has partnered with SCU for Santa Clara's "Global Fellows" program. (There are global fellow internships available for different companies all over the world.) The TCF has offices in Istanbul, DC, Boston, Sonoma, and Detroit, and works to partner with like-minded organizations who want to promote and protect Turkey's rich cultural heritage worldwide. For example, the TCF organizes tours around the country for American teachers, whose eyes are opened to modern Turkish life, with the hope that they will teach their students more about Turkey. Turkey is overlooked in schools because government tests rarely if ever include questions about Turkey.

When I'm in the office, this is the room where I work:

Adrian is at the bottom left, Jen is bottom right, Zeynep is top right, and the top left is Dilara. We are the interns.

Dilara is a student at a university here in Istanbul. Monday night after work, we all took a bus (through intense Istanbul traffic) to her school, which has spectacular views of the bay and Bosphorus bridge, giant beautiful buildings, and is basically in a forest. What a beautiful campus! She told us that most of her classes are in English. I am hoping to visit her there when her school is in session.

Below are two more pictures of my dorm room:Our window has a pretty nice view, and we have a flatscreen with Turkish MTV!

Maid-made beds. And the Turkish Happy Birthday sign I bought for Jen. Iyi ki dogum!

Hamamin' it up and some frickin' chicken pudding

2010-08-22T02:00:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I visited the İstanbul Modern, which I was so excited to see. I liked it because they had tons of new media art that I think was presented excellently, with super-informative Turkish/English text panels about the artist, the work, and its significance. Lots of the art touched on Turkey's history and sociocultural atmosphere, so it helped clue me in a little more about Turkey's past and present. Almost all the art on display is by Turkish artists, who I had never heard of before, and many works were by female artists.

That night we celebrated Jen's birthday. She and Adrian had been working long hours all weekend, waking up early to tour around the country with a bunch of Congressional staffers(meaning assistants to the congresspeople). Coincidentally, Jen's birthday was also the congresspeople's last night in Turkey -- and they wanted to party.We met up with at least twenty of them at their hotel, and then took over a bar where they all toasted to the most ridiculous moments of their trip. In Istanbul, bars don't have pitchers for beer, and this place had only one tap, for Efes (Turkey's staple beer). I don't think the bartender stopped pouring pints the entire time we were there. Antonia, Adrian, Jen, and I, known collectively as "the interns" didn't have to pay for a single thing. The congresspeople just kept yelling "college never ends, I tell you!" which I suppose is true, since the night started out with an official "pregame" in the hotel. All in all, an unexpected and successful first night on the town in Istanbul.

Since Turkish nightlife goes pretty late, we were reallly tired the next day. Jen and I decided that a hamam would be a great way to rejuvenate. Hamams are traditional Turkish bathhouses, and the one we chose to visit is the oldest one still in use today; it was built 300 years ago. It is called Cagaloglu Hamam, and won a spot in the 1,000 places to see before you die book. Also, it has an interesting list of clientele, from Kate Moss and Cameron Diaz, to Steve Irwin and John Travolta, to Florence Nightengale and Ataturk himself. Even Chevy Chase had his picture on the wall.

They gave us little wooden shoes to wear and towels, and we brought bathing suits. We left our things in a nice changing room with a locked door, and were led into the actual bathhouse.
It was beautiful, made entirely of marble, with roman columns and dome ceilings that let light shine down through little glass-covered geometric openings. The room was steamy, and the walls were lined with fancy basins, accompanied by golden hot and cold water taps. The attendant turned on some of the faucets and gave Jen and I silver bowls to pour the water on ourselves. It was very refreshing after the long trek to get there. Definitely unique compared to showers or baths, getting big splashes of water poured out of a bowl onto you. The hamam was not even close to crowded, but a couple other women and a really young girl were in there, and it was clear that locals were a lot more comfortable showing some skin in the traditional hamam style...

Then, the attendant came back, and led me over to the center of the bathhouse, which was basically a giant marble table raised slightly off the ground, and scrubbed me vigorously with a mitt that schluffed off a disgusting amount of dead skin. Then she used bowls of water to splash me clean, and began the massage. The attendant used so much lotion for the massage that she was slip-sliding me all over the marble to do a thorough job- and the massage felt great since my legs were still sore from the massive amounts of walking I did on day 1.

After that came another rinse, a luxuriously sudsy shampoo, condition and hair treatment (although at some points it was so bubbly that I had to hold my breath), another rinse, and time to relax in the sauna.

After the sauna, another rinse, and then the hamam was complete. I definitely felt relaxed, rejuvenated, and that my skin was extremely soft from all the scrubbing and lotion. I thought that it might be an awkward experience, but I really liked it! I would go again, but maybe to a more modern hamam to see what they're like now.

That evening was SCU student Antonia's last night here, so she took us to one of her favorite restaurants on the major boulevard here, Istaklal Cadessi (Independence Street). Of course, she wanted some baclava for a final farewell, so we got dessert at a nice place nearby. I knew it was time to try tavuk gosgu, aka chicken pudding.

They make this dish by pulverizing chicken until it breaks down into minuscule fibers. Then, they mix this with some sweet rice pudding and sprinkle cinnamon on top, and the dish is served cold. Although the texture was a bit strange, the flavor was nice, and you definitely couldn't taste the chicken at all. I think that this would be the most luxurious food a cat could ever hope to taste.
*ps correction: Adrian is a senior at SCU, Jen and Antonia are juniors

Turkish Delight

2010-08-21T00:26:00.001-07:00

Hello! Or should I say, merhaba....

Snag-free travel until I stepped off the airport shuttle bus in Taksim Square, the busiest part of Istanbul, looking for the woman who was supposed to meet me there. Hulya..where are you? I waited for a really long time, even made signs with HER name on them...until a group of Turkish men got way too helpful, so I split to a nearby hotel that was actually really nice, and used their computer to send some emails and wait. Soon enough Hulya showed up, all was well, and she took me to the dorm where I met two other Santa Clara students who are interning in the same office as me.

Hulya treated us all to dinner, which was delicious. And free. It is Ramadan, so many Turkish people don't eat until the sun goes down, which is pretty late at night. I have gotten to try a special bread they make only during ramadan, which only costs 50 kurus (40 cents or so) and is enormous.

One SCU student is Adrian, who is a self-proclaimed cynic. The other is Jen, a self-proclaimed "life cheerleader." She is my roommate, which is just hunky-dory. She wrote me a list of tips, drew me a special map, and has given me a ton of advice. She is two years younger than me, as is Adrian. They know who Bert is, after I described him as "the guy with the disattached roller-skate skateboard things."

The dorms here are really, really nice- brand new, suite-style with a kitchen, bathroom, and three bedrooms, a washer/dryer, and maid service! Plus 24-hour desk service. The other girls in our suite are Turkish, and I have not communicated too much with them yet....but they are nice.

So my first morning in Istanbul began at 5 am, since Jen had to wake up early for a special work excursion. I was so excited to be in Istanbul, I could not go back to sleep, so I walked about 2 miles down to the water and watched the sun rise over the Bosphorus bridge. It was SO pretty!

Then I walked over the Galata bridge to the old section of Istanbul, where there are tiny cobblestone streets, a castle, mosques, and the Grand Bazaar, which was just being set up (since it was like 8 am).

The bazaar sells what you'd expect, like nuts, spices, perfumes, handmade goods, etc., but also everything from kitchenware, to party supplies, aquariums, gardening equipment....even........

I also saw a lot of neat graffiti art, especially these yellow fists and eyes on strings. They were all over the place.

Eventually I took a nap, and then met up with Linda Alepin, head of the Global Women's Leader Network at Santa Clara, and who is in charge of the Global Fellows program, along with about 20 SCU MBA students, and some other people, to take a private dinner cruise along the Bosphorus river. It was lovely, so warm at night, and so much to see. I met Antonia, another SCU student who is leaving Istanbul on Monday, who has been interviewing female Turkish artists for the Turkish Women's Initiative. Below, we are in front of the Dolmabahce Palace, which I will visit one of these days.

After the cruise, we all came back to the dorms, where the Turkish staff here surprised Jen with a birthday cake. This was very sweet and endearing; she's been here for a handful of weeks already and has gotten to know the staff in spite of the language barrier. Another example of Turkish hospitality and friendliness!

My first day was chock-full and amazing. I walked nearly 9 miles, and am thankful today that my legs are still functioning.

Darren Waterston @ Smith Andersen Editions

2010-03-23T21:05:00.001-07:00

I quickly spotted Darren Waterston at his closing reception at Smith Andersen this past Saturday, thanks to his jazzy vest, bright eyes, and lively demeanor. Not exactly the way I would have pictured the artist responsible for these lonely-feeling, dark, semi-abstract mysterious prints.

Darren Waterston's series featured circle-shaped prints on rectangular paper with extra space at the bottom, some of which were decorated with black, abstract/realist shapes reminiscent of everything from leafless trees to EKGs. The prints themselves appeared to be inspired by Japanese wood-block prints, but the preparator Tom informed me that Waterston's prints, on the contrary, were heavily influenced by the work of a 18th c. German artist. Maybe that artist was influenced by Japanese woodblock printing?

Tom challenged my friend and I to determine which prints had been worked on by hand after the printing process was complete. I guessed wrong. Eventually, the answer was revealed in the smooth-edged black shapes and lines overlaying many of the prints, that under the right angle of light revealed the strokes of the artist's hand. That medium looked like thick black charcoal, maybe.

On our way out the door, Kathryn Kain came in, so of course we stayed a moment longer. She introduced me to Joseph Zirker, whose wife Eva (Ee-vah, not Ay-va, that's how the Spanish say it) explained that while she does not make art, she does dance. And dance she did! Joseph said to me, "So you're a psychology major? What can you tell me about her?" Eva spun in a circle and asked Elaine and I which of our boy-friends were our boyfriends, but before we had to answer, Joseph steered her towards the door. "We've been on our way out for about an hour," he said. Joseph Zirker will be the next artist featured at Smith Andersen. Put on your dancing shoes!

Eileen Starr Moderbacher @ Artzone461

2010-03-10T11:51:00.000-08:00

The side gallery of ArtZone 461 was lined with small works by Eileen Star Moderbacher, 8x6" in size, all depicting cactus plants. Mysterious cactus plants...

Looking at these tiny paintings up close, I realized that these weren't quite so realistic; the colors on the cactus plants seemed oversaturated, or overexposed. The exaggerated white highlights on some of the pieces brought my attention to this. These works reminded me of digitally stylized photographs, however, these images were all oil on canvas. As I examined the paintings, discovering unexpected objects like evening purses surreally hidden between the spiky cacti, I overheard the artist explaining her painting process to a friend: "You know the 'posterization' effect in Photoshop?" My digital-suspicions were confirmed, and my color-related questions were answered by this snippet of conversation.

So looking at her works in this overall context of digitally "posterized" photos translated into small handmade paintings, all featuring cactus, and many interspersed with incongruent objects like shoes or toy ducks, left me wondering...what is the meaning of these works?? I cannot decide. So I look at her website:

"The point and purpose of my art making is to squelch the unrest that lies within me. My work is about placing the unrest represented by a tangible object at the forefront which resonates, titillates and excites me, but in the doing of it calms me down, restores my piece of mind and makes me feel complete....To some my very detailed compositions may seem too crowded with every millimeter of space activated, but I hope this aspect of the work only serves to heighten the tension of the moment..." (Eileen Starr Moderbacher)

What kind of child would be playing with rag dolls smack dab in the middle of a cactus garden?? Talk about a tense moment...

deYoung: Donald Judd and Sol LeWitt + Amish Abstractions

2010-02-22T15:35:00.000-08:00

After a sad farewell to the murals by Sol LeWitt at SFMOMA, I was looking forward to seeing his pieces on display at the de Young Museum in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park.

Before attending this exhibit, I only knew LeWitt by his eye-popping colorful geometric designs, a la SFMOMA's murals. At the de Young, I was surprised to see more muted tones in his minimalist compositions. This revealed a more peaceful side to LeWitt's works, which was interesting...although to be frank, I was hoping for his dizzyingly vivid patterns.

I do find it worth mentioning that LeWitt creates his art with collaboration in mind, so that

"his works would then be executed the way an orchestra might perform a symphony...In this sense, he helped pioneer the Conceptual notion that the idea of an artwork is the most important aspect of the piece, not its temporal manifestation. And each time, a piece would not necessarily be the same" (MassMOCA).

This idea makes perfect sense. In my opinion, since the aesthetic appreciation of art exists in the eye of the viewer rather than in the object itself, any appreciation of art is inherently a collaboration between the artist and the viewer. What a treat, that leWitt invites other people into the execution of his art!

Luckily, I got my contrast high from Donald Judd's vibrant prints. I admire him for using his gut instinct in color selection rather than some kind of formula, like digital art seems to rely on. His red-teal and black-yellow combinations made my heart race. I am not posting my photo because it truly doesn't do justice to these prints.

Continuing through the de Young, we eventually arrived at the Amish Abstractions exhibit. This unique collection of handmade quilts unexpectedly echoed prominent modern art trends, especially op-art. These quilts are dated in the early 1900s, arguably before artistic trends like pop art and minimalism became widely popularized. From afar, I found certain quilts nearly indistinguishable from, for example, a Bridget Riley. Bright colors, vivid patterns...yet another aesthetic fix attained.

The Seduction of Duchamp: Bay Area Artists' Response @ ArtZone 461

2010-02-13T20:01:00.000-08:00

n'est pas truly Duchamp, but his most prominent themes were brought to life at ArtZone 461 this past month. Some of Duchamp's most significant artistic contributions include his influence on Dadaism, futurism, surrealism, conceptual art, and in my opinion, a general sense of irony.

Thanks to the public's enthusiasm for The Seduction of Duchamp: Bay Area Artists' Response, Artzone extended the show an extra weekend, making it possible for me and my friend Elaine (who actually has R. Mutt 1988 tattooed on her shoulder) to visit. The Seduction of Duchamp was first shown at Slaughterhouse-space, an alternative art venue at the Duchamp Winery in Healdsburg, CA. Participating artist Pat Lenz (whom you should really look up if you've seen A Clockwork Orange) is a founder of this winery and adjoining bungalow hotel. Her piece "Crossdressedroom" is pictured above/right.

Bay area artists, who "continue to grapple with questions [Duchamp] raised" at the historic 1949 SFMOMA discussion on Modern Art, are the ideal participants for this unique show. Artists include Diane Rosenblum Althoff, Ray Beldner, Naomie Kremer, David Broom, Rebecca Goldfarb (sculpture pictured at right), Theodora Varney Jones, and many more.

Independent curator Hanna Regev and ArtZone Director Steven Lopez suggest these questions:

What makes something art? How can an object be called a work of art? Is it something inherent to the object? Is it when an artist declares it as art? Is art defined by an object's placement in a collection or institution, like a gallery or museum?

My favorite aspect of this exhibit was in general, how cleverly these artists revamped Duchamp's ideas. To me, no piece felt trite, easy, or expected; I was delighted by the way these artists synthesized and reinterpreted Duchamp's ideas into contemporary art. I laughed, I wondered, I was weirded out, and amused. I was impressed, surprised, disgusted, frustrated, and curious. I left with more questions than were answered.

I would describe to you some of my favorite pieces, but you'd be better off simply checking out ArtZone's fabulous online presentation of the exhibit. So if you missed this show, don't fret. Visit http://www.artzone461.com/exhibitions/1001-duchamp-p.html . I will say that certain themes in The Seduction of Duchamp were particularly eminent (especially in regards to oil as fuel), which I feel highlight the possibility of Altermodernism.

"The creative act is not performed by the artists alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the eternal world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act." -Duchamp

José Ramón Lerma, The Missing Moustache
(image obscured in photo by my reflection)

http://www.artzone461.com/gallery_/home.html

ICA's Artist Panel: By a Thread

2010-02-11T22:27:00.001-08:00

Cathy Kimball (ICA's director) said that exhibits like By a Thread, that feature unconventional mediums, can be a "new lens for perception of contemporary culture." Specifically, much of what we see in galleries today is the product of

art + recession + recycle

Art is not created in a vaccuum; because of economic and environmental factors, artists are turning to innovative materials for their products. These changes in the making of art have brought some contention over what constitutes craft, vs. what constitutes fine art.

In By a Thread, art emerges out of ordinary materials, like thread, pins, cement, and spiderwebs. People use needles and thread all the time. So why can't anything sewn be in a gallery, if sewing is art?

The answer lies in the artist's intention. ( The ICA artists panel seemed to more-or-less agree on this matter.) While people sew for a variety of reasons, the artists in this show intentionally utilized this technique to communicate a greater message rather than simply as a means to an end. Lisa Kokin, for example, sewed her giant flowery doily using shapes cut from the covers of self-help books and named her piece after the mattress brand that her mother had slept on in a mental hospital: Panacea Plus. I believe that these multiple, deeper layers of meaning make her work "art." Additionally, in all forms of art, a certain craft/skill is necessary for creating a piece, whether its mixing colors or chiseling marble. But in defining art, it's not the how that matters, but the why.

So if apparently anything created with a deeper meaning can potentially be called art, then why did these artists choose to use laborious processes that required longwinded tasks like threading hundreds of needles, instead of tossing some paint on a canvas?

Hadi Tabatabai chooses thread for his minimalist constructions because of its capability to manifest "line as a physical space." Similarly, Susan Avila said that she enjoys the "metaphorical" quality of thread, which is evident in her 3D, ethereal thread-sculptures that take "the dynamic of thread to the absolute limit," in Kimball's words. Another artist, Victoria May, juxtaposed thread and cement, consistent with her penchant for finding "dichotomy in art."

Also important is thread's accessibility as a medium. "Everybody responds to textiles. They have an immediate response, because we deal with it every day," stated Avila. Lauren DiCoccio agreed: "There's thread touching my body right now! 24 hours a day." Audience members nodded in agreement.

For artist Robin Hill, "Sewing machines represent chance. How can an artist bypass innate sensibility? Through the process of chance." And for others, it's just meant to be: Lisa Kokin simply likes the tedium and monotony inherent in sewing. "People in a state of frenzy are blown away by the obvious amounts of time these works have taken," Cathy Kimball added. It certainly is astonishing to comprehend the time these pieces must have taken, and in some ways, overwhelming.

http://www.sjica.org/

South First Fridays @ San Jose: ICA & Anno Domini

2010-02-05T22:59:00.000-08:00

[[First Fridays on First St in San Jose: a once-a-month art walk in which a number of galleries stay open all evening til late to display their latest artwork.]]

I was pleased to make it to ICA's "By a Thread" opening before it became totally swamped. This show featured thread as a medium in artwork, from haunting human silhouettes comprised of ethereal thread draped from the wall (see below right), to a beautiful, huge, and painstakingly created flower-patterned "doily" from shapes snipped from the covers of self-help books. This selection of work represents a wonderful hybrid between DIY and fine art.

The pins and dark red thread of Katie Lewis' piece (right) were a beautiful installation against a stark white wall marked only with light gray penciled dates. The accompanying text panel explained that the pins represented areas of her body that felt particular sensations during points of time. Sure, this explained the setup, but it left me wondering which clusters of pins represented which body area- of course, I couldn't ask her that question!

I was excited to see thread in the spotlight, because I've witnessed thread spreading through contemporary art before my very eyes, from Mingwei Lee's "The Mending Project" at MOMA NY, to Montalvo Art Center's collaborative "On the Retina" performance, to Cat Mazza's extensive work with thread and its relation to labor, which I also encountered at Montalvo. [[Mazza's "Mill Series" is currently on view in the ICA's front windows. Her site: http://www.post-craft.net/catmazza.htm]]

Before moving on, I'd like to applaud Ted Fullwood for his fantastical "Energy Machines" sculptures made entirely of chenille, aka pipe cleaners. My friends and I felt like these creations looked like they could burst out in sound like a series of happily honking Dr. Seuss-ish musical instruments. He said more of his work is on display at City Hall; I hope to check it out. Walking among these giant, colorful fuzzy sculptures was a totally surreal experience; it was like cat scratching-post heaven.

Next, we visited Anno Domini, which was featuring Zines.

Zine (as defined by urbandictionary.com): some sort of publication, usually mass-produced by photocopying, on any range of topics, but usually filled with passion. A means of telling one's story, sharing thoughts, and/or artwork/comics/doodles. Because zines do not have any sort of corporate backing, they are very rugged, individualized, and much more charismatic than larger, more popular magazines whose content is often dictated by their advertisers.

Anno Domini's Zine Exhibit was a madhouse- I've never seen the gallery so packed! It certainly wasn't the place I would have guessed I'd run into Don Fritz and Kelly Detweiler, but there ya go. Kelly seemed to be digging the jams by Corpus Callosum.

The most prominent common thread my friends and I noticed among the zines was the prevalence of "cute little animals," of which my favorite example was a tiny zine full of starry-eyed little forest creatures quoting Oscar Wilde. Sadly, the crowded-ness of the gallery inhibited my ability to focus on an entire zine except for a few smaller ones, and the teeming tables of zines for sale faced me with so many good choices that I couldn't decide- I left empty-handed. But hey, I can't complain about people being excited about the gallery. I'll have to make it in another time for a closer look. People who care enough to actually produce their zines deserve kudos for their creativity and motivation.

[[psst..Anno Domini is currently on Juxtapoz magazine's Top 100 Galleries list! http://www.juxtapoz.com/Top100/anno-domini-san-jose-ca]]

Gustavo Ramos Rivera @ Smith Andersen Editions

2010-02-01T22:24:00.000-08:00

The first time I visited Smith Andersen Editions, it was for a behind-the-scenes tour with my Santa Clara University printmaking class. That evening, I had marveled at the in-house bedroom and wine-stocked fridge; this second visit, I ogled the artwork and enjoyed the libation participation.

So on Saturday, January 30, I came to Smith Andersen to see the latest prints by Gustavo Ramos Rivera. I liked his bright, optimistic colors, and pondered what the lively abstract symbols scratched into his works represented. Was that a cross, or an airplane? Is that a letter "k" ? I realized as I glanced across the prints that Gustavo and I share an affinity for day-glo pink.

My two girlfriends and I convinced Kathryn Kain (without too much begging) to let us peek at some of the prints hidden in the drawers: trademark Matthew Radford, Darren Waterston (I look forward to seeing more of his work in person someday: http://www.darrenwaterston.com/index.shtml), and a nice stack of Kara Maria's latest Smith Andersen works.

Kara Maria had created a series based on Chinese Zodiac animals & tattoo, employing some of my favorite aspects of her printmaking style: combining whimsical, vibrant colors and manifold stenciling to create a fresh and unpretentious composition that can delight viewers both young and old. I think of her artwork as Bridget Riley + Lichtenstein + Mary Blair. (See prints by Kara Maria in the current exhibits at the de Saisset FREE museum: http://www.scu.edu/deSaisset/)

The most interesting aspect of Smith Andersen Editions, to me, is its overall agenda: artists from other disciplines are invited to the studio to work with the master printer (Kathryn Kain) to create a series of prints; this allows many talented people the chance to experiment with a totally unique and relatively inaccessible medium.

http://www.smithandersen.com/

Art @ Axis

2010-01-29T18:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we made it just in time for the last penthouse tour at Axis Condominiums in San Jose. I love when vacant spaces fill themselves with art, whether it's an empty storefront or an empty apartment complex.

A guide took us to the top floor apartments, where we toured a furnished penthouse adorned with contemporary art and stylish furniture. The sparkling city views were enhanced by the excitement of airplanes rushing right by the window. "I can barely even hear the plane!" we all exclaimed.

I enjoyed some digitalized images that looked to me like artistically edited photos of Chihuly's jewel-like glass ceilings. Also in the penthouse hung abstract paintings by Philip Bongiorno (which he makes with "spray paint and kitchen utensils"), which nicely complemented the graphite-coated wood pieces by Chris Sicat; one gray-white painted image by Bongiorno looked to me like a cross-section of the rings inside a 'graphite tree.'

In the ground floor gallery, I saw another work by Chris Sicat, a smooth, curved piece of wood, covered in his trademark shiny gray graphite that he applies laboriously with regular pencils (much to the confusion of his neighbors, who suggest that he try a paintbrush or something). It looked to me like a stingray hanging motionless on the wall. He rubbed his finger across the silver surface, revealing the grayish sheen it left on his fingertip. Hang his pieces out of the kids' reach!

Also eye-catching were some large paintings by Chris Elliman (that made me reminisce on some Cy Twombly works I'd seen in the past), as well as a huge white styrofoam sculpture by Julia Jacobson that was just begging to be picked up. I mean, it was styrofoam! This piece was nameless; it reminded me of a tornado of shaving cream.

All in all, among the intriguing artwork, luxury condominiums, refreshments, music and delightful conversation, I would certainly love to attend another opening night of Art @ Axis. Maybe next time we can catch some more free jazz at the neighboring Hotel DeAnza!

http://www.art-at-axis.com./