mahmut bey and göbeklitepe

Sketching at Göbeklitepe this year was not as easy as last year, as the site is now under a temporary wooden shelter, but it's still such a marvellous place to get out a pencil and sketchbook. Last year, I regretted that I hadn't asked Mahmut bey if I could sketch him— it was a mix of shyness and a little bit of the pressure of being in a group that was on the move that held me back, so I was determined to get a portrait of him in my book this time around. I was pleased that he remembered me, and even more so that he agreed to patiently pose for a sketch under an unforgiving sun. I have no idea how much time passed, but after a while, he started to get fidgety.

A group of important-looking people had arrived with a police escort to inspect the site, and he broke his stoic pose to keep an eye on their whereabouts. Eventually, he glanced up at the sky with his squinty eyes, and politely asked if I could just take a photograph of him instead. Grateful for any time with him, I thanked him with a handshake and watched him disappear under the wooden structure. I was left with a decent pencil sketch of him and a photograph, which I used for colouring, while in my hotel room later that night. I'm pretty happy with the result, and glad that I overcame my shyness— after all, if portraits are my favourite subjects for sketching, I have to get comfortable talking to people!



Click here to see two sketches from last year's visit to Göbeklitepe.

the return to göbeklitepe

Last year, I had the privilege of being invited to join a group of Turkish artists on their tour of Urfa. One of the places we visited was Göbeklitepe, a prehistoric temple built by hunter gatherers around 10,000 BCE. Göbeklitepe is the oldest temple ever found, and what astonishes me is how complex it is— each T-shaped pillar (which is believed to represent the human form) weighs between 40 and 60 tonnes, and is intricately carved with images of birds and mammals. The pillars are arranged in concentric circles, a bit Stonehenge-like, but predating it by 6000 years or so. Mind you, all this was accomplished before the invention of the wheel and what would be considered an organised society.

I had been warned by one of the archaeologists who I have been in contact with, that the site would be covered by a wooden structure in preparation for a future roof, and though the beams got in the way of my photographic aims, the beauty and magic of the place was not lost.



And as I hoped I would, I found the friendly, familiar face of Mahmutbey. I met Mahmutbey last year as he patrolled the site, which rests on his land. He helped me decipher some of the reliefs, explaining that the creature I was sketching was a fox, and pointed out a small rabbit I had not noticed. I so enjoyed meeting him, that when I returned to Istanbul I drew a small portrait of him to give to a colleague who was taking a long weekend in Urfa, which happened to include a trip to Göbeklitepe. To my delight, I was given photos of the portrait delivery.

Mahmutbey remembered me, and accepted my request for another portrait sitting:



What I love most about sketching is how it can bring people together, making the world a little smaller. After all, it brought Pedro to me.

göbeklitepe, sketched

The left page of the top spread is a sketch of the fox and rabbit relief which Mahmut bey explained to me, and upon the facing page, perhaps another fox, and a boar with those unmistakeably curved teeth. No one seemed sure about the bird-like creatures in the second spread— this animal motif was repeated quite frequently on other pillars, and seemed almost duck-like. This motif quickly became my favourite for its roundness and content expression. I wish I could have done more!

göbeklitepe

Pedro and I left the hotel around seven. The light was pale and golden, and the sky seemed forgiving— though I suspected a drizzle was on its way. As we slowly drove through undulating fields of yellow and green grain, Crested Larks and shrikes went about their morning business, hunting for insects. Invisible partridges called out from somewhere in the wheat, and a little owl glared at us from a rock pile we passed.

We arrived at the entrance to Göbeklitepe at the agreed upon nine o' clock, but the rest of the group was nowhere to be found. After waiting for some time I called Ayşegül, who told me there had been complications, and that they would meet us at the site at around ten. Since we had an extra hour to ourselves, we decided to try and enter the site and get a head start on some sketching.

The actual temple site was a lot smaller than I had imagined, though no less amazing— I couldn't believe I was standing at the very spot I had read about, and the guy in the green shirt just on the other side was the Klaus Schmidt, the German archaeologist who first began excavations at Göbeklitepe in 1995. I wanted to bother him with all sorts of questions, but since he and his crew were working, I thought it best not to disturb him. I wondered if we were allowed to just walk right in, but no one stopped us. We each picked a T-shaped pillar and started to sketch.

As I mentioned in the previous post, Göbeklitepe is the site of a Neolithic sanctuary built by nomads in the region, around 10,000 BCE. The sanctuary is a series of circular arrangements of T-shaped pillars, which vary from 3 to 6 metres high. It is believed that the T-pillars are stylised representations of the human form, as some have reliefs of arms carved into them. What I found most intriguing were the beautifully rendered animals— foxes, boar, birds, and other animals were carefully carved into the faces of the pillars, some with great detail. Göbeklitepe is the oldest example of a religious site ever found, and its complexity is baffling.



While sketching, a man with an impressive beard and brow greeted me with a smile. His head was wrapped in a red checked scarf, and he donned a long black robe over his plaid shirt and shalwar pants. He wore a name tag that read "Mahmut Yildiz"— and it wasn't until I returned to Istanbul that I learned that Mahmut bey is the owner of the land upon which Göbeklitepe sits. He leased the land to Klaus, who is working with both the German Archaeological Institute and the Şanlıurfa Museum to unearth the sanctuary. Mahmut bey told me that the animal on the pillar I was drawing was a fox, then pointed out a small, faded rabbit shape, which I had neglected to notice and include in my sketch. I thanked him and pencilled it in, which pleased him.



At around half past ten the artists from karala(ma) arrived, along with Turkish archaeologist Mehmet Önal, and members of the university who were documenting the event. The artists took to drawing immediately, spreading out along the wooden walkway with tools and books in hand. I was impressed by the speed of their sketching— I was still on the one I had started an hour and a half ago!


Me, Pedro, and Orhan, one of the founders of karala(ma) 

I felt so lucky— lucky to be sketching this monumental piece of human history, lucky to be drawing with a group of Turkish artists, lucky that it didn't rain. The stone pillars at Göbeklitepe were more impressive than I had imagined, so well preserved and readable. What did these animals mean? Why did nomadic people decide to haul and erect 40– 60 tonne stones here? I wish I could have stayed all day and sketched every single pillar, but eventually we had to move on. There was still a lot to see.

to urfa

Back in March, I had the good fortune of meeting French Urban Sketcher Sylvie Bargain, who introduced me to Turkish mosaic artist Ayşegül Güvenir, and her friend Nur, who is also an artist. We sketched the Perşembe Pazarı fish market, ate some fish sandwiches, and formed a friendship. I am continually amazed by all the wonderful people who have come into my life because of sketching—in fact, if it weren't for sketching, I wouldn't have met Pedro.

Ayşegül asked us if we wanted to join a group of Turkish artists called karala(ma), who were invited by Harran Üniversitesi to sketch around Urfa, a city in southern Turkey, near the Syrian border. One of the highlights of the trip was an excursion to Göbeklitepe— the thought of which sent me over the moon. Göbeklitepe, or "potbelly hill", is the site of a Neolithic sanctuary dating back to around 10,000 BCE. I had been doing a little independent research on Göbeklitepe for a class I'm teaching on Paleolithic and Neolithic depictions of the human form in art, and this was too amazing of a coincidence. Before I knew it, Pedro and I were on a flight to Urfa, sketching gear in the overhead compartment, and nestled in the seat pocket in front of our knees.

As we were hoping to do some birding on the trip (the nearby desert region of the Middle East brings with it some special birds who cannot be found in other regions of Turkey), we decided to rent a car at the airport for more mobility. The process of renting the car was quite mysterious, as many things are in Turkey, and after completing the necessary paperwork, we were told to wait outside for a Hyundai, which would arrive in five minutes. The sky turned black on the horizon with an advancing storm, and I wondered if sketching at an outdoor archaeological site would be possible, as we discovered rain was on the forecast for the next few days.

"Five minutes" in Turkey is a relative term; to the car rental agent it meant fifty minutes. The deliverer of the car was a young guy who looked ready for a night on the town, hair coiffed, tight shirt, scented with cologne. We looked over the car, documenting a few minor dents, and when we opened the trunk to load in our bags, I began to suspect that this rental car doubled as a personal car. Several plastic bags of clothes and an instrument case were hurriedly removed by the agent with an embarrassed grin, and we were asked by the fragrant guy if we could give him a ride back to the city. I had my doubts, but we accepted, hoping for the best. Upon exiting the airport, the storm poured down in sheets.

Eventually we made it to Urfa, dropped off the grateful young man (who in the meantime had spritzed himself with more cologne), and began to look for our hotel. Ayşegül had told me that the University hotel was an old converted stone house, but when we finally found it, we were surprised to discover it was grander than we had expected. Our room was gorgeous. Stone walls, high vaulted ceiling, elegant woodwork, and three beds... a far cry from the kind of place we usually stay. We spent a few minutes looking around the room in awe and gratitude, before venturing out for some dinner. A jovial group of people passed us while wandering through a quiet little street, when Pedro suddenly yelled out "Ayşegül!"

Ayşegül introduced us to Ayşe, Aysel, Orhan, and Ayla, and we were happily reunited with Nur. Our group headed to a nearby ciğer joint, ciğer kebab (liver kebab) being one of Urfa's specialities. Pedro indulged, but since I'm not a big fan of liver, I ordered a çöp şiş instead— a kebab of little cubes of spiced lamb. The kebabs came with a dish of spicy caramelized onions and a heap of mint, perfect to cool down your burning tongue.



Urfa felt Syrian. I never had the chance to visit Syria— my Tante Leyla and I had a trip planned to visit Damascus, Aleppo, and Qamishle, but then the war began. I wanted to see where my father was born, in that little border town, where his mother bought chocolate through a fence from a Turkish bakkal. I wanted to learn about my grandparents— my grandfather, the quiet, compassionate doctor, and my grandmother, his fiesty and passionate wife. As I discovered in Antakya, Urfa had all these Middle Eastern touches. There were checked scarves artfully wrapped around the heads of many men, embellished stone houses, and a blend of Turkish and Arabic which produced a delightfully heavy h and kh.  I wondered about the people not far from where I stood, the horrors and loss facing them. It made my heart ache.