a small adventure in the works

As you may have noticed, my posts have become increasingly sporadic— this is in part due to the ongoing ban of Blogger in Turkey, and the difficulty it has caused me. I have to access my blog in this irritatingly roundabout way, which is not the most conducive for posting. I've also been cooped up at home writing essays and lesson plans and whatnot for my postgraduate certification in education, which I've been working towards since September. This certification programme has not allowed me much free time for gallivanting around the streets of my beloved Istanbul, nor has it enabled my wandering eyes and heart to travel to any new and exciting places. The adventurer inside me is crying out for even the tiniest travelling— anything to get my feet moving and my brain and senses stimulated.

Back in July, my friend Molly left Turkey for America to marry her love, and I have sorely missed our endless conversations and laughter. Lucky me, she's back in town for a few weeks and we've decided to take a trip to the ancient Hellenic city of Olympos, on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. I have no idea what Olympos is like, and I've resisted the urge to fully research it so I can be surprised. Through some light googling, I understand that Olympos is green with trees and there are rocks to climb, beaches to lie on, and bluer than blue sea to swim in. I hope for sun and warmth and laziness. I want to lie around and draw, chat with Molly, laugh with Molly, and maybe do a little hiking and swimming. The days, hours and minutes have been dragging on, reminding me of an annoying thing called patience, telling me that Tuesday will eventually arrive, and to occupy myself with other things in the meantime. So I'm working on a large oil painting of a bumblebee, trying to make Saturday, Sunday and Monday fly.

saint sophia and the crème caramel

While in the Sultanahmet area, it is always a great temptation to run away from the people you are with and sketch the Ayasofya— which is naturally, what I did. The sun was warming the small stone wall opposite the former basilica, upon which I planted myself for a quick scribble and a listen to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds on my beat up little iPod. The cerulean sky was nearly cloudless and mesmerising in its depth, and I found myself staring at the blue, kicking my feet like a happy child, unwilling to add much detail to my drawing.



Lunchtime slowly rolled around and took us to the oddly named Pudding Shop, formerly known as Lale Restaurant, which was apparently a favourite haunt of hippie backpackers in the sixties. Traditional Turkish cuisine served cafeteria-style and a delightful selection of puddings are what an empty belly can look forward to at Pudding Shop. I selected a plump, rice and meat stuffed tomato called a dolma, topped with a dollop of puréed potatoes, and a plate of rice with semizotu, or purslane. It was insisted that I try the crème caramel for dessert, which was reportedly divine— and didn't disappoint.

Pudding Shop
Divanyolu No.6 Sultanahmet / ISTANBUL
212 522 29 70

morning, in the blue mosque

Morning never looked so magical as it did streaming through the curved windows of the mighty Blue Mosque, dancing off tiles and coiling around half and quarter domes. I always seem to be in the Sultanahmet area around prayer time, when the mosque is closed to tourists, but as I was accompanying a tour group of alumni from the now 100 year old Istanbul International Community School— of which I am also an alumnus, I got to set foot onto the well-worn red carpet of the mosque. When I was a little girl, the Blue Mosque could have leapt out of the pages of a fairytale— it was mythological; somewhere great heroes and heroines lived and loved. I did not grasp its religious purpose, but I felt its power and understood its holiness. While Rüstem Paşa Camii in Eminönü is by far my most favourite mosque in Istanbul for its intimacy and stunning tiles, it is impossible to deny the overwhelming beauty and magnificence of the Blue Mosque.

saturday night

blossoming

Sometime during my recovery from what my doctor charmingly referred to as the "goat flu" (as there can't possibly be any swine flu in Muslim countries), Spring decided to unfurl her arms around our grey city. Little green buds and pink blossoms have erupted on bare branches that stretch toward an inconsistent sky— cumulus and cirrus sweep across blues and greys, pinks and peaches. Istanbul in the springtime is a positively magical place; full of colour, birdsong and warmth— and I don't just mean the actual temperature— people's faces are softened, smiles and laughter seem to pop up everywhere, like cherry blossoms.



As my flu winds down and my workload is lightened, I look forward to stepping out in a light printed dress, the sun on my arms and the smell of flowers and sea in my head.
Happy Spring!

nine feet of art

I just wanted to share this video with you that fellow Moly-X artist Tim Clary took of my Moleskine Exchange 13 book, which is currently on display at Minnesota Center for Book Arts. The fabulous artists I collaborated with on this wonderful project are (in order of rotation) Anna Denise van der Reijden, Emma Kidd and Laura Martin Ansa. I am so proud of our little group, and knowing my book is showing in a gallery is an amazing feeling— if only I could be there in person to see it!

Thank you Tim, for enabling me to share this book with the world— and an enormous thank you to Marty Harris, founder of Moly-X, for getting us into the MCBA!

the smell of olives, cumin and sea

eminönü stories

crossing the golden horn

Stretched lazily across the Golden Horn in its rusting cyan splendour, is the Galata Bridge.
The smell of fish and sea, the deep-throated laugh of a fisherman.

japan

I am shocked and saddened by the devastation in Japan— my heart goes out to the people affected by the quake and tsunami.

snowfall

As Istanbul is slowly swallowed by snow and my mind is likewise, having its own share of snowfall, I decided to try and get somewhere with my simitçi ink drawing. He is approximately 2ft x 3ft— I can't remember the exact dimensions of the paper, and I can't find my ruler. I have been working on and off on this drawing for several long months, and hope to finish it soon. The end is in sight, but still feels so very distant and obscured by its own snow.

transportation for the masses

pencils, markers and paint

Here's my entry into Chris' book for Moleskine Exchange 34. I'm not sure what was going on in my mind as I was drawing this, and I'm not sure I like it very much. Chris, I hope you like it. Perhaps I need to add some gold ink to it... I don't know. Any suggestions?

expression

Blogger is still shut down in Turkey, but I've found a way to get past it. Hopefully sense will soon prevail, but until then, I unfortunately will not be able to respond to any comments— it doesn't work for some reason.

Warm wishes from Istanbul!

another bump in the road

Well my dear readers, it seems as though Turkey has shut down Blogger after some blogs were posting football footage that a local cable provider, owns the sole airing rights to. So rather than penalise those specific bloggers, a court in Diyarbakir decided to keep the entire nation from being able to write and read freely online.

This does not make me very happy, and if there is a way in which I can post to you, I will find it.

I believe I may have already.

the things i saw today

Having been cooped up indoors for far too long, a simple walk becomes a sensory explosion— the heavy, dull smell of burning coal, the soft scent of snow in the clouds, the brine of the sea... My childhood comes flooding back into the forefront of my brain as these scents and that green, green of the Bosphorus melt into a blur of synaesthesia.

Life has carried on in my absence— always a bit shocking but never disappointing; the yellow house is now tragically white, and the blue barrels are now on the right-hand side of the road. Boats with different names bob silently in the green waves. I feel like I've been reunited with a long-lost love— forgotten contours and fuzzy details now clear.

As I feel the comfort of cold cobblestone beneath my thin sole, I can't help but spread a wide grin across my winter-stung face.

It feels so good.