The Istanbullus Meet the World

Recently David Malouf commented of the Brisbane he recreated in Johnno:

“It is a sobering thing, at just thirty, to have outlived the landmarks of one’s youth. And to have seen them go, not in some violent cataclysm … but in the way of our generation, by Council ordinance and by-law … and land deals; in the name of order and progress, and in contempt of all that is untidily shabby and individual …”
(Weekend Australian, September 8-9)

In the memoir of Nobel Prize-winner Orhan Pamuk, Istanbul: Memories of a City, he laments the changes that overtook his home city in the later twentieth century but at the same time he lovingly evokes its continuing beauty and fascination, including the very shabbiness of its twisting alleys. Ancient monuments, Byzantine and Ottoman, endure, as does the beauty of its sea setting: the Bosphorus corridor, the Marmara and the Golden Horn, the latter inlet cleansed of pollution. But as a regular visitor to Istanbul over recent years I have seen accelerating changes, cultural and physical, as modernisation and westernisation, going hand in hand, increase in Turkey, the only secular democracy which is at once part of the Middle East and, somewhat disputably, of Europe.

The splendour of Istanbul’s monuments and setting contrasts with the sprawling suburbs, with their pockets of poverty and an expanding population of over ten million. Turks from the provinces flock to the unofficial capital seeking work. The westernisation in the city’s central areas has speeded up under the pressure of a desire to join the EEC and Turkey’s rising GDP, drawing on an expanding wealthy class and on increasing tourism. Central Istanbul has lent itself to promotion as a modern city—even fashionable to visit—as its luxury hotels multiply, its restaurants and nightspots become trendy. Visitors from Europe and elsewhere, including Australia, pass through Istanbul on their way to visit Gallipoli, enjoy beaches on the Aegean and view historic monuments—Greek, Roman, Ottoman. But there are now more temptations to linger in Istanbul and more scope for it to become a destination in its own right. Cultural exhibitions, of the present as well as the past, and of both Eastern and Western art, are increasingly promoted as part of the city’s new cosmopolitanism.

Istanbul has long been noted for established museums, treasure houses of art, including the Ottoman Topkapi Palace, the great Byzantine church of Sancta Sophia, the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art, the church of the Kariye (Chora), with its stunning mosaics. Latterly, travelling exhibitions are much more common. Before I visited again in spring of this year, major showings of Picasso and Rodin had been staged. Then “Genghis Khan and his Heirs” swept through the city.

As I was lamenting having missed it, the magazine Cornucopia (“for connoisseurs of Turkey”) announced its successor, “The Great Textile Takeover”. For the first time in the thirty years since it was set up, the international conference on Oriental carpets was held in Istanbul, bringing with it a “flurry of exhibitions” spread throughout its many museums. Perhaps most dazzling was the colourful display of silk caftans dancing around the walls of the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art. The Sabanci Museum displayed Anatolian carpets from Transylvanian churches, brought back to Turkey for the first time, as well as kaitags (silk embroidery from the East Caucasus); Topkapi unrolled some of its palace silks; the Sadberk Hanim Museum “revealed its sumptuous velvets”; a new museum showcased historic mosque carpets never exhibited before. All this by no means exhausted the available attractions.

A new venue, the Pera museum, housed in a beautifully restored turn-of-the-century mansion, and impeccably curated, displayed photographs of the restoration during the last century of the magnificent late Byzantine mosaics of the Kariye church. The patron of the restoration, Thomas Wittemore, was an American archaeologist and philanthropist. He founded the Byzantine Institute of America, whose work is continued by the Dumbarton Oaks Fieldwork Committee in Washington. Letters show that Wittemore kept in touch with Matisse about his discoveries, a reminder of the rich weave of cultural influences between East and West, many yet to be discovered.

Another major museum, two years old, is Istanbul Modern, magnificently sited in a renovated waterfront warehouse, facing the junction of the Bosphorus corridor and Marmara Sea, with the domes of the old city in the background and an ancient mosque next door. Its UK director, member of an international “aristocracy” of curators, with experience in Tokyo, London and Stockholm, aims to make the gallery live up to its name: “to make the city aware if its own capacity for change … not to commemorate Orhan Pamuk’s city of nostalgia, melancholy and regret”.

This flowering of art exhibitions is part of the promotion of contemporary Istanbul, of Turkey, and of Eastern art. More widely it links up with recent exhibitions in Western countries, including one held earlier this year in Sydney: “Arts of Islam: Treasures from the Nasser D. Khalili Collection”. London staged a major exhibition in 2005 entitled “Turks: A Journey of a Thousand Years, 600–1600”. Brussels hosted an exhibition in the same year: “Mothers, Goddesses and Lady Sultans”. MOMA in New York is currently exhibiting “Venice and the Islamic World: 828–1797”. Venice was Constantinople’s main rival for Mediterranean trade. New galleries of Islamic art are opening up: the Victoria and Albert Museum in London recently opened its Jameel Gallery, while MOMA and the Louvre are opening galleries soon.

The Genghis Khan exhibition illustrates something of a new development. It was staged in far-flung countries, including Europe, the USA and Mongolia. In Istanbul it drew upon wide-ranging holdings including items from museums in St Petersburg (the Hermitage, whose director is an expert in Islamic art), Paris (Guimet Museum of Asiatic arts), Ulanbaatar (Mongolian National Museum), Berlin (State Museum for Islamic Art), the Vatican Secret Archives, and Taipei (National Palace Museum). This co-operation and the airing of treasures that may have been long mothballed mark positive signs of an attempt to break down cultural barriers.

It is commonly said that such displays will help to bridge the gap between East and West, between Islamic and other cultures. This aim may in practice be limited, given the gulf involved and the fact that many of these artefacts, however beautiful, appeal only to the connoisseur. But then so does much of Western art. There is often an emphasis, as in the Sydney showing, on opulence or “treasures” of great monetary value, with little representation of folk art or catering for the popular appeal which Islamic art can involve. Exceptions are film, ceramics and textiles, especially carpets.

While visitors to Istanbul may scuttle swiftly round corners to escape the clutches of carpet sellers, carpets are for the Middle East and Cental Asia the artistic equivalent of Western painting, except that they draw on and reflect a more communal art and are more a part of everyday life, not just a quarry for collectors. Indeed Renaissance painters, such as the Venetian Lorenzo Lotto, and recent ones like Matisse, incorporated decorative carpet motifs and their colours into their work.

But if the aim of promoting Eastern art to improve international relations is idealistic, exhibitions may help to make the art, together with the mosaic of cultures that produce it, more visible. In this way barriers and prejudice can be broken down, such as the belief that high art is the preserve of the West and the “Far East”—China and Japan—leaving a great gap between. Moreover, the “East” too often represents an unreal monolith, as does “Islamic art”, which can be both secular and religious and is always modified by regional origins.

Art exhibitions are not, however, the only or even the main means of raising Istanbul’s profile. The attractions of the city are increasingly promoted by publicising its luxury hotels, sophisticated cuisine, nightspots and café life. Typical of this pitch, if verging on self-parody, is the cover story, “Istanbul in 36 Hours” that appeared in the New York Times on Sunday in May. It was reported half-humorously in Istanbul’s English-language newspaper the Turkish Daily News. “The Turks have changed tactics,” the Times commented:

“For centuries, the sultans of Istanbul sent forth their armies, seizing territories … This time it is a style offensive. And the spoils of conquest are everywhere. Downbeat neighborhoods have re-emerged as artist and night life enclaves. Medieval Ottoman motifs are winding up on T-shirts and design products. Plain kebabs are getting epicurean makeovers, and Old World hammams [Turkish baths] are being converted into jet-setters’ spas …”

The Times advises us to begin our stay by “getting disorientated at the Grand Bazaar”, and proceeds to give tips about nightlife, food and wines and equivalents of “the good life” of the privileged in the West. The essay concludes with a comment about “the city’s most exciting cultural venue”, the new Istanbul Modern, sitting beside a sixteenth-century mosque: “Juxtaposed, they capture the twin poles of Istanbul: venerable and youthful, holy and avant-garde.”

This hype is echoed in Time Out: Istanbul’s Living Guide. It states that keyif, “a pleasurable state of idle relaxation, has been honed down to a fine art form by us Turks … becoming an integral part of day-to-day life, and having assumed a variety of ritualised forms, with Istanbul the undisputed capital of keyif”.

Underlying this gloss are sober realities. The gap between rich and poor is probably greater than in most developed Western countries. There are also cultural divisions: large sections of Istanbul observe strict Islamic customs, contrasting with the lifestyles of privileged, westernised Turks and indicating a political and social difference continually threatening to disturb the uneasy equilibrium of the only secular democracy of the Middle East. Nevertheless, despite attempts to promote a hedonistic, fashionable—even chic—city, traditional qualities such as a distinctive hospitality and courtesy to strangers remain. One can avoid the glitz to savour unpretentious aspects of Turkish life.

The most enjoyable experience on my latest visit combined the old and new if not the avant-garde. The basilica of St Irene, dating from about the same time as St Sophia (the sixth century), second to it in size and standing both next to it and within the first courtyard of the later Topkapi Palace, is usually closed to visitors. It was used for years as a storehouse for historical Ottoman armaments. Concerts are now held here during music festivals and I was lucky enough to attend one. It was notable not so much for the quality of its music, Italian opera arias hosted by the Italian consulate, as for the atmosphere and presence of this venerable building as it echoed with songs of a much later time. It may not have catered for the connoisseur but both artists and audience were enthusiastic. The latter was huge, composing a mixture of locals—“Istanbullus”—along with visitors from the provinces, including northern Cyprus, and others from foreign countries.

Laurie Hergenhan, Emeritus Professor of English, University of Queensland, reviewed Orhan Pamuk’s Istanbul: Memories of a City in the November 2005 issue of Quadrant.