My City Book by British Council Turkey

AB-Türkiye Kültür Köprüleri EU-TurkeySivil CivilToplum SocietyDiyaloğu: Dialogue: Cultural Bridges Bu program Avrupa Birliği taraﬁby ndan nanse edilmektedir This programme is funded the ﬁEuropean Union

My City

This book is the final publication of the My City project, which was conceived and implemented by the British Council in collaboration with Anadolu Kültür and Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center.

CFCU is the Contracting Authority of this project

My City forms part of the EU-Turkey Civil Society Dialogue: Cultural Bridges Programme funded by the European Union.

My City Çanakkale İstanbul Konya Mardin Trabzon Berlin Dortmund Helsinki London Vienna Warsaw

Mark Wallinger Andreas Fogarasi Joanna Rajkowska Clemens von Wedemeyer Minna Henriksson Caner Aslan Işıl Eğrikavuk Leyla Gediz Güneş Terkol Gülsün Karamustafa Can Altay

My City Realisation of the project

Realisation of the book

General advisors to the project

Ruth Ur Project Director

Editors Özge Açıkkol & Seçil Yersel Project & Publication Coordinator Yavuz Parlar Book Design Vahit Tuna Design & Consultancy Design Assistant Ayşe Bozkurt Turkish-English Translations Biray Kolluoğlu [BK] Zeynep Zilelioğlu [ZZ] French-English Translation James Önder [JÖ] German-English Translation Tuna Alemdar [TA] Polish-English Translation Marcin Wawrzynczak English Proofreading Emrah Güler Katie Lorayne Johnson German-English Proofreading Filiz Ova Interview Transcriptions Ömer Sarıgedik Interviews The Editorial Team

Osman Kavala Director, Anadolu Kültür Vasıf Kortun Director, Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center (from April 2011, SALT)

(September 2007 – August 2009)

David Codling Project Director (August 2009 – September 2011)

Esra Sarıgedik Öktem Project Manager (June 2008 – June 2011)

Yeşim Gözde Ersoy Press, Public Relations and Marketing Consultant (April 2008 – November 2010)

Çelik Özüduru Press, Public Relations and Marketing Support (September 2008 – June 2011)

Initial scoping for the project Louise Wright (2008)

Coordination Funda Küçükyılmaz Project Coordinator (July 2008 – February 2011) Yavuz Parlar Project Coordinator (January – June 2011) Bilge Kalfa Technical Coordinator (May – November 2010)

City Coordinator/Mardin Erhan Tural, Zafer Ödemiş City Coordinators/Trabzon Umut Söğüt City Coordinator/Çanakkale

Printing Mas Matbaacılık San. ve Tic. A. Ş. Hamidiye Mahallesi Soğuksu Caddesi, No: 3 34408 Kağıthane. İstanbul, Türkiye Tel: (0212) 294 10 00 info@masmat.com.tr

Finance & Administration Çelenk Bafra Project Finance and Administrative Manager

Print Run 1500 English - 1000 Turkish copies

(December 2010 – April 2011)

Aslı Toppare Administrative Coordinator (January 2010 – January 2011)

Serap Öztürk Administrative Coordinator (August 2009 – January 2010)

Ece Özden Pak Project Assistant (September 2009 – November 2010)

This project is funded by the European Union. The contents of this publication are the sole responsibility of the participating authors and can in no way be taken to reflect the views of the European Union and the British Council.

Andrea Schlieker Curatorial Advisor British Council Project Board Michael Bird Jeff Streeter Andrea Rose Rebecca Walton

Acknowledgments My City was conceived by the British Council together with partners from Turkey Anadolu Kültür and Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center. The project is funded by the European Union within the framework of EU-Turkey Civil Society Dialogue: Cultural Bridges Programme and the British Council. CFCU is the Contracting Authority of this project. The British Council would like to thank the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, the Governorates of Çanakkale, İstanbul, Konya, Mardin, Trabzon, the Metropolitan Municipalities of İstanbul and Konya and the Municipalities of Çanakkale, Mardin and Trabzon whose contributions have made the My City project possible. The British Embassy in Ankara, The British Consulate General in İstanbul, The Turkish Embassies in Berlin, Helsinki, London, Vienna and Warsaw. Åbäke, Akçaabat Güzel Sanatlar Lisesi, Arkitera, Ditto Press, DZ Architects, Ecorys, GB Architecture and Engineering, Goethe-Institut, Hartware, Hyperpotamus, MedienKunstVerein, Modern Halı Sanayi Ticaret A.Ş., Press Office of Asse II, Rodeo Galeri, Students of the Architecture and Urban Planning Department of the Karadeniz Teknik Üniversitesi, Students of Trabzon Sanat Tiyatrosu, TRT. Yaşar Adanalı, Reha Akarvardar, Ali Akay, Betül Akbulut, Nevzat Akçaoğlu, Yasin Aktay, Inès Alaya, Abdurrahman “Plakçı Apo” Albayrak, Mesut Alp, Zeliha Altınok, Ünal Altıntaş, Evrim Altuğ, Rosemary Arnott, Öznur Aşut, Zeynep Ata, Saliha Aydemir, Şinasi Aydemir, Ekin Aytaç, Emre Ayvaz, Nick Baird, Ömer Serkan Bakır, İlkay Baliç, Mehmet Hadi Baran, Nurşah Barto, Kübra Nur Baş, Süleyman Salih Başbay, Nilgün Başkır, Nuran Bayer, Sevince Bayrak, Deniz Bayrakçı, Ahmet Bayrakoğlu, Dave Beech, Selahattin Berber, Yeşim Beyla, Selahattin Bilirer, Bahar Bostan, Sibel Bostancı, Luchezar Boyadjiev, Zerrin İren Boynudelik, Seyhan Boztepe, Chris Brown, Eren Bucak, Doğuş Bülbül, Emre Bülbüloğlu, Mümin Candaş, Alba Colombo, Metin Cömertoğlu, Duygu Çakır, Hasan Çakır, Burcu Çapkan, Raşit Çavaş, Elif Çelik, Gabriel Oktay Çilli, Yüksel Demir, Osman Demircan, Hilal Demircioğlu, Yücel Demirel, Damla Demirkan, Nejat Demirtaş, Serkan Deniz, Alper Derinboğaz, Fethullah Duyan, Eva Eder, Kenan Elmas, Ceren Erdem, Fulya Erdemci, Köken Ergun, Enver Can Ergül, Özlem Ergün, Emre Eroğlu, İsmail Erten, Charles Esche, Orhan Esen, Kemal Genç, Furkan Gezegen, Ceyhun Göcenoğlu, Ünal Göğüş, Nurullah Görhan, Aygül Güler, Işık Gülkaynak, Mehmet Gülmez, Gürden Gür, Şengül Öymen Gür, Işın Gürel, Barış Gürkan, Dilek Güven, Olcay Faiz, Martin Fritz, Jessica Hand, Mika Hannula, Ewa Harabasz, Oğuz Haşlakoğlu, Şinasi Haznedar, Orhan İlyas, Cevat İnce, Mustafa Kaba, Faruk Karaarslan, Avşar Karababa, Barış N. Karayazgan, Esen Karol, Osman Kavala, Şenol Koca, Filiz Köksal, Soner Kurt, Zümray Kutlu, Catalina Lozano, Beral Madra, Eray Makal, Betül Mardin, Ursula Marx, Çiğdem Mater Utku, Zafer Mert, Nuray Mert, Phillipp Misselwitz, Ahmet Şefik Mollamehmetoğlu, Songül Nadir, Leyla Neyzi, Serdar Bedii Omay, Katie Orr, Hakan Osmanoğlu, Barış Öktem, Nazan Ölçer, Pelin Örseloğlu, Songül Özdemir, Hamiyet Özen, Dilek Özer, Yeşim Özerol, Göksun Özhan, Kubilay Özmen, Füsun Fidan Özoğul, Güçlü Öztekin, Gülşah Öztürk, Yavuz Özügeldi, November Paynter, Zelal Zülfiye Rahmanalı, David Reddaway, Lauren Ross, Andrea Schuber, Elif Sedele, Adem Seleş, Serkan Serbest, Nur Somel, Bekir Şahin, Birol Şahintürk, Alexis Şanal, Aslan Şaşmazer, Buket Şirin, Burak Şuşut, Selman Tabak, Murat Tabanlıoğlu, Adnan Taç, Tuija Talvitie, Ali Taptık, Suade Taşlıca, Elmira Terkol, Detlef Thelen, Terry Toney, Gökhan Uzun, Can Uzunsoy, Burcu Vural, Thomas Wallman, Krzysztof Wodiczko, Nilgün Yalçın, Betül Yavuz, Birge Yıldırım, Mehpare Yıldırım, Aynur Yıldırım, Erdoğan Yıldız, Olgun Yılmaz, Ozan Yılmaz, Hacer Yılmaz, Gültekin Yücesan, Orhan Kemal Yücesan, Muteber Yüğnük, Tunca Yüğnük, Seda Yüksel, Davut Yürük, Mehmet Zengin, Necati Zengin.

CONTENTS 8

Editorial Özge Açıkkol, Seçil Yersel

Introduction David Codling

Cultural Bridges, A European-Turkish Project Seda Erden

A Short Discussion from the Kitchen

A Brief Look at Monuments/Sculpture in Public Sphere Zeynep Yasa Yaman

My City Documentary Nuran Bayer

My City Timeline

ÇANAKKALE 64

Sinema Amnesia Mark Wallinger

Sinema Amnesia: Time, Politics and Memory in the Work of Mark Wallinger Andrea Schlieker

Interviews Ülgür Gökhan, İsmail Erten, Umut Söğüt, Seyhan Boztepe

İSTANBUL 100

Panorama the Right of View Andreas Fogarasi

106

İstanbul Panorama in Black and White Silvia Eiblmayr

112

To occupy, they say Anne Faucheret

124

Interview Alper Derinboğaz

KONYA 132

Translation as a Testing Ground Joanna Rajkowska

142

Joanna Rajkowska (Collision course of Mind Matter) Selected Notes on the Artist Sebastian Cichocki

154

Was the City I am Living in Mine? Faruk Karaaslan

158

Interviews Aydın Nezih Doğan, Bekir Şahin, Adem Seleş, Veli Özağan, Yasin Aktay

MARDİN 182

In Mardin and under the Sun Clemens von Wedemeyer

186

Notes about Sun Cinema Clemens von Wedemeyer

192

The Fly on the Wall Brigitte Franzen

198

Interviews Mehmet Beşir Ayanoğlu, Mehmet Hadi Baran-Nurullah Görhan, Gabriel Oktay Çilli, Mesut Alp

TRABZON 218

Some Aspect of the Process, and Reception of the Work Minna Henriksson

222

Gesture as a Gift Seçil Yersel

232

The Mountains are Parallel to the Sea Erhan Tural

236

Interviews Recep Kızılcık, Hamiyet Özen, Necati Zengin, Kemal Genç, Gençlik Merkezi, Abdurrahman Albayrak

WARSAW 274

The Directed Gaze, in Warsaw Can Altay

LONDON 280

The City, Sounds and a Banner for an Ordinary Day Güneş Terkol

DORTMUND 288

From Coal to Culture Işıl Eğrikavuk

BERLIN 298

Soft Ground Illumination Caner Aslan

HELSINKI 306

All Tomorrow’s Paintings Leyla Gediz

VIENNA 314

Vienna: A Story of ‘inter’nalizing Gülsün Karamustafa

EDUCATION PROGRAMME 326

“Art is what you pour your soul into” N. Barış Karayazgan

330

The City of Children Suade Taşlıca

340

ARTIST BIOGRAPHIES

EDITORIAL Özge Açıkkol Seçil Yersel

City as a “myth” and production of art in the public space has long taken a central place on the agenda of art and artists. Artists who have been trying to free themselves from the museum, the art gallery, and the hierarchical relationships that have been established between the artists and the viewer, the one who has the knowledge and the one who does not, the one who does the talking and the one who remains silent have become subjects to be interpreted and evaluated by the critics and understood with the conceptualisations and definitions that are developed within the tradition of art history in Europe and America. The production of artists has taken a parallel route to the development of their public spaces and the political and social transformations in their geographies. When we leave aside the sculptures with nationalist themes situated at the squares, the production of art in public space in Turkey does not have a long history. In Western art history an ongoing discussion over issues and concepts like, cooperation, political analysis, democratic processes, meeting with larger audiences, individual and social transformations, and the role of artist have a longer history. All these discussions have paved the way to the formulation of concepts like collaborative art, relational aesthetics, site-specific art, communitybased art, socially-engaged art, and dialogic art and these new concepts are used in understanding different forms of art practices. Some of the features of this new form of production are the transformation of the viewer into the participant of art; devaluation of the established aesthetic values which have been squeezed into the realm of visuality; and sometimes not even producing a finished “work.” Naturally the notions and perspectives that we use to understand and translate the artistic productions of this new form are having a difficult time in finding their places in this geography and they pose difficulties in being understood. Hence, what we have at hand, at this point is exactly a translation problem. The fact that public space is produced within the particular historical, political, economic, social, and everyday conditions calls for new concepts in this field. While the translated concepts cannot capture the lived experience, the new fields of discussion and illegibility encourage the creation of new concepts. The significance and value of projects like the My City is exactly this. Their contribution in enabling the experience of these art practices in cities other than İstanbul, Ankara, İzmir, and Diyarbakır is invaluable and important. When a work of art leaves the secure and protected space of the exhibition hall and enters into the public space, and especially into the public space in Turkey, which is in a process of continuous reconstruction, and establishes a relationship with independent factors and dependent conditions, ends up being perceived and interpreted differently by each and every urban citizen. The work of art enters into a relationship with a myriad of factors which are sometimes related to one another and sometimes wholly unrelated such as the geographical location of the place, the weather conditions, current politics, the state of feeling of the restaurant owner in the vicinity of the work, or the military significance of the location it is placed in. The My City project includes projects that took place in the public spaces of five cities and simultaneous education programme and guest artist programme in six different cities in Europe. Five European artists who were chosen to work

9 in five different cities did research and produced public art projects in Çanakkale, İstanbul, Konya, Mardin, and Trabzon. Before, after, and during the realisation of these projects new consensual spaces were continuously negotiated with the actors and rules of the public space through official and nonofficial channels. While this arduous process was educational for all sides, each city was introduced to a new art practice. The notion of “Public Space” became the key word for all the written and oral documents of the project. The category of “Art in Public Space,” despite its deficiencies in articulating and specifying what kind of a public and what kind of an art, emphasises the benign struggle of the contemporary artist in the construction of a “collective” space. Nevertheless, the fragility of Public and Collective Spaces and the sensibility towards spatial rights requires a different and honest practice of art criticism. We are hoping that the My City project will nourish this critical reflexivity. The construction of this “collective” field is an open-ended process and, therefore, despite the participating artists’ works that seem to be completed, the My City project still continues. These works call for a distinct design for sustainability. Hence, the artists’ research activities in these cities and the kinds of relationships they established with their cities constituted the most important aspect of their projects. In this book we sought to render these processes visible. The artists who have completed their projects in five different cities and the six artists who have participated in the guest artist programme in Europe told their My City experiences. The articles written by the curators who have initially nominated these artists for the project have explored the links between the artists’ previous works and the works they produced for the My City project. While Pace Children’s Arts Center, which designed and implemented the educational programme has commented on a different field of experience in the participating cities, the documentary produced and directed by Nuran Bayer and her production team in collaboration with TRT has also contributed to the wider reception of the project. There are a number of actors that are involved in the art projects in collective spaces. This includes – among many others – local governmental bodies in the cities, the arts circles, urban dwellers, and project coordinators. The possibility for these art works to continue to be mechanisms that endure and reproduce is entirely in the hands of these actors. We also opened space for the views of those people who have taken active roles in the creation and the realisation of the project. We, as the editorial team, visited each and every city and conducted brief interviews while we worked on the book. Without these interviews it would be impossible to demonstrate the multi-dimensionality of the projects. Thanks to different dynamics of these cities, the projects gave birth to different repercussions. Whether we can look at these cities anew is a question that we can ask through these repercussions and the My City project. We listened to the criticisms raised by the participants, contributors and the immediate visitors. The conclusion that we draw from all kinds of positive and negative feedback is that the projects have generated lively debates and discussions. In this sense all of the five cities in the project, with their distinct dynamics, introduced a new sphere of discussion within the project. Acknowledging the difficulty of including all the different discussions, debates, and perspectives in a single book, we are still hoping that the multi-dimensional experience that this project enabled was rendered at least partly visible. We wish you a pleasant read. TR-ENG by B.K.

INTRODUCTION

MY CITY / ÇANAKKALE / MARK WALLINGER

Mark Wallinger, Sinema Amnesia, Ă&#x2021;anakkale, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

MY CITY / İSTANBUL / ANDREAS FOGARASI

Andreas Fogarasi, Panorama (The Right of View), İstanbul, 2010. Photo: Andreas Fogarasi

MY CITY / TRABZON / MINNA HENRIKSSON

Minna Henriksson, Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves, Speaks The Truth), Trabzon, 2010. Photo: The My City Team

MY CITY / KONYA / JOANNA RAJKOWSKA

Joanna Rajkowska, Walter Benjamin in Konya, Konya, 2010. Photo: The My City Team

MY CITY / MARDİN / CLEMENS VON WEDEMEYER

Clemens von Wedemeyer, Sun Cinema, Mardin, 2010. Photo: Clemens von Wedemeyer

Introduction David Codling My City Project Director Director Arts, Turkey British Council

My City is an arts project, led by artists. It is also a political project. There is no contradiction between these two aspects of My City and it is appropriate to acknowledge both. But why does anyone need an arts project with a political dimension, and what does the word “political” mean so far as My City is concerned? Whatever the outcome of current intergovernmental negotiations, there can be no doubt that the relationship between Turkey and the rest of Europe is hugely important and will remain so. It is and always has been an intense and mutually enriching relationship, although not without its complications and regrets, but now perhaps more than ever before it is a relationship of hopes and challenges shared. We need to know more about and better understand each other. Values, history, memory and identity – with all their contradictions, emotions and tensions – become very important in the conversation between us, and sometimes what is left unsaid can be as significant as what is spoken. Culture is essential to the evolving relationship between Turkey and Europe. The effectiveness of My City depends on its being an arts project first and foremost. The arts have a powerful presence in international relations but only when they contribute on their own terms and never as a tool or as an instrument of “policy.” So how does the My City project put international cultural exchange into practice? Its core theme is art in public space, a subject which brings questions of identity and culture down to the ground, quite literally, in a real setting. Each of the three main strands of the project challenged assumptions and preconceptions: first, through the extended encounters between five prominent artists from northern and western Europe and five different cities across Turkey; second, through the residencies at six important cultural institutions across northern and western Europe by distinguished artists from Turkey; and third – although here building on the assumption that young people are curious and adventurous – the project’s education programme for teenagers unleashed their thinking on the themes of art and the future of their own cities in a way which they evidently found surprising and exhilarating. There are some very deep-rooted assumptions to confront. That Turkey is a hugely diverse country is obvious to people here, but the nature and extent of its diversity is barely perceived let alone understood by many Europeans, including some politicians and journalists who really should know better but perhaps find it easier and more comfortable to deal with stereotypes and simple dichotomies. The outdoor art works commissioned for My City in Çanakkale, İstanbul, Konya, Mardin and Trabzon not only demonstrated the many contrasts between those cities but provided valuable insights into the different elements which make up the identity of each one. The Finnish artist Minna Henriksson chose to address directly the

fearsome stereotypes about the city of Trabzon, ideas which are prevalent elsewhere in Turkey as well as abroad. An artist whose work is often characterised by social engagement, Henriksson conducted research in the city together with many young people from Trabzon. This collaboration produced startlingly fresh and candid images and documentation, which were brought together in a handsome book. This was one result of the artist’s work in the city, which subtly questions the rather sensationalist tendency to associate Trabzon with a certain strident and ugly nationalism. Another outcome was Henriksson’s monumental light installation at what might be called a neuralgic point on the edge of the city centre, a disadvantaged neighbourhood facing the prospect of redevelopment. As well as being monumental, the installation is fragile and vulnerable but it has been embraced and made their own by the local people. In every society public space is a zone of contention. It is where people gather randomly, spontaneously or for organised demonstrations and events, but it is also the stage on which power is displayed or deployed. Sometimes there are uncertainties and disputes about ownership of a particular site or about the uses to which it can be put. Commercial interests seek to invade, colonise or intrude on public spaces and to influence not only how we move through them but how we look at them. These different factors combine in ways peculiar to each location according to its own history and the associations people make with it, which means that any intervention by an artist from another culture in a particular city space is delicate as well as revealing. The comments about the project which you will read in this book include expressions of perplexity, alienation and even rejection. I think it is important to record these and acknowledge them as well as to bear in mind that most outdoor arts works arouse these reactions, at least at first. They are disruptive as well as inspiring. From a hillside on the edge of the city of Mardin overlooking the plains, the German artist Clemens von Wedemeyer has placed a spectacular object in the form of an enormous screen. Described by the artist as a “useful sculpture,” it can function as an outdoor cinema but it also compels the onlooker, whether close-up or far away, to consider how this very ancient city’s location at the point where Anatolia and Mesopotamia meet has shaped its complex and ambiguous identity. Reinterpreting a 19th-century convention with a starkly elegant and rational panorama structure, Austrian artist Andreas Fogarasi has created a work which explores some of the contradictions of İstanbul, the great metropolis and imperial capital whose coherence as a city is threatened by the confused and jarring results of its exponential growth. All of the European artists commissioned by the project to create new

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

works for the five cities in Turkey were free to interpret the commission in whichever way they chose: it is crucial to the integrity and vitality of the project that artistic criteria took precedence. This was a basic principle of the selection process for these five artists and for the six artists from Turkey invited to the residencies in Berlin, Dortmund, Helsinki, London, Vienna and Warsaw. The six artists selected from Turkey were among more than 80 who had responded to an open call: two stages of assessment (for short listing and then for final selection) were conducted by separate panels. A group of internationally distinguished curators chose the five artists from Austria, Finland, Germany, Poland and the UK for the new outdoor art commissions in Turkey. Taken as a group, the six artists from Turkey who were selected for the residencies certainly present an outright challenge to any stereotypes because they are so different from each other in their approaches and preoccupations; they are Caner Aslan, Can Altay, Işıl Eğrikavuk, Leyla Gediz, Gülsün Karamustafa and Güneş Terkol. The strength and diversity of the contemporary visual arts in Turkey are already well known and much discussed in international fine arts circles and in the press, but the My City project has brought this to the attention of a wider public in Europe, provoking a reassessment of assumptions about Turkey. Chosen for the excellence of their work and for the relevance of their current practice to the programmes of their host institutions in Europe, some of these artists were teaching as well as pursuing their own creative projects. They all contributed to a profound and much needed disruption of preconceptions about Turkey in the course of their daily practice as artists. In Vienna, Gülsün Karamustafa (who also taught at the Academy of Fine Arts), concluded her residency with a stunning exhibition combining a highly personal story with intriguing glimpses of artistic connections between Austria and Turkey in the 1930s and 1940s which influenced the aesthetics of art in public space. Leyla Gediz taught at the Academy in Helsinki during her residency there and she describes, in her essay for this book, the value for an artist of a complete change of place, perspective and experience. Caner Aslan’s DAAD residency in Berlin resulted in a strangely beautiful juxtaposition of a deep salt mine and a museum, uncovering surprising parallels between the two. Also in Germany, Işıl Eğrikavuk explored the social and cultural dislocations of the Ruhr during her residency at Hartware in Dortmund, a theme to which she brings a sharp eye and a recollection of dreams transported – literally – from Turkey to that former industrial heartland. Hosted by Gasworks, Güneş Terkol brings different media and methods of practice to an intriguing study of London’s current condition through the sound of the city. In Warsaw, Can Altay may be said to have excavated an overlooked fragment of that city’s past for the exhibition which concluded his residency at Ujazdowski Castle Contemporary Art Centre.

Memory, collective and selective, is a theme which has surfaced again and again in the course of the My City project. The partly remembered and the half-forgotten, the imagined and the mythical all play games with us in the streets, squares and liminal spaces of our cities. Konya, associated so strongly with the great poet and Sufi mystic Rumi, prompted the Polish artist Joanna Rajkowska to reflect on the implications of the language reform in the early years of the Turkish Republic but, from a shallow marble pool of swirling water in the main square of this central Anatolian city, Rajkowska’s work is also reflecting on the calamities which shook Europe during the same period. The British artist Mark Wallinger was struck in Çanakkale by how this city at the narrowest point of the Dardanelles is overshadowed by the legend of Troy and by the memorials to the Gallipoli campaign of 1915, another major turning point in modern Turkish history. Wallinger responded with a witty and playful time machine which is also a deeply serious “memorial” inviting us to contemplate exactly the same view across the straits, but as it looked 24 hours before. These and the other works in the five Turkish cities were interventions by European artists in places which have strong resonances for the local people as well as for outsiders. Naturally enough, and as would be the case in any country, the question of access to the sites and permission to work at them was a matter of some complexity. The discussions and negotiations needed to bring these works to completion were in themselves a fascinating and fruitful exploration of cultural difference. All five of the commissions in the cities of Çanakkale, İstanbul, Konya, Mardin and Trabzon required us to mount a vast logistic and technical operation which involved architects, engineers, surveyors and builders. Painstaking negotiation was needed to secure access to the sites chosen by the artists. Discussions had to be sustained simultaneously with a wide range of interlocutors including citizens’ associations as well as local and central government agencies in all five cities. In some cases, the consent of independent heritage and environmental protection boards was also required. Getting to know and working alongside so many different organisations was a fascinating experience and I must say that, for me personally, it provided an incomparable and privileged insight into the day-to-day life of Turkey. I wish to express my deepest thanks to so many people and institutions without whose advice, support and cooperation, my colleagues and I would not have been able to implement this ambitious project. I should pay tribute to the vision, the generosity of spirit and the openness to dialogue of the officials from all the central and local government agencies with whom we have worked, particularly in the governor’s offices of the five provinces and the municipalities of the five cities concerned. This project is the collective achievement of a superb network

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

of partners, chief among them Anadolu Kültür and Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center here in Turkey, who helped shape the concept and have supported the British Council with their advice, skills and knowledge at every stage of the implementation of My City. To Osman Kavala, director of Anadolu Kültür, and to Vasıf Kortun, director of Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center, my special thanks. They both lead highly skilled teams of colleagues with whom it has been a great pleasure and an honour to work. Our partnership with the arts organisations in Europe who hosted the residencies by the artists from Turkey has been strong and fruitful thanks to their commitment and to our relationship with them based on mutual confidence and a shared passion. We are very grateful to them. We owe many thanks also to the five distinguished curators from whose knowledge, experience and insights we derived such benefit at the formative phase of the My City project. We are particularly grateful to the project’s curatorial advisor, Andrea Schlieker, for her constant and invaluable support throughout the journey we have made together. The My City Education Programme has been justly acclaimed by the education authorities and by the young participants themselves: I know it is the school pupils’ enthusiastic response which matters most to the programme’s dynamic and imaginative director, Barış Karayazagan. To him and to his colleagues at PACE, our sincere thanks. The young people with whom they worked, as well as their teachers and their families, will not forget the lively and very serious as well as joyful exploration they made of two deceptively simple statements: “art makes you happy” and “art is disturbing.” A six-part television documentary about My City is the outcome of our partnership with TRT and the director Nuran Bayer, with whom we have had the privilege of working. This documentary will bring the many layers of the project to an audience of millions. The British Council colleagues whose work in six different countries has made this project possible are very many. The design and inception of the My City project by Ruth Ur is the solid and inspiring foundation on which it has been built, and the exploratory work done by Louise Wright before the project was initiated prepared the ground, identifying public art as the central theme. Throughout each of its phases, the project has drawn strength from the constant and steady guidance of my colleague Esra Sarıgedik Öktem, My City project manager. Esra’s combination of professional judgement, personal integrity and commitment to the purpose of My City has been our greatest asset. Esra will join me in thanking the splendid team of colleagues past and present who have built this project and produced the publications which

explain its ambition and illustrate its impact. Here in Turkey, Project Coordinator Funda Küçükyılmaz and Communications Manager Yeşim Ersoy were committed to this project from its earliest stages, as was Jeff Streeter, the British Council’s director of operations in Turkey. Çelenk Bafra, Aslı Toppare, and Yavuz Parlar have all made important contributions to the project at different times, as have British Council colleagues in Austria, Finland, Germany, Poland and the UK. The My City team has also been enriched by architectural coordinator Bilge Kalfa, city technical coordinators Erhan Tural and Zafer Ödemiş, and editorial consultants Özge Açıkkol and Seçil Yersel. To them and to the many other professionals who brought their skills and imagination to this project (and who are listed in full elsewhere in this book), I express my deepest appreciation. The Cultural Bridges programme is ambitious and imaginative, seeking as it does to reframe the conversation between Turkey and the European Union. The British Council welcomed the European Commission’s call to bid to join the programme by devising and co-funding the My City project. For the British Council, as the United Kingdom’s principal agency for international cultural relations, Cultural Bridges is a natural partnership because we fully share the programme’s aim to strengthen artistic – and political – links between Turkey and Europe. The partnership with the European Commission is institutional in nature, but in pursuing this project, my colleagues and I have had the good fortune to work with people whose commitment to the aims of Cultural Bridges goes well beyond institutional rhetoric. It was an honour and a pleasure to work with Ambassador Marc Pierini who inspired and originated the Cultural Bridges programme, with Seda Erden who is its moving spirit, and with their colleagues at the Delegation of the European Union in Turkey. We have received steady and consistently helpful guidance from Muhsin Altun and his colleagues at the Central Finance and Control Unit of the Prime Ministry of the Turkish Republic and we have benefitted greatly from the valuable advice and support of the Multilateral Cultural Relations Department of the Turkish Ministry of Foreign Affairs, thanks to Cemil Ferhat Karaman and Hakan Aytek. The technical assistance provided to the programme by Işın Gürel and her team from the ECORYS Consultancy is also gratefully acknowledged. I began by saying that My City was led by artists. The work of these 11 artists is the lifeblood of the project. They make the abstraction of international cultural exchange real. To all of them, on behalf of everyone involved in the My City project and in the Cultural Bridges programme, I offer my heartfelt thanks and warmest congratulations.

Cultural Bridges, A EuropeanTurkish Project Seda Erden Cultural Officer EU Delegation to Turkey

Culture lies at the heart of human development and civilisation. Culture brings people together, by stirring dialogue and arousing passions, in a way that unites rather than divides. The originality and success of the European Union is in its ability to respect Member States’ varied and intertwined history, languages and cultures, while forging common understanding and rules which have guaranteed peace, stability, prosperity and solidarity. This unity in diversity, respect for cultural and linguistic variety and promotion of a common cultural heritage lies at the very heart of the European project. In today’s Europe, cultural exchanges are as lively and vibrant as ever. The freedom of movement provided for by the EC Treaty has greatly facilitated cultural exchanges and dialogue across borders. From an EU-Turkey perspective The European Union enlargement process took a major step forward in October 2005 when accession negotiations were opened with Turkey and Croatia. Since then, the process is moving ahead despite difficulties and frustrations. Looking at the public’s perceptions of Turkey’s accession negotiations, we can say that there are information gaps, fears, and sometimes even prejudices, on both sides. This is exactly the reason why the European Commission and the Turkish Ministry of Foreign Affairs have launched the “Civil Society Dialogue: Cultural Bridges” programme and this is exactly the reason why the British Council has presented the “My City” together with Turkish counterpart institutions and other EU Member States. The Cultural Bridges programme was designed with the primary goal of contributing to an EU-Turkey Civil Society Dialogue by integrating the cultural institutes/offices of EU member states in Turkey. The name is self-explanatory. All aspects of contemporary arts – music, performing arts, plastic and visual arts – literature and the new electronic medium were covered. The programme was run by the four EU member states cultural institutes – Goethe, British Council, Italian Cultural Institute and French Cultural Institute – together with their Turkish partners. The institutes worked with some 80 activity partners from Turkey and the EU. Some 18 countries, including Turkey, took part in different cultural activities like workshops, exhibitions, concerts, stage performances, education programmes, conferences, documentaries, interactive readings, film screenings, residency programmes, etc. A “bookmobile,” a library on wheels, was created within the framework of this programme to carry some 66 Turkish and European writers to 24 cities in Turkey and 8 cities in Europe. It covered 24,000 km. The Cultural Bridges enabled hundreds of artists to work together in joint projects, touring more than 45 cities all over Turkey and 25 cities in the EU, bridging cultures through art. They are the real proof that prejudices

may be overcome by working together and understanding each other. With some 500 different cultural activities, the programme reached a total of 100,000 people in Turkey and in the EU. Total hits on the project websites were around 2 million. In addition to these projects, the Cultural Bridges programme also organised panels on literature, cinema, fashion/design and music. Writers, film makers, designers, musicians, and cultural operators from Turkey and the EU discussed issues of mutual concern and their role in promoting intercultural dialogue. The selected projects of the Cultural Bridges ran until 2011, thereby also contributing to “İstanbul 2010 European Capital of Culture,” in itself a major opportunity to illustrate cultural affinities between Turkey and the EU and to foster dialogue between people. The book at hand is presenting the achievements of the My City as to how artists, and local authorities from Turkey and the EU came together, developed ideas, created art works for various cities, and held workshops for children about their cities and identities. In the course of implementation, of course, they ran into problems but the important thing is that they were able to overcome them, together. The major success of Cultural Bridges was the direct interaction between peoples with no politics involved. Let me give you just one example. We met a shoe shine boy in Şanlıurfa in the spring of 2009. Mustafa, who was 12 back then, visited the bookmobile for the first time in his life, as he admitted, got a book from a writer, translated. He was so happy that he ran away and afterwards came back with a poem to the librarian who gave him that book. Mustafa probably knew very little of the European Union but Cultural Bridges somehow reached him. If Cultural Bridges managed, even a tiny bit, to demonstrate to the participants that prejudices are ill founded, that fears are unnecessary and that information comes through dialogue, we would have succeeded. I would like to thank all the participating EU cultural institutes and their Turkish and European partners for taking part in this programme, their remarkable commitment and their valuable contributions.

A Short Discussion in the Kitchen Özge Açıkkol Yeşim Gözde Ersoy Bilge Kalfa Funda Küçükyılmaz Ece Özden Pak Esra Sarıgedik Öktem Seçil Yersel

Seçil Yersel: We sit around this table with Özge, Esra, Funda, Yeşim, Ece and Bilge from the My City team. We are going to discuss the project that is the result of a long and hard effort. My City project was initially born from an EU fund and through its development and execution gained new definitions and associations. There is always tension in the process of bringing a project on paper to life; there is an effort to stay faithful to the core, yet projects are always rewritten while being executed. Keeping this in mind, how would you describe the preparation process? Esra Sarıgedik Öktem: The first ideas about My City were born in September 2007 at which point nobody that is sitting around this table today was yet involved in the project. The European Delegation sent a call for applications to European cultural organisations operating in Turkey and, along with other organisations, the British Council also sent in their proposal. In the first drafts, they proposed a project that could be applied in public space but the questions of how and where it would be done were defined by the team through time. In June 2008 they started building the team and over three years it has slowly expanded. During the exhibition openings in the cities, the team was at its largest but it shrunk after the exhibitions. It’s as if I’m describing a pregnancy, but I think everyone, both the participating artists and the staff actually went through this process. As you know, the exhibitions opened in October 2010 and until now (March 2011), I have had the chance to look at the project from a general perspective, but I can honestly say that I still have difficulty looking at the project from a critical perspective. The problem with big budget projects is always the same (although I haven’t experienced it personally, I’ve observed it: projects need to be developed and written to the smallest detail and when the production starts, for one reason or another, they are constantly rewritten. You realise at the last minute that the planned location for three years is not a place that the public likes or the material the artist wants to use or the form he designs doesn’t properly reflect what he wants to express in that certain location. For various reasons the project constantly changes; even if these may be small changes, sometimes they require a fundamental change of mindsets. Actually with a public art project it is impossible to imagine the opposite as these changes in fact demonstrate the project’s concern in listening to the “locals.” Yet trying to get these changes approved through two big institutions is a lot harder than actually doing them in practice. As British Council and the EU each have their own specific budget and reporting systems, you can imagine how time consuming this process can be. A metaphor comes to mind when describing our effort to manage these last-minute changes and adapt the project accordingly; there’s a huge mass, like a big dragon that is almost impossible to hold down and a team of 5–10 people have to try and steer the dragon through all the sharp turns that suddenly come up.

Seçil: You are sketching the project on paper and trying to make it applicable in real life, so in a way, you have a barrier in front of you. As a person who has been involved in the project for a long time, when you look back, how do you think this detailed planning benefitted the project? Esra: I think it is impossible not to make a detailed plan of a project of this dimension. Also, the fact that all the participating artists and staff did not give up on the project despite all the changes and conditions, how the project evolved with few modifications, and the creation of new relationships in the process means a lot to me and I think these are the strongest characteristics of the project. Seçil: What kind of relationship did you have with your project partners? Esra: Our partners are Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center and Anadolu Kültür. Anadolu Kültür is an organisation that has organised numerous cultural and artistic events in the past. Our partnership with them was based on facilitating communication and establishing local relationships in the cities while the partnership with Platform was based on operating within the international and national art network. We worked together with Platform on issues such as identifying European culture foundations that would develop and reinforce the artist residence programme, or identifying curators to suggest artists in Turkey for a specific work. We utilised Platform’s network in the contemporary art field, whereas with Anadolu Kültür we drew upon their networks in Turkish cities. Özge: As for the selection of the cities, the idea of the five cities was there from the beginning? Esra: No, it wasn’t. We thought about how many cities we could cover within this 28-month period. Between June 2009 and April 2009, we visited more than 10 cities and did field research. We talked with mayors, governors and people who were active in the cultural field. Although the cultural structure of the cities was a strong deciding factor, local interest in the project and how much moral support the local authorities were promising, were also important criteria, for our decision. A board was created for the project within the British Council’s entity. It consisted of the British Council’s Visual Arts Director, the regional director as well as the Turkish Office Director. All of the important decisions were taken after consulting this board. The selection of the cities was also decided after a presentation to the board of the information gathered during field research. Practical questions, such as transportation access, were also among the decisive factors. We selected cities from different parts of Turkey that had

34 Ruth Ur David Codling Project Directors Esra Sarıgedik Öktem Project Manager

Education Programme PACE, N. Barış Karayazgan Suade Taşlıca

Yeşim Gözde Ersoy Press, Public Relations and Marketing Consultant Çelik Özüduru Press, Public Relations and Marketing Support Louise Wright Initial scoping for the project

Funda Küçükyılmaz Project Coordinator Yavuz Parlar Project Coordinator Bilge Kalfa Technical Coordinator Erhan Tural Zafer Ödemiş Umut Söğüt City Coordinators

Çelenk Bafra Project Finance & Administrative Manager Aslı Toppare Administrative Coordinator Serap Öztürk Administrative Coordinator Ece Özden Pak Project Assistant Reha Akarvardar Administration Officer

My City Book Özge Açıkkol & Seçil Yersel Book Editors Yavuz Parlar Project & Publication Coordinator Vahit Tuna Design & Consultancy Book Design Ayşe Bozkurt Design Assistant

Nominators Austria, Silvia Eiblmayr Germany, Brigitte Franzen Finland, Mika Hannula Poland, Sebastian Cichocki United Kingdom, Andrea Schlieker

Curatorial Advisor Andrea Schlieker General advisors to the project Osman Kavala, Director, Anadolu Kültür Vasıf Kortun, Director, Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center ( from April 2011, SALT)

35 British Council Project Board Michael Bird Jeff Streeter Andrea Rose Rebecca Walton

Consultants & Advisors Mardin, Yüksel Demir İstanbul, Murat Tabanlıoğlu Konya, Yasin Aktay Printed Journal - E-diary Tunca Yüğnük, Correspondence Çanakkale Mehmet Baran, Correspondence Mardin Adem Seleş, Correspondence Konya Ahmet Şefik Mollamehmetoğlu, Correspondence Trabzon Burak Şuşut, Graphic Designer Özge Açıkkol, Editor 0&1 Yeni Nesil Bilişim Teknolojileri, Web Application

Media Strategy Eleanor Hutchins Clare Sears

Documentary TRT Nuran Bayer Mehmet Gülmez Göksun Özhan

Branding Hyperkit

Financial Systems Michelle McCollom Thy Nowak-Tran

British Council Correspondents Austria, Martin Gilbert Finland, Tuija Talvitie also Kata Kreft-Burman Germany, Elke Ritt with Serkan Deniz, Detlef Thelen Poland, Ewa Ayton

British Council Turkey Project Support Zeliha Altınok Rosemary Arnott Deniz Bayrakçı Chris Brown Nejat Demirtaş Özlem Ergün Yeşim Özerol Aslan Şaşmazer Buket Şirin Burcu Vural

Partner Institutions in EU Countries Berlin, DAAD Berliner Künstlerprogramm Warsaw, Centre for Contemporary Art Ujazdowski Castle London, Gasworks Helsinki, FRAME and HIAP Vienna, Akademie der bildenden künste Wien Dortmund, Hartware MedienKunstVerein & Künstlerhaus Dortmund

Artists Caner Aslan Can Altay Işıl Eğrikavuk Andreas Fogarasi Leyla Gediz Minna Henriksson Gülsün Karamustafa Joanna Rajkowska Güneş Terkol Mark Wallinger Clemens von Wedemeyer

Design & Production GB Architecture& Engineering DZ Architects Bilge Kalfa Gürden Gür Alper Derinboğaz Duygu Çakır Local Partners Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center Duygu Demir, Merve Elveren, Güneş Forta, November Paynter, Sezin Romi, Deniz Tezuçan Anadolu Kültür Meltem Aslan, Zümray Kutlu, Kubilay Özmen

MY CITY / A SHORT DISCUSSION IN THE KITCHEN

cultural significance and were accessible by plane, automatically eliminating others. Funda Küçükyılmaz: İstanbul had to be included in the project because the EU’s brief called for projects that were to be executed parallel to the İstanbul 2010 European Capital of Culture initiative. From the beginning, British Council’s strong stance was that Turkey did not just consist of İstanbul and it was important to do the project in other cities. In that case, the board had 4 remaining cities to choose, but it is important to state here that besides taking place at the same time the project didn’t really have any relation to the European Capital of Culture. Seçil: How were the artists selected both for the European residency programme and for the projects in the Turkish cities? Funda: The artists for the European residency were selected through a collaboration with Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center. A board of art critics, curators and artists selected by Platform defined 6 artists for 6 European cities through ongoing communication with the European institutions that were going to host the artists. For the selection of the European artists, an international committee of well-known curators in the public art field was created. Each curator proposed three artists for the project. The final eliminations were done in a meeting with British Council and Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center. Seçil: One of the primary features of the My City project is the Education Programme. What was the intention and structure of this programme? Funda: The Education Programme was the least publicized event, but I think it ended up being the most influential part of the project. Within the scope of the Education Programme, numerous activities were organised in order to encourage children and youth between the ages of 11 and 18 to think about their city and provide a different perspective of “art.” Pace Children’s Art Center executed the Education Programme in the five project cities. Seçil: How did you define the technical team, the responsibilities of each person and the workflow? Funda: When we first put together the team, there was a project director, a manager and a coordinator. After the cities were selected, the project started growing and upon the EU’s request of detailed reports, we had to expand the team further. Aslı Toppare came into the new position created for administrative and financial issues. In addition to the core office team, we started feeling the need for local staff, so we hired assistants and coordinators in the cities so that when we were in the office they could follow the work in the cities. While in some cities there was only one assistant, in others there were two, like Erhan and Zafer. They almost lived together with the artist until the project was completed. Ece helped for the İstanbul side of the project for a while, then Bilge took over. She was the architect of the project in Çanakkale so she also served as technical coordinator in other cities. We first hired an assistant in Konya but when this person moved, Bilge assisted in the field and we gave support from the office. As the project grew, the office staff also grew. Yeşim Gözde Ersoy started working with us for press and publicity. We came to a point where we could not load any more work on British Council’s departments, as we were becoming like a government inside a government and the need for outside sources became clear. Yeşim Gözde Ersoy: I was part of the team since the first days of the project’s development on paper. I evaluated possible cities, their current culture and

arts infrastructure and the possibility of the locals’ participation. After the project was shaped, I assisted in promoting and communicating the project as well as developing the project’s identity. First of all, the project’s geographical reach was very exciting. It covered a huge space from Europe to all four corners of Turkey. With its challenges on one hand and the richness it promised on the other, it was clear that a different experience was waiting for me. Besides the number of project partners and their geographical distribution, the unique quality of this project for which I had to make a different communication plan, was the variety of the level of cultural experiences and preferences of the partners; for example, the methodology of a Finnish artist, her look at Trabzon, her perception and the way she chose to share this with the Trabzon public. My role was to present these approaches and introduce them for the first time to the authorities, the EU representatives, project partners, an art circle which was largely concentrated in İstanbul, the project partners in Germany and finally the general audience. Seçil: Was this process challenging for you due to your position and the scope of the project? Yeşim: Yes, it was. I used various approaches and developed methodologies to appeal to different targets to reach the project’s goal in strengthening civil society dialogue. Another factor that was challenging was accommodating various personal approaches and expectations, working with each one individually to create a common platform of communication. Due to the number of project partners and their different expectations, I sometimes had to give up on the decisions and methods that I believed in. Putting aside all these challenges, with all the different people I met during my various trips and all that I learned about public art, it was a great experience for me. From the My City website to the magazine we published in the cities to the documentary to be aired on TRT and all the news that came out in national newspapers, I believe that we definitely gained our place in many people’s minds. If we could go back to the beginning, I certainly would have done many things differently. Then again, don’t we always say this with every significant experience such as this? Seçil: When we look at the way that the project evolved, you created an institution inside an institution in a way. Let’s continue with Bilge and Ece: how did you participate in the project? Compared with your previous experiences, how do you analyse this project? Bilge Kalfa: I started in February with the Mardin project. We went to Mardin with Clemens and Yüksel Demir to do a workshop. There were around 10 young architects participating in the 2-day workshop where we discussed the project’s social and structural status; Clemens explained why he wanted to create a link with the sun. I think that

MY CITY / A SHORT DISCUSSION IN THE KITCHEN

Clemens’ approach made a lot of sense; his approach was “an artist is not an architect.” He didn’t want to be the architect of the project, but rather work with an architect. I started working as Clemens’ assistant when I organised the workshop and I think about one or two months later we talked about the possibility of coordinating the other projects. The coordination process consisted of turning the projects in the artists’ heads into technical sketches as well as producing them. British Council had already completed the first applications for permissions and made local contacts in the cities. After the sketches were completed, I went with David to explain the projects one-by-one to all the directors, governors, the board of monuments and the local project partners. The designing/sketching process was different with every artist. For instance, Clemens did the whole design with Gürden Gür from the workshop. They worked on it together from the results of the work completed during the workshop. At this stage I was more of an assistant to Clemens. On the field we generally worked together in considering things like where the stage would be built, what time the sun go down, etc. Apart from this we spent quite a lot of time explaining the Sun Cinema to the locals. The authorisation process was very long. The structure had to be done without a foundation because that was the only way the Municipality and the Governor’s Office would give permission. So I consulted a civic engineer, then Gürden and the engineer; finished the project together. Esra: In fact, different necessities emerged out of the different ways the artists worked. Around this time we started working with Bilge. For instance, when Clemens was doing his work in Mardin, he met so many people that he tripled our staff and he always wanted to include the people he had met. He was the type of artist that wanted to do the project with as many collaborators as possible. Clemens told us from the beginning: “I have an idea but in order to turn this into a reality, I want to work with experts in the field.” Other artists, for example, had completely different ways of working. Bilge: In Mardin firstly there was the issue of explaining the project to the local authorities. After a difficult process we finally got the authorisation. To give an example from other cities, in Trabzon Minna Henriksson wanted to write something on the wall. The technical sketches of the text, the selection of the font, its production and installation on the location was all my responsibility. Like in all other projects, after finishing the plan on paper we started talking with people at the locations. The light installation, how many KW it would need, the weather conditions, etc. We needed to find quick but proper solutions in every city. In Konya, we first worked on the sketches with Joanna. She had a text that she wanted to write and we did sketches for different scenarios, like how would it look if we wrote it on the wall or the ground, with one kind material or another. After the final decisions, we started the technical process. We worked with GB architecture to find solutions to problems such as how to cut the marble or which font to use. In Çanakkale, I had Mark’s sketches, he wanted to construct something like a video game room, like a box. I produced 3D images from Mark’s briefing. He really liked this image of a rusty metal façade structure, so we closed that topic and moved on to thinking about the other details of Sinema Amnesia. This process, taking place simultaneously with the production led the way into the authorisation process with the local

authorities. The project went through some changes due to the authorities demands and it finally took up four days for the installation. I was working at the site until the exhibition opening, supervising the work of the constructers. Mark was with us in Çanakkale; he was very happy when he saw the rusty façade. Overall, I was very happy to have taken part in this kind of project in Turkey. In İstanbul, Andreas wanted to work with an architect and he selected Alper Derinboğaz for the work after a series of meetings. Because of Andreas’ past education of architecture, he even had a model ready. Normally you’d expect from an architect a preliminary project, an execution project and finally the construction. Andreas had almost already done everything until the execution project. Alper helped him in the execution project, and from the selection of the materials to the construction management, Alper and I worked with Andreas. The authorisation processes in İstanbul were even more complicated. The permissions of the Governor’s Office and the Kadıköy Municipality were not sufficient. We also had to get permissions from the police and even had to clear it with the Parks and Gardens Management on the last day. Five projects were going on at the same time and the openings were one after the other. During the final days, our electricity was cut and the municipality suspended the construction. It was usual to hear things such as “it’s raining and we can’t finish the roof.” It was a stressful time for everyone. I think what I did in this project was something between art and architecture. Seçil: Bilge, judging from your experience with imkanmekan, what were your observations in this project about the intervention in public space through the language of contemporary art? Keeping in mind the locations and agents in public space in Turkey, what kinds of limitations and opportunities did you come across during this process? Bilge: Since the purpose of imkanmekan was to intervene in public space one way or another, naturally there are some differences between imkanmekan and the British Council. For instance, we did a project named “seed Karaköy” in the imkanmekan studio. This was a very low-budget project and we didn’t get authorisation; the participants of the workshop in Karaköy went ahead and did the project and the locals of Karaköy started using it. Since imkanmekan was not an organisation or a corporate identity, it was both very easy and very difficult to move around. First of all, we didn’t try to get authorisations. In imkanmekan’s new book, it reads the following: “Small scale design interventions in the public sphere teach us about the needs of a space and its users without having to waste public resources. Depending on their success these interventions have the potential to be imitated or replicated and spread throughout the city.” This idealist approach is only possible with smaller scale interventions. There are many actors controlling the pre-launch period of the project such as directors, civil society organisations and people who are closer to public art. But after the project is launched, everybody that uses that public space becomes an actor. When we think about contemporary art in public space in

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

All five projects under construction, 2010

MY CITY / A SHORT DISCUSSION IN THE KITCHEN

Turkey, the actors concern themselves with the work relating to its environment. For example, in Mardin, the governor was very concerned with the continuity of the work. I don’t think there is a huge difference between existing in public space as an individual and existing in public space as a work; if you exist in public space you have to be ready to be misunderstood. For me, public space is a place/location-time where “everybody” can co-exist, stand and express themselves. If we have to give an example of this, Joanna had to reconsider her idea of writing an Ottoman text directly on the ground because of the “limits” of being in public space. A “limit” which, in my opinion, opens up a possibility because it calls the necessity to “think again.” For me, public space defines possibility instead of limitation. Özge: Let’s continue with Ece. In what stage of the project did you join in and what role did you play between the project and the city while working with Andreas? Ece Özden Pak: It was around the end of 2009 when I joined the project. After having an interview with Esra, I started working as the planner and urban designer to introduce the city to the artist that was going to work in İstanbul. Andreas had a different approach, method of working and expectations from the city than the other artists or any other tourist of İstanbul. His senses are open for specific subjects. He would do research beforehand and when he would come to İstanbul he would only focus on the things he was able to achieve and this is what makes him different. In fact the foundation of his project was the right of view and the relationship between the housing residences-landscape-economic status relationship of İstanbul residences. My work consisted of assisting Andreas in issues he wanted to know about the city, which was actually related to my studies. Some of my responsibilities consisted of gathering data from organisations, making visits to the housing residences representing different lifestyles, connecting him with the locals in the places we visited, putting him in contact with people in İstanbul that he could exchange ideas with, sending him the materials he needed while he was abroad, etc. When we were coming to the end of the research period of Andreas’ project and starting with the planning, my job description changed. There were discussions about a publication of the project and I became sort of the editor’s intern and web editor of this e-journal. The part time freelance work I was doing became a full time office job and I moved up to a “joker” status as well as serving as the project assistant. In short, while the relationship between the project and the city was being established, and in addition to helping an artist to discover the city, I also enjoyed taking part in creating a long lasting publication for the city and its residents. Seçil: What kind of path did you take in terms of communicating the project and publicising it? How did you work with TRT? Esra: There is a promotion guide that all projects funded by the European Delegation are obligated to use. All introductions and declarations have to be made within these guidelines, and the purpose is to reach the goals defined in the first draft of the project. Since the beginning we always wanted to do a documentary about the project. However, our meetings about the subject were not very fruitful. After the first events, Nuran Bayer from TRT got in contact with us and told us that she wanted to make a

documentary about the project. Having received this great news we gave a great effort in making the project happen and in the end we succeeded. Seçil: A project's ethics is formed here; there are thousands of projects like these, but the success or failure of a certain project goes beyond its intended content. It is hidden in the personal contributions and sacrifices of the individuals that work in the project. This project on paper, if it were to be done with another team, could have been completely different. What I often wonder is if the technical limitations in this kind of content pose a conflict or if they actually become a vehicle to construct different relationships? Did the technical materials and limitations start serving as a tool after a while or were they always perceived as restrictions posing conflicts? Was the “written project” a limitation or an opportunity from your perspective and the perspective of the artist? Esra: Technical rules are limitations and they often complicate the execution of the project. Without these rules it would certainly be possible to execute the project in a practical way; then again, these technical rules and the obligation to stay true to the original sketch of the proposal led the way into new relationships and became a very significant and positive part of the project. However, when referring to this practice we need to separate the other cities from İstanbul because the execution process in İstanbul was completely different. The relationships that had to be maintained due to bureaucratic reasons posed a practical challenge to the whole team. If you organise any kind of event in which the governor or the mayor will attend, you always have to make preparations according to protocol. On the other hand, the attendance of these personalities brings the project into the agenda of the municipality’s board or becomes a topic of discussion at the Regional Cultural Directorate. The project goes from being a game played inside the neighbourhood to a game played between neighbourhoods. It stops being only a topic of interest for the art world and enters into the local administration’s agenda. In other words, through these organisations and persons the project gets translated into another language and leeks into “that place.” Through formal language, the questions that the project seeks to ask reach places that they normally couldn’t. Even İstanbul’s specific situation was an interesting experience for us. Contrary to our experiences in other cities, in our İstanbul meetings we could not even get as close as the authorisation application. Surely it is impossible to think any other way in a city with 17 million people but we could not experience what you call, these “other kinds of relationships.” Özge: Public art is a very wide subject, and it has only one definition to encompass all types of projects; however, it is not possible to categorise it in such a general way. Every project has its own dynamics and it depends on many variables: from the wind in a space, to habits and the approach of the public that lives there. Can the My City project go beyond the definition of “art in public space?” Let’s close our discussion with the following question in mind, “could it propose new definitions?” Thanks to everyone.

A Brief Look at Monuments/ Sculpture in Public Sphere

Zeynep Yasa Yaman Doç. Dr., Hacettepe University Faculty of Letters Department of Art History

[1] Esin Atıl, Levni ve Surname, Bir Osmanlı Şenliği'nin Öyküsü, İstanbul: Koçbank Publications, 1999; Nurhan Atasoy, Surname-i Hümayun: Düğün Kitabı, İstanbul: Koçbank Publications, 1997 [2] “Let them eat Lenin!”, World News Story Page, CNN Interactive, 31 March 1998. http://edition.cnn.com/ WORLD/9803/31/fringe/let.them. eat.lenin/index.html (Access: 10 May 2010) [3] Taner Yener-Hasan Örnekoğlu, “Cumhuriyet Resepsiyonu’nda pastadan Atatürk çıktı”, Hürriyet, http://www.hurriyet.com.tr/ gundem/12812762.asp (Access: 10 May 2010); “Pastadan Atatürk çıktı! Cumhuriyet Resepsiyonu’nda ilginç an...” 30.10.2009; http://www. kanaldhaber.com.tr/HaberDetay. aspx?haberid=53806&catid=34 (Access: 10 May 2010); “Cumhuriyet pastasından Atatürk heykeli çıktı;” t24.com.tr/ haberdetay/59816.aspx

In the Ottoman Empire, the state-supported festivals of any theme, which included various cultural and artistic activities, were organised to strengthen the bond between the ruler and the ruled as well as the social structure of the regime. For instance, the circumcision ceremonies organised for Shahzadah Mehmed, son of Murad III, in 1582 and for the sons of Sultan Ahmed III in 1720 in the Hipodrom area were closely watched by the people. During these ceremonies, models of human beings, animals, mythological sculptures, puppets, gardens, and castles made up of wax, paper, fabrics and sweets, which were very hard to move around on the streets, moved among the public, and following the ceremonies, large pieces of those made up of sweets were given as gifts to foreign guests, ambassadors or to the public.1 The replica or the sculpture did not have any cult value if it’s existence was only temporary. A similar approach was taken by two artists from Moscow, Yuri Shabelnikov and Yuri Fesenko, in 1998. With the help of a team of bakers, the artists designed a delicious, two-metre-long 50 kg cake, shaped like the dead body of Lenin, ornamented with cream. They gobbled up the cake with the words, “Let them eat Lenin,” turning it into a performance, and breaking the boundaries of art, the object of art, and the receiver.2 The Russians were able to both claim ownership of and eat Lenin. Eleven years after this performance, a similar performance took place on 29 October 2009, during the Republic Day reception held at Dolmabahçe Palace and attended by ministers and top state officials. Fashion designer Faruk Saraç created an Atatürk figure and a cake with the help of ten bakers. An original model of Atatürk, placed on the platform right behind the cake, emerged and greeted the guests. Part of the Republic’s 10th Year Sermon was orated to the tune of the 10th Year Anthem. Later the “Republic Cake,” measuring six metres by four metres, was cut and eaten.3 The cake prepared for the Republic Day ceremonies might not really be a work of art. Well, that happens. The public space I will be referring to in this article will be limited to squares and the relationship between squares and monumental sculptures. Squares are among the most significant public spaces, not only as urban spaces of daily life but as spaces where the ruling system controls the civil behaviour of its people, where state exercises its power, and as “political arenas” of the ruling and opposing parties. We could also say that when the big firms united their powers and this consolidated cooperation became a candidate for the management of art, leaders of global capitalism did not prefer displaying their powers in the squares nor with the monuments/statues in these squares. New patrons of art and culture have left the squares to the state and have chosen various public spaces as places of expression, making art an object of global economy.

The definition of “public sphere,” which first became a matter of discussion in 1962 with Jürgen Habermas’s Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere (Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit), has been criticised as a sociological concept from various points of view and has acquired many different meanings since then. With the emergence of the debate around the transformation of “other modernities” in Europe in the 1960s, it was presumed that the “public sphere” would allow the recognition and acceptance of differences, lend a voice to different groups such as minorities, immigrants and refugees, and help them express their ideas freely. However, there seems to be both a convergence and a conflict between the concepts of freedom and equality facilitated by the “public sphere.” Cities with their various functions including social, educational, commercial ones, etc., are in a transparent relationship with the individual/society comprising them. The two permeable factors among many others defining the relationship between the public and the art can be named as “creativity” and “conservation.” Conservation of the art works created in the past, leaving their legacy to the next generations, and positioning them within the cultural history of the city are significant aspects of urban awareness or, to put into other words, an awareness of the civilisation. On the other hand, art works were also demolished and destroyed in certain periods of history.4 The period of visual propaganda started with the French Revolution and reached the 20th century with Soviet Russia, Nazi Germany and fascist Italy during the period between the two World Wars. It is a widespread view that through this process, the artist had come to be defined as a “political thinker” who visualised and made concrete the abstract concepts.5 Having changed its function as a result of modernisation, the modern city has brought with it a new sense of “conservation” against conservation with new artistic institutions such as museums, art galleries and similar establishments, as well as monuments and sculptures placed within these new establishments. This has also brought forward a sense of resistance and presence against the past. Art has always had a direct relationship with tradition, cities that are seen as places of tradition and resistance, and public spheres. ‘‘Republicanism’’ has been defined as a nation state system, which is based on an understanding of the political regimes adopting democracy where the rulers and the ruled co-govern themselves. Related to the universal/common world vision of ‘‘republicanism,’’ the auspicious and haunted busts and monumental sculptures of the nobles, clergy, statesmen, heroes, soldiers, explorers, artists, gods, goddesses, and everyone who has always been perceived as influential in the formation of the history of humanity, have

[4] Cevat Erder, Tarihi Çevre Bilinci, Ankara: ODTÜ Üniversitesi Mimarlık Fakültesi Publication, No. 24, 1975 [5] Peter Burke, Eyewitnessing: The Uses of Images as Historical Evidence, London: Reaktion Books, 2001. Turkish trans. Zeynep Yelçe, İstanbul: Kitapyayınevi, 2003, p. 65

MY CITY / ZEYNEP YASA YAMAN

[6] Burke, 2003, pp. 72-79 [7] See. Andrew Causey, Sculpture since 1945, New York, Oxford University Press, 1998

been ideological displays of resistance, externalisation of the past, and institutionalisation. In the age of democracy, the leaders are presented to the public as embodiments of ideas and values, representing freedom and independence, and idealised and turned into monuments, wearing clothes carefully selected for them.6 The postmodern era, covering the period after 1960, can be defined by production, information and communication revolution, work divided into offices, and escape from the centre. The structure of society is associated with a hybrid definition that can be called socitalism (social capitalism), and information is produced by office workers. We can talk about a perception of time that is circular and linear, and fast changing, as well as a nonconformity between time and space relationship. This is a multinational, pluralistic, eclectic, inclusive, and open age of images, consisting of many tastes, cultures and information. Like the expanding city getting replaced by the decentralised city and subsequently by the urban area, the individual also destroys the traditional definitions of personal boundaries that place himself in the centre, and conceive the single body as a separate unit. In the heavy political climate of the late 1960s, artists inclined towards other things than metaphors. They needed to question the artistic patterns that were integrated into the city such as exhibitions, museums and monuments in the face of clusters trying to communicate with one another, the transitional nature of time and space, and collectivity and globalisation of consciousness. Today, crowds crossing one another at city squares meet not only at squares but scatter across the city, meet at various points through the Internet, and, in a way, make the public sphere virtual. And a certain group of artists deny acknowledging the duty of facilitating a “political weapon” assigned to sculptures by the authority. Gilbert and George questioned and criticised this traditional, official understanding of public sculpture. In 1969, they carried out a performance called “The Singing Statue” in which they pretended to be statues and sang over a table for a long time. I guess the observers of this performance were passive despite all their surprise. They kept the traditional, typical audience status. The distance between the observer and the sculpture, established hundreds of years ago, seems to be valid for this performance too. Maybe the most radical discourse was that of Beuys. Joseph Beuys claimed that we could shape the world we lived in with our ideas. His “social sculpture” concept aimed to transform the society into a creator and intellectually remove the traditional statue out of the public sphere completely. Beginning in the 1960s, artists such as Daniel Buren, Michael Asher, Marcel Broodthaers and Lohar Baumgarten criticised the institutions, and deconstructed the myths created by the past and the contemporary times.7 Daniel Buren said, “Art is the secure valve for our repressive system, it is the mask that attracts the attention to a different direction. As long as the

reality is masked, conflicts of the system are hidden and there will not be anything to be scared of.” Buren’s perfect lines in the public sphere were indicative of his political stance. In the 1980s, Buren took part in urban projects of monuments. Between 1985 and 1986, he built “Deux Plateaux” (Two Planes) in the courtyard of Palais Royal in Paris which had repositioned history within history, presented deconstruction against construction, and opposed hierarchy and individualism. The said work was exemplary of Buren’s attitude with its anonymous existence and short span of life. Buren perceives the concept of “in situ” (on site) work as an opportunity of artistic intervention arising from a deep connection to the particular place.8 Illusion of a public sphere/venue that is shaped and governed by those who have the authority or where the right to say a word is granted completely to the politicians, leaders, capitalists or the artists’ authority can lead to reactions and even sanctions of the public. There is not much to say about creativity, but still the “arrogant” stance of art which refuses any kind of criticism and objection with its aesthetically compact loneliness in the public sphere isolates it from the public, and the relationship, or lack of thereof, between the “aesthetical object” of the artist who denies to face the dynamics of the city and the “receptive public” can turn into a clash in the public sphere. To put it into other words, the presence of the public and the monument/statue in the public sphere loses its touch with reality, and turns into an involuntary show of “supervision“ planned and pictured by the hands of the authority. For instance, Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc, (1981), which he had built in New York’s Federal Plaza, was of on monumental scale and it became the object of complaints by the employees in the surrounding buildings on the grounds that it was blocking the passage and the view. In 1985, the removal of the sculpture was decided. Serra opposed the decision, asserting that, “the work was designed for that particular place, that any change of place would be against its nature, and that it would lead to its death.” Eventually, on 15 March 1989, the sculpture was broken down into three pieces by the workers of Federal Plaza, and carted off to a scrapmetal yard. Later, Serra commented, “I don’t think it is the function of art to be pleasing. Art is not democratic. It is not for the people.”9 A similar incident took place at California Tech Institute. The “Vectors” installation met with vehement opposition from the students and the academics. The work was interpreted as a second repetition of an early work of the artist and as an arrogant work that would mask the identity of the institution. Its installation was called off.10 If we take a look at Turkey, in 1871, Sultan Abdulaziz commissioned C. F. Fuller to make a life-size statue of himself riding a horse. Because of a fear of a possible public reaction, the statue could not find any place

[8] Rosalind E. Krauss, “Daniel Buren”, ArtForum, December, 2002; Zeynep Yasa Yaman, “Quintette à Ankara/ Ankara’da Beşli Sergisi Üzerine Düşünceler”, Arredamento Mimarlık, 203 (June 2007): 34-42 [9] “Culture Shock: Flashpoints: Visual Arts: Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc” http:// www.pbs.org/wgbh/cultureshock/ flashpoints/visualarts/tiltedarc_a.html (Access: 10 May 2010) [10] Richard Serra, “Biography of Postmodernist Sculptor in Sheet Metal,” Encyclopedia of Irish and World Art – Homepage; http://www.visual-arts-cork.com/ sculpture/richard-serra.htm (Access: 10 May 2010)

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[11] Susan Buck-Morss, Dreamworld and Catastrophe: The Passing of Mass Utopia in East and West, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2000). Rüya Âlemi ve Felaket, Turkish trans. Tuncay Birkan, İstanbul, Metis Publications, 2004, p. 56

in public space in İstanbul, and was placed in the imperial garden. In a period of as little as fifty years, the increasing number of Atatürk statues made him the ultimate symbol for the tradition of monuments invented with the establishment of the Republic. With the modernity of the 19th century, monuments became an obsession for the nation states to celebrate and create their pasts. From the beginning of the 20th century until the end of World War II, filling the squares with monuments and sculptures was a widespread demand.11 When talking about “art in public sphere” in Turkey, the first things that come to mind are the public spaces designed during the first decades of the Republic and the Atatürk sculptures erected in these squares. The project of creating a public sphere meant designing squares filled with monumental statues, shaped and directed with the ideological demands of the governments and local administrations, with the bulk of the costs of these works financed by the state budget. With the establishment of the Republic, Turkey adopted modernisation as a principle. Imitation of the European past and the future led to a country packed with Atatürk sculptures everywhere from big cities to villages. In Turkey, the ideology behind the monument/statue is obvious and clearly defined. During the period between 1933–1945, which included the World War II, the cultural formation, which was the source of expression through monuments/ statues, was influenced by national socialism in Germany and Italy, the Russian internationalism, the “Public Works of Art” project within the scope of the New Deal initiated by Franklin Roosevelt in the USA, and various artistic approaches reflecting different social realities of the Communist Party in New York. During this period, art, as in other places in Europe and the USSR, became a tool for political propaganda in Turkey as well. During the 1950s, in the post-World War II period, when the Cold War paranoia was increasing, economic policies and religion were on the rise, the voiceless, wordless, abstract artistic tendencies and discussions emerged as a reaction to the controlled art around the world. Between 1950 and 1960, monuments lost their importance notably, unity between architecture and art became significant, and there was a substantial decrease in making sculptures. Since around same time, Taksim Square has been an arena of public dispute with its cosmopolitan secular identity affirmed by its Atatürk Monument, which has become a symbol against continuous discussions for construction of a mosque in the area. During World War II, 35 to 60 million civilians and soldiers died in battles and genocides. A significant post-war activity was an international sculpture competition, “The Unknown Political Prisoner,” held by London’s

Institute of Contemporary Arts and open to everyone. The competition had generated 3,500 applications from 57 countries, including works of artists from Turkey. Selected models were exhibited at Tate Britain between 14 March and 30 April 1953.12 In the post-World War II period, sculptures in the public sphere had become memorial structures for those who had died in the wars. Vertical structures were being transformed into horizontal ones. Monumental statues were not being made for the glorification of certain individuals, and their introduction to the public through eternally engraving them in the area was no longer the purpose, but rather for expressing the current situation and for helping the public remember it in the future. But this time, memories were being used for political agendas as they were turned into integral parts of museums and touristic locations in newly created places like war cemeteries and monuments. It is possible to see the “counter-monument,” an artistic tendency which emerged in the 1980s and which makes use of abstract, non-figurative, geometrical shapes erected in memory of deaths and genocides as an extension of the same political point of view. “Countermonument,” carrying signs and symbols aiming at collective memory despite its abstract structure and criticised by many, established an interactive, not a didactic, relation with individuals, and acted as an agent to help memories to be remembered in the future and history reinterpreted. But does this make it public? With the military intervention of 1960, the monuments gained popularity once again as to refresh Atatürk’s memory and strengthen the loyalty to the revolutions. Since the 1970s, statues erected in various parks and venues by local administrations and governments with social democratic views, sometimes through competitions, had a difficult time surviving in the public sphere. Most of these sculptures were attacked, criticised fiercely by the right-wing and Islamist politicians of the period, from the ruling and the opposing parties and removed, destroyed, or demolished. The three main arguments for this opposition were that these sculptures were considered abstract and inapprehensible, they spoke for unwanted political points of view, and they acted as mediators for exposing nudity and sexuality. Nevertheless all these responses were elicited not by the public but by members of the parliament and local authorities who believed they had the right to speak on behalf of the public as they were elected by them. After the military coup of 12 September 1980 and the centennial of Atatürk’s birth in 1981, the need to refresh Atatürk’s memory fuelled further momentum for building statues and monuments. Monumentalism, which had essentially completed its historical mission,

[12] “The Unknown Political Prisoner,” 14 March–30 April 1953; http://www.tate. org.uk/britain/exhibitions/ theunknownpoliticalprisoner/default. shtm (Access: 10 May 2010)

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[13] http://forum.arkitera.com/ archive/index.php/t-4068.html (Access: 10 May 2010); Kürşat Bumin, “Hayırsız Ada’yı ‘Korkunç Ada’ yapma girişimi”, Yeni Şafak, 11 January 2005; http://www.turkcebilgi.com/kose_ yazisi_9328_kursat-bumin-hayirsizadayi-korkunc-ada-yapma-girisimi. html (Access: 10 May 2010); “Semazen heykeli rafa kalktı”, Milliyet, 22 January 2005, http://www.milliyet.com. tr/2008/01/22/yasam/yas13.html (Access: 10 Mayıs 2010)

gained a vapid, commercial identity during that time. Some artists continuously reproduced the same Atatürk sculptures from polyester and put them on different pedestals. These sculptures adorned every junction, every pavement across the country from cities to towns and small villages. Today one can come across many Atatürk sculptures in city centres and towns. The Grand National Assembly, the increasing number of university campuses after the establishment of the Council of Higher Education, schools, military bases, war cemeteries, and public buildings are filled with Atatürk busts and sculptures. The significance of the Atatürk sculptures in early periods of the Republic has completely changed. After 2000, especially in towns, they were positioned in front of local administrative buildings where wreaths were placed, while the minarets crowned the background. Mosques, which were places of prayer and socialising during the Ottoman Empire, became an integral part of a new understanding of public places. New images other than Atatürk emerged, such as other significant historical figures of Ottoman sultans, admirals, viziers, Anatolian bards, symbols of cities (e.g., rooster, cow, cotton, cherries, watermelon, etc.). These were all a continuation of the same understanding, and they invaded the public spaces with an enlightened sculpture tradition. The opposing voices raised against the project of a giant statue of a whirling dervish placed with Photoshop over a photograph of Hayırsızada (Unfaithful Island) taken from a helicopter,13 and later the statue of Mehmed II, planned to be erected on the Haydarpaşa Pier, along with the subsequent competition organised by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism for the statue, triggered further discussions on “public sphere and statues” in 2005. Despite all the objections raised by non-governmental organisations, Ministry officials said that they would erect a carefully selected statue, not anything ordinary. Like the previous administrators, the ruling government was excited about leaving a permanent work of art to İstanbul and with the idea of a statue of Mehmed II that would welcome all the visitors arriving in İstanbul, similar to the Statue of Liberty welcoming all newcomers to New York. The statue of Mehmed II would be a permanent signature in İstanbul. While some NGOs were arguing that such a statue was unnecessary, residents of Kadıköy and the Metropolitan Municipality were fighting over the ideal place of the statue and whether Haydarpaşa Pier was the right location. Another topic of discussion among different political points of view was whether the statue should be of Mehmed II or Atatürk. The dominant idea was that this monument as a work of art in public sphere would have immunity, interact with its surrounding environment, and transform urban awareness. Kadıköy residents voted against the statue to be erected in their region. Right after this decision, Kadıköy

Public sculpture in Konya, 2011 Photo: Özge Açıkkol

MY CITY / ZEYNEP YASA YAMAN

[14] Gülin Şenol, “Bin Akıllının Çıkaramadığı Taş,” 13 July 2005, http://www.arkitera.com/news.php? ID=3064&action=displayNewsItem (Access: 10 May 2010); “Boğaza Fatihin Heykeli Dikilecek!,” http://www.turkforum.net/52111bogaza-fatihin-heykeli-dikilecek.html (Access: 10 May 2010); “İstanbul'a Fatih Sultan Mehmet anıtı;” http://www.cnnturk.com/2005/kultur. sanat/diger/02/04/İstanbula.fatih. sultan.mehmet.aniti/70275.0/index. html (Access: 10 May 2010); Korhan Gümüş, “Fetihçi İdeoloji ve Sanat”, Radikal, 31 May 2005, http://www.radikal.com.tr/haber. php?haberno=154311 (Access: 10 May 2010); Fatih İçin Referandum, Vatan, 25 May 2005; http://www.yapi.com.tr/Haberler/ fatih-icin-referandum_27467.html (Access: 10 May 2010) [15] Gülin Şenol, “Fatih Sultan Mehmet Heykeli’nin Dönüştürecekleri”, 11 July 2005, http://arkitera.com/news.php? action=displayNewsItem&ID=3009 (Access: 10 May 2010)

Mayor Selami Öztürk said that Mehmed II did not have any connection to Kadıköy and the statue would better suit Haliç (the Golden Horn).14 The same year, a sculpture project, “Art for Our Town” was organised by İlhan Koman Foundation and supported by the European Union, İstanbul municipalities and some NGOs. The project involved children aged between 7–14 to make sculptures, and the selected four sculptures would be enlarged to monumental sizes to be erected in four different locations in İstanbul. The project aimed to blend the scholarly and artistic heritage of İlhan Koman and the creativity of children. Children who participated in the project visited different sculptures made for İstanbul. They saw what materials could be used and how those works of art had become a part of the urban structure. The children had workshops with trainers and artists for three months, and eventually created sculptures they would have liked to see in their respective towns. Everything looks very exciting up to this point. But what was surprising about the project, which was hailed as a first in the world, was that many NGOs, which included artists and architects, persisted with the idea of turning the sculptures into monuments, and erecting them in public spaces. Writing on Arkitera.com, dated 11 July 2005, here is what Gülin Şenol had to say: “You might have heard that İstanbul is a candidate for the Capital of Culture for 2010, as part of the most expansive cultural project of the European Union.15 If you would ask what does a city hoping to become the European Capital of Culture should be careful to avoid, the answer would be erecting such sculptures.” It was ironic to see that despite the continuous efforts of the governments and the public to destroy monuments throughout history, the organisers vehemently persisted in transforming the selected four works of art by children to monumental proportions. Those who stressed the importance of avoiding “warriors and conquerors” in monuments ironically voiced their desire to decorate public spaces with monumental sculptures, reaching even children. Understanding of the public sphere as an area for monuments rather than for artistic creativity still continues today. Does the urge to monumentalise a child’s creative work or the need to have the sculptures/monuments in the squares, perceived to be the only places of public sphere, arise from a collective desire to reach the “levels of modern civilisation?” A striking similarity between the words “police” and “civilise,” which converged the concepts of “culture” and “civilisation” that had emerged with Enlightenment, points to the use of these two words interchangeably in relation to society and the political realm. Among the meanings this relationship signifies are the protection of the status quo, prohibition of violence in peoples’ relationships, or in other words, the monopolising of violence with the laws supported by the state, provision of security of public areas, and creation of a public sphere

closely controlled and sustained with clearly defined and simple rules. The monument maintains its ideological and narrative function through different outlets and at different public places. For instance, it was decided that a colossal monument would be built on the highest hills of Kars as a reaction to genocide monuments. The construction for the Monument of Humanity started in 2006. The monument, aiming to give a humanitarian message, would be heightened further, lighted to further effect with laser, and would be seen from Armenia. Modelled with the internationalist approach of the Soviets to represent peace and fraternity, it would be the largest monument in Turkey, weighing 700 tons and measuring 35 metres wide and 30 metres high. Erzurum Commission for Protection of Cultural and Natural Heritage stopped the building of the monument on grounds that it was being built in a protected area. US President Obama was also invited to Kars to see the monument in efforts to emphasise that the Turks did not commit genocide. The monument is still at the centre of different political discussions which the artist is also a part of. 16 Another fact is the continuing necessity of monumental statues for political purposes in light of the increasing discussions on diversification/ multiplicity of religious, historical, ethnical and cultural identities after the 1990s. In today’s world the “class culture” is replaced by the “culture of identity,” and it is not hard to see statues used as a representation of inherently political “cultural policies” put forth by the states and the civil society. Still, if we look at the position of the monument/statue form within the urban structure in Turkey there are two main stances. The first one is the form of the monument/statue defined through metaphors, symbols, allegories and serving as an indicator of national, religious, historical, ethnical, etc., policies. The second one is about the competency of the form, as it is exhibited as an aesthetic object standing on its own, in harmony with the venue (although this may not be true for all of them). Within this context, the narratives of both groups of statues are clear and fixed. Nevertheless, they can still be very exciting for people/groups who are fond of solving puzzles, or for those who are used to placing the codes and words recorded in their memories to their respective correct boxes by heart. It is possible to say that today, the sculptor who prefers to stick to his conventional materials (i.e., stone, metal, wood, etc.) keeps a distance from various forms of expression such as the political artistic stance playing against the contemporary politics, breaking the preconceived and politicised notions of contemporary culture, questioning the hierarchical logic and value of “political correctness,” questioning or raising questions on the small narratives of time, place or any event, or establishing

[16] “Heykeltraş Mehmet Aksoy: İnsanlık Anıtı’nın Yapımı Devam Etmeli”, 29 January 2010, http://www.haberler.com/ heykeltras-mehmet-aksoy-insanlikaniti-nin-yapimi-haberi/ (Access: 10 May 2010); ‘İnsanlık Anıtı’ SAVAŞ KARŞITIDIR!,” http://www.politikars.com/ haberdetay/12987/insanlik-anitisavas-karsitidir!.asp (Access: 10 May 2010); “Kars’taki İnsanlık Anıtı’nı Yıkmayan Başkan Hakkında Suç Duyurusu”, http://www.dha. com.tr/n.php?n=insanlik-anitiniyikmayan-baskan-hakkinda-sucduyurusu--2010-03-24 (Access:10 May 2010); “MHP Kars İl Başkanı Aktaş ‘İnsanlık Anıtı’ Nedeniyle Suç Duyurusunda Bulundu,” http://bolge.25haber. com/2010/03/mhp-kars-il-baskaniaktas-insanlik-aniti-nedeniyle-sucduyurusunda-bulundu/ (Access: 10 May 2010); “İnsanlık Anıtı,” http://www.politikars.com/ haberdetay/10716/Yalcin-Dogan:insanlik-Aniti-.asp (Access: 10 May 2010)

MY CITY / ZEYNEP YASA YAMAN

[17] See Asu Aksoy and Eylem Ertürk (ed.), Kamusal Alan ve Güncel Sanat/The Public Turn in Contemporary Art (Proje Kitabı/ Project Book), İstanbul, İstanbul Bilgi Üniversitesi Yayınları 194, 2007 [18] “Chto delat/What is to be done”, 11.B The Guide, What Keeps Mankind Alive?, İstanbul: İstanbul Foundation for Culture and Arts Publications, p. 272–275

dialogue. The sculpture symposiums that have gained momentum since the 1990s must have contributed significantly to the current situation of sculpture, disconnected from its context and looking desperately for a suitable place in the city. The concept of “public sphere” has become a major topic of discussion in politics, philosophy of law and various other disciplines as part of Turkey’s modernisation project, which was shaped by scientific, academic and political criticism, as well as recognition of ethnic and cultural identities. After the 1980s, artists and the art milieu jumped on the bandwagon to discuss “public sphere,” and in 1990s, it became a focal point for politics, social sciences, art, and history of art. “Sculpture,” with its implications of representation, plays a pivotal role in discussions on “visibility” and “representation” around art created for public but independent of public, and “art in public sphere” in Turkey. This concept comprises one of the most significant dynamics in art, both in relation to global and urban scales, and to virtual spaces created by communication technologies, media and the Internet. Social, political and visual dimensions of “sculpture” as a defined discipline and daily practices of art, as well as their relationship with “public sphere” and “public space,” are continuously being questioned and changing. Today, many artists and artists’ initiations, civil society, various organisations, universities, arts and culture institutions try to push and question the public sphere and public places. Some examples could be the set of exhibitions, conversations, discussions, forums, and publications carried out under “New Cultural Practices and Public Art in Trans-European Dialogue” in 2006–07, organised by Bilgi University and supporting institutions within santralİstanbul’s European Union Culture 2000 programme,17 as well as the 11th İstanbul Biennial (12 October – 8 November 2009), carrying this question to a global platform by asking, “What Keeps Mankind Alive?” The installations were made up of video films and wall drawings by Chto delat/What is to be done?, a formation founded by a group of artists, philosophers, critics and writers, intellectualise the potential of political projects for social liberation and collectivism by using Russia’s conjuncture and speculations on cynicism and alienation.18 Art works in the public sphere aim to disrupt the powers of politics and the artists exerting dominance over public sphere. They change the definition and position of the artist and turn the artist into a creator standing side-by-side and within the public rather than accepting his stance as the single authority in cooperation with the politics/government in the name of creating art in public sphere and public places. Under these circumstances, do we really (not) need to reevaluate the necessity of the monument/sculpture in the public sphere?

55 A view from the public space of Çanakkale, 2010. Photo: Özge Açıkkol

My City Documentary Nuran Bayer Executive Producer and Director of My City Documentary

As a director, in order for me to make a documentary film about an issue, first and foremost, the issue needs to excite me. My City project did exactly this; it enthused me. If I may say so, this documentary was going to make me jump into the deep waters of contemporary art, an area in which I had remained only as a spectator thus far. It was exciting to document an accessible art project, to help people meet with art in an unmediated manner, and to enter into the world where artworks suddenly appeared in an unexpected manner in the spaces where people work and live in the natural flow of their lives. In other words, to document art in spaces other than what the project’s curatorial consultant, Andrea Schlieker, calls “cultural temples,” that is, museums and galleries. During the breathless production process, which lasted for more than a year, we have filmed over 600 hours of footage and travelled thousands of kilometres. For the first time in Turkey, an art project was turned into a documentary with great detail and care. There were six cities in Europe and five cities in Turkey: in total eleven cities and eleven artists. Eleven cities, eleven artists, and eleven works of art so different from one another challenged the limits of a documentary. As Dieter Bogner puts it, “one of the most important factors in the making of a project is the multiplicity of spaces;” the most important factor that enabled the making of this project was the distinctiveness and the differences of the cities that were chosen. Alongside this diversity there were also educational programs in schools that formed the heart of this program. I kept thinking about the same thing while filming in the schools in the five cities. What rendered this project successful by itself, putting everything else aside, were the “silent hands,” as Funda Küçükyılmaz called them. In these educational programs, successfully provided by the children’s art centre PACE, what may have escaped most people’s attention in the daily business of the project was caught by the camera of Mehmet Gülmez, the art director of the documentary. The curiosity in the gazes of the children and their astonishment in the face of contemporary artwork, which they could not quite understand, increased as we moved from Çanakkale to Mardin. These children’s relationship with the word “art” was going to be very different; their worldviews had been altered. I had the chance to observe the instrumental role that art had played in increasing the cultural awareness in a locale through the changes in the aftermath of an arts project in Folkstone, England. I witnessed how cultural spaces were created in a former mine in Dortmund. I both listened and filmed the story of the transformation of the former imperial barns and sheds in Vienna into MuseumsQuartier through a project that aimed for the creation of new cultural public spaces. These projects and others that I have documented have made an important visual archive

available in Turkey on contemporary art, art in public spaces, and the process of creating of new cultural spaces. In a way, My City project has enabled the building of bridges among very different fields, perhaps in a manner even unforeseen by the people who had proposed the project. Undoubtedly there are tasks that all of us need to undertake to make these bridges functional and, most importantly, to increase awareness for their utilization. In this sense, the call of Bogner, one of the creators of the MuseumsQuartier, in his interview for the My City project documentary, is very important. He says: “According to me, politicians governing the countries and the media should tell the following to the public: Your lifestyles are modern in all aspects. You drive the latest models of cars, you dress in the latest fashions, and you watch the most recent films. Hence, you should also follow contemporary art. I am serious. Politicians, instead of struggling against contemporary art, should realize that it is part of our lives and work towards enhancing this understanding in the minds of the people. Just like the latest models of cars we drive, contemporary art is also part of our lives. It is not right for them just to accept classical art and reject what they do not understand. And, if they do not understand contemporary art, it is always in their hands to ask and learn from the artists.” TR-ENG by B.K.

A still image from Light & Space, a video piece by Clemens von Wedemeyer. The scene shows the TRT cameraman Mehmet Gülmez while shooting.

PROJECTS

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

Sinema Amnesia Mark Wallinger Artist of the Project in Çanakkale

Çanakkale is situated at the narrowest point of the Dardanelles and the nearest town or city to the ancient site of Troy. As a setting off point for pilgrims to the battlefields of Gallipoli, it might be overburdened by the weight of history and myth, but this windy city has a vital idiosyncratic mix: a fishing port, a university town, but with a modern coherent sense of community. I grew very fond of the place over the half dozen trips I made in the realisation of Sinema Amnesia (2010), which is a temporary movie house, set at the end of the promenade, by a tea garden and the mosque. The film showing, Ulysses, is ever-changing, an endless picture of unfolding time exactly 24 hours ago. With a lens fixed to the building, recording the view across the straits, the structure is like a camera obscura, except that the image you see playing in the darkness is forever a day behind. A day is the smallest cyclical unit of time available to a storyteller. In Ulysses, James Joyce appropriates the Odyssey to tell the story of a man’s life in a day. Ulysses was one of the leading chieftains in Homer’s Iliad, and according to Virgil, the man who had the idea for the Trojan horse. Here in Çanakkale, the long mythical history conjoins with more recent conflicts, precisely dated and memorialised. The fixed camera angle positions a specific vanishing point at its centre: the Dur Yolcu memorial, etched into the hillside across the straits on the Gallipoli peninsula, is the most visible memorial to the 130,000 lives that were lost when Allied troops were despatched in the ill-fated campaign to wrest control of the straits from the Ottoman Empire; it is emblematic of the Turkish Republic that was born as a result of the conflict. Alongside an image of a soldier is a poem, which translates approximately as: “Stop passerby! This soil you thus tread unawares Is where an age sank. Bow and listen, This quiet mound is where the heart of a nation throbs.” The most striking accompaniment to the daily life of the modern town is the relentless, unceasing passage of the ships. On average, every sixand-a-half minutes we can marvel at the scale of a cargo vessel bound for Russia or a container ship returning to the Aegean or follow the course of the ferries as they thread their way to and from Gallipoli. This has been the way for millennia and will continue inexorably into the future.

Sinema Amnesia, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

To enter the cinema is to realise/recognise that we cannot contemplate yesterday and today simultaneously. We cannot reflect and be in the moment sat the same time. What precisely has changed in 24 hours? How much do I know about what I have seen; how much is lost to reason? The

MY CITY / MARK WALLINGER

sun, the moon and the stars are imperceptibly misaligned; that ship we see is now far away and the waters calmer than today. Yesterday. Can you remember where you were precisely at this shadow moment? In that sense it is our proxy consciousness. To see again is to realise for the first time: look, look again, inspiring to recall or remembering to forget. Am I more or less the same person today? Enter the Sinema Amnesia and lose yourself in the puzzle of a time machine. Notes There is a condition known as Amnesia Global Transitoria, first identified in 1956. In women, episodes are mainly associated with an emotional precipitating event, a history of anxiety and a pathological personality. In men, they occur more frequently after a physical precipitating event. Episodes of Global Transitory Amnesia have a sudden onset and are characterised by marked alteration or ante-retrograde memory, temporal disorientation and occasionally disorientation in space. Amnesia usually lasts several hours (less than 24). Another effect of amnesia is the inability to imagine the future. A recent study shows that amnesiacs with a damaged hippocampus* cannot imagine the future. “Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past.” George Orwell, 1984 Mnemosyne was the goddess of memory and mother of the muses. Her name is the Greek noun mnemosune “memory,” which comes from mna, an extended form of the Greek and Indo-European root men-, “to think.” This is the root from which we derive amnesia (from the Greek), mental (from Latin), and mind (from Germanic). Amnesty is derived from the same root. * The hippocampus is a major component of the brains of humans and other mammals. It belongs to the limbic system and plays important roles in long-term memory and spatial navigation. Like the cerebral cortex, with which it is closely associated, it is a paired structure, with mirrorimage halves in the left and right sides of the brain. In humans and other primates, the hippocampus is located inside the medial temporal lobe, beneath the cortical surface. Its curved shape reminded early anatomists of the horns of a ram (Cornu Ammonis), or a seahorse. The name was taken by the sixteenth century anatomist Julius Caesar Aranzi from the Greek word for seahorse (Greek: ιππος, hippos = horse, καμπος, kampos = sea monster).

Mark Wallinger in Ă&#x2021;anakkale, 2010

Sinema Amnesia: Time, Politics and Memory in the Work of Mark Wallinger Andrea Schlieker Curatorial Advisor My City Project

“I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day.” James Joyce

The everyday comings and goings of tankers and tourists in Çanakkale, a port town on Turkey’s northwestern coast on one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes, the Dardanelles, obscure the grandness and wealth of its extraordinary history, dating back some 5,000 years. Straddling the narrow divide between Asia and Europe, the Dardanelles, or Hellespont as the Greeks called it, is a strategically and politically vital waterway, and the scene of some of the greatest legends of ancient mythology, as well as of one of the bloodiest battles of modern times. Here, Phryxus and Helle failed to fly the straits on a winged ram carrying the golden fleece, Leander drowned swimming to reach his lover Hero, and the Persian King Xerxes crossed it on a bridge of boats to land 100,000 troops in Thrace. Alexander the Great crossed here at the start of his eastern campaign in 334 BC, Lord Byron swam across the symbolically powerful water, and most especially it was here that Mustafa Kemal “the young Atatürk” first rose to greatness in Turkey’s victory in the Gallipoli campaign in 1915–16. The close proximity of Çanakkale to the ancient city of Troy where, according to the Aeneid, Odysseus hatched the idea for wooden horse which was to become the turning point in the Trojan War, and whose long and eventful return journey is described in Homer’s Odyssey, adds yet another rich layer to this singular historical site. § To make a work in response to such a multilayered context is a powerful challenge for any artist, but it seemed ideal for Mark Wallinger. Wallinger’s work has consistently tackled major themes across a register ranging from the political to the metaphysical, from the everyday, and particular, to the general and universal. For thirty years, Wallinger has probed questions related to history and religion, literature and politics, so in many ways this particular site has brought the various strands of his preoccupations together. His repertoire of video, photography, performance, painting, sculpture and installation makes Wallinger one of the most versatile and unpredictable artists working today; no work resembles another. There are no predetermined, formal parameters, even though thematic preoccupations – ranging across social policy and questions of religious faith, tolerance and national identity, the role of the outsider and our apparent need for borders and thresholds – persist across his extraordinarily complex oeuvre. Wallinger’s diversity is based on the fact that concept and context for each work singularly determine its final form. This becomes particularly apparent in his works for the public realm, which embrace figurative (Ecce Homo) and abstracted form (Y), as well as the near invisible (Zone) and monumental (The White Horse).

Ecce Homo, 1999, Life-size, White marbleised resin, gold leaf, barbed wire. Photo: John Riddy ÂŠ the artist, courtesy Anthony Reynolds Gallery, London

MY CITY / ANDREA SCHLIEKER

Folk Stones, stones, paint, sand, cement, core-ten steal, 9x9 m., commissioned for Folkestone Triennial, 2008. Photo: Alexandra Böhm

The intelligence and sensitivity Wallinger displays when dealing with major themes are important prerequisites for an artist taking on one of the most venerated and important sites of another country. Wallinger approached this project with typical care, deliberation and conscientious research. Several site visits to Çanakkale, Gallipoli and Troy, meetings and discussions with the local authority, mayor and navy, as well as with local historians, librarians and teachers provided fertile material to extend his own wide reading. § Next to a prominent mosque on Çanakkale’s busy harbour boulevard where lovers and families daily stroll to enjoy the evening sunset, rises Wallinger’s Sinema Amnesia, spelled out in large letters against the sky. Box-shaped and made of reclaimed rusty metal, it recalls the container ships that ceaselessly pass each day. The front, marked by a traditional cinema sign, announces the title of its film, Ulysses. A simple entrance leads visitors to the dark interior where a film is projected filling the end wall. But no mythological narrative is shown here, as the title might have suggested. Instead, we see exactly the same view across the water towards the Gallipoli Peninsula as we observed outside. Only closer inspection causes an odd perceptual double take: what we see inside is without doubt the same view as outside, but the boats and birds, the sun and sky, waves and water are different to what we have just observed. Gradually we realise that what is showing in Wallinger’s cinema is recorded by a camera trained across the strait to the Gallipoli Peninsula, and presented with a 24-hour time lag. His symbolic cinema is a memory box, presenting a permanent yesterday, a constant reminder of the past, continuously being recreated in concise and subtle form. Sinema Amnesia, like many of Wallinger’s works, is deceptively simple. It speaks about the profound in an almost playful way and distills it into metaphor. This apparently simple gesture, the projection of a time-delayed film of a view across the Dardanelles, reveals on reflection a complex, multifaceted range of allusions. To understand the wealth of Wallinger’s references, it is necessary, before we return to

Sinema for a final analysis, to consider some of his previous works that foreground memory and history. § Thematically, Sinema Amnesia relates particularly closely to Folk Stones, a work made by Wallinger in 2008 for the inaugural Folkestone Triennial in England, and now permanently installed there. Like Çanakkale, this southeastern seaside town played a part during the First World War: it was a geographically natural gateway to continental Europe, and more than a million soldiers embarked from there to France and Belgium. Troops marched along what is now called the Road of Remembrance, down to the harbour, and to the ships that took them across the Channel to the battlefields. Reportedly, gunfire could sometimes be heard across the 22-mile divide. Approaching Folk Stones, the work is barely discernable, so closely does it hug the ground. Individually numbered stones –19,240 of them– are laid out in a 9 by 9 metres square on the Leas, the main marine parade, close to the Road of Remembrance. From here, the coast of France is easily visible on clear days, making the relationship of this work to the two countries even more poignant. Like Sinema Amnesia, Folk Stones is strikingly simple, embracing a vast topic with modest means. This great collection of stones, each displaying a hand-painted number, is reminiscent of Sisyphean labour, something apparently senseless and endless. It is only when we become aware that each of the 19,240 stones stands for a life lost by a British soldier on 1 July 1916, the first day of the Battle of the Somme, that its significance as a memorial becomes apparent. The senselessness of the Somme’s massive carnage is subtly mirrored in the artist’s scrupulously painstaking gesture. The blood and bones of unnamed dead are transposed to a field of stones, their bodies metamorphosed into geological form, their names reduced to numbers, a mute and stoic lament. Absence becomes presence in the act of memory. Although Folk Stones and Sinema Amnesia are formally very different, they are alike in that each eschews the grandiosity of the traditional war memorial, presenting instead a humble and metaphoric reminder of our turbulent past.1 Mark Wallinger was awarded the Turner Prize in 2007 for State Britain, a work that shows his preoccupation with memory as an important tool of protest and moral crusade. The inspiration for this work was Brian Haw’s famous peace camp in London. Haw, a Christian activist, had established his protest on Parliament Square, opposite the Houses of Parliament, since 2001, during which time his protest material against the British government’s actions in Afghanistan and Iraq accumulated into a large wall of shame. In the early hours of 23 May 2006, police cleared

[1] This characteristic was seen to great effect in Wallinger’s famous Ecce Homo of 1999, one of the most celebrated of the Fourth Plinth commissions in London’s Trafalgar Square, a site closely associated with celebration as well as protest. Compared to the monumental statues of generals and war heroes that surround Wallinger’s work, and dwarfed by the square’s imperial architecture, his life-sized figure of Christ, placed on top of a massive 4.5-metre plinth, presents human vulnerability and isolation. Forsaken and betrayed, his Ecce Homo shows Christ as outsider, turning the figure into a political statement, which “talks of a shared humanity, of the oppressed and downtrodden, the persecuted, the vulnerable, the scorned. His palpable isolation speaks of the condition of man. This is ‘The Son of Man’.” Richard Grayson, “A Number of Disappearances,” in Mark Wallinger (Zurich: JRP/ Ringier, 2008), p.18

State Britain, 2007 Mixed-media H 570cm x W 190cm x L 43m approx. Photo: Dave Morgan ÂŠ the artist

MY CITY / ANDREA SCHLIEKER

[2] See Michael Diers, “In the Exclusion Zone of Art. Notes on State Britain by Mark Wallinger,” in Mark Wallinger (Ringier, Zurich) 2008. [3] Zones and borders hold Wallinger’s particular interest. See also his work Zone for the 2007 Münster Sculpture Projects, as well as the exhibition curated by Wallinger, The Russian Linesman, on the theme of borders, staged at the Hayward Gallery in 2009. [4] State Britain was instantly celebrated as a “political still life.” Artforum described it as “one of the most remarkable political works of art ever.” See also Clarrie Wallis, Mark Wallinger. State Britain, (London:Publisher, 2007.) [5] The poem continues: “Bend down and lend your ear, for this silent mound/  Is the place where the heart of a nation sighs. / To the left of this deserted shadeless lane /  The Anatolian slope now observe you well; / For liberty and honour, it is, in pain, / Where wounded Mehmet laid down his life and fell. / This very mound, when violently shook the land, /  When the last bit of earth passed from hand to hand, / And when Mehmet drowned the enemy in flood, / Is the spot where he added his own pure blood. / Think, the consecrated blood and flesh and bone / That make up this mound, is where a whole nation, / After a harsh and pitiless war, alone / Tasted the joy of freedom with elation.” [6] In the Gallipoli campaign, 18 March 1915 to 19 January 1916, French, British, Australian, New Zealand, Indian, and Canadian forces fought against the Turks for control of the Dardanelles. The peninsula is now a national park holding a large number of cemeteries and memorials. Turks remember 18 March 1915 as a great national victory, the day the Allied warships were turned back by the bravery and steadfastness of the Turkish gunners of the Dardanelles forts.

it away under the terms of an Act of Parliament (the Serious Organised Crime Police Act of 2005), specially passed to legitimise the government’s fight against the embarrassment. An exclusion zone with a radius of 1,000 metres around Parliament Square effectively banned demonstrations in the area.2 Invited to make a new work for Tate Britain’s Duveen Gallery in August 2007 at its elegant central spine, Wallinger created State Britain, a faithful replica of Haw’s 40-metre-long protest barrier. Made in close collaboration with its originator, it included simulacra of all the banners, photos, toys and other objects, and ran the long length of the gallery. By reconstructing this notorious peace camp protest within the confines of the Tate, and as it happens, just on the edge of the exclusion zone,3 the artist defied authority and made an eloquent case for the freedom of expression as an essential pillar of democracy. Wallinger ensured that although state authorities had managed to erase most of the protest camp, his State Britain would burn its image into our collective memory. State Britain can therefore be understood as a phoenix-like rebirth of a singular counter-monument to halt forgetting and defy oblivion.4 § By comparison, Sinema Amnesia is less urgent and more poetic, but it is an equally powerful call for reflection and remembrance by making play with the copy or simulacrum. What Wallinger has created here is a retreat, a secluded place for contemplation amongst the hustle and bustle of a busy harbour town. Its position is carefully chosen: the camera’s lens points directly across the strait towards a monumental figure, which has been carved in white on the hillside, a Turkish soldier bearing a rifle. The figure’s arm is outstretched towards the words of a famous patriotic hymn by the Turkish poet, Necmettin Halil Onan: Dur yolcu! Bilmeden gelip bastığın, / Bu toprak, bir devrin battığı yerdir “Stop passerby! / This soil you thus tread unawares / Is where an age sank.5   Those opening lines are famous throughout Turkey. Victory at Gallipoli against the foreign invaders is associated with the birth of a modern secular nation, marking the end of the Ottoman Empire and the beginning of the Turkish Republic. At the same time, Stop passerby demands we consider the “silent mound” of Gallipoli as a solemn reminder of the thousands of lives lost in the fight for Turkey’s freedom.6 Wallinger’s Sinema embodies and mirrors that imperative with great poignancy. His work urges us to pause and reconsider the yesterday that is fading fast behind us – so we can make sense of today and tomorrow. The

collapsing of past and present is also echoed teasingly in the title’s (near) anagrammatic form. In his celebrated novel 1984, George Orwell wrote, “Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past.” It is a favourite quotation of Wallinger’s, and resonates powerfully here. Perhaps not without coincidence, Wallinger has created with Sinema another container for time travel, one related in concept if not in form to his Tardis of 2001, “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.”7 Sinema Amnesia links past, present and future, reminding us that the present is inseparable from the past, and needs to be carried forward into the future; it acts as a metaphorical attempt to stem or reverse the flow of time – represented by the passage of ever-moving ships and boats – confronting us literally with the past, and setting a poignant memento mori. In addition, Wallinger deliberately plays with our perception. The viewer is bamboozled by an image, which seems identical to the view offered outside. The apparent doubling of inside and outside views is reminiscent of René Magritte’s 1938 painting La Condition Humaine, where the landscape seen outside the window is a seamless continuation of the painted landscape on the easel inside, and becomes interchangeable with it. Magritte said about his painting: “We see it as being outside ourselves even though it is only a mental representation of what we experience on the inside.”8 Magritte’s doubling of mental and physical reality is a kind of tautology that suggests an indistinguishable continuum between inside and outside. Wallinger’s cinema sets the scene similarly, deliberately playing with expectation and first impression. Sinema Amnesia appears to have the realism of a camera obscura, yet he tricks the viewer, setting up a trompe l’oeil in the true sense of the word. Only perceptive alertness triggers awareness of the differences, reveals the illusion of today as yesterday, and unravels the work’s meaning. This critical involvement of the viewer as active agent is central to Wallinger’s purpose. § Literary and biblical references have always played an important part in Wallinger’s work – whether to one of his favourite poets, Percy Bysshe Shelley (in Prometheus) and T.S. Eliot (in The Word in the Desert), to the Gospel of St John (in Angel and On an Operating Table), to Psalm 51 (in Threshhold to the Kingdom), or, as in Sinema Amnesia, to James Joyce. Joyce wrote Ulysses over a seven-year period starting in 1914,9 so its genesis was contemporaneous with the Gallipoli campaign of the First World War. The revolutionary and epic novel, a high point of literary modernism, is a vital touchstone for Wallinger’s Sinema Amnesia in several respects. Perhaps most importantly, the novel’s action takes place

[7] This work refers to Dr Who, a well-known British TV science fiction series for children, in which the Tardis – modelled on mid-20th century police boxes – is the portal for the doctor’s extensive time travel adventures. [8] Quoted from Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory (New York: Vintage Books, 1996), p. 12. [9] Ulysses was first published in Paris in 1922, but because of its perceived obscenity (especially in the Nausicaa chapter), copies of the first English edition were burned by the New York post office authorities, and the Folkestone Customs authorities seized the second edition in 1923. The book was banned in the USA until 1933, and in Britain until 1937– see: Ian Ousby (ed.), Cambridge Guide to Literature in English (Cambridge: Publisher, 2000)

MY CITY / ANDREA SCHLIEKER

[10] According to edition of James Joyce, Ulysses (New York Vintage Books, 1961) [11] As Wallinger commented in his notes to Sinema Amnesia, the etymological roots of the word memory (mna; men) means “to think” [12] Inspired by Paul Klee’s drawing Angelus Novus, Benjamin wrote about The Angel of History in 1939, the year before his suicide, following his experience of the two World Wars. “It has turned its face towards the past,” which is “an incessant piling of ruins upon ruins,” but is “inexorably propelled towards the future,” to which it turns its back by a storm blowing from paradise. See Walter Benjamin, On the Concept of History. Ninth Thesis on the Philosophy of History, 1939 [13] Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future: Six Exercises in Political Thought,( New York: Viking Press, 1961) (first published 1954), p. 11 [14] ibid, p. 6

within the exact time frame of 24 hours (16 June 1904 in Dublin) – the same basic time unit that Wallinger has chosen for his film. “A day is the smallest cyclical unit of time available to a storyteller,” Wallinger said, which seems to indicate that he too sees his work in a narrative tradition. For Joyce, the challenge and interest had been to compress a wealth of experience and thought into this unit of time where past, present and future constantly merge. In Wallinger’s work, each daily unit is constantly renewed, ad infinitum, so that in spite of the 24-hour confines it reaches out towards eternity. With Ulysses, Joyce pushed the boundaries of literary conventions to new levels, experimenting with form and structure, but especially with language, through the novel’s pioneering use of stream of consciousness. Molly Bloom’s famous 45-page10 tour de force soliloquy (without punctuation), which ends the novel, is its breathtaking climax, but Joyce’s inventive use of language throughout can be seen as an attempt to represent the slippery essence of memory and thought itself, conscious or subconscious.11 This is another reason why Joyce’s novel is not only an appropriate and fitting simile for Wallinger’s undertaking, but their compatibility makes it an astute choice as central, eponymous “player” for his cinema. Finally, Ulysses’s complex internal structure and references provide a potent link here. As the title indicates, each of Ulysses’s chapters, albeit obliquely, corresponds and alludes to events in Homer’s Odyssey, as do their characters – famously Leopold Bloom representing Odysseus, and his wife Molly, Penelope. This parallelism of ancient and modern times, together with Ulysses’s particular time frame and representation of memory, provided Wallinger with a fitting paradigm for Sinema Amnesia. The fact that Joyce’s novel moves from extreme realism, with minute descriptions of a lived day’s mundane actions to expressionistic flights of fantasy might also have appealed to Wallinger, whose work mingles fact and fiction and elicits the profound from the everyday. Similar to Walter Benjamin’s The Angel of History,12 whose face is famously turned “towards the past,” Wallinger wants us to look back. But unlike Benjamin’s, Wallinger’s gesture is not informed by despair, but by hope. Like a mirror, Sinema Amnesia keeps throwing the question of time and memory back to the viewer, making it an elegiac source of insight and humanity. The necessity of looking back for our own meaningful prospect is beautifully summed up by Hannah Arendt (Benjamin’s sister-in-law) in Between Past and Future: “…without the articulation accomplished by remembrance, there simply was no story left that could be told.13 … Only because man is inserted into time, and only to the extent that he stands his ground, does the flow of indifferent time break up into tense…”14

Folk Stones, stones, paint, sand, cement, core-ten steal, 9x9 m., commissioned for Folkestone Triennial 2008. Photo: Thierry Bal

INTERVIEW Ülgür Gökhan Çanakkale Mayor

What do you think is the significance of the My City project for Çanakkale? How do you evaluate the whole process as the mayor? Çanakkale is familiar with these kinds of city projects and European Union projects. Still, this one was a rather novel project in the field of contemporary arts, even for Turkey. In the light of all this, how do you evaluate the project? First of all, this project is tremendously important in terms of placing Çanakkale on the map of the European cities of culture. The fact that Çanakkale was chosen as one of the five cities of the European Commission’s Cultural Bridges programme is very important for the promotion of the city. Arts and culture are highly significant in the process of Turkey’s accession to the European Union. With this project, Turkey’s arts and culture scene will be further emphasised. I think it is very important that the selection of Çanakkale for this project will put it on the map of Europe’s cities of culture. It is not only that artists have visited Çanakkale, but also that all this will reflect the perceptions of the people of Çanakkale towards arts and culture. The project itself is an interesting experiment. That is to say, it is not something that ordinary citizens can immediately understand. It is not a traditional arts activity. But it is better that it is different. It is still being viewed with great interest despite all the criticisms. And I also believe that it brought a different perspective, a different understanding of arts, and I think this was beneficial. There will be those who like it and those who do not, as would be the case anywhere else. Yet, overall the project has received acceptance. Of course, being accepted and being liked are different things. Does the municipality in Çanakkale have any criteria for arts projects in what we call public spaces? Like in many other areas, in this one as well, we seek participatory decision making. I do not make decisions on my own as the mayor, nor do we make decisions at the level of municipality on our own. We make most of the decisions in consultation with the non-governmental organisations and the civil initiatives in the city. For instance, this year we held a workshop on sculpture, which was a first for Çanakkale. We

are yet to make final decisions where the sculptures will be erected, but we do not want to make these decisions solely according to our own preferences. The sculptor Mehmet Aksoy happens to be coming to our city for an artistic event. We will ask for his help and his suggestions on where to place the sculptures. He will examine our sculptures and make suggestions on where to place the ones he approves of. This way we will be able to include the perspective of an artist who is very successful in his field. To put it differently, we are carrying out our arts projects in public spaces with a participatory understanding that values the artists and different forms of experiences. Public perception of arts projects or the public’s wide participation in their creation is essential for us. Of course, we have certain values and artworks should be in conformity with these values: Artworks should embrace a modern understanding, they should not signify a certain form of conservatism, and they should not promote military interventionism. Aside from these values, we have no other limitations in the exhibition and perception of any kind of art works in the public space, neither in terms of the artist nor the work itself. Aside from the example of the work on sculptures, are these kinds of activities new in Çanakkale or do they have a tradition? They do. We have been following this understanding for a long time. For instance, there had been an ongoing series of events and activities under the title Çanakkale 2010. Throughout the year, artists from various disciplines came to our city. Each month a new topic was discussed. We have completed the second Çanakkale Modern Art Biennale. We have accomplished all this in consultation with others, through participation and by finding the shared wisdom. We have even included the children in the process. They saw the works in the Biennale and afterwards they drew pictures about their impressions. Not only pictures, and they also made objects. We have exhibited these as well. We are even thinking whether we can hold a children’s biennale. According to our understanding, the entirety of Çanakkale is a public space. In this public space, urbanites can engage in all kinds of arts activities and events, exempting only some understandings and attitudes.

MY CITY / ÜLGÜR GÖKHAN

Perhaps you have heard about the Şeffaf Beygir (Transparent Horse) Film Festival. That was a festival organised as a reaction to another film festival. Suddenly there were rumours that some people were organising a Troya (Troy) Film Festival in Çanakkale. The latter festival was being organised in a disconnected manner from the city, its inhabitants, disconnected from us, from Çanakkale… As a reaction to this, our local friends active in non-governmental organisations of the city have organised the city’s own film festival. How? The films were shown in the neighbourhoods in these nostalgic open-air movie theatres of the old times. A big screen, one projector and chairs were put together for these open-air theatres. This was how we organised the film festival. These kinds of reactionary activities are taking place in Çanakkale. That is to say, if you dare to exclude the civil society in this city, they immediately show reaction. No concessions in participation. Even if some of the artworks are ephemeral performances, they nevertheless attract criticism and they attract opposition. Opposition is not just expressed by protest walks on the streets. This festival serves this aim. The aim is to help children to learn to express their reactions and responses. There are deficiencies in the ways in which the public is exposed to arts. We are working so that the people will have demands, especially the children will have demands. As you have mentioned, Mark’s work was a bit out of the ordinary. Our rudimentary observations also gave us some ideas about its perception. Do you think this has shown you that in the future similar kinds of works could still be done or more legible works would be more attractive? No, we put no such conditions. Actually, personally I would rather see more novel and different art activities that transcend the traditional. For instance, soon we will have a festival of polyphonic choruses in Çanakkale. Some of these choruses will perform in the public spaces. Children will also be involved. There will be children’s choruses among them. This festival will take place on the streets of the city. This is something new. Now think of it this way. If you say “polyphonic chorus” to the inhabitants of this city, they would normally ask, “What is that?” We have to show them that polyphonic choruses are also part of arts. Was Mark’s work promoted through excursions or similar activities? This relation could not be established. I am not saying this to blame anyone but we could not fully engage with it either. We remained as an institution merely issuing permits, contributing to it, and finding solutions to problems that arose. They informed us that we were

“chosen” and “this is your artist.” The artist came and talked about his performance, but sincerely I could not initially imagine what it was going to be like. But when the performance was put on exhibition, we understood what it was about and what it was trying to say. I actually quite liked it. There is this intense traffic flowing through the Dardanelles, and along with it, of course, life is flowing. It was like this, yesterday, and today will be the same. This is actually a philosophical take on life. Perhaps this could form a model for the next event. We all need mediators in the face of works that we are not accustomed to. For instance, arrangements could be made to take the school children to see the work. In this sense, the city could have owned the work in different ways. If educators and educational institutions were involved from the beginning, this could have been possible. These kinds of things could have been planned as part of the process. For instance, if we had heard what you are now saying before the work was put on exhibition, we could have made arrangements with the schools. We made such arrangements for the Biennale and the sculpture workshop. All the primary school students were taken to the various exhibitions of the Biennale. The students in the Faculty of Fine Arts of the University found the chance to watch the live performances of the artists during the sculpture workshop. There were people asking, “What is this?” in reaction to Mark’s work. Some even said, “This may be dangerous, it can be used by drug abusers.” The most important complaint was that it formed a barrier on the promenade. But on the other hand, any reaction is a positive one. It means it attracts attention. 28 December 2010 TR-ENG by B.K.

INTERVIEW İsmail Erten Architect, Member of the Çanakkale Civil Initiative

Would you introduce yourself? My name is İsmail Erten. I am a self-employed architect and a member of the Çanakkale Civil Initiative. The Çanakkale Civil Initiative is a local association with a non-corporate structure, focusing on local awareness and active citizenship. It is a civil activist organisation, operating out of the Yalıhan Centre since 1995. Apart from this, I have various other identities. For instance, I am the Executive Board Coordinator of Çanakkale 2010 Culture Initiative. What kind of a relationship did you have with My City? It was quite a flexible relationship. When Çanakkale was chosen to be one of the five cities, I joined the project independently, not on behalf of any non-governmental organisation, any institution, the municipality nor the university. I gave support to the project as an individual and as a resident of Çanakkale. The project has three partners in the city: the municipality, the university and the mayor’s office. Because it was about contemporary art and that it coincided with the Çanakkale 2010 Culture Initiative, the project interested me personally. All of a sudden, I found myself in the project as an independent civilian. How do you describe your position? My involvement in the project has simply been to facilitate and give logistic support. For logistics, I had been in contact numerous times with Osman Kavala and Esra Sarıgedik. Since I am an architect and have an office here, I opened it up to the use of the artist, Mark, when he came to the city. Mark worked in my office for two days. We uploaded all the work and photos to my computer, we defined the coordinates and decided on the location of the cinema through the pictures. The next day, the team installing the projection came to the office, and we gave them the coordinates for them to make the on-site application.

83 As a person who is active in contemporary art and culture in Çanakkale, how do you think the project fits in with Çanakkale, and how do you evaluate the project within the cultural structure of Çanakkale? First, I have to say that this is a project that has a very unique method and methodology with global partnerships and local relationships. On the other hand, the content of the project itself is very interesting. It is based on international mutual dialogue. It is very important for a qualified and famous artist that lives in Europe to come to Turkey and produce a work. In addition, the project builds dialogue through taking young artists from Turkey to European cities. First, the methodology of the project is very interesting. Second, it builds on international partnerships based on mutual exchange and dialogue through art. Third, it is very important for Çanakkale’s name to be heard in the art world on an international scale, its name to be included into the world atlas of art, through an association with such an international project. Around thirty press members came to Çanakkale for the opening. Whatever we do, it is almost impossible to bring the international press here. The city was introduced to the international art world, as well as the media. Another unique feature of the project is that it actually applies contemporary art, an increasingly popular subject in the world agenda, to a city. For instance, you can make a marble artwork, a bronze sculpture, or open a painting exhibition. These are familiar and fairly easy practices of art. Yet, contemporary art is not that accessible. Mark is a renowned and important name among the world’s contemporary artists. The fact that a contemporary artwork is being made by an international artist in a specific city contributes a great deal in the introduction and perception of contemporary art in that city, and it definitely did so in Çanakkale. This is my evaluation of the project in general. When we examine the project in its local context, more questions come up as to whether it was beneficial for locals to put an artwork in the middle of the waterfront, the city’s busiest public space. The work was put in a space where people walk during working hours or when the weather is nice. It was seen as an obstacle for people. They had put an “unknown object” on the waterfront where it was supposed to be the public’s walking and leisure space. My friends in the Çanakkale Municipality said that it received fairly negative reactions because of this. The local residents were asking, “Why have they put an object that obstructs our walking pathway?” They would say, “What kind of a cinema is this?” I, on the other hand, think that this seemingly negative situation actually brings a great potential with it. This is exactly where contemporary art should be, where people interact, in the streets, in public squares or in places of settlement. Isn’t this one of the dimensions of contemporary art? People should encounter contemporary art in these spaces of interaction as opposed to concert halls or exhibition halls with

MY CITY / İSMAİL ERTEN

special lighting. In that sense, I think that what was a negative reaction at first actually could work as an opportunity. In addition, contemporary art is not a form of art you can grasp easily. That’s why a great number of brochures about the artwork and the artist were handed out at the site. Therefore I always thought it was an opportunity for the artwork to be in that location. For an artwork that is already difficult to be explained or grasped, it is an achievement to receive reaction even if it is a negative one, even if people are annoyed by it when walking past it. I perceive all of these negative reactions as very crucial for contemporary art. It will never be forgotten. Even if we move the piece to another place, people will remember it. The week after the work was launched was incredible. I have a couple of anecdotes about that. For instance, one day a friend of mine called and said, “You are definitely involved in this.” So I said, “In what?” He said, “They put a piece of rubbish in the waterfront. What is it?” So I asked, “Where did you hear about that?” It turns out a friend of him was passing by and saw this thing, and then called him to tell him about it. He then went there to see it for himself. He didn’t understand what it was, so he called me to get more information about it. So I forwarded him all of the related emails. When we talked two days later, he had read most of the emails and everything made more sense. Things like that happened. I was really impressed that someone had seen the work, had told him about it, and he quickly had gone there to see it for himself, even calling me afterwards to get more information about it. 28 December 2010 TR-ENG by Z.Z.

Public sculpture in Çanakkale, 2010. Photo: Özge Açıkkol

INTERVIEW Umut Söğüt My City Çanakkale Project Coordinator

Would you talk about yourself? I am a sea captain. We have a family business in Çanakkale. We do hardware, electrical wiring, painting, and façade systems. When I have time from school and I’m not out in the sea, I work on my business and participate in events for personal development. Last year, there was the Çanakkale Biennial. In the biennial, I had the chance to work with artist/ curator Seyhan Boztepe. It was good for the artists’ works to be exhibited in our city. I met the My City team through Seyhan Boztepe, an assistant professor at Çanakkale Onsekiz Mart University (ÇOMU). I assisted in the preproduction of the My City project. Then in the following stages, I was the coordinator in Çanakkale. In our family business, we already do restoration, construction, publicity, organisation and coordination. My City project was in my area of interest. I think of maritime not as an end but as a means. Being involved in national and international projects in our progressing city is good for widening my horizons for future personal projects. I am only 23 years old. But when I look back, I see that I have achieved certain things in Çanakkale. I hope that this continues. When I met the My City team for the first time, there was need for electricity because the electrical switchboard was still not installed. With such things, local solutions are usually easier. Most of the companies that come here are suppliers. It is more difficult for them to get the materials they need; they would need to bring them from İstanbul. I can get the material quickly. We shouldn’t compare our city to İstanbul. Çanakkale is both a difficult and an easy city. For example, if you need something at eight o’clock at night, you can’t find an open store in Çanakkale. But since I work in the hardware business, I have contacts that I can ask a favour from. We used our contacts for things we couldn’t provide; we asked our friends to help us. Even if it was eight o’clock at night, they’d open their shops to us. We even found a mover at nine o’clock at night. During this time I was both the local coordinator of the My City team and provided technical support to the companies that were in charge of production. The production was supposed to last for about ten days, but then we had some problems with authorisations, and it went on for 13 days. On the opening day, Yeşim flew here. I was watching the artists and the guests

One of the first sketches of Sinema Amnesia by Mark Wallinger.

walking on the sea front. They passed by the Trojan Horse, just as I was hanging the Ulysses writing. I was cleaning our footprints off the floor, and at the same time counting down, “We have three minutes left… Two minutes left,” as if we were going on air on TV. There were a hundred metres between us and the guests just as we finished the last touches of the installation, and I had the workers quickly come down off the ladder. Another thing I remember during the production process was the public reaction. This concept of “contemporary art” is new for our culture. It is a term that is not in our dictionaries yet. We don’t know what it means and what its purpose is; we’re only learning about it now. I am also just learning about it, thanks to these projects. The first example was the Çanakkale Biennial. Because I’m a sailor, I often travel abroad. For example, I had seen contemporary artworks in squares in Amsterdam. There are pieces that someone calls art. We think that they probably have a very deep meaning, but we don’t really understand them. In Turkey, we are only recently seeing this in the past three or four years… Sinema Amnesia is a good development for Çanakkale in this sense. We came across the same questions in the Biennial. In the Sinema Amnesia project, people were also asking, “What is this?” or “What are you doing here?” We tried to explain to each and everyone that we’re going to record the image of the strait, and then show the recording with a one-day delay. Then they said, “But what is the point? I see it already here, why would I want to see yesterday’s image again?” Until the project was actually launched, we came across with many of these questions. Then we received a brochure with the artist’s statement and the purpose of the cinema. They were distributed to the public. But the public was so curious that, although we had a police line around the building, they would just walk right in and say, “I wanted to ask something,” and we had to answer

MY CITY / UMUT SÖĞÜT

people’s questions all the time. At the end, the opening was very good and attendance from the public was high. Because of the three-day delay we had during the production, we were really pressed for time. Until one day before the opening, we didn’t even have the space for the recording of the camera. The camera room was not constructed. I had to help the technical crew to install the camera quickly, because Mark wanted to see how it looked before the exhibition opened. The artist is the most important person in this process; he has to be satisfied with the work. Can you imagine if the piece was not finished? He would have been very upset and it would have been bad for everyone. The whole team put in really hard work. We were really tired at the end but when we saw that the artist was really pleased at the opening, it was all worth it. You were very involved with the project. What were some of the reactions from the outside that you observed?

Sinema Amnesia, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

I had already seen these kinds of projects abroad, better ones or worse ones. I think that an increase in these projects–how should I put it–an increase in contemporary art projects is a first step in getting closer to the European Union. The EU projects are beneficial for us. An artist bringing his/her work here has both material and immaterial benefits. For example, there is a specific budget for the project, and this is financially beneficial for Turkey. In every stage of the project, there are local people working to produce or local businesses selling materials. There are other benefits as well. For example, just as a foreign artist brought his work here, Turkish artists had the chance to exhibit their works abroad. These are good developments for Çanakkale. There should be other projects like these, and perhaps because of this project, we’ll have bigger organisations in the future. Still it is normal for people to have these reactions, because imagine someone is building a barricade on the road where you pass by everyday. A period of time has to pass for people to get used to what they’re seeing. Çanakkale’s population is 100,000, and 80,000 of these people pass by the waterfront. There is a coffee shop close to the project site, and it is the most frequented place in Çanakkale. People meet in two spots in Çanakkale: next to the golf course (“Where are you?”, “Next to the golf course”) or, “Let’s meet at Şakir’s place.” The third meeting point is by the Trojan Horse. But that is an ambiguous place: “by the horse,” it’s not like a café. I hear people say, “Let’s meet by the golf.” Now I sometimes hear people say, “Let’s meet by that pile of rubbish.” You know what I mean? But still some people say, “Look, they’ve actually thought of something, and spent some money here, so they must know something.” I’m not surprised by this. Because when you say “artist” in our culture,

Sinema Amnesia, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

MY CITY / UMUT SÖĞÜT

what do people think of? Let’s go and say to a hundred people here, “An artist is coming to Çanakkale.” They will say, “Which singer?” Not that this is very bad, but we need to see it as something to overcome. I definitely liked the project, but there are some parts of it that I don’t find very necessary. Where is the project? In Çanakkale? About what? About amnesia? We have a history we shouldn’t forget. This is a good location; however, the presentation is very important. The place has to be attractive, the project could have reflected Çanakkale symbolically. Anyways, the reaction of the people isn’t “Why are you showing us yesterday?” Their reaction is “Why this pile of iron?” At the end of the day, this is the artist’s design. Perhaps he wanted to make it look like it had just been taken out of the sea and left there. Let me give the example of the Trojan Horse. Çanakkale may not have accepted a Trojan Horse made out of steel. They brought the original Trojan Horse from the film. Why? Because when we say the Trojan Horse, people have a certain image, a wooden horse. Maybe in the future I’ll remember the project as something I fell in love with. I feel sympathetic towards it because I’ve been involved with it since the beginning, I’ve gotten cold there, and I’ve gotten tired there. So it has more meaning for me. What kind of effect did the project’s name have? Few people know or understand the meaning of Sinema Amnesia, or Ulysses. For example, let’s ask people here about Troy, everyone will say, “It’s a great place.” But I doubt that many of them will know names from the history of Troy. “Cinema is great, let’s go to the cinema;” that’s as much as people understand. Nobody knows the meaning of the word “amnesia.” It’s in the brochure, yes, but we only learned about it after reading it in the brochure. I was happy with the project. Also it was great to work with the My City team. I have good memories of all the people I have worked with throughout the whole project. 28 December 2010 TR-ENG by Z.Z.

Sinema Amnesia, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

INTERVIEW Seyhan Boztepe Co-founder and Director of the Çanakkale Biennial

Can you please introduce yourself? I am an academic at Çanakkale University. I work in the field of contemporary arts. I am also engaged in graphic design, working for museums. I served as the curator and co-curator of various international contemporary arts exhibitions in different cities and countries. I am one of the founders and the director of the Çanakkale Biennial. I continue to work in this field, mostly in Çanakkale. Can you tell us about My City project in Çanakkale? When I heard about this project, it was already at the implementation stage. For reasons that I learned later, Çanakkale was chosen as one of the cities for this project run by the British Council. I personally think that the inclusion of Çanakkale in this project is very important. I see this as a proof that the projects we have been undertaking for a long time in Çanakkale have, in a sense, rendered the city visible in the contemporary arts scene. This is all the more so as contemporary arts activities in Çanakkale are widely discussed recently in national and international circles. In this sense, Çanakkale has come to be known for this kind of commotion, and the city’s new identity attracts people planning new contemporary arts projects. What was the contemporary arts scene like before 2007? The Faculty of Fine Arts at Çanakkale University was founded in 1999. There were various exhibitions before 1999. But after this date, what we can call a “period of exhibitions” has gained a serious momentum. Of course, this fervour does not solely revolve around contemporary arts. On the contrary, there were not many contemporary arts activities until the beginning of the 2000s. The meeting of the city and contemporary arts, and their introduction to one another, took place after 2000. The contemporary arts scene gained continuity only after 2003 and 2004. What had begun with the festivals instigated a demand that helped the creation of a sustainable contemporary arts scene. At that time we had

begun to organise contemporary arts exhibitions in Çanakkale on a voluntary basis. Later in 2006, Denizhan Özer and I organised the exhibition Geçmis Zaman Düşleri (The Dreams of the Past). This exhibition in a way provided the initial impetus for the Çanakkale Biennale. Following this, the 2007 Sınır Çizgisi (Border Line) exhibition opened the way for the first Çanakkale Biennale in 2008. These works proved to everyone that such large-scale international exhibitions were going to continue. When we had begun, there was some resistance in the city against these foreign-looking, new kinds of activities, but gradually we managed to generate support. Different actors in the city who could potentially support us began to perceive us differently. They began to see contemporary arts as an acceptable, positive, and useful activity for the city. This perception was solidified with the 2010 Çanakkale Biennale. Especially with the participatory workshops, we began to make people understand that contemporary arts, with its production and exhibition practices, enable ordinary people to participate in artistic processes. We were very happy to learn that all of this had led to Çanakkale being included into and My City project. In fact, with the foundation of the Fine Arts department, there is an essential increase in the art works in the city. Academics and academic artists have started to organise exhibitions. This consistent increase helped the establishment of a higher standard for arts. Artistic production and activities have begun to transform into something new. This new standard that we have managed to set generated a new demand with higher expectations. There was increasing demand for all forms of art, not just for contemporary arts. Artistic activities we have organised were mostly large-scale contemporary arts projects, which eventually led to the perception that we were more focused on contemporary arts. Retrospectively, I can see that we were being perceived as a voluntary team willing to meet the demand of different forms of arts such as dance performances, film screenings or concerts. What kinds of spaces have been used for contemporary arts in the city since 1999? There was not –and there still is not– a permanent art gallery or exhibition space in Çanakkale. Naturally, we had to find alternative spaces. We have used the old Armenian Church, which is no longer in use, the marina, the streets, the old tobacco depot, empty store spaces and walls. That is to say, we have tried to make use of all kinds of different alternative spaces. We are currently working on the problem of creating a permanent space for artistic production and we are resolved to create such a space. I can say that we will soon have a space for regular exhibitions. We are turning into a settled, institutionalised arts organisation. Formerly we were working from project to project and were using alternative spaces, and hence we did not have this problem. Meanwhile, I should mention that as a permanent space, there is

MY CITY / SEYHAN BOZTEPE

the State Fine Arts Gallery that can partially meet the need. It is an old house with small rooms. It was not built as a gallery. There is also the gallery recently opened by the Marine Museum. It is a large, spacious space. There are no other spaces. There are many studios that belong to individual artists. These spaces are mostly for private use. But from time to time, different artists open some of them for joint public use. These kinds of spaces are used for very different artistic productions from painting to sculpture or ceramics. They are rarely used for exhibitions, except for a few individual occasions. We can say that the artistic production is rather low in relation to the number of the existing individual artists’ studios. They are mostly used as social gathering spaces. The small size of the city, the laxity of everyday lives similar to holidays, and the constraints in financial resources are, I think, among some of the reasons that have an impact on low motivation for artistic production. Yet, there are individuals who have been seriously working, thinking and producing new ideas about the identity and the future of the city for quite a long time. This group, if adequately convinced, can successfully be mobilised for supporting the volunteers who want to do novel things in a new field of production. Despite the fact that the population of Çanakkale is low, it is officially a city. This has its advantages. Moreover, the vision of the local government is a great opportunity. For such a small city of only 100,000 people, we have a local government with foresight and vision. Also the level of education of the residents of Çanakkale is quite promising for supporting contemporary arts and creating a potential future for it in the city. When we put all these different factors together, we can say that we have come a long way in the field of contemporary arts. Exceeding even our own expectations, we have arrived at a point at which very specific discussions on contemporary arts are being carried out in meetings, panel discussions and seminars. While all this was taking place in the city in terms of artistic production and the ways in which the city residents were engaging in arts, Çanakkale was named one of the cities in this project by the British Council. We learned that Mark Wallinger came here. We have followed his arrival and his work indirectly. He came here and visited different spaces. Meanwhile, we were continuing to work towards promoting contemporary arts in the city. I should say that if the My City project could have been articulated into the existing endeavour in a better way, its contribution and positive impact could have expanded. Also the problems that arose in the implementation of Sinema Amnesia could have been minimised, and things could have been easier. What are these problems that you are talking about? So far I have mentioned some of them. Artistic production should be able to engage the masses, enable them to relate to the artistic work, and contribute to the artistic spirit in the city and the credibility of arts. Moreover they

should add to the perception that artistic productions offer a positive contribution to the city. I have heard very few positive critiques about Mark’s work from the people who are not directly related to arts. How important is this? It is not something that I take too seriously. Formerly, I used to take the reaction of the masses towards contemporary artistic productions and conceptual art more seriously. Nevertheless, I have now come to realise that when you are trying to do certain activities in a city with such a low population, one of the most important factors that enables these activities is the demand by the consumers of arts. I believe that the dominant perception among people who pass by that area is this: “If something is going to count as art it should make a place more beautiful. It should embellish it. Art works must have an aesthetic value. For instance, like an aesthetic sculpture that people can say it fits this place.” Since this is the dominant perspective towards arts, the work that is presented in Çanakkale creates the opposite reaction. I think different formulations could have been developed that could have connected the city residents and the artistic work in better ways. What I think is that this project attracted both positive and negative criticisms, including from the people who are directly engaged with arts, and overall it has produced a neutral reaction from the city. Perhaps this is not a decision but an impulsive reaction. Mark Wallinger is an important artist. Merely the fact that he produced an artistic work in this city is tremendously positive for the city. Because of the above-mentioned impulsive reaction, the city could not fully perceive this as an opportunity. Without a doubt, Çanakkale will benefit when its name is mentioned in international publications in different parts of the world because of this work. This is an important project that has made serious contributions to the city. Yet, there could be a better communication between the partners. I would like to add that I would be willing to share my experiences as a person who has been working here for years and who has a good grasp of these relations, reactions and the impulses that I have talked about. These relations and connections would have greatly benefited the project. It will be suitable to conclude by saying that My City project is, without a doubt, one of the valued artistic projects in Çanakkale’s cultural scene. 28 December 2010 TR-ENG by B.K.

İSTANBUL

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Panorama: The Right of View Andreas Fogarasi Artist of the project in İstanbul

How did you interpret/view İstanbul, the city that you were assigned? What did you think when you first visited, and how did your observations get deeper in time? İstanbul is many cities at once, consisting of very different urban structures and ways of life. This complexity asks for an artistic intervention that is similarly complex and multifaceted, getting inspirations from the past, the present and the future of the city. For me, there are three equally important layers both in the urban/social structure and in the “surface” of the city. First, the historic monuments, places of wisdom and splendour, as well as the tourist sights. Second, the informal settlements that were the basis of the city’s urbanisation in the last decades. And third, there is a strong tendency among those who can afford it, to overdesign every aspect of their lives, their apartments, restaurants, bars or shops, a certain kind of İstanbul cool that tries to counterbalance the chaos of urban life. I felt that these three layers had to be equally acknowledged in the work, in its topics, in its positioning in the city and in its material quality. How did İstanbul inspire you for your work? İstanbul is a panoramic city. Its topography allows a multitude of views onto the city, the Bosphorus, the Golden Horn or the Marmara Sea. These views often come by surprise – between buildings, through small windows or from stairways. The privilege of having a view is a factor that structures the city socially and architectonically. The panorama is an invention of the early 19th century, a pre-cinematographic attraction that allowed people to make imaginary travels to distant places. İstanbul has been a very popular motif of these early panoramas. Many artists came to the city to paint or later to photograph it, and these city views very often take the form of the panorama. The silhouette of the city, especially that of the historical peninsula has become a tourist icon, turned into a logo that you see everywhere, on buses, flyers, restaurant walls or chocolate boxes. With the enormous growth of the city over the last decades, these touristic representations are further from the reality of this city than ever before. All this led to the idea to take up the old-fashioned, centralising

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Panorama (The Right of View), 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

and confining form of the panorama and break it up by a fragmented, personal, yet highly political view onto the city. The goal was to create a place that does not explain the city, (which is not My City, maybe nobody’s city really), but to use this situation as an outsider to pose questions and to create a physical space that blocks the view onto the city and makes you think about the way you experience the city, both as an İstanbulite and as a tourist. A lot of research and knowledge went into the project; for example, over the time I have made and collected thousands of photographs, together with texts, statistics, maps and other bits of information. In the end, I transformed all these into a text, or actually fragments of text. Some of them are descriptions of images, object or events, some of them are a poetic questioning of certain ideas about the city. The texts are somehow documentary but never really didactic; sometimes they keep information from the reader, for example, by concealing the actual places they are describing, so that some of the texts are a kind of guessing game about İstanbul. Can you tell a bit more about the research you did? I felt very lucky because there is a lot of research and writing about İstanbul. Many people, both from İstanbul and from abroad, have given this city a lot of thought and have made precise observations of the

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MY CITY / ANDREAS FOGARASI

changes the city is going through. In the last years, many books have been published, such as Self Service City, edited by Orhan Esen and Stefan Lanz (2005), or more recently a series of publications by Garanti Gallery: Becoming İstanbul, a kind of encyclopaedia about the city, collecting writings about different topics by more than 80 authors, Mapping İstanbul and Tracing İstanbul ( from the air) that try to communicate the multilayered complexity of the city by empirical study and maps and by aerial images respectively. Finally, recently a couple of architectural magazines have also devoted single issues to the city such as AD and Arch+. So in a way I could make use of this material that supplied me with knowledge that I would have researched otherwise on my own. While this meant already an important step into getting to know the city, it also embedded my work into a critical discourse that is already taking place, so I don’t feel like bringing topics from the outside but participating and visualising something that is in the air, in the universities and on the bookshelves already, and in a way also creating another kind of visibility for it. What then followed were many discussions and informal interviews with researchers, activists, architects, artists and local residents, field trips into the different corners of the city and just a lot of walking and observing. Despite all this interaction, my work is not really participatory though; I am more a quiet observer. How did you decide on the venues where your work will be placed? The four sites originally planned for the project are very different in terms of their relationship to the view. The first one, on the tip of the shoreline in Kadıköy on the Asian side of the city, is a more quiet and leisurely spot, where people go for a walk, a picnic, to meet friends and to watch the sea and the lights of the city across the Bosphorus. The next one, in front of Kanyon shopping centre in Maslak, for which we finally did not get a permission, would have been very interesting as the high-rise office and apartment towers surrounding it have a very special relationship to the view that they are constructing and constructed for. The view becomes abstract and commodified, the panorama would have functioned like a dysfunctional sales brochure. Finally, Eminönü, next to the Galata Bridge and the Spice Bazaar is an important spot, frequented by tourists and local residents alike, but “invisible” to the Beyoğlu and Şişli elites. However, it is great to be across Galata and to have the skyline of the historical peninsula just behind the panorama, too close to really see it. Here it will be set right into a dominant, iconic view of the city.

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Is there a significant difference between your first impression of the city and now? İstanbul is very surprising and it takes a long time to start to grasp its many identities. As an artist only visiting a city for a limited time, there can never be a full understanding, but in the case of İstanbul, I think it is impossible to fully understand it anyway, most of the locals use a very narrow segment of what the city has to offer, and as an outsider, it is sometimes easier to move between these different worlds. But over the course of my visits, the surprises never stopped, while at the same time it was a great pleasure how slowly the bits and pieces came together and formed a more complete image of İstanbul. What do you think will the locals feel when they see/touch your work? And what does it mean as an artist to be invited to a city not just to stay but to produce a work for it, and not for a private space such as a gallery but for the public space of that city? That is always a difficult question. In public space, so many different reactions are possible. In general, there is always a part of the understanding of a work that you can control and a larger part which you cannot control. This is the same in a museum as in public space; you make an offer and people accept it or not, or make something very different out of it. It was important that the work should offer many different ways to interact with it, walking around, sitting on the wooden platform underneath, climbing the stairs and either reading the texts or just looking through the few windows that frame the view onto the city. And that city, the surroundings are always part of the work. The result is many things at once: it is a sculpture, a piece of architecture, a landmark, a travelling attraction, a display structure, a book. Installing a large object of such undetermined status in public space is a very powerful gesture and a certain estrangement that comes with it also reflects the complexities and tensions that constitute such a project. I always feel a great deal of responsibility in my work, it is hard to define that responsibility though. As the work is to a certain extent documentary, I feel a need for accuracy, while at the same time I still want to allow productive misunderstandings and leave some ends open. So the goal is to create a kind of balance that takes the work, the city and the viewers seriously. I think the local audience will be able to relate to many of the texts, while others will seem strange to them or simply wrong. I hope it encourages people to think critically about the city in general, while the work also offers an aesthetic pleasure.

MY CITY / ANDREAS FOGARASI

Are you pointing at an issue with your work? As the title suggests, the work is about The Right of View, about the view in İstanbul and about how the struggle for a view is a political struggle for access to the city just as it is an aesthetic struggle for beauty. The view is a public good, just as beauty or fresh air. These things should not be a commodity; they should be enjoyed by all. The ongoing conflicts between real estate market and local residents are one of the issues underlying the work. Others are the history of the view in the city and onto the city, from within and from the outside. Finally, as the piece is positioned in public space, it also challenges notions of what public space means, how it is used and by whom, and who has the right to the city, who controls the developments and the lives of people. These are questions concerning every city, and İstanbul can be an example to think about these things. So my intervention should allow to get to a new understanding of İstanbul but also to think about the city in more general terms. Revision of the interview from September 2010

105 Panorama (The Right of View), 2010. Photo: Andreas Fogarasi

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İstanbul Panorama in Black and White Silvia Eiblmayr Curator, Nominator for the My City Project

“I experienced the İstanbul of my childhood as a black-and-white photograph, a two coloured, dim, leadengrey place, and like that it has remained in my memory till this day. This also arises from the fact that I preferred to stay at home, although the museal character of our dusky flat could make you feel melancholy.” Orhan Pamuk*

*Orhan Pamuk, İstanbul: Erinnerungen an eine Stadt [İstanbul: Memories of a City], Munich: Carl Hanser, Verlag, 2006, p. 46 [1] Bernard Comment, Das Panorama. Die Geschichte einer vergessenen Kunst [The Story of a Lost Art], (Berlin:Nicolaische Verlagsbuchhandlung, 2000) English edition: Bernard Comment, The Panorama, (London: Reaktion Books, 1999)

With Panorama (The Right of View), an installation within İstanbul’s public space, Andreas Fogarasi created a walkable watchtower and a vision machine at the same time that does, however, surprise the audience by its paradoxical dialectic: Especially by accentuating the look (out) with the parenthesised add-on title, Fogarasi uses for his work the model of a popular historical vision machine, the panorama, yet he denies its viewer the visual presentation by which the panorama is plainly defined. While at the historical panorama, designed at the end of the 18th century1 , the viewer is situated in the centre of a cylindrical circle that in a 360-degree turnaround offers one the illusion of being surrounded by a picture (of a city, a landscape and often a battle); with Fogarasi’s Panorama, writing takes the place of image. What the artist offers the viewers to see, are endless texts, arranged in a strictly structured, self-written form, with which he directly refers to the city of İstanbul. These texts deal with scenic and conceptual matters, with issues, actions and ideas, along with actual and historical subjects, texts that the viewer has to read and transport himself into, in order to transfer them into his/her own ideas and images. At the same time, this panorama includes–though in rather fragmentary form–sights of the city, yet not painted or photographed ones, but direct outward views which are enabled by “hatches” in different sizes that were cut into the cylinder. These narrowed views of the real urban environment change in as much as the Panorama, comparable to a “travelling circus” (Andreas Fogarasi), is set up at four different, respectively distinctive locations of İstanbul within the time frame of one year. The first location is Kadıköy on the Asian part of the city; the second one is Beşiktaş, located on the Bosphorus; followed by a prominent business quarter Maslak (Kanyon Shopping Centre); and finally Eminönü, right at the beginning of the Galata Bridge. Thus Fogarasi chose locations, that are very prominent and touristically relevant. Those are places of great importance for the urban identity of the city, an identity that today – beyond İstanbul’s status as one of the most beautiful cities in the world – has very much to do with economic growth, building activity and prospering business life, as well as with the associated internationality and commercialisation of the city. In the course of the radical transformation and enormous growth of the city during the last decades, one criterion has changed essentially, and that is the significance of the outlook, the view over the city, which Fogarasi made his subject – in his words, “The Right of View.” Due to the city’s permanent expansion and the increase of tower buildings and edificial densification, the old sight axes that İstanbul is established on were obstructed, involving the fact that the view over historical parts of the city and the sea became more and more precious. While a flat on

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the ground floor or a property at the foot of a hill, as well as close to the “gecekondus,” were more coveted because you spared the trouble of ascent, this relation now went into reverse. The properties on the top of the hill became more expensive, a fact that caused grave consequences for citizens who could no longer afford expensive residential areas. The prospect of having the city’s panorama at one’s feet, The Right of View, evolved into a privilege with all kinds of social and economic implications. With his vision machine, actually his “perception” machine, Fogarasi enlists in this context. The Panorama is a solid urban architecture that, concerning its form of construction and the chosen materials, varies between a viewing platform and a memorial. It is deliberately focused on representation: its black steel construction rests on an elevated plinth, slightly above the street level, an elegant handmade spiral staircase leads to the top. The steps, as well as the upper level of the platform, are covered with white Turkish marble from the Marmara region. The entire inner surface of the panoramic cylinder is white, coated with a black rhombic grid pattern, which exactly structures the formatting of the texts and the openings. Here too, comparable to inlays, marble plates in rhombic shape are embedded into the inner surface. This elaborate architectural form, which also alludes to the strict ornamentality of Ottoman architecture, establishes a major aspect in Fogarasi’s Panorama. Having been set up at prominent places of the public space and in the immediate vicinity of existing monuments, the work enforces its particular claim on monumentality.

Panorama (The Right of View), 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

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MY CITY / SILVIA EIBLMAYR

[2] Esra Sarıgedik Öktem in an e-mail to Andreas Fogarasi. In August 2010

The Panorama is a construction whose use puts in train a real action of quasi-ritual character and creates an aura that captures the audience. The texts that become available to the visitors of these platforms are, as Fogarasi says, “associative texts about İstanbul, a catalogue of pictures,” through which, like a common thread, runs the theme of the view, the panorama. Fogarasi lets his eye wander over the city in a both associative and analysing manner, and writes down what strikes him, what comes to his mind. The references that he embeds into his view on İstanbul are complex: The city and its topography, İstanbul as a touristic place, as a historical place and virtually a mythic figure, as a trademark which is politically and commercially exploited, a socio-cultural and economic place, a place of power and control as well as democratic debates and social conflicts, and as a political but also a romantic/poetic place. By using different font sizes, Fogarasi lends these texts a perspective of significance, the larger the font the more important and more massive the message appears. In Panorama, the overabundance of the texts becomes a metaphor for the unmanageable city, the complexity of urban life that, as it is, does not reveal itself just by visuality. Again and again, in a self-referential loop, the texts return to the “medium of panorama,” to the term as it appears in the city, as the name of a hotel for example, but also explicitly to the historical figure of the panorama with its huge cycloramas, and especially to the old Constantinople, a favourite motif for panoramas. The texts continuously evoke the split between image and writing, between vision and language, and between seeing and thinking. This split is being even more intensified by the rhombic peepholes at the real city. Just as the medium of film, where the moving picture emerges in the viewer’s eye through the phenomenon of after-image, so the texts in Fogarasi’s medium Panorama produce after-images in the viewers’ brains, ideas, and memories, and associations are set in motion. Esra Sarıgedik Öktem expressed it quite accurately: “It gives me the feeling of reading between the lines of the city, somewhere to go in and have the privacy of being able to think about this city, in the middle of it, but at the same time separated with the structure… Also it gives the feeling of a library or a church or a mosque, a kind of quiet place to think and read, but of course, it won’t be quiet...”2 In Panorama (The Right of View), Fogarasi summarises two fundamental artistic arguments: first, the topos of urbanity on the example of İstanbul, and on the other hand, the topos of the medium “panorama.” By constructively folding these two, he manages to open an exciting and sensual space of experience and reflection upon the city, and, at the same time, to critically transform the visual medium “panorama.” He achieves that by performing a high degree of abstraction that

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challenges his audience aesthetically and intellectually. The abstraction is linked with the reduction that he carries out: no images (an Ottoman tradition as well), but writing, and texts that are arranged according to mounting principles and do not express an apparently valid statement that satisfies or confirms an attitude of expectation. No bright colours, but only black and white, also referring to the (historical) aesthetics of a daily newspaper and black-and-white photography. While the historical panorama with all its visual fascination had the structural function to produce the unified perception of a viewer, who was placed into the centre of visual action as an ostensible sovereign and a dominant authority, in Fogarasi’s Panorama this position is only available at the cost of experiencing a “loss,” namely the desire of having an illusory image. This “loss” implicates a lot: the loss of the view on the city as a “right” of every resident, the loss and transience of “old” İstanbul, the loss of urban publicity in favour of commerce and privatisations for the privileged, and much more that is sacrificed for a constantly evolving and expanding İstanbul. But Panorama (The Right of View) is much more than a space for a critical interpretation of the city; above all, it is a poetic call to watch the city from a new point of view and to learn something about it. In his own way, albeit with more melancholy, writer Orhan Pamuk did so in his memories. October 2010

Panorama (The Right of View), 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

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Panorama (The Right of View), 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

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To Occupy, They Say Anne Faucheret Free-lance Curator and Art-Critic

[1] Kultur und Freizeit (Culture and Leisure) is the installation realised in 2007 by Andreas Fogarasi for the Hungarian Pavilion of the 52nd Biennale di Venezia, and was awarded the Golden Lion for Best National Participation.

Andreas Fogarasi deciphers the complexity of contemporary urban space by analysing the precise details of its structure, architecture, furnishing, communication and memory. His work combines a documentary approach with a formal and sculptural reduction, by subtly crossing approaches and references in and out of the history of forms, and by opening the works to different degrees of interpretation. Kultur und Freizeit1 is as complex in its spatial organisation as it is in its conceptual apparatus. Six black wooden cubes resting on sometimes invisible filigree legs, being minimalist sculptures and projection devices at once, massively occupy the space without saturating it and let the spectators glide between them. Each volume is comprised of two parts, the shorter one allowing the viewers to sit and watch the videos that are projected into the longer one. The configuration already questions how the spectator physically and perceptually relates to the artwork. The films present six cultural centres – the heirs of the 19th century model of the workers’ clubs, built in Budapest, from the socialist period until today, through their architecture, their history, their surroundings as well as their function(s), reconversion or abandonment. Blending elements of documentary with subjective reflections, far from a purely critical stance or a nostalgic empathy, Andreas Fogarasi avoids every reduction of his objects of study. Exterior views and wide shots of the architectures are interrupted by unexpected details: a broken window or a dated metallic frieze, then an interior views of (innovative) technical details, like the retractable roof of the Óbuda Cultural Centre or the pyramidal structure of the Pataky Cultural Centre’s cupola. A slow travelling around the modernist architecture of the Óbuda Centre, following a frontal view of its rectilinear glass façades, starts the film A Machine For. After a short stop beneath the canopy surrounding the building, the camera penetrates the interior of the space and shows a large red sliding wall, manipulated with some effort by a man. The distance to the object gives to the spectator the impression of being there. The editing brings to light the relationship (or non-relationship) between the architectures and their users, between spaces and the activities they contain. Periphery opens up on fixed shot of a lantern and colourful paper chains, swaying slightly in a breeze. The tired voice of a woman talking about her professional life in socialist times does not interrupt the poetry of the image, unlike the almost brutal change of sequence, as the film goes on to show an animated children’s party with

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Kultur und Freizeit, 2007 Installation views, Hungarian Pavilion, 52. Biennale di Venezia Photos: Tihanyi Bakos Fotostudio

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[2] The interchangeability of ideologies and their tools is at the heart of many of the artist’s projects [3] Collected by the King of Norway at the end of the 19th century

the lanterns as decor. Occupation, passing and transition are elaborated with redundance. In Periphery, Fogarasi edits successively a sequence where people enter and leave the building in the same sequence, but played in reverse. He adds complexity to the images by superimposing texts onto them. Some descriptive, some analytic, some poetic, they accentuate, temporise or contradict the symbolism of the images. In Arbeiter verlassen das Kulturhaus, a succession of titles of Hollywood movies obliterates the view of the entrance hall or the empty stage. While slowly zooming out from a tile façade, Fun Palace discreetly chants “an architecture for” ... “and against” ... “everyday realities.” The films also thematise how a part of the artistic life has been able (or not) to escape the state and ideological organisation of culture, to use the official structures and leave traces within, as well as how the current cultural industry, conquering more and more space, sacrifices their history on the altar of global entertainment.2 As an urban archaeologist, Fogarasi discovers layers, bringing to light the metamorphoses and negotiations implied by cultural uses that are formed by commercial competition. Of the six centres mentioned, the cultural centre Ikarus, the most alternative of all, is also the only one completely left to abandon; Foragasi films its vacuity and faded grandeur with a mannerist precision. The large-format silkscreen print 1974, 1975, 1976,… (2007) unfolds on four median lines the numbers 1974 to 2006, in white letters on a black background. The minimalist reduction is balanced by the immediate associations to a cinema screen and a simplifying trotting out of dates. Fogarasi subtly reminds us that our perception is conditioned by the visual clichés and accepted conventions. The image is actually a video still from A Machine For, printed the same size as the projected image. Certain dates are milestones in the history of the Óbuda Cultural Centre. But Fogarasi elected to drown them in enumeration of all the inscribed years between the date of construction (1974), and the shooting of the film (2006), preferring the historical continuity to the temporal fragmentation. Thus the artist challenges the authoritarian formation of a collective memory struck by key dates which certainly facilitates the memorisation, but overshadows the historical process. Rural counterpart of Kultur und Freizeit, the film Folkemuseum (2010) thematises the construction of a chosen history and its possible mediations. Collecting various original Norwegian buildings from the Middle Ages until today3 in an eclectic and contrived village, activated for the public, the open-air museum displays living spaces. Torn from its context, each building becomes an abstract and imprecise symbol. Any image, in a museum or a in a film, runs the risk of flattening its object. To escape this logic, Fogarasi proposes different perspectives in his works: he throws the look of a “critical” director, a tourist, an actor and a flâneur. The camera oscillates between generic viewpoints, precisely framed

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A Machine for (Kultur und Freizeit), 2006 video still

Periphery (Kultur und Freizeit), 2006 video still

1974 1975 1976 1977 1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006

1974, 1975, 1976,..., 2007 silkscreen print

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fixed shots and “backstage” scenes. While travelling, it hits architectural surfaces, reflects itself in windows while penetrating them, as if searching to find its object through small touches. The films are partly mise-enabyme of the artist’s own work process: he refuses an internal focusing or an overhanging voice-over and prefers a to-and-fro movement as if testing his proper vision, his hesitations, and his own preconceptions with the help of his camera. Sometimes he reflects himself in a window; somewhere else he deliberately enters the scene. In Folkemuseum, after having asked, “should I be my own actor?” in an intertitle, he sits on a bench and eats an apple, degree zero of the actor’s play. The ever ironic reconsideration of the artist’s position is raised from a larger questioning on the productive authorities of speech and norms, and on the receiving instances they aim for.

Folkemuseum, 2010 video stills

[4] In Das Phantom sucht seinen Mörder. Ein Reader zur Kulturalisierung der Ökonomie, published by Marion von Osten and Justin Hoffmann, B-Books, Berlin 1999 [5] In Kultur und Freizeit, the film Fun Palace details the technical innovations of the Pataky Cultural Centre (1975), from its glass and metal façade to its dome covered in pyramidal plaques for sonic quality

Andreas Fogarasi is interested in the way cultural, economical and social practices become images and in the mechanisms through which these images gain authority. The expansion of economical interests and the “culturalisation of the economy”4 produce a need for images and visual identities. The images that influence our interpretation and understanding of the past, as well as of the present, are an important factor in the economic competition for consumers, tourists and investors. Prestigious companies as well as cultural institutions have in recent years often used spectacular architecture to convey their corporate communication, such as the Citroën Flagship Store by Manuelle Gautrand on the Champs Elysées or Frank Gehry’s Art Gallery in Ontario in Toronto. Already during the Cold War, architects from both blocs rivalled each other in ingenuity and innovation.5 Architecture becomes more and more photogenic and circulates worldwide through iconic images. Contrarily, for Untitled (Wise Corners) (2010) Fogarasi has photographed the functional details (e.g., entrance, corridors, and stairs), the hidden faces or the unseen perspectives of different buildings, not to find the faults but to make a statement of an experience that is immediate, topographical and maybe even sympathetic of the grounds, far from

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Untitled (Wise Corners), 2010 Photo: Carl Brunn

their advertising. The ten photographic citations of the installation are mounted on ten corners made from red marble, of medium height, minutely distributed in the space. One can see the details of a Bordeaux tram station, an interior passage of the Mercedes Benz Museum in Stuttgart or a model of a residential tower from İstanbul. Legends are necessary to identify some of the buildings, while other photos on the slightly staggered corners exhibit almost ironically the visual “efficiency” of the photographed architectures, like the State Secretary of Tourism in Paris, having a sign with the three colours of the national flag, or the bulb of Allianz Arena in Munich by Herzog & De Meuron. The observations, researches and displays of Fogarasi reveal the increasing role of the visual in the communication strategies of politics and economy, public and private. Public bodies and administrations, especially cities or regions, equip themselves with logos in order to increase their visibility, and firstly their touristic visibility. The two videos Public Brands – Deutsche Städte (2005), and Public Brands – La France (2009) play ad nauseam, with an unusual slowness, tens of logos, black-on-white, from German cities and French regions respectively. The ironically neutral titles flatten reality as do the logos. The logos are pictograms synthesising the reality they designate (i.e., brand, society, and administration) by combining environmental and symbolic data, and thus conferring upon it a communicational plus value. With Fogarasi, they are always subjected to a de-territorialisation. The series Sights (Architecture) consists of white sheets of carton in the format of 65 by 50 cm, framed, at the centre of which are placed excessively small images of buildings, provoking an effect both ironic and poetic. Cut out from their original context, tourist maps, they undergo a change of function: from fashionable symbols they become critical ready-mades. The aphorisms of urban marketing such as The Music City, The City of Light or Schielestadt have a function similar to logos and are much used recently.

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[6] Designed by architect Cesar Pelli and nicknamed Blue Whale, it covers an area of more than 1,200,000 sq feet [7] C-print 1939-43, 2010

They nevertheless possess historical and anthropological layers and are the representations of a subjectified history, blending local identity and fantasies of exception, generic designation and specific qualities of places. A large series of drawings reproduce these denominations, which follow one another and resemble each other, in slightly irregular grey typography, at the bottom of US standard format sheets, denying an extensive use of space. The phrase-slogans without context are signs deprived of any significance, of which the triviality reappears despite the fragility of their appearance. The question of mediation (and deformation) of reality is not only presented but put to the test by the artist who engages in exercises of coding and translation. On the mode of ekphrasis, Fogarasi describes in Panorama (The Right of View) views of İstanbul from images of touristic, promotional or historical documents, which are already chosen representations of reality. For his exhibition “2008” at the MAK in Vienna, the artist presents two series of small colour photographs aligned in two long rows facing each other. On one wall are images taken at the Mondial de l’Automobile 2004 in Paris. On the other wall, are those of the Pacific Design Center in California, an enormous complex that hosts various cultural and commercial activities linked to design.6 The vast spaces with glass roofs, picture windows and geometric light fittings, of minimalist inspiration, are the new places of a culturalised economy; the views resemble each other even though the interior architecture of the fair is less uncluttered and its spaces are full of people. The scenes evoke the airport from Jacques Tati’s Playtime; where spaces, behaviour and models of representation are becoming alike. Andreas Fogarasi plays with it when photographing a direction panel in a hotel, where the numbers 19391943 appear, immediately resonating like important historical dates7. Modell Bequemlichlkeit, a piece of oversized grey carpet placed on the floor to walk upon, or Modell Ambiant (Interests), a large red rectangular pouffe – that one could find in a “lounge” space as well as in an exhibition area – invite the spectators to “test” a standardised comfort, and at the same time, the relational aesthetic, which is believed to have transformed exhibition spaces into privileged sites of democratic communication. Through the architecture of representation and street furniture design, urban space becomes “totally aesthetic;” but urban restructuring based on the privatisation of public space, far from giving up notions of social harmony, is a tool of control and of exclusion. Block (2000) shows images of police cordons and street furniture that secretly enforces social control – like a set of chairs with armrests, where the apparent comfort hides a normative restriction of usage; one can sit on it, of course, but can not slide down or even less, lie down on it. Big cultural institutions have been participating for a long time in the advent of a smooth and standardised “image-city” by installing themselves in spectacular architectures and by

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Public Brands - Deutsche Städte, 2005 video stills

Cities, 2008 pencil on paper

[8] Numerous works of Fogarasi evoke the growing confusion between culture and leisure [9] If both architects belong to deconstructivism, the concepts of the two projects are diametrically opposites [10] Installation realised for Manifesta 4 (Frankfurt, 2002)

grouping themselves in newly gentrified districts.8 One naturally thinks of the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, or of Peter Eisenman’s project for Santiago de Compostela.9 The institutions play the game of cities, which want to attract tourists and consumers in the grand commercial arteries embellished by works of Anish Kapoor or Richard Serra. Europapark10 (2002) transforms the exhibition space into a waiting room (or a showroom), with rows of airport seats and monitors suspended from the ceiling diffusing images of spectacular museal architectures. A neon sign saying “Culture Park” characterises the space: an attraction park with a cultural allure. In post-Fordist times, design, art and culture are absorbed by global entertainment. Fogarasi integrates this undeniable instrumentalisation and plays with it. His works originate simultaneously in the authoritarian principles of organisation and of aestheticisation of public space and in the disruptive principles or resistance strategies.

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Steg/Rampe (2005) is a fragment of reality customised and cosmetically revised: a wooden construction painted black, the fetish colour of contemporary art, it becomes a hybrid between furniture, sculpture and architecture. Its black depth and its indetermination attract attention: it is a negative eyecatcher. At the same time, it is a stage inviting the spectator to trample upon it and to become a performer him/herself. What the work offers to perform and to experiment is not spectacular but necessary: the transition from a private body to a public body, the importance of the point of view, and the partiality of nomenclatures. The double title of the work underlines the latter aspect. The objects of Untitled (Wise Corners) are both sculpture and support – practically and metaphorically. They rigidly organise the space, obliging the spectator to move with precaution, while exhibiting a certain frailty. Fogarasi makes many types of mediations of reality coexist; the elements of his works are the results of various degrees of shift in relation to it. Since 2006, he realises graphite rubbings (frottages) of plaques honouring donors. Cité de Refuge, on large sheets of papers stapled to one another, is documenting the list of people who donated money for the construction of the eponymous building by Le Corbusier of which only the notations and titles are visible, and not the full names of the donors. The erasing of some of the data – the same data which revealed the operation of social reconnaissance at the beginning of the 20th century – constitute an artistic surplus value. The marble plates used for Untitled (Wise Corners), commonly used to cover surfaces, here evoke folding screens or elements of display. The visual and spatial details are laid out progressively; heterogeneous references are conglomerated. The marble corners, all facing the same direction, mimic the offensive frontality of architectural façades and refer at the same time to in situ practices of the 1970s. The minimalist occurrence and the rigorous reduction seem opposed to the imagery escalation. The silhouette of the object Panneau de Pierre (2008) evokes a miniaturised and monumentalised architectural model or a petrified promotional support (an illuminated column). The possible functions of the object are only vaguely delineated. Regardless, sculpted from a single grey block of sandstone, the monochromatic sculpture brandishes its materiality before all else – as underlined by its title – and its sculptural autonomy. The elements are not reduced to their symbolic functions. Placemarks are steles of stone, diamond-shaped with acute truncated corners, often placed in strategic points of passing – sometimes at the entrances of cultural institutions. Despite their minimalism and neutrality, they centralise multiple references to marking and characterisation of spaces, between gravestone, sign, panel or landmark. Invariably baptised Placemarks, the avatars are individualised by their subtitle in parentheses, corresponding to the kind of stone used and thus

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Steg/Rampe, 2005 Photo: Susanne Stadler

identified as sculptures. Their height (100 cm) removes any monumental pretension. The choice of materials is double: both symbolic and aesthetic. In Untitled (Wise Corners) and Placemarks, the marble refers to monumentality, to classicism, to luxury and displays a magnificent baroque texture. It also is the geological document of a place of which it bears the name (Rojo Alicante, Adneter Tropf ), and thereby conveys a particular representation of it. The works of Fogarasi balance between references and objects, between concentration and extension, like the titles oscillate between denotations and connotations. The evocations remain sculptural, abstract. In Innsbruck Tyrol Austria, the design panels, the podium and the guardrail transform into sculptures and create an interloping atmosphere one

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cannot easily categorise. Is it about an art exhibition or a space for advertisement? On the epigraph of the artist’s book A ist der Name für ein Modell / étrangement proche, Andorra’s coloured logo troubles the reader. The angles of Ohne Titel (Wise Corners) populate and almost saturate the space, but invite to mingle with them. It is about activating the work in a personal manner but, moreover, it is about discovering the backside of the decor; here the resin sheet that sustains the thin marble plaques set up vertically. Plastically, the presence of reverses in the works of Fogarasi, like the raw side of the cubes of Kultur und Freizeit or the working spaces of Folkemuseum, is opposed to a smooth and seducing aesthetic, and stimulates the acuteness of the spectator or even his active participation in decrypting the visual codes. More than a material or a technique, it is the format that Andreas Fogarasi has made his medium, from advertisement to exhibition. The analyses of details, the artist’s interdisciplinary position and the openness of the works are means to not give into globalising ideas. Instead of producing alternative logos or strong visual signs, which would easily identify his work and would reproduce the strategies of capitalist communication, he leaves the choice between a multitude of relations that the work offers to the spectator. Andreas Fogarasi’s methodical analysis of the culturalisation of economy and of the consequent functionalisation of cultural products don’t come down to an austere didacticism nor to “culture jamming.” Fragmentary and associative, changing the sensible presentation modes and enunciation forms, changing the frames, scales or rhythms, his work creates new connections between appearance and reality, the visible and its significance. FR-ENG by J.Ö.

Placemark (Adneter Tropf ), 2009 installation view, Karlsplatz, Vienna. Photo: Andreas Fogarasi

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INTERVIEW

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Alper Derinboğaz Architect, MSc Architectural Design for Panorama

Could you please briefly introduce yourself? I completed my Bachelor’s Degree in Architecture with honours at İstanbul Technical University in 2005. In 2008, I received my Master of Architecture Degree in Technology and Architecture at the University of California Los Angeles (UCLA), which was sponsored by the Fulbright Scholarship and the UCLA Graduate Award. So far we have won prizes over ten national and international competitions, including the International Union of Architects’ Celebration of Cities, and SOS İstanbul. Currently I am teaching at various universities, and I am also working on projects at multiple scales in the design office salon2 that we have founded in 2006. How did you get involved in this project? What was your part in Andreas’ project? I was one of the young architects invited for the project. We helped Andreas mainly with the materials, in his search for different ways of implementation of his Panorama idea, and its realisation. Can you please talk about your own experience regarding this project? How did it contribute to your work? In architectural practice, because of its scale and nature, we face big problems. But in Panorama, we had to respond to multiple questions and problems that a small-scale work causes. In the process, we took the conflicts in Andreas’s concept and the clarity of his vision seriously. In this sense, it offered a process during which we learned new things. I think Andreas’s perspective on architecture, which transcends function and renders it as a medium for political or other discourses, takes the project to a very interesting level. For instance, the lightweight structure that represents democracy included elements like marble stone steps. Again with its ground, the work had to contribute to public space as an inviting public space. Of course, the structure needed to be built so that it would be easily transportable, as it was going to visit important public spaces in İstanbul. In order for it to be portable and to give it an “architectural amusement park” quality, Panorama was designed to include smaller parts that could Panorama (The Right of View), 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

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127 Panorama (The Right of View), 2010. Photo: Andreas Fogarasi

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be assembled at will. The contrast between the mobile steel construction and architectural elements, like the marble casings and marble steps, emphasised the main idea of the work. Another issue was that the white circle had to be designed in an attractive manner. Hence, the “memory crumbs” in Andreas’s text were designed as carvings on aluminium panels that enabled the construction to provoke curiosity as an architectural amusement park. We believe that the lighting on the white shiny surface and the contrast of the grey of the rest of the construction give it an attractive quality. My City project has different dimensions in İstanbul as opposed to the other small cities. In this sense, how would you evaluate the project within the context of İstanbul? Panorama may not be functional or easily legible but it presents a happy surprise for those who will come across it. The confusion about its functionality enables the visitors or the ones who will accidentally meet with it to establish a complex relationship with the work. Perhaps when the viewer spends enough time, they become part of this installation and realise that they participate in this attitude that approaches the lustful commodification of view in İstanbul in a critical manner. The white circle that hangs there in an “illogical” way presents an attractive element that invites the viewer to the platform. To be left alone with this white circle creates a contradictory state in the backdrop of the beautiful panorama of the Moda coast. I personally think that it is very important to question the unchallenged commodification of İstanbul’s image and the fact that the city contemporarily is not only marketed horizontally but also vertically with its increasing housing stock. It has been years since İstanbul has lost its harmonic view ecology that its topography naturally provided. I am hoping that Panorama, by unhealthily replicating the dramatic congestion that the city experienced in the aftermath of the 1980s, emphasises the importance of the inclusion of the remnants of this natural topography into the city. 7 March 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

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Andreas Fogarasi in İstanbul, 2010.

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KONYA

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Translation as a Testing Ground Joanna Rajkowska Artist of the Project in Konya

No diagnoses I usually work in public space and usually spend some time in the given city to prepare the project. This means many different strategies of working with myself, which in effect lead to an attempt to recognise the city as well as my role in it as an artist, a guest, but also a worker. Perhaps “recognition” is not the best word here, because my projects are usually situations that only provoke, and bring about such a recognition. It is a rather tedious work on building a sort of mechanism that will allow people to experience their city in a new way. I try not to “make diagnoses” but rather provoke and collect various kinds of experiences, even if I don’t know where they will eventually lead me. While in Konya, I listened to a lot of music – opera music in particular – both Turkish and European. I walked around the nearby hills, discovering the inscriptions the army puts on them; I visited the university, listening to what Yasin Aktay, a sociology professor, had to say. I wandered around Konya’s various neighbourhoods on a bike and around the city in a rented car. It is important to be able to observe various social rituals. Starting with the simplest ones: how people address each other, how they form a crowd, how they pray, relax, how they treat public space and how they manage it. In Konya, I wanted to understand why it happens, what are the political and cultural reasons of certain forms of public behaviour. Why Atatürk portraits hang everywhere, why the Latin alphabet is used, and why there are stray dogs in the streets. I was a “parachutist,” having to learn everything from the start. In Europe, I can sometimes afford ignorance underpinned by instinctive sympathy. In Konya, I couldn’t ignore the element of knowledge. I felt like a social worker, and that in the specific atmosphere of Konya, intellectual work would be more comprehensible and more effective than any visual gesture, however spectacular. Don’t chew bubble gum after dark My length of stay affected very significantly my perception of the city. I spent about two months in Konya, with some breaks in-between. The beginnings were difficult, because the experience of public space in a post-communist country or in Western Europe is completely different. Towards the end, I started soaking it in, losing both my distance and my sense of being a stranger. I was horrified. I still hadn’t come up with any project. But perhaps that was precisely what it was all about – about crossing the barrier of strangeness. Only when I had found myself on the side of, let’s call it, transparency, did I start thinking more freely. Here’s an excerpt from my diary: “Thursday, 8 October 2010. I’m finishing. I still have one big hole in the place for Turkish shamanism, though. This means I should be going in that direction. But how? I don’t want to make

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sculptures with bubble gum chewed in the night to evoke the “Turkish dead.” That was because of a superstition one of my Turkish friends had remembered: “Don’t chew bubble gum after dark because then you chew on the flesh of dead people.” On the language as a testing ground To this day, I have no clear vision of the city. I work in a way that is relatively not very “visual.” Often it is only the architects and engineers who have to imagine how my project will look like. I only have a certain intuition, which is followed by a concept, that is, a conceptual mechanism Walter Benjamin in Konya, 2010. Photos: Murat Aksu

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Eighty-nine years after being written, Die Aufgabe des Übersetzers (The Task of the Translator) by Walter Benjamin is translated into Ottoman Turkish as a part of the project Walter Benjamin in Konya, 2010. Photo: Begüm Sayın

that is supposed to trigger off that in the intuition in others. The frequency of my trips around the city was high; after a month or so, I already knew that Konya is a difficult city, that it lacks the grace of Mardin, the sexiness of İstanbul, that it’s flat as a pancake and, 90 percent of it, consists of sprawling apartment block estates. That forced me to undertake “excursions” of a different kind – intellectual ones. The tradition of Rumi’s teachings and his writings proved one of the treasures of the place for me. I was taken with the manuscripts, which spoke of things as familiar to us as the best examples of 20th century European literature. The visual aspect was fascinating as well. Text was treated here like a drawing or ornament, with an intense focus on composition, the directions and energies of script. At some point I realised that my Turkish friends were left to the visuality of those writings just as I was, that they didn’t understand what they said, that, in the land of text, they were like visitors from another planet. The lack of realistic figuration was an important aspect of those texts. Every attempt to introduce it created a dissonance. Reflecting on textual culture, just like listening to Turkish music, led me to the same conclusions: important elements of European culture – in this case, realistic representations of the material world or the human figure, tonal systems, or even the very idea of opera – have, in a way, remained alien to this culture. About the visual aspect, I can speak with full responsibility; about the musical one, it's based on the opinions of musicologists and musicians.

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Language, in turn, which proved my main testing ground, turned out to be an extremely complex cultural and political research area. On the one hand, I felt horrified by the fact that all of the pre-1928 textual culture had to be translated to be comprehensible. On the other, I realised how elitist and inaccessible Ottoman Turkish was for the empire’s average citizen. I asked myself a question, stemming directly from reading Walter Benjamin, about what happened with meaning when the alphabet had changed, when the word had received a completely new, unfamiliar visual form. How did the shape of the letter, the rhythm of punctuation, the specificity of the connections between letters and words, how did all that influence the process of comprehending, understanding meanings, and building associations? What happened with the Turkish language, and culture, when a linguistic revolution had been decreed? What happened with the whole sphere of visual culture, the culture of the written word? The idea of translation became crucial to me in my efforts to understand Turkey. That is why I decided to repeat the gesture, but backwards – to translate Walter Benjamin’s 1923 The Task of the Translator into the nowdead Ottoman Turkish and thus, in a way, to reverse the course of history. The idea stemmed not so much from my criticism of the idea of linguistic revolution, but from a desire to realise what happened with the Turkish language after 1928. The figure of Benjamin accompanied me at all times. Let me quote a dream I had on the Saturday, 10 October: “A dream again. Walter Benjamin in Portbou. I was Walter Benjamin, horrified, under a church floor. On the wall was a tiny, narrow crack, oval, kidney-shaped. A man kneeling in the church, with the others, was somehow, I don’t know how, able to bow his head so low he leaned below the floor level, his mouth appearing in the crack, upside down, whispering instructions: word after word. An image engraved in memory: the mouth, which in this position always looks as if smiling. After that, only pangs of fear.” I don’t speak Turkish Language as a means of communication is usually not so important in my process of “studying” a place. This time, however, it proved crucial: both as an information medium and as the actual working material. The language barrier resulted in many strange mistakes and ambiguities. I had to ask many questions. Those questions were of a rather complex nature: What is your attitude towards the Ottoman Turkish language? Would you like to speak it? You can’t read pre-1928 poetry or archives – does that leave you with a sense of loss? The ambiguous answers I got were an obstacle in trying to understand the role of the Turkish language, and Ottoman Turkish in particular, in culture. On the other hand, the sound of contemporary Turkish, its natural melody, how it’s pronounced were also important. There are languages that, while functioning very close

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to each other – such as Arabic and Hebrew – have a completely different texture and different melody. This is a result of how the given language has developed over time. If a language develops continuously, organically for hundreds of years, it acquires a completely different “sound.” To hear that, I didn’t need to understand. At least that’s what I thought. To me, contemporary Turkish belongs to those “organic” languages. The task of the translator There is more nostalgia than admonishment in the idea. I wanted not so much to teach lessons based on Benjamin as to ask a few questions I myself didn’t have the answers to, as well as to fantasise that the text was available in 1920s’ Turkey, and that it was read and understood. The gesture of restoring the text to its place at the Yusuf Ağa Library in Konya was one of the most important ones for me in this project. In the essay, Benjamin suggests that the translator’s task is almost messianic, that his aim is to achieve a “pure language” (reine Sprache) through the translation. Benjamin’s linguistic theology assumed that language not so much conveys meanings as contains them in itself, that meanings are immanent to it. A language that is nothing but a semantic medium is impure, degenerate. Pure language, in turn, is a medium that guarantees connection with God and the world of objects. The translator’s task is to reclaim this miraculous property of language. Did Atatürk achieve that? I wondered about that, too. Did the cleansing of language, and getting it rid of Persian and Arabic influences during the second stage of the revolution mean reinvesting it with divine power…? For sure there happened something that Benjamin describes as an incompatibility between the form of language (in translation) and its meaning. The language of the original protects, and even shapes, meaning, just as the skin of a fruit protects its flesh. Translation is a royal robe, roomy, full of folds and pleats, Benjamin said. An impure language – and such are all contemporary languages – is a language of incompatibility between language and meaning, an incompatibility that should be actually highlighted in translation, in order precisely to stress the difference, “distance,” from meaning. But there is also the question whether Ottoman Turkish, with its extremely complex syntax and structure, a language that was a mixture of Persian, Arabic and Turkish, was a form more compatible with meaning? People around the pool of text During the process of realisation of the project, my relations with the people of Konya were very close. This was true for Yasin Aktay, who

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was a key figure for me, my sort of window to the city, and for all those who surrounded me during my stay. Those were usually friends of my assistant Faruk Karaarslan – musicians and musicologists. I often spent the afternoons and evenings with them. They would play music and cook local food for me. I would offer Polish delicacies to them in return, such as steak tartare, which they didn’t like at all. Yasin gave me to read the text of one of his American lectures, and it became very important to me. The title, if I remember well, was mischievous: “Progressive Islam versus Conservative Modernism.” For me, it was a lesson on how in Konya, the idea of civic society is developing, how self-help organisations successfully play the role of non-governmental organisations, and how Islam, without the European democratic mission, is able to generate a self-sufficient social community. And how NGOs are unable to replace all that. Another chapter took place during the project’s actual execution. Here, I was facing a crowd of people whom I didn’t know and whose reactions were hard to predict. I was entering the very heart of the city, one of the main squares, where public meetings, referendums and street demonstrations take place. Nearby is the Şerafettin Cami Mosque and the former town hall and, across the street, the current town hall. I knew that, in a way, it was an intruder’s insolent gesture. You don’t sit on the floor in the middle of the living room when you’ve been invited for dinner. But, in my view, that there were no alternatives and language is a central issue in Turkish culture. It was for that centrality that I wanted to find a spatial equivalent. A Jewish philosopher in Anatolia I also knew that for people in Konya to embrace the project, they couldn’t be provoked or patronised. I decided to create a sort of story within story, where only in the last subplot some perverse meanings and painful irony are hidden. I was facing a difficult task – to convince them that a Jewish philosopher, rejected in his time by Europe, had something important to tell them – about their language, history, and identity. And they had to accept all that from a post-communist artist (a woman!), parachuted by the suspicious British Council, a branch of the former empire, in the name of Turkey’s future access to the European Union. The perversity of the mission was a problem for me. The irony was that the Benjamin text, in a way, reversed the course of history and asked difficult questions about Europeisation, Latinisation, cultural “translation” and, finally, identity. The most moving moment for me was the gesture of an old man during the project’s opening. He started walking around the text field

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and reciting out loud in Ottoman. For me, it was the city’s response: a gesture of acceptance and taking the project over as their own now. The text became more important than all the political disputes preceding the realisation. Because, with Benjamin in Konya, the political aspects of the use of that particular language and alphabet had, for a long time, defined the project’s nature. How political? The Arabic alphabet is often associated with the Koran and in nonArabic speaking societies, any text written in this alphabet can have holy connotations. The very instance of using the Ottoman Turkish language, and the Perso-Arabic script that goes with it, can be interpreted as a political gesture and religious statement. It can be perceived to mean anti-republican views, conservatism, religious orthodoxy, and opposition to all pro-modernisation or pro-European reforms. When we applied for permission to realise the project, suspicions of political provocation arose. A famous, and obviously well-engraved in the public consciousness, photograph from 1980, the time of the military coup, was remembered. The photo, taken in Konya and published by all the newspapers at the time, shows a crowd demonstrating with a banner featuring a text in Arabic. Some say the photo became a pretext for the military, which decided that it was time to intervene in the face of growing confrontation. Some people in Konya thought my project was an attempt to reinforce the city’s image as conservative and somewhat anachronistic. On the other hand, during the actual realisation, the Protection Board wanted to make sure that no aesthetic outrage would take place. Then the project started living its own quiet life. I remember a woman putting her hands in the water to feel the surface of the text. I felt a quiet sense of joy that the text of a philosopher very important to me was embraced in this way, because it is, indeed, one of the most iconic texts about language that has ever been written. The public space as Eden I understand from public space in Konya, the public aspect of common space. Perhaps I will start with the aspect of authority: power. Public space is always a sphere of strict political control. In Turkey, I felt very certain that my project would be subject to scrutiny of two kinds of authority – secular and religious – that it would be a problem for both. And that, unfortunately, proved true. It is a space that is full of tension. Any otherness is very noticeable in Konya; it is studied and accepted – or not. People look at a stranger, carefully and closely; sometimes with a look of bewilderment. I think a gesture of public otherness, provocative,

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or ostentatious, would be rather hard to accept here. On the other hand, I felt a profound difference in the attitude ordinary people here have towards the public space of their city or neighbourhood. This attitude is fundamentally different from that found in, for instance, the post-communist countries. In Konya, public space is co-opted in many different ways. You only need to put out a plastic chair and sit on it for space to become symbolically someone’s: personal, named and familiar. This is a very natural process. In Poland, unfortunately, this is impossible. In Konya, the spaces around mosques are paradise gardens in miniature, almost like exemplary models of public space, given, of course, all the cultural restrictions and prohibitions that are in effect there. From my diary: “Monday, 5 October. I am walking around the area, and today I’ve discovered a fragment of paradise nearby – the surroundings of an old mosque and around it a park, benches, fountains, flowers, lawns. All of that organically undulating in soft lines, growing out of each other. Architecture smoothly giving way to greenery, greenery to water.” What more should you want from public space if it is modelled upon Eden?

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Die Aufgabe des Übersetzers / Çevirmenin Görevi Mütercimin Vazifesi / ‫* وﻇﻴﻔﻪﺳﻰ ﻣﺘﺮﺟﻤﻚ‬

“Nirgends erweist sich einem Kunstwerk oder einer Kunstform gegenüber die Rücksicht auf den Aufnehmenden für deren Erkenntnis fruchtbar. Nicht genug, daß jede Beziehung auf ein bestimmtes Publikum oder dessen Repräsentanten vom Wege abführt, ist sogar der Begriff eines „idealen“ Aufnehmenden in allen kunsttheoretischen Erörterungen vom Übel, weil diese lediglich gehalten sind, Dasein und Wesen des Menschen überhaupt vorauszusetzen. So setzt auch die Kunst selbst dessen leibliches und geistiges Wesen voraus – seine Aufmerksamkeit aber in keinem ihrer Werke. Denn kein Gedicht gilt dem Leser, kein Bild dem Beschauer, keine Symphonie der Hörerschaft.”

“Bir sanat eserini veya bir sanat biçimini değerlendirirken alımlayıcıyı göz önüne almanın hiçbir yararı yoktur. Belli bir alımlayıcı kitlesine veya bu kitlenin temsilcilerine yapılacak her gönderme yoldan saptırır; “ideal” alımlayıcı kavramı ise, bunun da ötesinde, sırf bir insan varoluşu ve özü varsaymak durumunda kaldıkları için bütün teorik sanat tartışmaları açısından sakıncalıdır. Sanatın kendisi de insanın maddi ve tinsel özünü koşul sayar, gelgelelim hiçbir sanat eseri onun dikkatini, göstereceği tepkiyi koşul saymaz. Hiçbir şiir okur için yazılmamış, hiçbir resim bakan için yapılmamış, hiçbir senfoni dinleyici için bestelenmemiştir.”

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“Bir san’at eserini yahud bir san’at tarzını tedkik ve takdir ederken karii nazar-ı dikkate almanın hiçbir faidesi yoktur. Muayyen bir kari kitlesine yahud bu kitlenin temsilcilerine yapılacak her atıf bizi saded haricine çıkarır; “mükemmel” kari mefhumu ise, bunun da ötesinde, sırf bir insan existence ve essence’ı farz etmek zaruretinde kaldığı için bütün nazarî san’at münakaşaları nokta-i nazarından mahzurludur. San’atın kendisi de insanın maddî ve ruhî cevherini şart kabul eder; ne var ki hiçbir san’at eseri onun dikkatini, göstereceği aksülameli şart addetmez. Hiçbir şiir kari için yazılmamış, hiçbir resim temâşâger için yapılmamış, hiçbir senfoni sami’ için bestelenmemiştir.”

*Quotations are from the book Die Aufgabe des Übersetzers by Joanna Rajkowska. “The Task of the Translator” was originally published in: Charles Baudelaire, Tableaux Parisiens: Deutsche Übertragung mit einem Vorwort über die Aufgabe des Übersetzers, von Walter Benjamin, Suhrkamp Verlag, 1923. Translated from German to Turkish by Orhan Kılıç Turkish translation rewritten in the Turkish of 1928 by Beşir Ayvazoğlu & Yücel Demirel Transliteration into Ottoman Turkish by Yücel Demirel

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Joanna Rajkowska (Collision Course of Mind Matter) Selected Notes on the Artist Sebastian Cichocki Curator, Nominator for the My City Project

Some basic facts. Let us outline some basic facts: Joanna Rajkowska was born in 1968 in Bydgoszcz in northern Poland. She is the author of objects, films, installations, actions and interventions in public space. She currently lives and works in London. Between 1988 and 1993, she studied Painting at the Cracow Academy of Fine Arts under Professor Jerzy Nowosielski, while at the same time studying Art History at Jagiellonian University (1987-1992). In 2007, she received the highly prestigious Paszport Polityki award for “unusual projects in public space, for reaching out to the city wanderer.” In 2010, she received the Grand Prize of Fundacja Kultury for outstanding achievements in the field of culture. Early works. Rajkowska’s early works were a result of her interest in corporeality, in the body’s entanglement in the processes and mechanisms of capitalistic production and consumption. Her best-known work from the period is Satisfaction Guaranteed (2000), an industrially-manufactured series of canned drinks that, according to the notice on the can, contained the artist’s DNA. Recent works (public space). Joanna Rajkowska’s most acclaimed recent projects – Greetings from Jerusalem Avenue (2002–2009) and Oxygenator (2006–2007) – were social sculptures installed in the public space of Warsaw. In both cases, the objects “planted” in the urban tissue (in the first case, a palm tree, alien to the Polish landscape; in the second one, an artificial pond with ozone-generating equipment) became a pretext for making social observations, stimulating human interactions, generating grassroots initiatives, as well as reflecting on the past and memory of the urban public space. Rajkowska’s projects are usually based on working in relation with a specific, historically or ideologically charged place, or with a marginalised or stigmatised group of people. For instance, Rajkowska has worked with a group of boys from a Palestinian refugee camp in Jenin in the West Bank (conducting a workshop on “abandoning language” in talking about trauma) or with the residents of a small Swedish town called Umeå (where she tried, unsuccessfully, to build an artificial volcano). Her practice deals with ideological tensions, aggression against the other, and the difficulties of assimilation, as evidenced by projects such as Patriotic Literature (2006, copies of anti-Semitic publications bought in a church bookstore, printed in “mirror image”), The Uhyst Refugee Asylum (2008, a fictional refugee shelter created in a small village in Saxony, Germany) or Cruising around War Island (2004, a “leisure” cruise for the residents of Belgrade aimed at trying to at least temporarily “filter” the memory of the post-Yugoslav wars).

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Greetings from Jerusalem Avenue (2002-2009). Photo: Joanna Rajkowska

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The interpretative context. The public reception of Rajkowska’s projects has been closely connected with the socio-political changes taking place in Poland since 1989, which have provoked intense debates on issues such as the appropriation of public space, the marginalisation of ethnic or sexual minorities, or the Catholic Church’s dominant say on ethical issues. Some of Rajkowska’s projects remain unrealised to this day, becoming utopian postulates to overcome official objections, common prejudices, red tape, legislative hurdles and simple distrust of “irrational” artistic propositions. Since 2009, the artist has been working on a project for Bern, Switzerland, which provides for installing a gigantic bat that would also serve as an urn for human ashes under one of the city’s bridges. The same year, she began negotiations on transforming a disused factory smokestack in Poznań, Poland, into a minaret as an expression of her fascination with the Middle East, as well as a “transplantation” into the urban tissue of an element seemingly alien to the realities of the predominantly Catholic Poland.

scene no. 1: The artist sits on what looks like a coloured stone by a small pond, with a church looming in the near distance. There are also people of various ages, dogs… Scattered deckchairs and seats. It’s summer. material: pond, water lilies, ozonating and water spray-generating equipment, coloured stones, bad memories, extras place: Plac Grzybowski title: Oxygenator time: 2006–2007 notes: Oxygenator was a trauma-dispersing device, a whip for the bad Central European karma. Rajkowska decided to create an artificial pond in the centre of Warsaw, a place veiled in mist and full of ozone. News about it spread rapidly. The pond became a favourite hang-out spot for Varsovians, especially elderly ones. The location was special: in the close vicinity of a Catholic church, a synagogue and some small shops, one of the last tiny fragments of downtown Warsaw that still resembles the city from before the war. In 1940, the square became part of the ghetto, separated from the rest of the city by a wall. Today, Plac Grzybowski is tightly surrounded by modern high-rises and anonymous, badly ageing post-war apartment blocks. The place that Rajkowska had “reactivated” with her intervention was supposed to function according to its own rules: as a deviation from the urban order, a crack in which you can hide away from big city noise, transience, and bad memories. What was important for Rajkowska was the place’s history, the presence there of ideological conflicts, martyrology, “bad air,” obscurantist Catholicism, the distribution of anti-Semitic publications in the nearby church, and the erosion of community relations; put shortly, the old-age diseases of

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the urban tissue. The pond’s purpose was to de-traumatise the historically encumbered place – if not to heal it, then at least to soothe its woes. What matters for the artist is the aspect of breathing – air is filtrated by breath and released purified, in a way. The act of breathing in and out organically connects the human body with the city, becoming a biological extension of urbanistic structures and, at the same time, the place where its “toxic deposits” accumulate. Oxygenator was well received, more so perhaps by the casual, non gallery-going crowd than by the sceptical insiders (apparently alarmed by the project’s sliding into the abyss of social work). Despite the great enthusiasm of local residents, activists or culture and media personalities, the city chose not to allow the project to continue. Oxygenator did not prove as fortunate as artistic projects such as Alan Sonfist’s Time Landscape, which New Yorkers stood up for before it was too late, eagerly preserving a fragment of wild nature in the middle of Lower Manhattan. The new zoning plan for Plac Grzybowski, meant as an alternative for the “rustic,” “under-designed” Oxygenator, turned the place into yet another anonymous, impersonal public square of a moderately wealthy European city. Meanwhile, Rajkowska’s project had become a legend – a reminder of a temporary suspension of the big city's playing rules. In winter 2010, a modest outdoor event took place called Oxygenator – a Farewell Party. A short text that I had written for Rajkowska earlier was read out in the biting frost. It is an “institutional fairy tale” about an urban pond that unexpectedly materialised in Warsaw. I allow myself to quote a short fragment here. We decided with Rajkowska that the best way to confront the project’s history was through literary fiction: “Step by step (and not suddenly, as some say), in a manner that can doubtless be called miraculous, a pond appeared right in the middle of the city. It was small but deep, and its murky waters bubbled lazily. I use the word ‘miracle’ literally, meaning a paranormal phenomenon, rather than metaphorically, to denote an unusual manifestation of human inventiveness or a rare collective deed that the residents, usually divided, managed to pull off. Speaking of a ‘miracle’ I mean bloody stigmata, resurrected dead, and bearded old men levitating in the air. The pond belonged precisely to that category, things peculiar and mysterious. One day, it simply opened up. Not all at once, of course. First, there was a rupture. It grew wider slowly, almost imperceptibly. A breakthrough occurred on the night of 12 March. Several local residents heard a loud thud and then a dull grate and a splash. In the morning, the crevice was already filled with brownish water. As the pond grew wider, the water became clearer and the bottom, full of sharp edges and faults, became visible. In the end, it assumed its final shape. Some say that from above it resembled the profile of the then Antipope, Gregory XVIII, who had held

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Oxygenator, Plac Grzybowski, Warsaw, (2006~2007). Photo by: Marek Szczepanski

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office in Rotterdam for just two months before he was assassinated by a Polish immigrant. Whatever the case, the locals got used to the presence of the unexpected arrival surprisingly quickly. … “It was pleasant and blissful. The water surface bubbled from time to time and a delicate rose-tinted mist hung over the pond. It had a weak but pleasant smell of roses. More and more people spent their free time by the pond, spending hours on the shore. People enjoyed the sunshine, exceptionally strong for the time of year, seniors set up folding chairs and sipped tea from thermos flasks. Children were brought, who threw stones and coins into the water. Only animals were distrustful – dogs bristled and barked, never moving too close to the water, birds never took rest on the shore.” It is hard to believe today, but no one was really interested in how the pond had come to be where it was or tried to explain its curious properties. That its presence was not entirely neutral became clear shortly after its unexpected “emergence.” Perhaps it was just a sequence of – how very unusual – coincidences, or perhaps some of the residents just yearned too much for the pond’s presence to produce some mystical consequences?

scene no. 2: The artist tends to an artificial palm tree in a busy roundabout right in the middle of a Central European city. material: an artificial date palm (Phoenix Canariensis), ideologies of various provenance, numerous extras place: a traffic island in the middle of Rondo de Gaulle’a, Warsaw title: Greetings from Jerusalem Avenue time: since 2002 notes: The palm tree installed in the roundabout at the intersection of Aleje Jerozolimskie and Nowy Świat Street in Warsaw is probably the best - known public space art project realised in Poland after 1989. The process of its “adoption” by the public took several years, ultimately becoming an alternative urban moment, a focus point for civic disobedience, a national predilection for the absurd and grotesque (particularly at moments of great pomposity and pathos), as well as the young generation’s burning desire to end once and for all with the martyrological clichés that bind public monuments to coarse, exaggerated and pained aesthetics. The palm is a monument. It was born in the artist’s head following her trip to Israel. It stands in a place where a large Jewish community lived before the war. Aleje Jerozolimskie! (Jerusalem Avenue) For decades the name remained transparent, devoid of any historical connotations. The artist said in an interview with Artur Żmijewski: “I miss the diversity of that world. I miss the Jews, whose absence/ presence is clearly reflected in the name of the street. Not some tiny

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assimilated group. I miss people different in the full sense of the word, demonstrating their difference without embarrassment but also without aggression. I miss Arabs and Africans in the same way. I miss the energy of immigrants, people who decide to leave everything behind them and start a new life, their anxiety and power… Poland is hopeless in this regard. A white, Catholic society with standard forms of behaviour and standard views. I find terrible this silent consensus, this ‘normalness’… Poland is a ghetto in so many respects that sometimes it’s suffocating. So I erect a tree and I treat it as an element of communication between people, non-verbal and non-intellectual communication. I don’t want people to ‘understand’ each other. I guess it’s impossible. I simply want them to be next to each other. Under the palm tree.” Besides the palm as something that signals crucial deficits, there is also the palm as a designate of a new urban reality. It is an alternative public monument whose nonchalant nature is understood perfectly well by groups that are marginalised, excluded or simply on the “wrong” side of the official political order. These can be nurses on strike (who, during wage-related protests in 2007, decorated the palm with a nurse’s bonnet), the Green Party or LGBT activists. Rajkowska has kept alive this unique monument that also seems a tribute to the chaotic, hardto-control and -diagnose, Central European metropolis. The palm is a praise of diversity and cultural instability. Warsaw – a typical bastard of the Central European socio-political and economic transformation – is expanding and atrophying, disintegrating into many incompatible urban fragments. Centuries of attempts to unify the city’s architecture have proved futile. Fragments of uncompleted urbanistic projects interlock, forming a dizzying amalgamate of styles and mistakes in urban metaplanning. New creations appear in the niches – grassroots initiatives, untypical transformations, “paratroop-drop” architectural solutions and appropriations. The artist points to black holes: in urban planning, the collective conscience, the legal system. Her palm tree is illegal and yet it has been standing for close to a decade now right in very centre of the city. It is also absurd and grotesque. Joanna Rajkowska contradicts the Polish pride, stifles the martyrological spirit, although she fights against amnesia. The palm tree in Rondo de Gaulle’a is a striking example of that.

scene no. 3: The artist photographs a pack of dogs in an old Muslim cemetery, a leaden sky, a drizzle. material: dogs, graves, humidity, text place: Üsküdar, Turkey notes: In 2009, I was working with Rajkowska for a project for the city of Konya in Central Anatolia, Turkey. We often took walks around İstanbul together. And it was during one of those walks that the work was created. We were wandering around the Asian side, in the neighbourhood

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of Üsküdar, that which once used to serve as the municipal cemetery. A bunch of dogs resting on the graves caught our attention. The dogs felt at home there, sleeping, lolling about in comfortably lined niches, filling the cold and wet stone grave frames with their bodies, seemingly warming them up. The gravestones looked like “living units” for dogs. The dogs themselves were timid, wary and wild. They wouldn’t come when called. They ignored our presence and a few moments later they disappeared. Rajkowska returned to the same place on the next day but the dogs were gone. During our stay in Turkey, we heard many versions of the story about how the people of İstanbul “deported” the city’s stray dogs to one of the Prince’s Islands and about the earthquake they were punished with for that. The more questions we asked, the more the legend fell apart into – often contradictory – versions. Rajkowska said later about her photographs of the dogs of Üsküdar: “They serve as a reminder of the exclusion of animals from society, as well as of the power of both estrangement and attachment between animals and humans.” A year later I wrote a text, a short story that was inspired by our visit to the Üsküdar cemetery and the dog stories we had heard in Turkey. I wrote it so that it became a sort of “exhibition on paper,” where works of Joseph Beuys or Richard Long would be smuggled. Some time ago we decided that the fictional text and Rajkowska’s photographic series should meet in one place. They are the same story, a variation of certain common experiences and obsessions. Early in 2011, a book alluding to those experiences was published. Here is a short excerpt from it, about a stuffed dog that was displayed in the window of a haberdashery shop somewhere in Üsküdar: “A dog like a dog. Nothing special, no purebred, just an ordinary street mutt. It’s stuffed, with glass beads for eyes, looks as if it was about to bite you – fangs bared, ears flat, it’s all kind of tense. The dog stands on its hind legs, a piece of wire stuck up its ass to support it. But the most important thing is that it’s dressed like a soldier! A soldier’s cap, a neatly ironed uniform, even boots made of leather, decent ones. All of it tiny, of course, like for a midget. I think what people like about it the most is that it looks as if prepared for the drill, and angry, as if it was ready for war. Kids laugh when they see it. The uniform was tailor-made by Ayşe, probably to advertise her shop. She probably doesn’t even remember it now, she’s old, doesn’t recognise her own children, has to keep record of everything in her notebook. The dog is a bit dusty, its head is balding, probably some worms have eaten the fur away. But it still stands there and it’ll probably remain so. Kids running past the shop call, “General, General, tell us who your death is!”

scene no. 4: The artist slips a small booklet between the volumes at the Yusuf Ağa Library in Konya.

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material: book, water, marble, semi-documentary, photography, wallpaper/drawing place: Konya, Turkey year: 2010 notes: Looking at the impressive sculpture Joanna Rajkowska has installed in one of the main public squares in Konya, where swirling water caresses text etched in marble slabs, I am reminded of Robert Smithson’s small pencil drawing called A Heap of Language. It was made in 1966 on a sheet of graph paper and shows a thicket of handwritten language and speech-related words – phraseology, verb, Babel, slip of tongue and so on – forming the titular heap. As Smithson’s commentators note, his vision of language was a geological one; words, Smithson believed, bank up, forming piles and heaps, like gravel, slate or sand. Language erodes, undergoing similar processes as geological formations. Smithson wrote of similarities between working on material (drilling, hacking off the successive layers, analysis of chemical composition) and working on language. He wrote: “Words and rocks contain a language that follows a syntax of splits and ruptures. Look at any ‘word’ long enough and you will see it open into a series of faults, into a terrain of particles each containing its own void.” At the same time, we should note how Smithson stressed the importance of exploring material at a time when conceptualists strove to ultimately dematerialise the work of art. The artist said in interview with Patricia Norvell: “I think that conceptual art that depends completely on written data is only half the story. You not only have to deal with the mind, you have to deal with material… There’s no escape from matter. I mean, there’s no escape from the physical. Nor is there any escape from the mind. The two are, I guess, on a constant collision course. So that you might say that my work is like an artistic disaster… It’s a kind of quiet catastrophe of mind and matter.” These words offer one of the possible interpretations of Benjamin in Konya, Rajkowska’s Turkish project (or perhaps her other recent projects as well, where language and land served as a conceptual basis for working with local communities.) An interpretation according to which the work can be described as a “quiet catastrophe of language.” After several study trips to Central Anatolia, Rajkowska decided to translate Walter Benjamin’s essay The Task of the Translator (Die Aufgabe des Übersetzers) into Ottoman Turkish. The text was published for the first time in 1923, that is, precisely the year when the modern Turkish Republic was proclaimed. This temporal coincidence is crucial for the artist. Here a whole state gets “translated:” language, alphabet and syntax becoming hostage to modernisation processes – their victim but also a reliable instrument of change. The essay itself is a sum total of Benjamin’s reflections on the purpose of translation, which is to regain the divine essence of language, the ability to truly

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“name things.” This ability was lost once and for all in the shadow of the crumbling Babel Tower (let’s remember the “heap of language” at this point – the chaotic, disorganised geological-linguistic formation), and man has since become stuck in incomplete language, unable to name things and thus lacking a real connection with the world. Let’s quote the Smithson's reflection once again: language can be annihilated, can corrode, disintegrate into tiny fragments, can be stored like waste in a bigcity waste heap. Language can degrade. What happened with Ottoman Turkish vividly resembles geological processes, further accelerated by laboratory-applied formulas – a political-cultural configuration in which the metamorphosis could proceed at an unnaturally fast pace. Using a sample of research material – the Benjamin essay – Rajkowska analyses the impact the 1928 language reform decreed by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk had on the Turkish language (and thus on Turkish society as a whole, its “identity continuity”). The Perso-Arabic script was abandoned; then Turkish was gradually “weeded” of Arabic and Persian imports. The first, natural stage of Rajkowska’s Benjamin in Konya project was, therefore, to translate (for the first time ever) The Task of the Translator into Ottoman Turkish. In 2010, Rajkowska’s artist’s book came out with 500 copies, featuring the original German text, its translations into Ottoman Turkish and modern Turkish, as well as a phonetic transliteration of the Ottoman version. [The publisher of Tableaux Parisiens also issued 500 copies of the book.] Another important component of the project was the deposition of one copy of the book in the Yusuf Ağa Library in Konya (part of the Mausoleum of Rumi), which has an excellent collection of Ottoman books. The project’s third component was a film titled The Stroll to the Library, documenting a fictional visit paid by Benjamin (played here by actor Henryk Rajfer, looking very much like the philosopher) to the Anatolian city. The final, most spectacular part of the project was the creation of a public sculpture in a square near the Şerafettin Cami Mosque and the City Hall. The sculpture has the form of a shallow basin in which water swirls over marble plates on which a fragment of the Benjamin text has been etched in three languages: Ottoman Turkish, German and modern Turkish. The Ottoman text is under water, whereas the farthest part emerges from the surface and runs spirally around the basin. This final, most tangible part of the project emphasises the entropic aspect. Both the submerged fragments of the text and those you can walk on are doomed to be eventually erased, annihilated. Marble is a soft material and in a few years’ time water and human feet will make sure the inscriptions have been worn away. That is how a “collision of mind and matter” occurs. Language is always the background of this “quiet catastrophe.” But these are not all of the catastrophes the artist follows. Carrying out her projects in public space, Rajkowska searches for crises, deficits, states

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of social exhaustion: moments where art can become a catalyst of change, stimulation, and â&#x20AC;&#x153;fever.â&#x20AC;? At the same time, her projects serve as a critical commentary on several decades of experiences with art in public space and community-based art. Rajkowska consciously refers to its failures, dead ends and the futile hopes that were pinned on art as it left the safe space of the museum. This is another quiet catastrophe that the artist leans over. Warsaw, January 2011 POL-ENG by M.W.

The Stroll to the Library, 08:15 min., video piece by Joanna Rajkowska, as a part of Walter Benjamin in Konya, 2011

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Was the City I am Living in Mine? Faruk Karaarslan Project Assistant for the My City Project

When I received the job offer from the My City project to work as the project assistant, I began to ask a couple questions that were triggered in my mind by the name of the project: My City. Was the city I am living in really mine? Or to what extent did I feel like it was mine? Did the other people with whom I live together with in this city know that this city also belonged to me? More importantly, were the officials in the local government thinking that this city belonged to me?” When I began to get more detailed information about the content of the project, I thought that it, more than anything else, would shed light on these and similar questions which were occupying my mind. For this reason I immediately accepted the offer which came to me through the mediation of my professor from the Sociology department at Selçuk University, Prof. Dr. Yasin Aktay. It was also important for me that I was going to seek answers to the questions that the project triggered within an artist. This was offering a chance for me to add to the things I would learn from an artist (with whom I would have the opportunity to work with for an extended period) to the knowledge that I had accumulated over five years of education in sociology. This was going to help me to structure in my mind the relations among cities, arts and people in a much clearer manner. Best of all, these things that were going to contribute to my personal development were in accord with the aims of the project. As I heard more about the project, I learned that an artist Joanna Rajkowska, who is Polish and lives in Warsaw, was going to come to Konya. This information excited me even further because I had just returned four months prior from Warsaw where I had spent six months as a student and I had already begun to miss my time there. At this juncture, it was very meaningful for me that I was going to assist an artist from Warsaw for a project in the city in which I was living. While on the one hand I would find the opportunity to talk and ask about my impressions of Warsaw and other cities in Poland, on the other I would be able to hear Joanna’s impressions on Konya at length and discuss my own with her. In this way we were going to share our experiences on these two cities that we knew and would find the chance to compare an Eastern European city with a Turkish city. Perhaps there were many reasons as to why the position was offered to me. The most important among these must be that I am from Konya, have been living in the city for twenty years, and have a good grasp of its history, culture, spaces, and the mentality of the local government. I had systematised all of the knowledge that stems from experience through my graduate and undergraduate education in sociology and I have a sufficient command of English. These must have been influential as well. The fact that they had searched for an assistant

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who is a local and has studied sociology shows that they take the project very seriously. This kind of thoughtfulness and the significance of the project further excited me. At this point the only question that remained on my mind was what was the artist who was going to come to Konya like? When one thinks of an artist, especially one who is nationally renowned, the first thing that comes to mind is their fastidiousness. Professionally they are bound not to like anything. You would expect that they would be capricious and they would randomly scold the people around them. In this sense there is a negative perception regarding artists’ human relations. Yet in our first meeting with Joanna, none of these negative connotations came to my mind. From the way she dressed and talked, she gave the impression of being a very modest person who was trying to understand the people around her. Having realised this, I tried to fully understand what her expectations of me were. Joanna wanted learn all about Konya and particularly she wanted to understand how the inhabitants of Konya represented themselves in public spaces. She was working on “public art” and that was what she wanted to do in Konya. I did not know much about “public art”, which is a rather new field in our country. Yet I later learned from her what it was and what it meant for the city. Joanna wanted to produce a work about public life in Konya and she wanted this work to represent something of the people using public spaces. To put it more saliently, Joanna wanted to include the people living in Konya in her project and she wanted to produce something that was going to find a place in the world of meanings of the people in Konya, a work that would mean something to them. First and foremost, this required a thorough knowledge of Konya’s history, the ways in which the inhabitants of the city were organising themselves in the public space, the structures of its civil society, the workings of its official institutions, and the structure of its culture and religion. This was going to be my role. I was going to be the mediator between Joanna and Konya and its inhabitants. I worked with Joanna for six months and during this period we conversed on many different issues and especially the different projects that she was entertaining in her mind. We met and talked about Konya with people from different groups and professions including representatives of civil society organisations, academics, local government officials, and students. We listened to a lot of local music and ate local food. Some local families hosted us in their homes. The most memorable among these experiences for me was Joanna’s astonishment when she heard the Ramadan drums1 and how for three nights we searched for

[1] Translator’s note: During the month of Ramadan, drummers walk through the streets of the towns and cities before dawn playing their drums to wake people up so that they can eat before the next day’s fasting begins right at dawn

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[2] Translator’s note: Nasreddin Hodja is a Sufi figure who is believed to have lived during the Middle Ages in the area. He is known for his satirical funny short stories and anecdotes [3] Translator’s note: Independence Tribunals were state of emergency courts established to curb the opposition during the Anatolian war and the early years of the Turkish Republic, that is, in the early 1920s [4] Translator’s note: Script reform is one of the many reforms carried out by the leadership of early Turkish Republic which aimed to modernise and secularise Turkish society. With this reform the usage of the Arabic alphabet was abandoned by law and a new Turkish alphabet, based on a modified Latin alphabet, was introduced

these drummers to talk with them. We were out at two in the morning trying to take pictures of the drummers. It was not only difficult to explain to Joanna what the drummers were doing but also quite difficult to explain to the drummers themselves what we were doing. These were the most fun moments of the project. Of course, there was also “Doggy,” the stray dog of the “Zazadin Han.” Every time we went to the Zazadin Han to take some pictures, “Doggy” followed us around everywhere we went. Joanna was very interested in Doggy, perhaps because it was a lame dog. Each time Joanna gave it food and water it accompanied us until we left the Zazadin Han. When the time came for Joanna to leave Konya, she wanted to say good-bye to Doggy and we went back to the Zazadin Han after a couple months break. This time only the guard of the Han met us. Doggy was not there. We learned that it was neutered and taken to a shelter. When I told this to Joanna she was very upset. She almost burst into tears. She was a true animal lover and she had kept telling me that she could not understand how people would abuse animals and she did not understand zoos. At that moment, I realised why Joanna kept visiting the zoo in Konya and observed people’s behavior towards the animals. The process of the making of the project was full of moments like this. We visited various historical sites in Konya and took pictures. In the wee hours of the morning, we went to the village of Sile and made sound recordings. We visited Nasreddin Hodja’s2 tomb and read his funny short stories. We climbed up the Takkeli Mountain to get a bird’s eye view of Konya. We tasted the traditional food in Meram. Sometimes we had long discussions on topics of mutual interest. In short, we fully lived every day of the project as we tried to discover Konya together. I guess what Joanna was most interested in her stay in Konya was life in public spaces. She was paying great attention to the actions and the organisation of people in public spaces and was trying to learn every detail about the things that had a place in collective memory. She wanted to fully understand disparate events that were collectively remembered from the impact on the society of the collapse of the Zümrüt apartment building, the perception of the Independence Tribunals3 in Konya, to political protests in the city. Among all these events that had an impact on public life she came to be most interested in the script reform of 1928.4 She was astonished to learn that we could not read and understand the texts written before this date and hence were denied access to huge portions of our cultural and intellectual inheritance. She believed that this must have resulted in gaps in our collective memory. She decided to make a project on language. She consulted the academics in Konya on this issue. Finally, she decided to write in various languages a quotation from Walter Benjamin in a pool that was to be built in a central public square in Konya.

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The project was not just about writing the text in the pool. This project was going to give a message to all the people using this central public space and to the officials of the local administration. Furthermore, this was not a message only from Joanna but from a famous philosopher. Through the mediation of a work of art the message was going to meet the public. This way, though Walter Benjamin was only known to a very few people in Konya, at least a quote by him, was going to be read by everybody who passed by this pool located in the busiest square in the city. What is the message? This message, written also with the alphabet that we had left behind a century ago, was to emphasise the dimensions of our estrangement from our own language and civilisation. It was a message emphasising the significance of language. In this sense our project was speaking to everybody and was aimed at pointing out the importance of language to the public in Konya. Put differently, the product of our intense work with Joanna was a pool that was in harmony with Konyaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s traditional architecture, yet also reflecting the modern age. Let me return to the questions that I had initially asked. Yes! This city was mine. However, in the process of the work that Joanna and I carried out, I came to understand that the people with whom I lived with in this city did not realise that this city also belonged to me. The car horns that were blown in response to the smallest mistakes, the animals in the zoo which were incarcerated only for people to watch, the people who did not hesitate to throw their garbage on the streets, even spit on the streets, streets and public buildings which were not designed to accommodate the circulation of the disabled, my inability to read texts written a century ago in my own cultural world all pointed towards this. Yet, this was not a problem peculiar to Konya. What I understood from our conversations with Joanna is that this problem existed in Warsaw and London and elsewhere. Perhaps this was the problem of the modern world. If you ask me, with this project another step was taken towards solving this problem. It made me and the other people living in Konya further feel that this city was ours. In this sense, the project was trying to establish relations with the city and the public life and the world of thought. Most important of all, it served to emphasise the importance of a bridge between the past and the future and the central significance of the experience of living together. The project took its place at the heart of Konya as a value for the city of Konya and its peoples. It told the people of Konya that the city belongs to the people living in public spaces and it will continue to say this. TR-ENG by B.K.

INTERVIEW Aydın Nezih Doğan Konya Governor

Could you please introduce yourself? I have been serving as the Konya governor since July 2009. Formerly, I have served as the Tekirdağ governor and as district governor in various districts around Turkey, including one in Konya. I have been working as a state official for the past 26–27 years. How did you get in contact with My City project? What did you think it was going to be like when you first heard about it? My introduction to My City project was through Joanna’s request for a meeting, and her coming here. Joanna came here with her friends from the project, and I hosted them here in this very room. I met with her in the morning, and on the same day, in the afternoon in the Mevlana (Rumi) Cultural Centre. It was an introductory meeting for the project. The ideas that the artist was proposing in the meeting terrified me. Here was an artist who was not only unfamiliar with the realities of Turkey and the fault lines of Turkish politics, but also an artist who seemed as if she was not going to take them into serious consideration. It was an open meeting and many people voiced their opinions. I guess Joanna had talked about a project that she did in Poland. She talked about the problems that her art event in Warsaw had created. I said, “Alas, we will face similar problems in Konya.” Let me talk about this Warsaw project. The artist planted a certain type of palm tree in Warsaw that grows in the Arab counties, and through this, she tried to say, “Look, Israel is creating a problem in Palestinian territories.” Meanwhile, the Jews were subjected to violence by the Germans during the Second World War in these lands. It is impossible for the Jews to forget this. She plants a palm tree that represents the Palestinians there, and she wants this to be accepted by the Jews in Poland. The place became a centre for protests. It became a centre for all kinds of protests against the government. An artist performs her art in order to capture the difference. Joanna’s characteristic is to produce art that captures social problems. It is like you live in a place with heavy air pollution and you do not know anything of clean air. You realise the air is polluted only when you breathe in the clean air. The situation was quite similar: it is difficult to see the social problems, if you are already

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living in those problems. An outside observer can see them clearly. Furthermore, Joanna is an artist who is geared to do this. When I saw what she had captured with the script written in the former alphabet, I realised that this was a conscious choice. But I told her that it needed to be softened for social acceptance. If what this lady had in mind was to be fully implemented, we could have faced a serious political rupture, social problems and an issue that would be discussed at the national level. I was worried if such a case would benefit or harm the city we are living in. Of course, it is not at all easy to explain to a foreigner the problems that can emerge from your own cultural background. Words are not enough. You need other things. You need to be able to feel it. I brought up my worries. Yet, my worries were not at all taken into account. They came back again with another project proposal. There is a place in Konya called Takkeli Mountain. It is a place visible from all parts of Konya. She was thinking of writing a poem in the Arabic alphabet on the face of the mountain. As the governor of the city, I was apprehensive about the possible conflicts that such a project would cause nationwide, and its possible interpretations because of some of the past events in Turkish political history that took place in Konya. I tried to explain this for a couple of hours to David [Codling] with carefully chosen words. I told him that we could not undertake such a project and that it would create serious conflicts and divergence among different social groups. I can see what the artist had captured. What we call the Script Reform here in Turkey represents a cultural break. The gaze of an outsider can see this much more clearly, we cannot see it as clearly because we are already living it. When you go to the mosque, visit historical monuments, and in the old books, you see a different alphabet, and there is a new alphabet today. A foreigner sees this break, sees it much more clearly when compared to us, and in a way, criticises it. Or she wants to make it a part of art. This is actually what Joanna is doing. She saw a cultural transformation. I do not want to pass a negative or positive judgement on this. I am saying this just as an observation. There is a break. Some would see this as a positive break, some as negative. This would produce another break. In the end, we are state officials, not artists. We have to think about the consequences. We went through this kind of a process of persuasion. In the end, it became possible to make something that did not cause the artists to give up

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on her sensibilities and the current project emerged. The writing is in Ottoman, Ottoman in Latin script, German and Turkish. There are four different narratives there. This narrative was not fully understood by the people of Konya as intended by the artist. Of course, when I say the people of Konya, I do not mean a single entity. There were thousands who understood the message very well, and could internalise it. There were others who were questioning it and asking, “Why was this written this way?” But the work generated criticism mostly from the visually impaired. Here is what they were saying, “I am visually impaired, how will I know that there is a pool here?” or “There are no warnings that would keep me away from that pool. I might slide and fall into it.” There were protests around the pool, but Joanna likes protests around her arts activities. Hence, to a certain extent she realised her aim. That is to say, her aim was to create a space for protest. But the protests were not about the idea embodied in the artwork, but towards the implementation of the artwork. Various political groups organised protests against this. Then the disabled made their statements there. Many newspaper columnists criticised not the idea presented, but the implementation of the art. Two major criticisms were voiced. One was directed towards the Mayor’s Office, and it was:, “There was one square in Konya where people could walk comfortably, and you allocated this square for this purpose.” The other criticism was: “What kind of an artwork is this that no warnings were placed for the disabled in an age of affirmative action? Why did the artist not show such a sensitivity?” Still, since it was put there, there were people around it every hour of everyday looking at what it was. Konya is one of the cities in Turkey with a sturdy tourism industry. For instance, last year, in 2010, about 460,000 foreign and 1.5 million local tourists visited the city. There are about 2 million people who come to visit Rumi every year. This project did not become one of the tourist destinations. Since its installation in September, around 600,000 visitors came to Konya. But the site was not included in the tourist excursion route. The tourist guides do not know about it. For instance, you take the tourists to the sculpture of the Brementown Musicians. It’s a very simple sculpture, but they still take the tourists there. It is one of the destinations for tourists. You pay the price and go see such places. Or in Holland, there are places you go and see. In Italy, it is the same. People did not perceive that it (Joanna’s art work) has a cultural significance, that it has a meaning and this meaning is in line with Konya’s international vision. I do not quite understand this lack of perception. Hence, despite the fact that it is a work that represents Konya, Konya’s values, the values of Rumi such as tolerance and love, Konya failed to integrate it into its cultural atmosphere. At the moment, we (as the Governor’s Office) are

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not making any interventions; we are trying not to stir the social tensions. But in March, we will undertake a substantial project on tourism. We will conduct an in-depth scientific study. Through that work, I will try to explain to people in the tourism industry that this project is an integral part of the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s culture. With the help of people in the culture industry, I will try to render this work one of the tourist destinations. If this happens to be the case, and people come and start taking its pictures and show an interest in itâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;for instance, if it turns into one of those trees that people tie pieces of cloth around, then it will be more in line with what Joanna had in mind. At the moment, it is a place from which we keep our distance. What are your observations about the inception and the implementation of the project? We always make the same mistake. We have a culture that tries to finish things while still making them. There is a saying that goes like, put together everything relevant about an issue and leave the rest out. We need to adopt a perspective that would include all of the necessary elements and leave out everything that is unnecessary. The project team was not put together in this manner. Is this the reason why the pool does not have water in it at the moment? In winter, the water freezes. The frozen water kind of spirals inwards. When the sun shines on it, it looks truly stunning. I asked Joanna if she had intended for this, and she replied that she herself did not know about it, but found it beautiful. It adds further depth to the whole thing. But in order for the municipality to get it running again in the right season, some strong support is required. The Association for the Disabled needs to be persuaded. It requires positive propaganda. This problem about the disabled should have been foreseen and included in the project. Of course, this should have been done in a manner that would have incorporated the sensibilities of the artist. The artist wanted this pool to be accessible. She wanted the people to be able to come near the water and stand by it. Hence the original project does not have any barriers. Yet the absence of barriers creates a problem, not one that could not be overcome though. Perhaps it could have been built in a slightly elevated fashion. I think Joanna needs to come here again, and we need to tell her about the problems and ask for her suggestions towards a solution.

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MY CITY / AYDIN NEZİH DOĞAN

Has the Governor’s Office worked with an artist before, or collaborated with an artist? No, not the Governor’s Office, but the Municipality did. There are works that have been done with sculptors right next to the Governor’s Office. There is something else in the Culture Park, in a place called Şato Forum. There is a sculpture there. It is a place around Alaeddin. There is a beautiful sculpture there. Konya is a conservative place; people don’t like sculptures very much. Yet, all of these are a testament to the fact that social prejudices are much less rigid than they are assumed to be. There are no oppositions towards these works. People have their pictures taken in front of them. My personal opinion is that this work should continue to be there. It is tremendously aesthetic and it embraces the artistic spirit and rebellion. The people of Konya should get to know it, and moreover, people visiting Konya should get to know it. If there were problems and troubles, we should assume that we have contributed to them as well. When something is not going well, all the parties involved are responsible. It is our joint responsibility. 2 February 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

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Joanna Rajkowska in Konya, 2010

INTERVIEW Bekir Şahin Director of Konya Regional Manuscript Library

Would you introduce yourself? My name is Bekir Şahin. I was born in Kadınhanı, Konya. I went to primary and middle schools in Kadınhanı, and graduated from Konya Selçuk University’s Theology department. I served 10 years as a teacher, assistant principal and principal in various schools around Turkey. In 1997, I became the director of Burdur Public Library. Since 2002, I have been serving as the director of the Konya Regional Manuscript Library. I also have positions at various non-governmental organisations such as the president of the Konya branch of the Turkish Writers Association, Konya representative of Professional Organisation of Authors of Intellectual and Artistic Works (İLESAM) and a member of the Board of Directors of Turkish Monuments Association. I am also a member of the Board of Editors, as well as a writer for the Konya Encyclopaedia, which started off two years ago. I have made presentations in various national and international symposiums. I write for various newspapers and magazines. I have published six books. I first heard about this project through Adem Seleş and Yasin Aktay. Then the project coordinators came to visit our library. They said they were going to shoot a short film in the library. Since this was a cultural project, we were more than happy. The world is ridden with wars today; our biggest hope is to achieve peace. Cultural bridges are crucial in establishing world peace. As opposed to geographical boundaries, today we are faced with cultural boundaries, and I believe that for humanity to achieve future peace, arts and culture events need to become more widespread. Though we couldn’t do much, we still tried to provide what we could. It was very significant for the project to contain a library because libraries are the collective consciousness and the centres of knowledge. Especially if this is a manuscript library, it brings the past to the present and carries the present to the future. These libraries are where you find primary sources of works in every language, religion and culture. Nowadays, all researchers prefer to consult primary sources for their research. If one is going to write about history or science, it is imperative to go to these libraries. Thinking about the fact that Konya is the capital of six civilisations – in fact the first city where the first civilisation was established – the project becomes significant in that respect as well. Konya was the capital of the Seljuks, and Konya saw the first urbanisation

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movement with civilisations living here under one roof, people from all religions and lands were invited here, and a Konya school was formed. Unfortunately not many people know about this Konya school in the world today. During that period and the periods following it, Muslims and non-Muslims lived side-by-side in Konya, and their sweet memories lead us to the path of world peace and solidarity. When they told you about the project, what did you think of Joanna’s views about different languages co-existing in one book, in one place? What kind of an effect did this have both in the book, and in the square in the middle of daily life? In our culture, language is referred to as “mother’s milk.” Language for us is as sacred as our flag. Today people are faced with at least three languages: native language, cultural language and official language. We can never overlook any one of these. People have to use all three of these languages in different occasions. It is considered shameful to say, “My official language is this, and my native language can not be used in the official language.” Our culture has always given freedom to these three languages. Today the world needs exactly that. When we look back at the Ottoman rule, we see that languages have always survived. In Seljuk and Ottoman histories, language was never used as a tool of oppression. For instance, Persian was the dominant language in the Seljuks. The Ottomans used Ottoman Turkish but other languages were also easily accepted. What comes to the foreground in this project is the mixture of different languages and alphabets. Moreover, language is a tool of communication. People should be able to express themselves freely in their own language. The pool in the centre of Konya acquires another meaning with the language, and the water in the pool reflecting its clarity. Bringing the pool together with languages must be the symbol of our hopes for today and for the future. Unfortunately, in our country there have been some problems with this cultural language. Inevitably, states collapse and other states take power. Initially, rebelling against this cultural language may be a good thing. But now, the republic is established and strong. Today, intellectuals study the Ottoman language. Nobody wants to have the embarrassment

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of not being able to read his grandfather’s tombstone or have someone else translate a martyr’s letter from the past. In today’s Greece, next to Greek writing you will also find Latin. In Russia, next to Russian you’ll find English. Again, in Israel you’ll see road signs in different alphabets, different languages. The people of the world want to protect their native language, cultural language and official language all the same. So what did Joanna’s book bring to your library? It is an unusual book for this library. It’s not only an artist’s book, but a book of an artist that is not from Konya… From Joanna’s point of view, it may be a first. But from our point of view, it’s not at all. For us, it was a contemporary sibling of all the other books in the library written in different languages, but it was the forgotten one. Its siblings were all 100, 200, 300 years old, and this one was a young, fresh sibling. For instance, we have a 1,200-years-old Hebrew manuscript written on leather. In addition, there are various dictionaries and books in Ottoman. In our library or in other manuscript libraries, there are translations of philosophy books by famous Europeans, and, especially Greek, philosophers. This was a forgotten book and the project brought back a forgotten past. For many, it was a first. Because once you forget something, it doesn’t exist anymore. So we may also look at it as new. The project was mostly remembered through the pool, not so much through the book. Has there been any discussion about this new book in the library? People didn’t understand the library very well, and that’s why it wasn’t at the forefront. In fact, libraries in our day are, unfortunately, not where they deserve to be. The pool attracted attention, but this was because it had brought a reaction and caused debate. Certainly everyone was right and wrong in a way. Just the fact that the project created so much discussion brought it to the current agenda. And none of the discussions were unconstructive for the project. There were some fair arguments about the disabled. For me, it’s even a privilege to get wet in that pool. There are different healing tools in different religions and communities. Again, in some cultures, there is the ritual of drinking out of a holy cup, and most of the cups have writings in different languages. They are tools of healing. We can even interpret the project in this way. I want to give another example. Currently we are writing about the history of the neighbourhoods of Konya. The other day we went to a neighbourhood in the centre called Ferhuniye, to talk to a man of 105 years old. He was talking about the neighbourhood. He said, “There were non-Muslims living there, too.” Of course, this was a very new and

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important information for us. We also wanted to know who owned the building of the Turkish Writers Association of which I’m the president of. It’s the neighbourhood just north of Alaeddin where the Kültür Park is. We were going to write about what communities lived there. The old man continued with his story, “We had two non-Muslim neighbours. When they were leaving, they wanted to give us their chest box as a gift. So my wife gave them one-and-a-half liras. They refused. She insisted. They refused, ‘We can’t accept that, that would be unjust.’ This is a conversation between a Muslim and a non-Muslim. Close to here is a neighbourhood called Sille [formerly a village]. A man that makes fedora hats there is leaving the village and says to his neighbour, ‘You can sell these and send me the money.’ The neighbour sells all the hats but he can’t find the other man’s address to send him the money. Then he goes to Mevlana Museum. He says to his friends, ‘I have something that belongs to my non-Muslim neighbour, but I can’t send it to him. What should I do? Give me some advice,’ and he gives the money to them. So the men in the museum take the money, – this is a true story, a quite recent one – and buy paint to paint the church in Sille. Another man borrows some gold from his Muslim neighbour and says, “I’ll send it back to you.” Time passes and there is no gold coming from him, and the Muslim man gets upset. He thinks, ‘He was an honest man. Why didn’t he send it? I guess I was wrong about him.’ Just as he is saying this, a guest arrives. He says, “I’m so and so’s son. After my father left here, he became ill and died. He told me, ‘Son, I borrowed some gold from this man in Konya, and I am quite late in returning it, add some more and take it back to him.” The gold comes back in a greater amount. There are many stories like these. These are actions that will contribute to world peace. I think parts of formal history will be remembered by the new generations as false history. I hope there will be more projects like this and bridges will be built for cultures to come together. 3 February 2011 TR-ENG by Z.Z.

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The Task of the Translator, 2011, c-print, 66,5x100 cm © Joanna Rajkowska courtesy ZAK | BRANICKA

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INTERVIEW Adem Seleş Writer, activist

Would you introduce yourself? My name is Adem Seleş. I graduated from Hacettepe University’s Public Administration department. I work in advertising, and I am also active in non-governmental organisations. For nearly 15 years, I have been active in human rights. I am actively involved in a platform formed by 80 foundations and non-governmental organisations in Konya that has been active for the last 10 years. I am also a columnist in the daily Merhaba. You have been to other cities and attended all the launch events for the projects in those cities. What do you think of the work that was done here? What did people say about it? My view about the European Union projects is that to be beneficial for everyone, they have to be founded upon mutuality. Just as we learn from them, they should also learn from us. I have travelled abroad and talked to people, and even in my own country, I see this Orientalist perspective like, “We will go there and teach them, or they will come here and learn.” We need to create a more equal platform for mutual exchange that is good for both sides. That’s what I thought about the project. I think that all this talk about globalisation is just a big lie. I believe that we are going back towards localisation, and certainly diversity will be an advantage during this change. So what if everyone in the world learns to speak English? Does that help anyone? Konya has its own characteristics and, as a person who lives here, I have to protect these characteristics. A person who lives in Warsaw has to protect Warsaw’s characteristics. So that when we get to know each other, we can create a source of life that is at once happy and full of vitality. This diversity is a life source. For instance, I was happy when Somalian immigrants came to Konya. Black people, dark-skinned people, there was a great diversity. You see all kinds of people, tall people, small people. Even this was eye opening for us. I wrote about the cities on My City’s website and I also published these articles in my newspaper column, so that the project could get some press. If people from Konya could understand or explain the project better, it would have had a much bigger impact. Intellectuals and more educated groups understood the project, of course. But, when the public passed by the pool, they would ask, “Why was this done?” Some blame the Municipality for it, and

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others the Mayor. I really like the work in Mardin; the cinema left its mark on the city. Even after years, the cinema will have a story. I liked the way that they did something with kids in Trabzon and involved the public in the process. Even I got something from the writing on the wall. When I met the artist she hadn’t understood my take on it, but this diversity is still very important. From the sentence, “The one who loves speaks the truth, and laments injustice,” I made out the following meaning: “The one who is in âşık, is also the one that plays saz and sings.” We even came to the meaning of the word together through talking. What kind of method do you think that Joanna could have used in order to make the project more understandable and spread it to a wider audience? Joanna could have done some interviews with the local press or some columnists; the project could have been explained in a press conference. You do panels at the Municipality, and the hall is filled with the employees from the Municipality. The panel is at two o’clock in the afternoon; students are at school, public servants and workers are at work. The Ottoman language is important for Konya. In recent years, they have started courses in Ottoman. Translation does not do justice to the original, we know that. This was being emphasised here. Honestly, even the ones in the Municipality, the Cultural Centre and the Directorate of Culture were not completely informed about why this was being done. If they themselves don’t understand it completely, how are they going to explain it to the public? What did you think of the content? Sometimes problems get ahead of the content in these kinds of initiatives. At the end you might and up by not perceiving the work. What does it mean for you to do this kind of work in Konya? I observed that an artist from outside can have a better perspective on some issues through her unique view. Even I, as a person who deals with things like human rights and freedom, had not realised how our ties with the past had completely been cut off after the Script Reform and that the 600-year history between the Ottoman and the Turkish had been erased just like that, and that it had become incomprehensible. The official

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ideology of the Republic has been leaning towards this direction for many years, and you eventually internalise it. In that sense, I think the work has opened many new horizons. No matter how much we think we are rebelling against it, official ideology makes us internalise certain taboos and prohibitions as natural. In fact, even the opposing voices are not free of this internalisation. For me, this was a good learning experience. Whatever anyone says, Konya is different from all other cities. It is set upon a background of religion. For example, the Municipality built a park next to İş Bank, with water fountains and all. They put sculptures of kids playing there. Even though I’m a religious person and have reservations about sculpture, I liked it. It looked like some of the sculptures I had seen in the United States. Even this sculpture stirred up debate here, “What are these sculpture doing in the middle of the city?” That’s how Konya is. Yet, if this project had been explained better, it would have received more reaction. For instance, there is no sign explaining the work. People ask, “What does this Ottoman writing mean?” If they put a summary of the text and a short description of the work, it will spread like an urban legend. Thirty thousand people pass by here, maybe three of them will read it. But the next day, through word of mouth, it will reach a thousand people. People would have owned it even if they had written something along the lines of “No translation is as good as the original text. To understand this text properly, you need to learn Ottoman. To understand your 600-year history, you need to learn Ottoman.” To make this point, the artist Joanna wrote the text in Ottoman, Turkish and German. In terms of the location of the work, blind people have a point that they can’t see it. Even those who aren’t blind hardly notice it. Also this is the spot where all people pass by, or wait for the bus, or gather for political rallies and protests. It’s been an empty space for years and now all of a sudden a pool appears there, and a few people know why it was put up there. 2 February 2011 TR-ENG by Z.Z.

Detail from Walter Benjamin in Konya, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

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INTERVIEW

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Veli Özağan Association for Protection of the Visually Impaired for Common Good, Konya Branch

Could you please briefly introduce yourself? My name is Veli Özağan. I am the chair of the Konya Branch of the Association for Protection of the Visually Impaired for Common Good. Our branch is also a member of the Executive Board of the Federation of the Visually Impaired. Can you please describe us the square that the project is placed on? Hükümet Square is used for political rallies during election times and it is also a place where public city buses begin and end their routes. It is a place where Vakıfbank and other major banks are located, and also a much-used transit route for the city residents. The pool for the project is located right at the centre of this square, and hence it causes problems. Or if the pool was located in a corner, or a less central place, we still would not have paid any attention to it on account of the fact that it would not be on our way. We would prefer that the needs of the pedestrians were taken into account, especially when such a project is located in a place much used by the pedestrians. Our Metropolitan Mayor stated that this is a square for political rallies, and hence the pool was going to be covered during the election campaigns. Has there been another case of a work of art causing problems in Konya before? As the visually impaired, we are not interested in its form, shape or what it is made of, as we can’t see it. What we say in general is that there should not be any barriers that would prevent our mobility and safety in the places that we use. Now they began to place billboards on the sidewalks and we have begun to work against this issue as well. The misplaced garbage cans, billboards, trees, polls, signboards, or the things that the shop owners put in front of their shops all cause problems for us. I do not think, in Turkey, pedestrians are taken into account when projects are made. 2 February 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

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An image of a platform prepared in advance of the projectâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s inauguration in order to cover the Walter Benjamin in Konya pool and not obstruct public meetings and demonstrations which take place in the square.

INTERVIEW Yasin Aktay Prof. Dr., Selçuk University Sociology Department

Could you please introduce yourself? I am a faculty member in the Sociology department in the Faculty of Literature at Selçuk University. I have been living in Konya for the past 19 years. What was your role in My City project? What was your experience like? I was invited to help the artist who was going to work in Konya, to find an assistant for her and provide consultancy. I tried to help her as much as I could. I introduced her to a graduate student of mine. I had a chance to learn about the project and its unfolding both from my student who had become the artist’s assistant, and from the artist herself whom I met from time to time. Since our areas of interest were overlapping, I had a lot to share with the artist. I can say that we had very good discussions about language, art, social philosophy and interpretative experiences. Joanna had very interesting observations regarding Konya, and she was comparing these with her own country and other countries in the Middle East that she had visited. Her insights were original and inspiring. For instance, her insights on the formation of public spaces and the appropriation of public space in Konya were very different from the commonly assumed interpretations. I also helped her to overcome communication problems with the local administrators when her work required interaction with the local administration. This mediation between the artist and the local administration was not just about translating between two different languages but required the reconciliation of different cultural backgrounds. How would you define public space in Konya? Can you describe the different usages of public space here? How do the people of Konya experience arts and cultural productions in public space? The concept of public space is a fairly controversial issue in Turkey. The debate over where public space begins and ends is intertwined with the debate over individual rights and the restrictions that should or could be placed on them. Hence, at first sight it seems difficult to offer a clear analysis on the ways in which public space is experienced. Still we can say that compared to other cities, people are more conservative in public

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spaces in Konya. Tacitly accepted rules are strictly followed in such spaces. As to works of art in public spaces, there is a set of specific practices and preferences in Turkey as an Islamic country. Sculptures are not a favoured form of art. People would demand a well-designed garden or an architectural work in public spaces. The aesthetics of spaces around the mosques historically have become an integral part and parcel of the worldviews of the people of Konya. There are many architecturally significant historical mosques. Traditions are carefully guarded in these spaces. Music is performed within the Rumi tradition in houses and common places, and it facilitates and enables socialisation. Streets and avenues are lively life spaces. In this sense, there are a lot of common spaces that enable neighbourhood and other forms of long-term relations. In this sense, the city boasts a very established culture of neighbourhood. There is something else that Joanna keenly captured. Different from the West, somebody can put a chair in front of his/her home or shop and, by sitting on that chair, can turn that space which essentially is public into his/her private space. This comfort and ease in the appropriation of space ties into the perception of the state in Turkey. In the West, the state looks invisible but it actually is very dominant in protecting property and hence, it would not be easy for Westerners to engage in such practices. Because of this, in the west, common spaces continue to decrease and neighbourhood culture cannot develop. What is the significance of Walter Benjamin in Konya project for the city? How do you evaluate this project in relation to public space practices in the city? This project involves the building of an architecturally original pool in one of the most favoured and busiest squares in Konya, which is surrounded by a series of historical mosques. The quotation in Ottoman, first and foremost, has the potential to trigger all kinds of different interpretations and myths for the people of Konya. Even on the day of the opening of the pool, I overheard a few different interpretations that were being voiced which would not even have crossed the artistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mind. The work provokes reflections on the nature of dialogical translation processes. It points towards the difficulties of translation between different languages and also aims at bringing people together who have lived and are living in different times. There is no predetermined point that this meeting would end in. Where the quotation from Benjamin takes you is exactly such a place of elusiveness. This is a very meaningful choice for Konya. This is the land of Rumi who had once said, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Whatever you say, your words mean as much as they are heard by the listener,â&#x20AC;? a Rumi who has tried to hear the story of the reed torn from its reed bed through the sound of a reed flute, a Rumi who has produced his work in Persian on Turkish speaking territories. I believe that this work will contribute to the culture of the city and motivate a series of parallel meanings and images. February 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

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MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

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181 Clemens von Wedemeyer, Sun Cinema, Mardin, 2010. Photo: Clemens von Wedemeyer

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In Mardin and Under the Sun Clemens von Wedemeyer Artist of the Project in Mardin

Being alone in a city as an artist is not so easy and also creates some pressure. I tried to meet other people in Mardin, because I need contacts to make decisions in communication. I did not want to produce something without engagement by and within the city. Therefore I was happy to meet people from the cinema association there, as well as to organise a workshop about the architecture with people from Ä°stanbul Technical University. I came back to Mardin every two months for a year, and the city is changing and developing really very fast. Constructions takes place everywhere; people believe in prosperity. There are more cafĂŠs opened, as well as restaurants. The new city is getting newer and bigger, and the old city turns into a museum city. I wait for the time when we will be able to see the old city from the castle on top of the rock. But at the moment it is still closed because of a military base. Doing a workshop with archaeologists and architects helped me to understand the area. Creating a work for a city is, of course, more interesting than doing it for a gallery, but you have to be more flexible, in order to get it implemented in a city. The work changes with the location, and the shape depends on the collaborators and partners as well. This was my first public sculpture in that sense. It is also a social work, to be used. Using the sculpture means activating it. The screen should invite people to think about films they want to see there; the cinema association, who will run the open-air cinema, is a very important partner here. It was my initiative to create a new public cinema space, but running a film programme is a necessary part of this public space, too. I hope that working without walls, showing films in open air, and discussing about film programmes fulfils the sculpture. For me, this is much more important than working in a classical museum, or a gallery. Through this structure, we can address other people, and use the whole city as an audience. Especially in Mardin, where three languages are being spoken on the streets, Sun Cinema might have a chance to welcome all. I myself had some difficulties with the language. Having not been familiar with the language created a barrier in terms of easy communication. For most of the important talks, I needed a translator. I was tempted to learn Turkish, but I also wanted to learn Kurdish, Arabic and Aramaic. At the end, I did not learn any of them but was able to speak some words. At the market, I met some people who spoke German, as well as in the airport and during my flights. In some cafĂŠs I spoke English, and in the end, I made some friends with which I mostly spoke English, and who helped me a lot. Not speaking any local language at the end also seemed to be honest because it underlined my status and view as a foreign artist. Mardin does not only consist of typical Artukid architecture, there are also some modern buildings in the old town, and some old buildings

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within the new town. In the future it might be difficult to distinguish between buildings from today and yesterday, because the municipality wants to rebuild the city in an old style, producing one image of it, as if the whole city was built in the Middle Ages. Still at the end, I was overwhelmed by the shape and visual impact of the city. I was never ignoring it. You can’t ignore this city. Walking in Mardin is a very visual experience. The city’s public space is governed by the sun. Historically this is a driving force behind buildings as shelters. Private houses were built to produce shadows and cool air. In our workshop, it was said that the stones of the houses were taken out of the caves. In contemporary Mardin, public spaces have a distinct function (e.g., shopping) or they are loaded by a symbolic function (e.g., political symbolism, as the Atatürk square is the biggest and the most central square). Most of the year, it is used as a parking lot. New squares were built in the new city, some of them gifts of the regional government to the population. Other spaces are half-public, like mosques and churches or archaeological places, as well as cinemas. These will be open for events only after discussions or due to regulations, or if you pay a fee. Many territories within the city seem to be public, but at the end of the research, you will find out that they actually belong to a private person, or to the church: so many spaces are undecided, spaces inreevaluation, or under pressure. We made some encounters during our research for a building site. The real free public spaces are probably the market streets. Here most of the encounters happen: all these narrow streets were private, people walk around from house to house and meet. I feel that now, after finishing the project, the most interesting border between public spaces lies directly behind the cinema screen. If you watch a film from the front, you are in the space of the government’s land, who gave us permission to build, but directly behind the screen there is an actual real border, invisible to the spectator; the “everybody’s land” starts there. On this land, it is absolutely forbidden to build. This border fits perfectly with the screen. Making a film programme in that region is a constant struggle for meaning, but if you go behind the screen, you are free, alone with yourself in the mirror with a great landscape. The last refugium, so to say.

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Sun Cinema, Mardin, 2010. Photos: Murat Aksu

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Notes about Sun Cinema Clemens von Wedemeyer

Due to its once religiously diverse and multilingual (Arabic, Kurdish, Turkish, and Aramaic) population, the city of Mardin in southeastern Turkey is sometimes called “Little Jerusalem.” After about 25 years without a functioning movie theatre, it was only in 2009 that one has opened again in Mardin’s old city, managed by a local cinema association. A film festival also takes place every September, and visitors are more likely to attend when the screenings take place outdoors. I have designed an open-air cinema for Mardin in cooperation with architects from İstanbul, which is also to be run by the cinema association. I searched for a long time for an ideal site, which was to be a new location specifically and permanently for the open-air cinema. I wanted it to be lodged between the city and the Mesopotamian plains below. Finally we found a spot: below the 16th century Koran school Kasımiye Madrasa, on the western edge of the city directly above a ridge. It lies about a kilometre from the old town, the open landscape of the plains beginning directly behind the screen. For me, it was about creating an open (and opened) cinema, meaning one which can be experienced by many, and, at the same time, in which the formal principles of cinema become visible. Sun Cinema consists of three parts: a free-standing screen, an amphitheatre and the projector’s triangular base. The triangle symbolises the beams of light of the projector. I also wanted to draw a connection between the cinema and the sun: in the morning, the first rays of sunlight strike the front of the 6 by12 metres screen, at which time one could enact a shadow play using one’s own body. In the evening, the setting sun is reflected back on the south by the metallic mirror panels which cover the back side of the screen. The sun as illuminator This sun imagery refers to studies of light in ancient Arabia, which were concurrent with investigations of the human eye. In his book Florence and Baghdad: a West-Eastern History of Seeing, Hans Belting writes that investigations of the eye and the sun made by Arabian scientists in the Middle Ages led to the introduction of perspective in Western Europe during the Renaissance. Even older ties of this region to the sun are evidenced by solar cults and religions which focus on sun and fire (e.g., Yezidi, Şemsi, Zoroastrianism, etc.). In Mardin, a room with a window facing to the east was found under an ancient Aramaic cloister. Presumably, it had been used by sun or fire worshippers such as the Zoroastrians, and the room is presented as a curiosity by tour guides. Today, the local Christian and Muslim inhabitants might view these solar cults as heretical although aspects of them could have been integrated into their own religions: for instance, the eternal flame, or the Ramadan tradition of fasting during the sun’s visibility.

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Sun Cinema, Mardin, 2010. Photos: Clemens von Wedemeyer

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MY CITY / CLEMENS VON WEDEMEYER

Cinema was preceded by shadow plays and the camera obscura before taking over as the dominant art form utilising the absorption and projection of light. Alexander Kluge describes another connection between the sun and cinema in his book Geschichten vom Kino, with the idea of a cosmic, universal cinema (Kosmischen Universalkino). He traces this concept back to an 1846 publication by the lawyer Felix Eberty, The Stars and the Earth. Kluge writes: “Eberty (…) rightly assumed, that a ray of light which left the earth on Good Friday in the year 30 A.D. continues to move out into the cosmos and away from us. Therefore the entirety of history is preserved in the path of light. The entire history of the world is therefore crossing the cosmos in the form of moving pictures (Eberty himself had never heard the term cinema).” Behind the screen, one sees one’s self Not only does the rear side of the screen mirror the sun, but one can see one’s own reflection on it as well. On the screen’s front, other people’s films are shown, but when one makes a step behind the screen during the day, one can view one’s mirror image in the landscape – or at least the sun reflecting off one’s skin and clothing. Notes: In addition to the cinema building project, I shot a film about the city of Mardin and the search for the site for the new cinema (Light&Space, 45 min., 2010). The design of the open-air cinema was discussed with architecture students from İstanbul Technical University, and realised together with the architect Gürden Gür. For further information: Mardin Cinema Association: www.mardinsinemadernegi.org Mardin Film Festival:www.sinemardin.com.tr

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Sun Cinema, Mardin, 2010. Photo: Clemens von Wedemeyer

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING A view from the city of Mardin 2010. Photo: Clemens von Wedemeyer

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The Fly on the Wall Brigitte Franzen Curator Nominator for the My City Project

I. Since film exists, the question about its room exists as well. Much is told about room and film, several things about the places of cinema theatres, and their stories. It is mostly characterised by the disappearance of cinema theatres from the European city centres. Big cinema complexes, most of them at city outskirts, have already replaced the cinema theatres in the city. First cinema theatres originally resembled the theatres and vaudeville theatres. A black box was designed so that despite the fact that masses would be there for cinema, a ceremonial feeling would still arise when entering the cinema room or the lobby. As in the film itself, this ceremonial feeling was, in fact, an illusion. The dim light, the velvet covers on the chairs and the heavy curtains were there to make you believe that you were attending an esteemed, unique event. The cinema room connotes the performance, acting of the actors that are only engendered out of light and celluloid whose actions, in the context of the filmâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s subject, have already been completed at the time of projection. The story of the ethnologic, ethnographic and anthropological film is totally different. Research travellers and adventurers tried to film their research subjects and their cultures, and this activity has to be seen as part of the material collection and source development. With the invention of 16 mm film in 1925, the material and the projectors became transportable. In some cases, these films have been presented to the civilisations that were researched in the naive belief that in the confrontation with modern Western life, cinema was considered as its representative, and would provide a sudden push of development, as in the Western colonial examples, which would spare years of education. Yes, this medium was also believed to be useful for a sense of self-awareness. As if the visualisation and the screening would simply lead to a sudden change in the development of a culture, and bring all of its people to the same (Eurocentric) level. It is hard to conceive how a person would react to his own image on film if he does not know what electricity is, and has no idea that the timebased medium that is film pictures neither the present nor the future, but only the past. Margaret Mead and others stuck to the power of impact the pictures exerted, and tried to develop a visual anthropology with the help of the film. These approaches were pivotal to the further development of the documentary film, which, as the study of civilisation itself, had the basic problem of influencing the observed situation through the recording and recorder. During the early 1960s, two different ways of action emerged for the documentary film; both of them were representative of their background and behaviour patterns of the cultures of their origin. The French cinĂŠma

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Still images from the video Light&Space, 45 min. by Clemens von Wedemeyer. The video is part of Sun Cinema, Mardin, 2010.

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vérité handled how the filmed subject was influenced through filming offensively, in which the filmmaker placed himself directly in the middle of the happening, making himself visible and the situation offensive in filming, for instance, making himself subject of a conversation. The American “direct cinema,” sets a kind of agreement between the filmmaker and the filmed subject in advance that the camera exists in this context, often cited as, a “fly on the wall,” in a way imperceptibly present, without interference and being unobtrusive. Requirement for this was a small team, guaranteeing a certain level of inconspicousness and probably associated with the filmed subject in order to be able to merge in the group. The miniaturisation process of the technical picture media led to the consequence that today, through video camera and digital technology, practically everybody can practice direct cinema without attracting attention. Through linking the camera and the screen in a small device, like the modern mobile phone, film process and “projection” is synchronised. The audience is the filmed subject, filmmaker and the audience, all at the same time, respectively in the shortest time sequence and possibly within a very short period of time. A building will not be necessary for screening or watching a full-length documentary film, the worldwide network of ready-to-receive computers makes the container room, at least for these kinds of productions, irrelevant. The process of making, the stringing together of short scenes and sequences, and the viewing reached a possible equality. As an MMS is forwarded worldwide, several actors could participate in this film with a scarce time delay, add their own scenes, and generate an internet community audience. The selection process of the scenes, the cutting, which is usually in relation to 1:100 pertaining to the raw material amount, and the end product of the film will be pushed back in such a process in favour of an overpowering verism of the stringing together of the situations. The totality and dominance of the veristic picture sequences combined with the quickness of their “broadcasting,” and the loss of the film material lead to a redundant system of immaterial motion picture reproduction as we are constantly experiencing today. With it, the question about the meaning of cinemas fades into the background. The cinema as room, understood as the built architectural structure, fades also into the background. This can be seen in its missing specifics – in case of the economical failure, the reutilisation of the building as a shopping mall is already anticipated today. The cinema will be a place of consumption and commerce or a place for enthusiasts, nostalgia lovers and specialists. All of these express themselves in the aesthetic of the built container room. Despite its position as a private industrial organisation, it is not very different from other civic places of meeting in its aesthetic nature as it will be subject to the splits of profitability and the financial profit, like the museum,

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train station or the church. From the once functional, synaesthetic and three-dimensional room can emerge an object that can be defined as an artwork, such as a sculpture from architecture. The pendulum can gravitate to object-like architecture, out of which stadiums in the form of nests, museums and train stations in the forms of huge sculptures, grilled chicken places in the form of chicken arise. Conversely, places can arise which re-define the function of cinemas and the projection of films so that they take another meaning and significance. From the beginning, the declination of the spacial possibilities of a cinema was not only defined by the motion of its pictures but also by the mobility of its instruments and materials. The first film rooms were found in the back rooms and halls of pubs and restaurants. Since 1920s, the palaces of the stars in Hollywood exist opposite the palaces for the masses of moviegoers. To emphasise the structure of films and cinema in times of redundant picture series and film as mass spectacle seems to be of great interest (again) today. The charm of another place and the â&#x20AC;&#x153;disclosureâ&#x20AC;? of films in terms of words are in this context a potential field of reflection and discussion. With this, using of neo-minimalistic and neo-modern means and principals is suggested. Open-air public cinema places emerged with the open air and auto cinemas of the 20th century. The first of its kind is the Australian Sun Pictures Theatre in Broome that still exists today. In 1933, the first auto cinema Camden Drive-In opened in New Jersey. A new utilisation of the public room, along with highways and especially the rising individual passenger transports, brought with it new structural shapes, hence new forms of film theatres especially in Europe and America. II. A trip to Mardin brings you near the Turkishâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;Syrian and Turkish-Iraqi border. Turkey is a country with a wide range of cultures. The city Mardin has a history of thousands of years. Mardin existed as a city on the Silk Road and at the edge of Mesopotamian plains long before Berlin, Paris or Washington D.C. existed on the map. Today, it is a city at the corner of a stream of goods, information and data, characterised by the old building structures, and is connected to the global information network with the modern university opened in 2007. As a military position, the city always had a substantial importance; the name itself Mardin goes back to a term describing a fortress. The geopolitical and military importance of Mardin is based both on its mixed population and the proximity of the borders with Iraq and Syria. A clear example of the power of the remote region is the so-called Mardin Fatwa of the Muslim scholar Ibn Taymiyya from the year 1302. The plea was linked to the continually controversial question about the relation of politics and religion. This well-known plea

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for resistance was directed towards the originally Muslim population of the city that was confronted with the Mongolian occupying troops converted to Islam. In early 14th century, Ibn Taymiyya defined the difference between the actual and apostate Muslims out of a local conflict. Only those who stuck to Islamic law Schari’a were considered real Muslims. This differentiation still has a very decisive importance for the understanding of modern Islam. Supposedly Al Qaeda appeals to this Fatwa to legitimise terrorist activities. Only last year an international symposium at the University of Mardin dealt with such kind of radical interpretations of this Fatwa and opposed them firmly.1 Although İstanbul is getting more attractive for the western Europeans as an economic and cultural metropolis lately, the development of the still distant, unknown and elusive Mardin could be comparable in many respects. The above-mentioned examples show that looking from the western Europe to the unknown regions, Mardin as a symbolic place, is important in understanding today’s complex Turkey.

[1] cp. www.mardin-fatwa.com [2] Claire Johnston: Women’s Cinema as Counter-Cinema (1975), in: Sue Thornham (Ed.): Feminist Film Theory. A Reader, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999, P. 31-40, gr „Frauenfilm als Gegenfilm“, in: Frauen und Film, Nr. 11/1977, p. 19-33.

Shadow theatre The American film theoretician Claire Johnston said about the “direct cinema,” “What the camera really captures is the ‘natural’ world of the dominant ideology (of the filmmaker).”2 Questioning the ideologies and to break the so-called “natural world of ideology,” critically and ironically through the artistic and film observation, description and visualisation, defines the approach of Clemens von Wedemeyers. His films contain documentary and pseudo-documentary stylistic devices that use theoretical structures and sometimes also the picture worlds, which are developed since the 1960s. In Mardin, he chose a special way. With the invitation of the project My City, to grapple with the city Mardin as a public place is, in this case, not through film, but through the equipment of a possible projection, which is ambiguous and multifunctional. Wedemeyer created, for the sunny and bleak hillside at the edge of the city, a scene, which is a film set, a cult place and an open-air cinema, all at the same time. One is inclined to remember some sets from films like L’Homme de Rio, which is filmed in Brazil, or Le Mépris, with Villa Malaparte as its set. A modern architecture with a Corbusier-like clarity represents at the same time the Archaic, as well as the 20th and 21st century, the sun cult, the star cult and the non-linear history of the culture. A glance at the landscape, the reflections and shadows of the sun at the mirrored back, the projection surface during the day, and the “exposure” through the projector after the sunset create a place which is both anchored in history and also pointing out to the future. The project Sun Cinema carries the soul of the place further and surely not through

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A sketch of the Sun Cinema by Clemens von Wedemeyer.

a glimpse of the situation at a certain time, but through the creation of a situation which can be seen and experienced again and again, in time and on-site. In times of Wikileaks, “the fly on wall” handed over its impetus of clearing up; at a place like Mardin, which belongs to the heart, the centre of the history of humanity and elsewhere. The idea of the artist and his analysis of the place rather lead to the relation of “historia” and “storia,” which are suddenly the only characteristic things and they have to be told. Art rises to the position of dispositive, which involves – as Foucault said, “told and the untold,” – the ideological opposite of the world and the humanity. In itself, the approach within is anti-ideological as it does not claim and demand universality, but leverages visibility with a single look, which finds its expression on the basis of collective anthropological development of pictures and approaches. GER-ENG by T.A.

INTERVIEW Mehmet Beşir Ayanoğlu Mardin Mayor

Could you please introduce yourself? I am the Mardin mayor. I was elected to office on 29 March 2009. Since then, we have been working on providing various services in different parts of the city. We are aiming to improve municipal services in line with the international standards. Since Mardin Municipality is a member of the Union of Municipalities of Turkey, we learn about the experiences and implementations of other municipalities in Turkey and abroad, and we are trying to implement these. We have an advantage in this sense. We are implementing some of the good examples. How did your relation with My City project begin? I think it was right after my election, that the British Council contacted me. They told me that five cities from Turkey and five cities in Europe were chosen to be sister cities to participate in a European Union project, aiming to build shared artistic cultures. They informed me that, within this framework, the German artist Clemens was going to work on a project in Mardin. The project was about building an open-air cinema. We have been saying all along that Mardin is a model democracy. We believe we have a lot to contribute to Europe, alongside the things that we can take from Europe. Mardin presents an important urban model in which different languages, religions and cultures coexist peacefully. We call this the “Mardin model.” In this project, we saw a chance for this model to be known in Europe through the interpretation of an artist. The artist would find an opportunity to promote this model. For this reason, we supported this project and contributed to it. Various people came to Mardin for the technical parts of the project. Finally in October, the open-air cinema started the function and short films and feature films were screened. We are now waiting for the spring for new screenings. Did you participate in the process of choosing the location of the open-air cinema? Our artist Clemens initially was interested in a site that overviewed the Mesopotamian Valley and the historic city. Then he was interested in another site, which turned out to be state property. Finally, the location in front of the Kasımiye Madrasah was approved. Clemens chose this

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location because he wanted it to be a place easily accessible by women and children. He chose a spot that they could visit on their way to their daily chores in the market. And indeed it will be like that. When summer comes, people will easily be able to go to the open-air cinema with their kids and babies. They will be able to watch films. It is a wonderful location to place an open-air cinema. Another aim of our artist Clemens was for the images on the white screen to be reflected to Syria and Iraq. He also wanted the sun reflecting from the direction of Syria and Iraq on the white screen that would symbolise love, fraternity, friendship and unity. This was his concept. Do you think this work will be permanent? Of course, it will be permanent. Hopefully it will continue with our support. We are definitely going to continue doing our part. We are cooperating with Sinemardin, and preparing an infrastructure to reach a wider number of people. We have a cinema hall. Our Social Services Directorate and Media Relations Directorate have been assigned to work on it. We will organise weekly film screenings there as well. We are going to inform all of the public agencies and non-governmental organisations that they could use our cinema hall. We want young people, students and the public to be actively using the cinema hall. We are going to be open to cooperation and open to options on selection of films from non-governmental organisations and Sinemardin. We will be screening films that touch a chord with the public, that are in line with laws, and that are suitable with the accepted rules of social conduct. 24 February 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

INTERVIEW Mehmet Hadi Baran Nurullah Görhan Mardin Cinema Association

Mehmet Hadi Baran: I was born in Mardin. I went to primary, middle and high school here, but unfortunately I couldn’t go to university in 79-80 because of the September 12 military coup. I’ve been working in the Mardin municipality for about 10 years. Before that, I had various other jobs. I am a formal professional football player. I’ve been serving as director in the municipality for the last seven years. I have been the parks and gardens director, archive director, editor, media, public relations and human resources director, and most recently the culture director. My relationship with art started when I was serving as the culture director. I guess I had it in me. In the 1970s my father had bought me a 16 mm film camera. We used to work in the shipping and transportation business in Mardin. We did all of the PTT (postal service) distribution from here. At that time, there were five cinemas in Kızıltepe, four in Cizre and many others in Midyat and Nusaybin. We used to distribute films that came from Adana. I would gather all the kids of the neighborhood on the rooftop and show films, from Ayhan Işık to Yılmaz Güney’s films. Then, of course, we had to burn most of those films during, September 12. They were all destroyed unfortunately. They opened an indoor movie theater during my director years; the ministry urged us to turn one of the municipality’s wedding halls into a cinema. There was no movie theater in 14 out of the 81 provinces in Turkey. Mardin was one of these. The Ministry of Culture gave us a grant of 50 billion in that period. With that money we bought equipment, a 35 mm protex machine, and 100 chairs. The Mardin film festival was the first film festival in Mardin’s history and it was my project in the municipality. In the following years, it became the Sinemardin Film Festival and the movie theater we opened was also named Sinemardin. Of course this wasn’t the first movie theater in Mardin; there were four outdoor and six indoor cinemas. Nurullah Görhan: My name is Nurullah Görhan. I am interested in contemporary art. I have an advertising agency in Mardin. Because of the metaphors I use in my video art, I’ve come to be known as a man “terrorizing” art. For my first exhibition opening, I had to use the municipality’s wedding hall. When there was a wedding, we would pack up everything and when it was over, bring it back out; this running around made my exhibition turn into a sort of performance art. Cinema is very important here. There has been a recent upsurge of ultra-arabesque and exploitative works. Anyone that grabs a camera goes up to the mountains to film a sad crying face. There is need for new types of

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projects. Artists started coming here and as a cinema foundation we are trying to do a series of projects with them. We thought of this concept in order to show Mardin in a deeper way and enter into dialogue with an international platform. Out of this context, we founded the Mardin cinema association in November 2008. Like other organisations, we are also affected by an economic crises. Our artists produce art about workers. In a way we put our bags on our shoulders and took off from İstanbul to invest in Mardin a little. Thanks to Mr. Mehmet who was the municipality’s culture director at the time and good-hearted people with good intentions, they are the ones that made it happen through a lot of personal sacrifices. How were you introduced to the My City project? M.B: I had met Clemens five years ago; he was a very good friend of Mr. Terzan who is one of the members of our association. Terzan met Clemens when he went to Germany and when Clemens came here we met him. When Clemens told me about this project, I thought, “why not.” An outdoor cinema is essential for Mardin. They talked about how the project would be done in five cities with five artists whereby each artist would leave a work behind in the city. Then Clemens came back and told us that he was looking for a location to construct the outdoor cinema. We started looking for a place. Naturally I looked at locations pertaining to the governorship and the municipality; I didn’t look at any private property. Clemens’ request was that the castle and the plain were visible, with the castle on the background and the plain on the foreground. People would be facing the plain and when they turned around they’d see the castle. But, some of the places we found were private property. In the end we decided on the area around the Kasımiye Madrasah. To put on the last touches, we had Yüksel Demir come in from İstanbul Technical University. He is from Mardin and is the head of the Fine Arts department, and an architect at the same time. He came with 16 of his students and did some field work here. Of course, we tried to explain that we had to be aware of some things here and that we couldn’t do anything we wanted because even though this is a small city, people can get uncomfortable if some intervens in their private property. You can’t enter into any property you want. Then we found another location that belonged to the treasury. It is on the top part of Kasımiye and belongs to the association. The municipality would take care of the electricity and

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the organization of the area. Of course, all these were only taken care of when David came. We went through a long and demanding process but the place was built at the end. It actually became quite a nice place. Also, the Kasımiye Madrasah is frequented by tourists. It was important to have this cinema in front of the madrasah. Clemens wanted to give the cinema four names. “Roj” is Kurdish, “şems” Arabic, “güneş” Turkish, and “sun” English, but I said this was still incomplete because it was missing Armenian, Syrian Orthodox, and Hebrew. Jews and Armenians also lived here in the past. There were and still are Surians living here. In any case, the cinema ended up having four names but everyone called it Sun Cinema because that’s how Clemens wanted it. We didn’t break Clemens’ heart, but he also learned how to say “roj” and “şems.” How was the opening of the project? MB: Around 450–500 people attended the opening. We did everything from the lighting to the cocktail and the set-up. Around 500 people came; if there wasn’t a storm there would have been more than 700 people. At the opening, they showed a film by Mr. Terzan about trees being cut followed by a documentary by my daughter about cinema. After that they showed Clemens’ documentary, two documentaries and one short film. Everybody watched until the end. Around 70 local and national press members attended. It was quite nice; afterwards we had dinner all together. NG: I’ll tell you one thing that I noticed that night. The locals of Mardin had an interesting reaction. There was a huge shining screen in the air. It looked very different, it impressed them. That was nice, seeing how people enjoyed that moment… How would you describe the art and culture environment in Mardin? NG: The establishment of Artuklu University and the Sakıp Sabancı Mardin City Museum opened new areas in Mardin, leading to some movement in the field. We really pushed for contemporary art to come to Mardin; the Mardin Biennial will create a very important art movement. We organised an exhibition titled “Thank you for your invite” last October and opened in on 4th June as a prequel to a bigger exhibition. The Mardin Biennial was going to be the biggest contemporary art exhibition in the history of the city. In that sense, the biennial would not only develop Mardin culturally but it would also build a platform that would strongly contribute to Turkey’s contemporary art perception. The biennial has been a necessity for a long time but it is too early for it to arrive at the same time. Our concern is expressing an artistic concern of Sinemardin Poster. Photo: Clemens von Wedemeyer

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the contemporary world in a city with an orientalist stand and an artistic consciousness of 7,000 years ago, conveying contemporary art through the space/human relationship and providing a possibility for artists to create locally. We cannot forget the contributions of our Governor Hasan Duruer, who gave us encouragement. The biennial perception is increasing in Mardin and becoming a platform that gathers artists and audiences. Our purpose in doing year-round workshops and creating movement in contemporary art. It is not just to open and close the biennial, but to create the infrastructure and groundwork to make it continuous. MB: When we talk about culture and arts, we must consider how a country looks at these concepts. We should not only look through Mardin’s perspective, but look through all the windows of the country. In our country we have to look at how people in the arts live and die and how they sustain their lives. This is the sad truth of our country. If a nation does not value its artists, there is a problem there. Here we gathered our friends, an “ignorant” group of five or ten people and tried to do something about art in this city. But, for example in the 1960s there was a theater culture here in Mardin. When my father was a teacher, he produced Ayyar Hamza on stage. It is a very important play. Nazım Hikmet’s play Green Apples for example, it was staged in Mardin. There used to be ballroom parties in Mardin; of course, these are all bourgeois notions but you know it is always the petit bourgeoisie who make revolutions. There were meetings such as lawyers’ night, doctors’ night, plays in schools, etc. But after September 12 all these stopped and the cinemas in town closed down. The city withdrew into itself. It stopped being a city; people would just eat and sit in front of the TV. That black box sucked everyone in. NG: It was 2006 when I founded the theater group in the municipality. It was a first in the municipality’s history. We organised it with one of the youngest playwright’s in Turkey, Emrah Koyuncu. I got a bus from the municipality, and we painted it with images of Mardin. After that we set out to do plays in Kızıltepe, Mardin. They were all Emrah’s plays; we didn’t do other writers’ plays. At that time we were doing the plays in the municipality’s wedding hall. There were those iron chairs, and you know you need an acoustic system in a theater. People started calling me crazy. If this is crazy, I’d much rather be crazy. My friends were very supportive. I really got to know Nurullah at that period. What is culture and art in Mardin? Actually Mardin is a forgotten city. It started becoming active in 2005; in fact, there was some movement after they renovated the market here. The governor at the time gave a speech to introduce the place. Mardin was selected honorary city at the 2005 İzmir International Fair. We introduced Mardin in a 500-meter-square space. There is no industry

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in this city. There are no chimneys here. There is no longer animal farming either. Just land. People get by through planting wheat, cotton and corn. It’s quiet in this city, nothing happens. Whatever happened all of a sudden, the city became a new star of tourism. Is that bad? They started shooting TV series here. In a conference we organized in 2008 we did a project about the series and films shot here. Numerous directors, producers, actors participated. We asked them, come here to make films, but how many people have you seen wearing şalvar? (a traditional baggy trouser) Of course, şalvar exists in our culture, but representing this in the wrong way is offensive to us. 24 February 2011 TR-ENG by Z.Z.

INTERVIEW Gabriel Oktay Çilli Artisan, Shop Keeper

Could you please introduce yourself? I am Gabriel Oktay Çilli. I live in Mardin and I am 33 years old. Alongside cultural and artistic activities, I am involved in gold and silver jewellery, as well as producing wine. How did you come to know about My City project? They contacted different people from the city. They said, “We need a person who can speak English and knows the region.” Later I got acquainted with Clemens and his wife, and Ms. Funda. We took a brief tour of Mardin and its vicinity together. They later told me about the project. Then they visited more frequently. We paid visits to the Municipality, the Governor’s Office and various different places to choose a location and made video recordings. Ms. Funda and Esra came over, and so did Clemens and David. We developed strong relationships. To tell you the truth, we became almost like a family. I worked more with Clemens in this project, and two of his friends came from Germany as well. We worked in various places here in this region and made recordings. The bigger picture about the project began to shape up gradually. You did some preliminary work then? Yes, we did the preliminary work together. Later contractor firms showed up, and we helped them in the construction of Sun Cinema and road construction works. Many people from the Municipality and the Governor’s Office – most importantly Mehmet Baran – were very helpful. The project was realised with a lot of collective effort. How was the project described to you? What did you expect Sun Cinema to be like, and how did you imagine it before it was built? Let me tell you how I imagined the Sun Cinema. At the beginning, they were thinking of putting up only a screen. I was imagining it to be more like a Roman-style amphitheatre. Later it changed. They said that it needed to face the sun and be covered with metal plates. I thought that there would be some cultural activities like short film and documentary screenings here in the summers. Of course, I was very happy. I always had some interest in and supported these kinds of activities. The work

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was damaged due to bad weather conditions and now it will be repaired. Of course, this is something that Mardin should be very proud of. As you know, My City project was implemented in different locations and different cities in Turkey. However, the fact that it is in Mardin brought the project a different aura since Mardin is a place where different cultures and societies have lived together for a long time. In this regard, Mardin is experienced in such projects. We are expecting a cultural revival here, in terms of cinema, theatre, etc. People are also interested in these activities; there is a potential here. How did you contribute to the preliminary work phase of the project?

* Translator’s note: An annual spring festival, mostly celebrated by the Kurdish people.

I acted as a guide for the artist, and I also assisted him a little in the film he was making. He was here during Nevruz* once. He showed up again during the bayram (Muslim religious festival). He visited here during our bayram, too. Hence he could observe various forms of cultural interaction. I also did my best to give him all kinds of information about this region. That was how I helped him. The place we finally chose for the construction of Sun Cinema was much better than other places, because there were some problems with the other areas. There was one place approximately 300 metres before the Kasımiye Madrasah, on a land belonging to Mor Mihail Church. They were considering that place. But frankly, I did not like that place, and thought that it would pose a few problems. I told this to Clemens, and suggested he to look for a more distant and flexible place. The place they finally decided on is much better, because, for example, when you are approaching the city from below, that is, from Mesopotamia, say coming from the airport, you can see the Sun Cinema directly. With the reflection of the sun, it looks quite striking. Otherwise it would not attract this much attention. But of course, one cannot say that it is flawless. The environment may be a little cleaner, and some landscaping work could be done. Well, it would be a bit difficult to take care of it particularly in summer, because it is in a very dry area. One needs to work on greening the area, and appoint someone to do it. Actually this is the Municipality’s responsibility; one should not expect the British Council to take care of everything. They have to embrace this place since it belongs to the people of Mardin now. They need to embrace and protect this place. The Municipality’s work does not merely include garbage collection. Mardin is quite fortunate, particularly

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in these matters, because these kinds of activities have some future here. Art galleries and artistic activities need to be supported. I don’t want only boutique hotels everywhere in Mardin. Frankly, I would like to see art galleries, small theatres, and – café-théâtres as in France – emerging here. Could you please talk about the history of the culture of open-air cinemas in Mardin? Well, now, as you know there has been a summer, open-air cinema culture in all of Turkey, and particularly in Mardin, since the beginning of the 1950s. Back in those days, there were seven cinemas in Mardin, and each had its own summer location. Obviously I personally could see only the last days of this era. While I was a kid, one of our relatives had a house facing one of these cinemas and we would go up the roof to watch the films for free. As you might know, in the past there were such theatre and cinema activities in the Republican Peoples Party’s Peoples Houses. In the past, we also had some plays performed by us, the Assyrians, in churches. People are not that foreign to these activities. But as you know, with the disappearance of the movie theatres recently, the open-air cinema culture has also faded away. Later, Turkish cinema has also undergone a transformation of a certain kind. As you know, after the wave of porno films, the movie culture has completely disappeared in these regions. I remember once in Mardin when a movie theatre with four separate salons had opened. The owners of this place could not keep it open; the business turned bad, and it was closed. Later Sinemardin opened here with the contributions from the Municipality. Nevertheless, they could not keep up with the times. They began to screen films of specific tastes and views. Therefore, it did not catch on. The existence of an open-air cinema in Mardin offers an opportunity for short film screenings. Especially with the opening of the university here, the short films made by the students here and in neighbouring cities can be screened. How was the cinema received? It was received very well. I was there in the opening. There were a lot of people. Although it was a particularly windy day and hence a lot of dust in the air, still its reception was still very good. We had some very good reactions. 24 February 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

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Clemens von Wedermeyer in Mardin, 2010

INTERVIEW Mesut Alp Archeologist Mardin Museum Could you please introduce yourself? My name is Mesut Alp. I was born in Nusaybin, Mardin, on September 12, 1980. I completed my primary school education here. I went to high school in Ayvalık. I have graduated from Ege University specializing in the archaeology of Mesopotamia and Near Eastern archaeology. I left Mardin when I was 12−13 years old. I returned when I was 23 years old. I work as an archeologist in the Mardin Museum for the last four years. In the meantime, during three of these four years I conducted oral history interviews in the region. My special field of interest includes tribes, tribal systems and the history of religions. I have a book and I am currently working on a documentary that will be finished next week. My book’s name is Foser (Qoser, Kızıltepe Belediyesi Kültür Yayınları Serisi, 2008). In fact, it was a photography album of Kızıltepe. We thought just photographs would not be enough and so I also wrote an essay about its history, geography and the socio-economic structure. Other than this, we wrote scripts for two or three other documentaries as well. How did you get in touch with the My City project? Yüksel Demir, who is an architect and like an older brother to me, was the intermediary. One day he came to Mardin with David. They needed to have a tour in Mardin and he told me, “this should not happen without you; you’d better tell us about Mardin.” I like Mardin; I gave my heart to Mardin. I believe that I hear Mardin. I also believe that I say something to Mardin in return. We had a tour together. Later, in the second meeting, they asked me to tell them about the relationship between architecture and religion. For example, how does the Yezidi architecture influence the religion or vice versa? The same kind of questions for Muslims, and Christians. Were also relevant. They asked me if I would give a talk on these issues and I said, “Of course.” I gave a talk and then we searched for a place for the cinema, discussing different possibilities. This was my acquaintance with the project. I was later invited to İstanbul and we had meetings there. I tried to explain to Clemens the social spirit of the region a little bit. I mean, if I may say so, I call this place “the geography of romantic tribal warriors.” When you look at the region’s past, you can see lots of tribes sacrificing hundreds of people just for one woman. I mean, you cannot think of this only as a woman; it is, in fact, love. For example, I shared this with them. I told that people worshipping, the sun, actually not

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worshipping but people who turn their faces to the sun and pray still breathe here. I tried to tell them things like that the tribal system related to the region is not same as the feudal structure, that not every tribal chief is an agha and that there exists a communal life in tribes. I told them a little about the Turks, Kurds, Arabs and Assyrians. He asked me, “For example, could the temple of the Yezidis have had an influence on the religious places in Islam and Christianity?” Well, I very much would like to say yes, but the Yezidis do not have any temples. They do not feel the need for temples; for them every inch of the land is consecrated and very sacred. You can worship everywhere and this is actually the most Shamanic, most natural and the purest worship. I helped them about these kinds of issues, with social dimensions, I mean. What did you think and feel about the project when you were first told about it? When you think about Mardin, how did you situate the project in Mardin? Well, I liked it. At the very least, I really liked the fact that Mardin was considered to be among the few privileged cities. Well, of course, I have nothing to say Clemens’ dreams. But, as I said at the beginning, I told them that the cinema should be in a place where more people are in circulation. In fact, I told that we have this building, which used to be the independence tribunal building. It used to be a movie theater for sometime and, then, it was used as a coffeehouse. I suggested them to use this building. When you are on the roof of the building, you see the castle. And the screen wall of the former summer open-air cinema is still there. This way, I told, the project would reach a higher number of people. Kasımiye is indeed a romantic place; quote on quote it is the Mesopotamia. The Sun Cinema, the idea of the reflection of the sun is very suitable for this place. But the social dimensions of the project are weak. I said this then. I told it to Clemens and to David. I emphasize this in the documentary as well. I said them that this should not be the place. We needed a more social place where we can touch the people. That is to say, I would like my child to be able to say, “Dad I am going out to see a movie and then I will come back.” This is the most natural right for everybody, to have access to art without having to pay anything. We had seen many a concert free when we were students with this slogan. Mardin is known to be a multi-cultural place that has multiple identities. The meeting point of these multiple cultures and identities is the streets and neighborhood life. That is to say, it is very important to come across a Christian person when you go out on the street. At home,

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[1] Translator’s note: These are epical heroes who were appropriated by the nationalist narratives in the twentieth century. [2] Translator’s note: The famous movie star who played these epical heores.

a Christian is a Christian and a Muslim is a Muslim. But movies are another joint meeting point for us. I am from a generation who would applaud Battal Gazi or Kara Murat1 when they climbed up the city walls of İstanbul. I remember this very clearly, when Cüneyt Arkın2 went up those walls we would stand up and applaud and then sit down. He was our shared hero. He was the hero of a Syriac-speaking Assyrian, or a Turk, or a Kurdish-speaking Kurd like myself. Movie theater was the common space for our common heroes. Now, what kind of a space is Mardin? It is a city that you can hear at least three different languages when you go out on the street. This is a wonderful thing. I am incredibly inspired by this. Spend some time on these streets I bet you would end up writing a book. You hear all these stories in all these conversations. Whoever you touch, they tell you a story. Because all of these lives are myths. Mardin is a city where the myths are lived rather than told. For instance, Yusuf the craftsmen on whom I am making a documentary currently is like this; he is the last generation. I am going after the works of this man. You know Karacadağ [Black Mountain], a volcanic mountain in Mardin. Hence, the name Karacadağ. I went there and saw this signature in the color of sun. Yusuf the craftsmen built this huge cupola there. Mardin is a city like this. It is a city that has a lot to contribute. Mardin has its Armenians, Assyrians, Keldanis, Kurds, Arabs, Turks,and Turkomans; of course, this is ethnically speaking. When you look at their sacred places it has its Alawites, Orthodox Christians, Catholics, Sunnites, Hanefis, Yezidis, and Shafis. It is not only about the presence of multiple religions, but multiple sects. Look around the world and you would not be able to find another mosque with two altars. Only in Mardin does the Ulucami has two mihrabs (altar): one for the Hanefis and one for the Şafis. This is something we have developed through the experience of living with the difference. In no other place would a dominant sect tolerate a second mihrab next to their own. Even in the purest of Islam, you cannot see this. Mardin has it. When you go to the Ulucami, two different sides can stand to namaz (daily prayer in Islam) facing two different mihrabs. The mosque is designed to allow this. Of course, we were quite unfortunate in the sense that Mardin lost all its movie theaters when it had five or six. Our grandfathers’ generation's movie theater culture was more developed than ours. Yes, maybe the same film would be on for several months, but still there was a movie theater culture. Everybody – the Assyrian, the Yezidi, the Muslim – all would dress up and go. They would all applaud their common heroes together. This has been lost. The only reason for this is the black box, our televisions. I always say this; in Europe they have an opera culture, a theater culture, and a movie theater culture. We used to have a very rich culture of sociality shaped around evening conversations before television entered into our lives. Before we could

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adapt to the television, the Internet came. Actually, before television there was the movie theater. Before we could fully understand what the Internet was, now everybody carries his or her own Internet access in his or her pocket. Go out onto the street and I am sure you will see eight out of ten people are using their cell phones while walking together with others or you will see that they are sitting at the same table yet engaged with different things. The movie theater is something else, as we have been saying. You leave everything else behind and go in there. This was a good thing in Mardin in the old days. Everyone would leave his or her confession or language outside and would melt in the same pot. Can you please talk about the public space in Mardin? I am not sure whether it is because Mardin is a mountainous city, but public spaces are not very significant. In the neighborhood that I was born in there were these huge mulberry trees at the square of our neighborhood. We used to live together with the four brothers of my father. We were all together fifty people: me and my ten brothers and sisters. One of my uncles had fifteen kids, the other had eight. We had a house that had fifteen rooms, four bathrooms, and four kitchens. We were a neighborhood; the house was a neighborhood. Every morning either my mom or the wife of one of my uncles would sweep the street in front of our door, five meters to the left and five meters to the right. Our neighbors would do the same. Hence, the entire neighborhood would be cleaned every morning. I never saw this in Mardin. For example, we would host our neighborâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wedding celebrations in our own house and mind you a wedding ceremony is a deadly enterprise; you have to cook for 500â&#x20AC;&#x201C;600 people. And you do not cook lahmacun (Turkish pizza), you cook rice and stews and the like. The wedding dinners would be held in our house because it was big. What I am trying to say is even our houses would become public spaces of the neighborhood when need be. I have not seen this on the streets of Mardin. Because the streets are very dirty. They are dirty because people do not see them as part of them. I had once heard in an interview that the street, cause it is a leveled space, places everybody on equal footing. Beautifully put. It does not matter whether you own a big company or you are a porter, you are equals when you are walking on the street. Here I never witnessed any group holding any event in a square. You either have state ceremonies or an official celebration in the squares. We do not imagine things like let us watch a movie together in a square, or let us put several tables and drink tea and coffee together. This is because, I think, we do not see public space as part of us. Could Sun Cinema have an impact in the creation of public space in the future?

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Yes, it could have had a significant impact only if it were in a livelier place. I really hope that Sun Cinema would help the development of such a culture. “Sun Cinema belongs to all of us.” It has no boundaries. In order to get into it we do not have to enter through a door or jump over a wall. In this sense, it is a very social place. It is very open. I always pay attention to things that facilitates a person’s entrance into a place. For example, when I enter a place by opening a door, this gives me the feeling that I am entering an isolated place that does not belong to me. Sun Cinema is not like this. While walking on the street, you can get your snacks and just be there. But, as I said, I wish it were in a more central place. Is it even possible to find a place of this kind? That is impossible, too. There is also the fact that the people in that neighborhood are the lowest income groups. They are immigrants to Mardin. If we can make the place attractive enough for them, they can adapt to it more easily. They do not live an urban life. This can happen you know. This group can appropriate this cinema. You will see, they will. But in order to bring the middle-aged and elderly women to the cinema, you cannot show films just in Turkish. You need to show films but also perhaps documentaries in Arabic, Syriac, Kurdish, and different dialects of Kurdish, so that they can see something of themselves. I think the municipality should allocate a space for this cinema in its monthly bulletin. The Governor’s Office should give the link of the cinema’s website on its own website. We need to send email to all the civil society organisations. Perhaps even the municipality should make free announcements and invite people on Fridays and Saturdays. You can offer tea to the visitors maybe; that would be very nice. I always say this: you cannot use punishment strategies in order to make people here get used to something. Reward them with something. Let them come and have their tea and see that films are different. My City has the perfect slogan. It calls on everybody to be a Mardinite. I am from Mardin and this is My City, this is my cinema. It is the right title. How do the Mardinites describe themselves? For instance, in İstanbul when you are asked the question where you are from, your answer would not be İstanbul, but your family routes… Of course southeastern Anatolia is a bit different than western or northern Turkey. There is a tribal system here. When you ask me where I am from, I would tell my tribe or my district. Then they would ask the “from whom” in that district. Then I would tell them the name of my tribe and finally I would tell them my family. We call it surname, but we have taken second names that have nothing to do with our lineages. Surnames have not become part of our lives. My father the other day made me sit down and write “Mesut the son of Şehmuz, Şehmuz the son of Eyüb, Eyüb the son of Mehmet, and Mehmet the son of …” He made me write down my seven grandfathers. He made me write at the very bottom, “Roni the son of Mehmet”. He said, “I made you write down your seven grandfathers, now you know eight grandfathers of your son.” This may not be an important thing in Athens or Rome, or in İstanbul. It is very important for us. The distinctive character of the new generation is that they do not care much about this lineage issue. In these territories, it is very important to know our lineage with the understanding that we are part of this world. 25 February 2011

TR-ENG by B.K.

215 Mesopotamian Plains Photo: Clemens von Wedemeyer

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Some Aspects of the Process, and Reception of the Work Minna Henriksson Artist of the Project in Trabzon

The process of the project in Trabzon overlapped and developed together with a major personal event in my life. In the spring 2009, within the same week that I had learned that I was selected to participate in My City, I also found out that I was expecting a child. I visited Trabzon for the first time when I was three-months pregnant, and again during Ramadan, when I was hardly allowed onto the plane anymore due to the pregnancy. The project plan and Roza were both born in the same winter months, and when she was just two months old, she and I came to Trabzon again on her first flight. In the opening of the project in October 2010, Roza was already 10 months old. In Trabzon, she is known as Fadime Gül, where Fadime is a typical Black Sea name, and Gül, the Turkish equivalent of Roza. Within these one-and-a-half years, I flew to Trabzon ten times, and stayed there at shortest only one night and at longest three weeks, altogether some 75 days. There were tens of telephone calls and hundreds of emails connecting Helsinki, İstanbul and Trabzon. The project plan got written and rewritten. Also some people dropped out and disappeared. These were: my nominee Mika Hannula (whom I wanted to involve in the project, but after lengthy negotiations, and also in the end, some not so well-considered emails, it was not possible); potential coordinator in the project before Erhan Tural and Zafer Ödemiş, who is from Sweden and living in Trabzon (when the real work got closer, she stopped answering telephone calls); a group of Greek and Turkish musicians, where each member is playing kemençe (after not being able to hear even a short sample of their sound, and them asking for a very high performance fee, I decided not to invite them); the group of students from the Urban Planning department of the Karadeniz Technical University (they participated in the workshops and had interesting project plans, but did not submit any material); a Greek scholar researching the kemençe in the Trabzon region (whom I had commissioned to write a text for the book, but in the end, suddenly stopped answering my emails); and Gültekin Yücesan, a writer from Trabzon (whom I had also commissioned to write a text for the book, but it was seen as problematic by the British Council. The text can now be read in Turkish in two parts in his column “Sound of Labour” [Emeğin Sesi] of Günebakış newspaper, 4 January 2011 and 11 January 2011). In Trabzon, in the local art and intellectual scene, many welcomed me with, on the one hand, suspicions, and on another, opportunism. To some, I was even seen as a representative of the European Union or

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of the British Council, distributing the imperialist ideology of Western Europe through my involvement in Trabzon. From the beginning, it was not a secret that the project also had many possibilities financially. Some people came to me offering their professional services thinking that I could offer employment. It was difficult, and sometimes I felt sorry, to tell them that I was in fact interested in working with amateurs or beginners and students, because the project was about youth, and their ideas and opinions, which are not usually heard. It was not about ready products and the well-honed skills of professional people, who already have the means to express themselves. Also many were questioning the whole set-up of the project, where I am invited from Finland to plan and realise a work in the public space of the city, when there are not enough opportunities even for the local artists. The immediate question was, what could I know of the city in a short time, which the locals did not already know. I hope that this questioning has become pointless for the local artists, when they have seen what came out from the project. I don’t think that my work has reduced their opportunities, but on the contrary, awareness of contemporary art has increased, and it has become a little more visible in the city. Some of the feedback I heard in Trabzon about the work was, why I had selected a lumpen proletariat place like Şükürhan for my exhibition, when the city boasts many exhibition halls. Another comment was that the text I wrote with neon was very good, but there would have been better, more representative locations for it, than the wall in Çömlekçi. Also in the photographs, I am showing the ugly side of Trabzon, not the historical beauties of the city. I don’t take these accusations seriously, because they arrive from a deeply conservative worldview, which is not easily changed. But luckily there are also plenty of people in Trabzon, like the younger ones, but also ones young in mind, who understand the work and have had the patience to read the book and my introductory text there before judging the pictures as ugly (among these are, as well as the participant and collaborators in the project, theatre director Necati Zengin and journalist Gültekin Yücesan, who were following and supporting the process from the beginning, and journalist Ali Savaş, who wrote a very good review about the work in Karadeniz newspaper, 28 October 2010). And of course, it is questionable, what is beautiful. For many locals the Zağnos Valley Park is very beautiful, whereas for me it looks like ugly

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and artificial kitsch, and I find more aesthetic pleasure in the run-down houses and the concrete of Çömlekçi, the rusty steel of the harbour, the dusty modernism of Şükürhan or the liveliness and smiley people of the Eurasia Bazaar. The Sümela Monastery is, of course, very impressive, but I didn’t include it in the book, because it is not in the city of Trabzon, and the recent bad renovation attempts of it make me depressed. In this project, I didn’t want to show the dead historical places, but the sites in the city, where people are living, which they are using, and where there is potential for new things to emerge. The first performance of the music group Olbicare (the name comes from Olgun, Birol and Can, who are the three of the five members of the band) was a very positive surprise and something quite original. I had not come across that kind of sound and attitude in music before in Trabzon. They played mainly songs of Barış Manço, but as the first, and again as the last song, they played the best one, Karadeniz, which was their own composition and quite punk. The neon light was also a big surprise to me, as it is something else on the drawing board or on computer visualisations than to see it in reality, concretely on the wall, painting the whole street underneath with pink. In fact, before knowing what to write on that wall, I was impressed by the disproportionate size of the wall in comparison to the small houses and small streets surrounding it. I could not get the wall out of my mind, and then, although Trabzon is famous for its poets, I got the idea to look at the lyrics of Üç Hürel, which not everyone in Trabzon is familiar with, and there I found exactly the phrase that I was searching for. I didn’t think that I would be given the permission by the mayor and the governor to have that sentence on that wall, but they both liked it immediately. The letters were manufactured in İstanbul in a small company. It took five days for them to install the letters on site in Trabzon instead of the estimated two. Feridun Hürel, who is the author of the song, was aware of the work. But it was only in the very end, that he called us demanding also his name also appear on the wall. We decided to grant his wish, although I didn’t think it was completely justified, because by placing the sentence on the wall of Çömlekçi, we are removing it from its initial context in a love song, and giving it other, political meanings. In a way, in this new location the sentence doesn’t belong to Feridun Hürel anymore, but speaks to people in Trabzon, and more particularly to the inhabitants of Çömlekçi, who poor and powerless, did not to give up insisting for their rights during the urban transformation.

Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Minna Henriksson

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Gesture as a Gift Seçil Yersel Interview with Minna Henriksson

One quote from a friend talking about art in public space can open the way for me: “Once I was walking on the beach in a southern coastal city of Turkey, it was a very quiet and isolated sandy beach. It was a spring afternoon, slightly dark so I hit a marble sculpture on the head, which was on my walking path. It was a pity that I did not recognise it. I was so hurt that at first I thought it was a tree, and then I realised that it was a sculpture. I looked in to the distance, and saw the figure that looked like a body made of waves. Anyway I set it on the sand near the sculpture, we were both staring at the sea. What shall I call this, public art or a sculpture left on the walking path on the beach by mistake or just a marble stone? Who can I complain to about the fact that I was really hurt? Where is the artist?” Some projects leave you face-to-face with the project as an end product; you can’t “see” the artists, although you know there is one. You feel like you are left at the door as a guest, and you can’t come in easily. You can’t simply follow the artist’s mind. You can take only what you have been shown, and for more, you need to search, read more from the very beginning of the meeting. On the other hand, some projects are tempted to be more communicative, and the artist’s presence is more visible, more readable; the background of the project, or let’s say the duration of the process, is more integrated to the project itself; and with all this, sometimes the project becomes difficult to wrap up, to put an end and say “this” is the art work. Also the guest doesn’t become aware of the fact that he/she is already part of the project or a witness to the idea. When thinking of the project of Minna Henriksson, we are face-to-face with pieces and pieces of the art work where the guest, the audience, the passerby needs to make a move to connect them. If not, you are very welcome to receive these pieces as gifts to you and to Trabzon. What happened at the time Minna was invited to Trabzon? She spent time meeting with the young people and the artists of Trabzon, running workshops, going on city tours, and engaging in collaborative thinking about the city of Trabzon: trying to put away the clichés and the accepted myths of Trabzon aside; trying to see and show the city from another perspective, the perspective of the young people, what they desire and what they wish for. She shared her role as an invited guest artist with the participants, and made them also the temporary local guests to their very own city. All these works have led to the project The One Who Loves Speaks the Truth, where the title came from the song Ben Geçerim Gönül Geçmez by Üç Hürel, a rock band from Trabzon. There were many aspects, and products of the project in connection with each other. “Aşık olan doğru söyler. Haksızlığa sitem eyler” was a neon light installation that was placed at the wall facing Yavuz Selim Boulevard which can be seen from many central points of the city. The other product was a city guidebook, titled The One Who Loves Speaks the Truth, in which writings

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Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), from the workshop, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Minna Henriksson

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or photographs on how each participant is feeling about themselves and about the city after the workshops about the city can be seen. The book was a gift to the city and it could be found at Şükürhan Shopping Arcade in Kadınlar Pazarı. In this arcade, a selection of the photographs that were taken during the process of the project was exhibited. Also on the opening night of the project, at the main square of Trabzon, Olbicare, a music group formed by some of the participants in the project, performed for the first time. What is now left after the project is the neon light, whichspeaks to the city as long as it is allowed to stay there; the book that is part of many private and public libraries; good memories; as well as an artist’s experience of the city of Trabzon. Now, rather than writing about the project, I preferred to talk with Minna about the project.

Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), artists’ book, Trabzon, 2010.

Let’s start from the future. You, as the artist Minna Henriksson, coming from abroad, using this advantage of the gaze of the “other,” being in Trabzon for a limited time, having the experience of working in the field of contemporary art based on issues concerned with the blurry lines between public and private space; having realised this project, what can you dream of for the future of the project? Also, what are the possible potentials of this project regarding the tactics and strategies you have used during the development of the project? Do they have the potential of being adopted and used elsewhere, or are they dependent on this very project and for that time? The best outcome of the project would be that many people started to question the ways in which their city is defined and represented, and bring forward their own opinions and views. That people would protest against and show concrete contra-examples to the nationalist stigma of Trabzon, rather than feel victimised. It is mainly about activating youth. The project is trying to offer some tools for doing this. I decided to work in this way after I had more or less cleared in my head what kind of work I wanted to deal with. So the issues came first, and then the method, which was to involve local young people in the workshops. But it has been rewarding. If I had made this book about the city by myself, it would have probably been very superficial. And I could not imagine working in some other way when wanting to present diversity in the city through opinions and experiences. So in that way, it is a local strategy and method. In another place, with other concerns and topics, the method would surely be a little bit different, too. That is also because some elements in the project were left open-ended and took a shape in interaction with participants during the process. From the very beginning in the project, I wanted to have an

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element of music, possibly a music festival involving small local groups of different genres from various subcultures. But when I started to researching Trabzon, even in the university, I could not find any interesting alternatives to the Black Sea music. The music performance of Olbicare, Olgun, Birol, Enver Can, Hüseyin and Ozan in the Trabzon Children and Youth Training Centre, came about quite accidentally. It was not my idea to buy music instruments for the young people in the centre, but they proposed it themselves. They were already involved in the project through the workshops for making the book. I liked the idea that they would also contribute in this way, and I was also interested to see if we could use the context and the resources of the art project to enable something that the kids wanted themselves and which will stay with the centre afterwards. We even got a teacher for them to teach how to play with the instruments for their performance in the opening. Now they have been training and composing songs quite intensively for four months. I hope that Olbicare, now that they have learned the basics and have the instruments, continues with the band even after the project. The neon sign, which is placed on the wall of the motorway above Çömlekci area, is not a result of the workshops. But, of course, in them many issues dealing with the urban transformation of the Çömlekçi area were discussed, and during that time, my awareness of the urgent issues in the area grew. But also I was just visually very impressed with this huge wall cutting through the residential area of small houses on small streets, and wanted to do something on that location. For it, I also wanted to find a text, that would have a local connection. Then I came across the lyrics of the band Üç Hürel and found the line there, which I thought was very suitable and went very well with what I wanted to say. So, to answer to your question, these were very local strategies and cannot be applied as a formula to another city. In such projects, where as you say some elements are left open-ended, how do you define the position of the participants, and how do you limit your position while acting as the artist, not just in the mood of self-producing, but listening and collaboratively acting? So in these terms, what kind of difficulties did you have in Trabzon throughout the development of the project? The participatory parts of the project are the book and the music performance. As for the music performance, I don’t have much to say anymore after initiating it and offering them the platform to perform. To tell you the truth, right now, when it is one month to the opening of the project and the group has been rehearsing all summer, I haven’t

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heard them play even once. I don’t know what genre of music they have adopted, and I don’t even know if they have learned anything. In the beginning, names were dropped such as Manga and Orhan Gencebay. But we will see; maybe the sound will be more like punk due to such a short period of training. That is out of my hands now. It was clear for all the participants in the workshops that I, as the commissioned artist of the project, had decided to make a book about the city, but needed their help, their insights and opinions, for doing that. So in a way, I was using and abusing my position as an outsider to get people to participate, because, compared to me, they were experts about the city. In fact, the book is a collaboration between the participants and myself. My role, apart from being one of the contributors, is also that of an editor (co-editor together with Özge Açıkkol). So I am in charge of the book as a whole, and each contributor is responsible of his/her own production. But at the same time, the book is also part of my artwork in Trabzon. But saying this, I also had quite a clear agenda of what I wanted of the book. I definitely did not want it to be filled with clichés about Trabzon, which I had heard enough of already, when first reading or hearing about the city. I wanted to challenge people to do more than that. Because these clichés did not seem to improve the understanding of the city, but the contrary. So in the workshops, I was also trying to push people to go beyond the usual representations and to produce something of their own. Most of the contributions managed to do that, but not all of them. One difficulty, due to the open-endedness, was that, whereas some other groups were enthusiastic all throughout the process, for some others, it was hard to keep up the interest. One group fell apart entirely, and there is nothing by them in the book. That is a pity, because some of their ideas were very interesting. I realised that it was easier to work with groups of younger people. But that was mainly because the older participants also had their studies or jobs, and could not necessarily find the time to realise the ideas, that they came up with during the workshops. What was the effect of the language issue on this project, that it is all a “translation” and that you are not speaking Turkish? That was a major difficulty in the workshops, of course. But Zafer Ödemiş and Erhan Tural, who were working with me in the project, were translating everything on the go. Some misunderstandings happened because of the language problem and everything took more time because of that. But most of the time, the communication worked out fine.

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The music group Olbicare performing at the opening of Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

I think that more severe misunderstandings happened outside the workshops, with some of the local artists and cultural workers, about the scale and possibilities with this project with regard to offering employment or equipment. And I think that was not because of the language, but because of not understanding what I was after in this project, why I wanted to work with young people instead of trained and skilled professionals, and a different understanding of what can be art. Minna, you say in the introduction of the book, “I think that it is a good way to start to build an image for the city, which is based on positive, encouraging and inviting characters rather than exclusive, hostile and dangerous.” Regarding this idea and how mostly socially engaged projects work on the city scale − neighbourhood projects for instance − what do you think of the role of the artist, in his/her relation with the directors, with the people in power in the cities, with the municipality, and the ethical/social responsibility of the artist in the sense that you can be perceived and used as the good image-maker, beautifier, problem solver of the city? Minna: This is a good question, and an important and real issue observed everywhere. For example, the other day I was reading the Finnish Ministry of Education’s Cultural Policy Plan, which is laid

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out until the year 2035, and there repeatedly comes up how art can be beneficial for solving problems in a future society, from social to medical and economic issues. But also it is stated in the plan that artists will increasingly work in other professions than those corresponding to their education. I think this is really irresponsible, worrying and desperate. You cannot expect artists to provide the answers to problems in society and reduce art to the service of the government or the city. But I think that with these kind of projects, the important question is why you are doing something as an artist: Are you commissioned by the official body to help them solve a problem, or are you communicating with the inhabitants, and want to use the power of art to help in solving their issue? So it is largely about the motivation and initiation. For example, in this project, after speaking with many locals, mainly intellectuals and artists, I figured out that this issue of representation and reputation of Trabzon is an important issue locally, which many people in Trabzon are feeling sorry about. The topic was not proposed to me from the My City selection committee. And, in fact, I had to have some conversations with the committee about the work, persuading them to green light my plan, although this was a participatory, process-oriented project with the end product undefined. Other important questions are what do you do, and how. Surely, most often the desires of the official body and those of the people do not meet. Do you try to bring the situation closer to the wishes of the officials, or to those of the people, who are perhaps lacking a forum to gather and to speak out? Whose aims does the work serve and should art even ever serve anyone? In the case of this project, I decided to try to do something about the image of the city, and with that, also about the problem of nationalism. Nationalism is usually beneficial to those in power in order to maintain a situation, where the people are united as a coherent group against a common enemy. Nationalism manages to do this task very well; people do not disperse and organise themselves into other kinds of smaller groups, whether ethnic, political, gender or class based. But if you have an image of nationalism as a common denominator in a city, the danger is that, very soon, if it is not questioned, it starts to reproduce itself. People accept it and start to believe that it is true. For me, art is useful as a channel, where certain things are possible, that are not possible in other fields or at other levels. In art you have the space to say things, that you could not say elsewhere. There is a certain freedom. But of course you have to be responsible for the consequences. Yes, this problematic situation reminds me of an interesting question

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Mounting of the letters for Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth). Photo: The My City Team

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by Mary Jane Jacob. In her text “Outside the Loop,” where she makes the question bold, the question stands by itself, a blown-up text clip: “How can we enable artists to contribute creatively to the needs of society beyond the realm of aesthetics?” Looking through My City projects in other cities, do you link your project to some of them in particular, and how do you see your position among the other projects, in terms of the end products you leave behind? I have to admit that, writing this, I still do not know what the other projects are in My City! During the process, because my project was open-ended, I didn’t want to find out too much about what the others were doing. With this, I wanted to avoid being influenced by the other projects, as, although in different cities, we were all in the same situation and set-up going to a Turkish city, that we did not know before, to make a project. Of course, all these cities are very different and our artistic concerns and methods are also different. Now is the time that I could find out about the other projects, but now, in fact, I am waiting to see them live in the opening tour. I hope that the neon light of my project will stay on even after My City. When the area underneath the neon installation starts to change, which I suppose is inevitable and unstoppable, the text will get different meanings: first, when the selling of the properties, evictions and demolitions start; then again, with the constructions; and then yet again, with the new exclusive housing, hotels, business centres. But what I would like the project to have as an end product is, like I said in the beginning, has to do with activating local youth in relation to collective issues.

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The opening of the exhibition Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), in Şükürhan, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

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The Mountains are Parallel to the Sea Erhan Tural My City Project Trabzon Coordinator

As a person who has been working as an art director, when I received the job offer from the My City project, the first thought that popped into my mind was that I never had such an offer. To tell the truth, this novelty triggered both curiosity and ambivalence. Besides my work in two of the İstanbul Biennials of the İstanbul Foundation for Culture and Arts (İKSV), I never had had a serious engagement with contemporary art. The fact that I was going to work outside İstanbul was yet another factor contributing to my ambivalence. I did not know what my friend and co-coordinator Zafer Ödemiş, who is now doing his military service, was thinking about at the time but in that very first meeting in the British Council with the project director Esra Sarıgedik Öktem, Trabzon was certainly not part of my dreams. I was born and raised in Gümüşhane, a city located in the east of the Black Sea region. I had come to know Trabzon, another city located in the central part of the same region, when I was an assistant art director in a television series shot there called Tatlı Bela Fadime. Even then I had begun to observe the peculiar characteristics of the city and its inhabitants, but I had to seriously reflect upon them when I became engaged in the My City project. Both because of the nature of the project and in line with the personal preferences of the artist (Minna Henriksson), the Trabzon project was different from other cities included in the My City project, because it required the direct participation of the inhabitants of the city. The idiosyncratic spatial and geographic characteristics of the city, located between the mountains and the sea, seems to have had an impact on the formation and usage of the public spaces and by implication on the relationship between the city dwellers and Trabzon. I believe it would not be an exaggeration to argue that the rather complex traffic arrangement of the city for an outsider offers a clue about the very peculiar characteristics of its inhabitants. Is it the beautiful but equally tiring nature that renders everyday life rather difficult from time to time that contributes to the stubbornness of Trabzonites who exhibit a very strong sense of collective identity? Or is the fact that Trabzonspor, the football team of the city, is the only Anatolian soccer team that can compete with the well-established and successful soccer teams of İstanbul? I cannot tell. Yet I think in Turkey, Trabzon, while not the only city, is one among those cities that express the greatest resistance in accepting the outsiders/İstanbulites. This has made it difficult to grasp their love of their city. What is interesting is that this love of the city, which at first sight seems normal and regular, is a peculiar collective emotional attachment that they all share. Perhaps this excessive love and attachment of the Trabzonites to their city is the characteristic most difficult to get used to. I remember their slogan “For us everywhere is Trabzon” as a telling hint about the simultaneously

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The opening of the exhibition Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), in Şükürhan, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

exclusive and inclusive collective emotion that the inhabitants share. Trabzon has produced many artists, especially in the fields of music and cinema, and from the beginning I was very curious about Trabzon’s relation with the arts in general. With its architecture, location, its historical journey, and the dominant sense of feeling that it exudes the Trabzon Sanat Evi (Trabzon Art House), a building formerly used as the seat of the governor and transformed into this art institution by the representatives of the seven arts in the city, is kind of an eccentric metaphor that speaks to the relation between the arts and the city. The Art House held a central position for our project. The often, over-confidently, and loudly repeated assumption that “Trabzon is the city with most artists per square meter in Turkey” combined with our realisation of the above-mentioned characteristics of the city were of course initially slightly intimidating. Ultimately we were also outsiders,

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people from İstanbul whose main occupation was artistic work. Moreover, we were part of a contemporary arts project: the My City project. The most important factor contributing to our grasp of the city and its inhabitants was the fact that we were doing translation work for Minna. This difficult but simultaneously rewarding and interesting work that was mostly assumed by Zafer (coordinator Zafer Ödemiş) was both important in the sense that we were the medium through which relations were established and weird because neither of us were experienced in this kind of work. From the beginning, we experienced hard-to-describe instances as we were translating for Minna, the personal perspectives of the people towards their city and their own lives during our workshops. The most interesting aspect of this experience was our realisation that translating a language was simultaneously translating the culture of that language. There were times when we experienced problems of adaptation in relation to this project. Yet, the fact that the project was taking shape through a process that we could participate in, and that we were doing this novel translation work, helped us in resolving our problems of adaptation. Our biggest help in this adaptation process was the magic created by the little Roza who held an ineffable role in the project. Roza is Minna’s baby daughter who was born during the project. Her presence vastly facilitated our interaction with the Trabzonites. The fact that we participated in the shaping of the project, that we came to develop a friendship with Minna beyond our professional relationship, and Roza… all of these factors led to our full appropriation of the project beyond our role as coordinators. This resulted in our participation in the production process. We became part of the thought processes leading to the production of the work; we became part of the whole process. This meant that the role we assumed at the beginning became something very different and hence we began to look at the city and the project from a whole new perspective. Going beyond simple observations in our attempt to understand the city helped Zafer and myself outgrow our role as only an intermediary between Minna and the city and enabled us to establish relations that could touch more directly on the city. As mentioned above, Trabzon had a rather peculiar place among the other cities included in the My City project. In the other four towns, the art works were all projects which were already designed, with predicable consequences, awaiting application. Whereas in Trabzon Minna chose to produce her work in the city with the people of the city. This choice rendered the process always alive and its consequences unpredictable. This vitality and unpredictability were exerting pressures on Zafer and myself almost as much as on Minna. This pressure came with a whole array of feelings like nervousness, anxiety, excitement, and happiness. One of the most interesting experiences in this process was our

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conversations with the family members of the students as we were picking them up with our car one-by-one from their homes for band practice. These kids, who had never played an instrument before, were recruited from the Youth Center, which harbored the youth who suffered from communication problems with their families or society at large. The most distinguishing element of Trabzon in relation to the other cities within the My City project was the decision by Minna to include the city in the project instead of applying a predesigned project onto the city. The major problem experienced in the other cities was the fact that the predesigned projects had to be radically altered in line with the particular conditions and the nature of the bureaucracies in different cities. This problem was minimised in Trabzon. Of course there were times when we could not prevent making changes on things that we had planned earlier. Yet, even these cases did not pose as great a problem as in other cities both because Minna had gradually adapted them and also because we could easily update ourselves. The biggest problem that we had to confront, which I also know existed in other cities, was being subjected to almost paranoid questions: “Who are you? Why are you doing something like this here? What is your objective? Are you agents? Are you missionaries?” One does know that there are informant, spirited citizens everywhere but still such moment showing an eclipse of reason are not moments that one wants to remember. The case when we were blamed for being “separationists” was one such moment of supreme eclipse of reason. We structured this project over a long stretch of time and by integrating the city and its people. When the name of the project finally emerged, it was projected onto a wall as a light installation of 65 meters. It could be seen from various vantage points around the city. The projected name “The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth”* was like a spiritual call for the peoples of Trabzon who love their city incredibly and moreover who are almost obsessively in love with their football team and their place. I cannot tell for sure if I was influenced by the lyrics that gave the name to the project, but bearing in mind my ambivalent attitude towards the city at the beginning, the fact that I fell in love with a girl from Trabzon must have something to do with the cosmos. At present I still work as a technical coordinator at the British Council and I am often traveling to the other cities included the project. I still am dreaming about “Trabzon.” January 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

* Taken from the lyrics of Üç Hürel, a rock band made up of three brothers from Trabzon.

INTERVIEW Recep Kızılcık Dr., Trabzon Governor

What was the role of the Governor’s Office during My City project? The British Council’s staff and Minna Henriksson visited here to give us information about the project. In this meeting, we discussed how we could help and what kinds of works we could do. The Governor’s Office had a facilitating and guiding role in the different stages of the project. We used our resources in order to increase participation in the activities and spread the project to a wider audience. What is the significance of this project for Trabzon, what do you make of this experience as the Governor’s Office? When we think about the project The One Who Speaks the Truth, designed as public art for Trabzon by Finnish artist Minna Henriksson, first of all, we must note the appropriateness of the title for the city. As it is also mentioned in the project book, the words, “The one in love speaks the truth and laments injustice” truly describes the bold and honest character of the people of Trabzon. Until today, many successful public and private economic/social projects, in such fields as “local development,” “environment” or “small businesses” have been done with the support of the European Union. Although there have been some socio-cultural elements in these projects, they have mostly addressed economic development and the environment. It is significant that this project, within the context of the EU − Civil Society Dialogue: Cultural Bridges, has been designed to directly address “culture” and “inter-cultural dialogue.” Trabzon has historically been successful in cultural dialogue and is a multicultural city that encompasses the influences of this dialogue within itself. As the Governor’s Office, do you have any criteria for public art in Trabzon? Public art projects should emphasise elements that reflect the city’s common identity, urging social development. Important elements that we should never forget and, that are very important for Trabzon people, are the sea and the greenery, the natural structure of the city and environmental sensitivity.

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Minna Henriksson in Trabzon, 2010

In future projects, the city’s common interests such as “folklore,” “football,” “music,” “humour” and “language/foreign languages” should be highlighted. Emphasising the positive sides of the local people will facilitate the process to erase the unjust negative representations of the people of Trabzon. Although there are many common characteristics in the city, there are very few socio-cultural activities. The city’s streets, squares, and its coast have not been claimed and used. There is a need for the people of Trabzon, although they are fanatics about their city, to get to know and become one with Trabzon, and to establish organic ties to it. TR-ENG by Z.Z.

INTERVIEW Hamiyet Özen Prof. Dr., Karadeniz Technical University, Faculty of Architecture Restoration department

Ms. Özen, would you introduce yourself? I am an assistant professor in the Restoration department of Karadeniz Technical University’s Faculty of Architecture. I’ve been living in Trabzon for many years. I came to Trabzon to study at the university. I graduated from the Architecture department, and went abroad to get my Master’s and Doctorate. Then a position became available at the university, and I returned here to take the job. I think I’ve probably lived 20−25 years in Trabzon. I teach undergraduate and graduate classes about restoration. I try to live as connected to the city as possible. The campus is out of the city centre, so our lives are a little disconnected from the city. How did Minna Henriksson come into contact with you? When I was the assistant to the head of department, the British Council used to sponsor some of our exhibitions. When this project came up, they called from the British Council and wanted to talk to the professor they were in contact with before. Then I received some emails from organisations associated with the project. I found out that Minna would introduce the project at the Trabzon Art House. I always think these kinds of projects are very constructive, so I went to see it. It was a good introduction; they talked about how the project would be executed and its connection between our country and other countries. There was a big group made up of stage actors, journalists, guests from the municipality and non-governmental organisations. That day I thought, “Wouldn’t it be good to discuss the project with the participants at the project development stage?” Some people’s reactions in the meeting were like, “You have already decided on the project and how it will play out, you are just informing us about it. You could have made some sort of preparatory period where you could have included us.” During the introduction, I and some other guests talked to Minna; they asked us if we could help them in disseminating information about the project. We had already informed the students at the university, and I think there were only about three or four students from the Architecture department. The professor that they had contacted in the Urban Planning department was able to distribute more information, as he was the head of department. In the latter stages of the project, they asked, “If we made a website, would you send us

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some photos?” They sent me some bookmarks introducing the project. I gave them to my friends who worked in high schools, so that they could distribute them to their students. I also gave them to the students in our department. Whenever Minna would come here, she would send me an email. I participated twice in the workshops that she did with the university students in the Art House. I was observing the students to see how they were telling stories through their drawings and photographs. At the end, they did a closing exhibition. I couldn’t attend because I was travelling. Basically this was my participation in the project. What did you think the first time you heard about the project? I liked it very much, because you always look at the city you live in from the inside, never from the outside. In our culture, where people are quite closed and have homogeneous ways of living, they reject criticism, and think, “We do everything the best.” As an architect, the project excited me, because I was thinking how people would see our city from the outside, from what perspective they were going to look at it. At the end of the day, they were doing this work with our own students who would tell them where to go and advise them, “Take this photograph,” and “Go here and there.” I thought the project would bring a different viewpoint, a new angle. There are always people in Turkey who have preconceptions at first. But I always thought it was a positive thing. Getting into contact with different types of people, and the fact that the young people got to meet an artist and made a project through her perspective, it was quite a different experience for them. I supported the participation of the students. However the project coincided with the end of a semester, so only those who live in Trabzon or have the means to come to the city could participate in the project. They very much enjoyed it; at least the students I talked to told me that. But, like I said, only some of the students could participate. If it had been a different period, there could have been a bigger group of students participating. Do you have these kinds of practices in the university like working with people from different disciplines, or creating a project together with an artist?

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Yes, there are, but very few. In the Interior Design and Urban Planning departments, there is a class called Performance Arts, where they do workshops with stage actors. There are also some projects about painting and ceramics. We urge our students to participate in collaborative projects. For instance, many of our students are involved in photography, painting and music at the same time, and we always encourage that. We think that being involved in fine arts will help them gain a more profound perspective in their profession and help them have a deeper perspective of society. The students who learn this in their first year continue with this outlook in the future. Do you think that this project achieved Minna’s goal of presenting a different outlook on the city, unlike the standard stereotypical books of the city? I had mentioned before that we only know the city that is represented to us, both for those from the city and for those from outside. Whenever we have guests, we always take them to specific places and never really anywhere different. But now, depending on their profession, if they are studying the city I take people to places where Minna had her exhibition and the places she suggested. They want to see those places anyway because that is the heart of the city. For example, it is difficult to understand and interact with people in Atatürk’s Mansion or Hagia Sophia. But when you go down Kunduracılar towards the Women’s Market, and go from there to Ortahisar, you experience the depth of the city. But as I said, this is the characteristic of Turkish people. For example, in our culture we have a guest living room in every house. This room is always neat and clean. When guests come, we put them there and close off all the other parts of the house. This has to do with our culture. It is the same with the city. When a visitor comes, we take them to the cleanest parts of the city, we never want them to see the other parts. There are even some of our own people who say, “I don’t go to those places.” It is a really creative idea to use the shops in Şükürhan as an exhibition space. Whenever we organise exhibitions, we always have the same questions of how we are going to bring people there. Only our friends come and see the opening, and then for the rest of the week, we don’t really have many visitors. But for the people around Şükürhan, it is a different situation. So many people go there from different cultural and social backgrounds, and since they all go there to shop, they see the exhibition when they walk around the building. I had found it quite creative and was surprised by it. Why hadn’t we ever thought about doing an exhibition there, instead of the same places we always use? That’s what it means to “use” the city. For two years, I travelled around the city, and we published a book titled Urban and Cultural Inventory. I went everywhere because of

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The opening of the exhibition Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), in Şükürhan, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

this book, and the more I travelled, the more I liked the city. You see all the subcultures; people are so innocent and unspoilt, and you see how genuine they are. In fact, I met a woman who was some 90 years old. The things she told me about were old Trabzon, about her life. She was stuck between herself and her old home.

What did you think about Minna’s writing on the Tanjant Road? I think it’s very nice. When I first saw it, I didn’t know it was a part of the project. I thought there is no way that the municipality would write this! I later found out that it was part of the project, and I said, “I knew it!” Because that wall had been empty for years and there was no way the municipality could write something like that. If they wrote something, it would be to please Turkish people. This was a very different slogan. You find all the same slogans in every city; there is never anything different. Perhaps this was what Minna was able to discover that we couldn’t see about ourselves; Trabzon people are in love with their city. In fact, we once took a taxi and the driver was from Black Sea and the way he was talking about Black Sea people was very passionate. Because of this love, Black Sea people can’t even express any criticism − even where it’s deserved, we can’t criticise what’s ours. If it’s bad, it’s our bad. Actually this is quite common in Turkey. We love our country, we love our home, but in Trabzon this is exaggerated. With this kind of pride, they blindly

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love everything that is theirs, and never criticise anything of theirs. For example, even when the football team is losing, the fans still support Trabzonspor and go to all the games. Even when a politician does something bad, he’s one of ours, so we don’t criticise. Years ago they taught me the following in a seminar, “No culture, no society is superior to others, they’re all equal in that they have differences,” and we need to accept that. I think there was some confusion and disagreement at some point, but I think this kind of project is very beneficial. It’s very important to dig deep into the culture of Trabzon, because at the moment we look at everything very superficially and from the top. We never go deep into issues. But while analysing something in depth, our mission should not be to only emphasise the negativities and irritate people. Learning to live in peace with the past is something that takes time. Sometimes people don’t want to remember their own past, so we need to do this in a more sensitive way that doesn’t hurt or break people. Only then can people see the outcome and actually appreciate it. When the vendor in the market sees his photo in the book The One Who Loves Speaks the Truth, he will become very proud. He will think that he too is a person that deserves to have his story told. Or the villager woman who sells vegetables at the Women’s Market will feel honoured to be interviewed because she would never think that her opinion is worth something. She is just a woman that sells her produce to bring food to her home and probably thinks that nobody cares about her life. But if someone honours her by telling her story, she will feel that she also has a place in society and that she contributes to the common good. We had such quick progress that we really overlooked many things, and now we’re trying to go backwards to find our true selves again. I see it that way. I live in a small town and I go back and forth to İstanbul. I always watch people when I’m travelling. In fact, Europeans and Americans have a lot more of this look: many people looking off into distance with this worried look in their faces. In small towns you don’t really see that, because people are a lot closer to each other. They support and care for each other. This intimate curiosity may make some people uncomfortable, but I think that many societies of the world are trying to go back to this kind of life. January 2011 TR-ENG by Z.Z.

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Trabzon, 2011. Photo: Seรงil Yersel

INTERVIEW

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Necati Zengin Trabzon Art Theatre Director

Would you introduce yourself? I was born in Trabzon. I graduated from the Black Sea Technical University’s Physics department. In 2005, I retired from my job in the public service as an engineer. However nobody in this town knows me as an engineer, because I’ve been in theatre for 36 years as an amateur. I am proud of that; I never wanted to be a professional. I was involved in theatre throughout high school and university. After graduation, I worked in Ankara for many years. I was in fieldwork, travelling around different regions looking for mine. I returned to Trabzon in 1987. While I was working as an engineer, I established the first Experimental Stage in Trabzon’s history under the Trabzon Municipality Directorate of Culture. I was a project manager for two years. Then, in 1993, I established the Trabzon Art Theatre with Georgian Director Varlam Lali Nikoladze. This year, the theatre is celebrating its 18th year. We have been receiving support from the Ministry of Culture for the last 17 years. We have gone on many tours to different cities and towns, Ankara being the leading name. Also, I usually direct and produce the plays in my theatre, and I am the actor as well. In other words, I do everything. What we are trying to do is keep the Trabzon Art Theatre alive. How did you become involved in My City project? I think it was Esra Sarıgedik Öktem who mentioned the project to me first. She said she wanted to come and meet me with the Finnish artist Minna. They came and we had meetings for three or four days to discuss the project. Then Minna started coming to Trabzon more often; I think this went on for about a year. Every time she came, she would develop the project a little more. She’d talk to us and seek our advice, and we tried to help her as much as we could. In fact, I think they came for a second meeting with a big group, so we also invited intellectuals and journalists from Trabzon. We had a meeting together where everyone shared their opinions about the project. How did you collaborate in the project? When the project was first being discussed, I was positive about it. I thought it was a good project. I thought that it would contribute to the

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[*] http://www.karadenizgazete.com.tr/default. asp?p=yazi&id=462

development of Turkey and especially Trabzon. After getting to know Minna, I knew that it would be a high quality project. I did everything in my power to help the project. Minna would sometimes ask for my help in identifying the people in arts, culture and other fields in Trabzon that she wanted to talk to. The Trabzon Municipality works with undereducated kids with social and/or economic problems. Minna wanted to do her project with them. They ended up forming an orchestra to put on a concert in Meydan Park. This helped a great deal for the social inclusion of these kids. I think they bought them some music instruments. They also did some workshops with three or four actors from the Trabzon Art Theatre. I participated in the first workshop. Then they continued on their own. Minna wrote about this in her book. The last time we were together was at her exhibition. Most recently, she came here last week, and we evaluated the project. Actually I wanted to do this on the exhibition day or the day after, because at that time the project was still fresh and interest was at its peak. But the most important part, the part that would last, was the book. In those days, we were always together. I remember, at the first meeting, there were some opposing voices questioning the projectâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s content. And, of course, we were the ones trying to keep the balance between the two sides. We said, letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s see the project first. I believed in the project from the beginning. We suggested seeing the project first, and later making an assessment about it. A few of us had a meeting with her, we shared our opinions, and she took notes. There were three or four people from the press as well. But the meeting didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have the participation that I wanted, and I told her this personally. In the beginning, there was quite a substantial coverage of the project in the Trabzon press. The press in Trabzon is very powerful; there are eight or nine dailies with high numbers of circulation. Columnists, newspaper owners and reporters followed the project and wrote about it. In fact, a columnist in the daily Karadeniz, wrote a very good piece about the project.* I told Minna about it. For me, the project is important in many respects. First, it is the observation of a Finnish artist and intellectual of our culture. She came to Trabzon, and for one year, she tried to understand the city. She talked to people from a diverse range of social backgrounds; this is very important. And at the end, she published a book to document the whole

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thing. You can call this a film, a painting or something else, but what she did at the end was to present a picture of us. I can see you from a completely different perspective, because I have a different point of view. I’ll interpret it differently, I’ll give it a new meaning to it. Or I’ll make a different painting of you. It was important for me to have a picture of Trabzon from the perspective of a painter like her, and I think that many people in the arts and culture scene felt the same way, that Trabzon needed this. How will an artist, an intellectual from the outside picture Trabzon? I’ve never been to Western countries and they don’t really interest me but I’ve been to the East, which I think is a complete treasure. I have a closer attachment to the East. I wrote about all the places I have visited, or I had my journalist friend write about it. This way, we get to know the East and the West more closely, culturally and artistically. In this sense, Minna played a very important role. A picture of Trabzon from the outside, from the perspective of a Western artist, I don’t like the word “foreigner.” The picture was exactly what I had expected. It is only natural that Minna looks from her own perspective − that is how she is supposed to look at it. She never had any political concerns; she looked at it realistically. She tried to reflect whatever she saw, be it in her writing or her photographs. She presented a rather realistic picture of us. In Trabzon, you can find similar photo albums or catalogues, but they are always from the same perspective. They are all photographs for touristic purposes, promoting Trabzon. But Minna did not do that, and we didn’t want her to do that. There are politics in her writing, in her pictures. Life is politics anyway. What did you think about the exhibition in Şükürhan? For me, it was interesting. But the opinions of the public and the guests were different. Trabzon is very advanced in terms of painting. There are many Trabzon painters; it is the most refined form of art here. Every gallery here puts on painting exhibitions. There are various annual exhibitions, and Trabzon has many famous painters. While theatre is still taking baby steps, painting is always at the top. Painting and photography exhibitions are held in galleries here. There are specific locations for these exhibitions. The location Minna chose was really significant. That place is known as the Women’s Market. It is a historical place, a place where people come from the villages or the slums to shop. There are grocers, the produce is always fresh, daily and very good; it’s quite a special place. It was important that she picked that place to have the exhibition and introduce the book, because the people there had a chance to see it. I was happy that it took place there, but there were some people, especially elitists, who did not quite understand why the exhibition was there, “on the third floor of such a building?” That was the whole point of the project for me. The fact that these people from upper class went there, and the woman who sells cheese at the market could also go there to see the exhibition. In that sense, it was significant to pick that place.

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What do you think about the sign in Çömlekçi that says, “The one who loves speaks the truth?” That was a very well-thought-of detail, because those are the lyrics to a song by Üç Hürel. The fact that she put it up there made those from an older generation quite happy. Older generation, meaning those who remember Üç Hürel. That was a classic song. Most importantly, the continuation of those lyrics where it says, “and he condemns injustice,” actually represents the people of this land. The Black Sea people are passionate about what they love, and they revolt against injustice. Below that market are the slums. I have heard that the bottom part of that wall is going to be demolished and renovated. While it is a pile of slums, it is also a historical place, an old place. There was a church there, the municipality demolished it and made a library… The neighbourhood below it is ridden with poverty. That’s what we need to understand. On one side, there are lives like these; on the other, a character line and a wall that divides it in two. Do you think there will be more of such alternative projects in Trabzon? To describe Trabzon, you need thirty books, not just one book. In that sense, this is a beginning, a very important step. I realised that the view from the outside interests me. If I had written that book, I could not have done it that way. Even if I thought just like Minna, we would definitely have differences. I’ve always been rather alternative in theatre as well. For example, I brought a director from Armenia, and put on an Armenian play for the first time on these lands. International press had an interview with me for two hours. They asked me, “Hrant Dink’s assassin is from here, and you’re staging an Armenian play here. What kind of a city is this?” And I explained that Trabzon is a different kind of place. But let’s not get sidetracked from the subject. It is not easy to understand or describe Trabzon with one book. When you look from the general perspective, yes, it is a different kind of project, but is it completely sufficient? Not really. Like any other first step, it is insufficient. It is a positive initiative but it is not enough, it’s just a starting point. The projects to follow after this should not only consist of one person but numerous people from different areas. For example, it could be cinema or theatre. In other artistic fields, this kind of project could reach a wider audience. This project is a good starting point, but it’s not so significant as to be ingrained in Trabzon’s history. If it opens the path to new projects, then it will be more meaningful. These projects will add value to our city, and hence our country. Otherwise, they would just stay local. 28 January 2011 TR-ENG by Z.Z.

INTERVIEW Kemal Genç Exhibition Supervisor

Would you introduce yourself? My name is Kemal Genç. I was born in 1980 and I am the oldest of two children. My family, like most others in Trabzon, moved from a village to the city in 1993. As to my educational background, I quit the university. I have a quiet and peaceful life. Except a few concerts, exhibitions and movies, I do not have a social life. In that sense, here in Trabzon, we live the best possible lives. I also do some occasional work in exhibitions when they come up, or I help out friends with their computer drawings. I try to get by. How did you get in contact with My City project, and how did they describe the project to you?

[1] Translator’s note: Hodja in Turkish literally means preacher, teacher, or professor. But it is also used as a figure of speech in addressing people whom one wants to show respect.

A friend of mine knew Zafer (Ödemiş) and Gültekin Hodja.1 They were looking for a supervisor for the exhibition, and they contacted me. I negotiated the conditions with Zafer (who is currently doing his military service), and later with Erhan (Tural). I worked as a supervisor in “The One Who Speaks the Truth,” a.k.a. “Trabzon, Loves its City” exhibition for 40 days, that is, from its opening to its closing. I opened it around ten in the morning, and closed it around four or four-thirty in the evening. At the end of the 40 days, I closed the exhibition, ending it. When they first told me about the project, before even seeing any of the photographs or knowing anything about its place, I sat down and talked to Zafer. He said, “We are trying to introduce a picture of the social structure of Trabzon. We are trying to show people the hidden face of Trabzon, the one that you cannot find in the postcards and guidebooks.” He said that they are going to make this kind of an exhibition, and it will last for 40 days. And he said it was going to be great. I asked, “In what sense?” He replied, “The opening.” He said a lot of effort had been put into it. We met again three days before the opening. When I asked about the place of the exhibition, they told me that it was going to be in Şükürhan. I thought they must have something in their minds. I wanted to be in the exhibition, not just as a supervisor but as somebody who could also provide information about it. I learned about Ms Minna’s former work, I gathered information about her family. I learned that she had worked in collaboration with Necati Zengin, the Youth Centre and Urban Planning students when working on this photography exhibition. I also learned that instead of Ms Minna’s

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own work, the works of the people she was collaborating with and the people of Trabzon were going to be exhibited. These were important, you know. I was going to tell this to the people visiting the exhibition. Why were you surprised about the choice of Şükürhan as the place of the exhibition? There is a wonderful group in Trabzon who does not miss any exhibition, any play or performance. This group is made up of students, those who are from Trabzon for generations, the state officials or what we call the bourgeoisie. These people do not miss any exhibition, play, performance or movie. They follow everything. There are certain places that these people go to. They go to these places to talk to each other and have discussions. Şükürhan is outside of the regular flow of life in the city. It used to be the centre for the shoe industry between 1990 and 2000. There were shops valued at around 600,000 dollars. It was a commercial place. The person who goes to Şükürhan goes there for the shoes, and for nothing else. Just across from there is what we call the Women’s Market. Whoever goes there finishes their business in half an hour. They do not care if there is an exhibition there, if there is a fight... They don’t really care. For them, it is a transit route. The group who normally visits exhibitions does not go to Şükürhan. Even if you want to reach the public, you need to pass through Uzun Street. The heart of Trabzon lies on Uzun Street, Maraş and Kunduracılar Avenues. The lower parts of Kunduracılar and Maraş Avenues are used by everyone. On Kunduracılar Avenue, there are jewellery stores, shops where you can get cheap clothes. If you are about to get married, if you are going to buy gold or, say, if you need glasses, you go to Kunduracılar Avenue. There are offices, and banks on Maraş Avenue. Uzun Street is the place where the young people hang out. If you want to reach out to these young people, the place to go is Uzun Street. You would find the more elite group that we have talked about on the newly-built Tanjant Road. All the galleries are there as well. If you want to organise an exhibition or an art event, you need to reach out to these people. Perhaps Şükürhan’s history looked attractive to them. Or perhaps, instead of being in a place where there is already an arts and culture scene, they specifically chose a place that would shift the centre.

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Then you have to promote it. Not so many people know Şükürhan. The people did not realise that there was an art event there. There were people asking me if I was making any money selling these photographs, or there were those telling me that they wanted to make postcards out of them. Even in the eyes of those people, it was not a place for arts. I looked like a man who had opened up a shop that did not make any money. What were the reactions of the people who have visited the exhibition and what are your opinions of its content? Let me begin with my own opinion. I was really excited when they had told me that they were going to show the other face of Trabzon, and share this with the people of Trabzon. If somebody had handed me a camera and told me, “Kemal, take photographs of Trabzon from your own perspective,” I would have climbed up Boztepe, taken the photographs of the villages behind Boztepe, and I would have taken photographs of the central villages of Trabzon. Of course, these places are a part of Trabzon. But the city also has better parts. These could have been put up at the exhibition as well. This would have softened people’s reactions. The photographs in the exhibition show another face of Trabzon that people do not want to see. People are aware of this other face, but they do not want to see it. Yes, these places exist in Trabzon. But along with these, there are beautiful aspects of the city as well. It would have been better to include the latter as well. An artist does not only criticise the negative side of something. If you look at the issue from the reverse angle, does not the exhibition of these photographs trigger reflections from the people? I know the very good parts of Trabzon, but I also know the very bad parts of it. I did not say, “Trabzon is a very beautiful city.” I criticise the conservative nature of Trabzon, its bigotry and its social conditions. But the Trabzonites are fanatically in love with their city. There is this motto here, “For us, everywhere is Trabzon.” Even in İstanbul, a Trabzonite (61 is Trabzon's license plate number) She/he accepts no criticism. She/ he knows the other face of this city. Everybody knows the disgusting smell of the seaside, the dirtiness of Çömlekçi, the kinds of things that go on inside, the way young boys verbally harass young girls. But when asked, nobody would talk about these. It is a good thing to show the real Trabzon by rubbing it in their faces. I liked that. How was this idea represented in the exhibition? There were the photographs. We were also giving the book of the

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exhibition for free, and gave more information about it to those who were really interested. Some were coming just to take the book because it was free, not because they were really interested. Perhaps we could not get to where we had wanted to go this time, but we can learn where and how to do something like this the next time from the criticisms the exhibition generated and by talking over its impact. Weren’t there any positive reactions? There were. Some people thought that it is good to get to know Trabzon with the good and the bad. This city is ours with the good and the bad parts. What did you think of the neon (light installation)? It is beautiful. I liked that. The words capture people’s hearts. But I don't know what it does mean for Trabzonites. The project was positive. I am talking about the negative aspects of it, but I am not saying that it was negative. It is important for the future. When people visit, they will say, “Yes, there were these things in Trabzon.” The micro and macro forms of nationalism that are heavily present in Trabzon can clearly be seen in that book. Wherever you turn to, and there are Trabzon flags, the motto “For us, everywhere is Trabzon,” there are no colours other than burgundy and blue, or red and white.2 What is important for me in Ms Minna’s exhibition is not the way it showed the ugly parts of Trabzon, but that this book very appropriately shows the transition from micro-nationalism to macro-nationalism. For me, this is what the book and the project is about. 27 January 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

[2] Translator’s note: Trabzonspor is the soccer team of the city and its colours are burgundy and blue. Red and white are the colours of the Turkish flag.

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Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves, Speaks The Truth), Trabzon, 2010. Photo: The My City Team

INTERVIEW Reflections on the project from Trabzon Çocuk ve Gençlik Eğitim Merkezi (Trabzon Youth Center)

How did you meet Minna, and hence the project? How did you feel about the project initially? What kind of thoughts did you have in mind? Ozan Yılmaz: Here we have somebody whom we call Zafer Abi1 … He has been an actor in the Trabzon Art Theatre for the past four years. Since he is an amateur actor, he was the one who was approached for the project, and Zafer Abi proposed the project to us. Olgun Yılmaz: He asked, “They are going to produce a book, will you be able to help them?” “We are in,” we said. We did some research about the historical sites and well-known places in Trabzon. We provided Minna with the conclusions of our research and discussed our findings with her. Ozan: We were around 10 people and each of us conducted research about one aspect of the project including the history of Trabzonspor (the city’s major football team), kolbastı horon (a local dance form), Faroz, Boztepe (prominent neighbourhoods), theatre life in Trabzon, the Youth Centre in Trabzon, the Hagia Sophia, and Atatürk’s Residence. This division of labour was based on Minna’s conception of the project. We were not interested in historical issues in general. There is not much talk about the history of Trabzon in the book for obvious reasons: there are already many publications about the city’s history, by the Municipality, newspapers, etc., and people already know it. As it turned out, there were mostly political discussions in the book, and people focused on rather political issues even during the press conference of the book launch. Minna sought to emphasise “the self-confidence that is rooted inside.” Although there were some discussions at the end, we were pleased with what we did. We collectively produced a book out of nothing. People, both Trabzon residents and those from outside, came to know more about Trabzon, and the press showed interest in what was going on. There were a couple of music bands manned by us performing during the book launch; people were excited. It was overall a nice experience. How long did it take you to finish?

[1] Translator’s note: “Abi” in Turkish means older brother. It is used collaquialliy to refer to males who are older.

Hakan Osmanoğlu: Around three to four months. This is how it worked: for example, the person who was responsible for Boztepe went there, researched about the neighbourhood and took photographs. Or, I was the one who was responsible to do Trabzonspor (football team), and my job was to do research and take some photographs. That is to say, each of us dealt with one aspect of the project (i.e., Boztepe, Uzun Street,

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The music group Olbicare working for their performance. Photo: The My City Team

Atatürk’s Residence, etc.) by researching and writing about it. A crucial component of our job included taking pictures as well. To tell you the truth, initially we were a bit confused and did not really know what it was. However, we got used to it. We came to realise once again that Trabzon is a beautiful city. It is our city, our homeland; it is the place where we grew up. Most people already know about our city in Turkey and, therefore, the idea of producing a book appealed to us. With all those documents and pictures, the whole process of working on the project was very exciting. They also hired a teacher to help us with our band practices. After that it became even more fun and entertaining for us. Birol Şahintürk: When they (the project team) first approached us, we were a bit surprised in the sense that we did not know exactly what to do and how to do it. However, I decided to focus on kolbastı and horon. I went to Faroz for research and there I found two old – but really old – men. They told me things and I wrote them down. Later I prepared a final report and presented it to Ms Minna. She said, “Okay,” and that was that.

How did the music band work? What was the name of the band? Enver Can Ergül: The band’s name was Ah bu gençlik (This Youth). Besides me, there were Olgun, Ozan and Birol in the band. These guys

MY CITY / TRABZON ÇOCUK VE GENÇLİK MERKEZİ

Aşık Olan Doğru Söyler (The One Who Loves Speaks The Truth), from the workshop, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Minna Henriksson

were playing different kinds of instruments for the band. Hakan: We did not have the instruments at the beginning. Ms Minna promised us she would find the instruments and an instructor after the book was done. And she was the one who came up with the idea of giving a concert during the book launch. The plan worked, indeed. The instructor and the instruments showed up and we began to practice. The concert took place in Meydan Park and many of our friends were there to watch us playing.

How was the concert? All together: It was a rainy day. Despite the rain, it went well. It was crowded and there were lots of people around. It was not bad at all. Does the music band still continue?

[2] Translator’s note: A portable drum.

Enver Can: Now we are divided into two groups. One group practices on Mondays, and the other on Wednesdays. One of our band members left us and became a member for the other group as a darbuka2 player. Now there are three of us from the original band who go on playing the same instruments. We changed the instructor, though. The earlier instructor was too busy to continue with us.

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What did your other friends from the Youth Centre think about the project? What kind of responses did you get from these people about the book?

The music group Olbicare performing in the opening, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Murat Aksu

Hüseyin Altıparmak: If you ask me, the book was all right. However, there were certain negative responses about the book due to some of the pictures presented there. Particularly those pictures taken in Boztepe drew certain criticisms. In several of the pictures, there were some ugly drawings and writings behind the letters of the word Trabzon, placed on the mountain. This, I guess, turned out to be offensive for many people. Other than that, I did not hear anything bad about the book. Birol: Let me tell you one anecdote. I was walking on Uzun Sokak, and I saw a couple of friends. One of them said, pointing at me, “I saw this kid before.” “Where did you me?” I asked. He immediately replied back: “In a book.” “What is the name of the book?,” I asked. He said, “In this book called The One Speaks the Truth.” “There was a picture in the book showing you dancing kolbastı,” he added. I told him that he was right, and asked him whether he ever read the book. He said that he did (laughter). Nilgün Başkır: I am Nilgün Başkır. I work for the Trabzon Municipality. We are working really hard to help children with all kinds of means available. We, all of us, see ourselves as their mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers… We are all doing our best for them, for our children. I liked the book a lot. There was a picture of mine in the book, and I particularly

MY CITY / TRABZON ÇOCUK VE GENÇLİK MERKEZİ

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liked that part of the book. Are there aspects of the book that were not liked? I could not find time to read the whole thing yet. But I skimmed through it and looked at the pictures. Actually we all did this book together. We all got excited to prepare this book. The whole process of working for the book, including the performance in the concert, was truly motivating for all of us. Enver Can: For example, I wrote about Faroz in the book. I conducted interviews in Faroz fishermen’s shelter. The fishermen in the shelter liked this book a lot. Nilgün: Sorry to interrupt you, Enver Can. One of your fishermen has a message for us. Apparently this fisherman has his picture in the book, and he says, “I have a picture in that book, they should immediately send one copy to me.” All in all, it turned out to be an original book. Enver Can: As I said earlier, the fishermen liked the book a lot. They were proud. Thanks to the book, more people came to know about Faroz and their environment. It was a nice piece of work about Faroz. As you know, kolbastı originated there. Therefore I, along with Birol, found an older fisherman there to tell us about kolbastı. He was very knowledgeable about the past of Faroz and kolbastı. He told us many things about them and we took detailed notes. We later worked on these notes and turned them into a final report for the book. Finally, we gave this report to Minna. Hakan: Everybody did everything they could do for the book. Let me tell you this: We are all amateurs here, we have neither produced a single book nor done anything similar before. We were quite sceptical at the beginning and could not see how she was going to get it done. However, in time we realised that as we progressed and as Ms Minna visited us more often, something good was emerging. Everybody quickly picked up one section of the book and we began to work on them, and we showed lots of progress. For example, I made an interview with Hami, a former football star in Trabzonspor. My friend, Enver Can, has found an elderly man to talk with in Faroz. Are you happy with what you did? Hakan: Of course, in the end we produced a book. What about the light installation? Hakan: We talk about it with our elderly brothers. They say that Çömlekçi is now illuminated. You can see it from below and from above. Çömlekçi becomes deep red in the evenings. However, they could have found a better place. You will not find Çömlekçi in the same place two years later. Birol: For me, what it says is fine but they have installed it in the wrong

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place. For example, the tourists do not go there and cannot see it. It is wrong. Had they installed it some place like Boztepe, it would have been much more visible. Hakan: Well, okay, Boztepe is a nice and charming place as many people think, but I cannot see where they could have placed such a big writing. Well, did you get any responses from the people who live in Çömlekçi? Birol: They were all very happy. Çömlekçi was a dark place. When the script gets lighted in the evening, the whole place becomes deep red and illuminated now. Zafer Mert: I am Zafer Mert and I work in the Trabzon Municipality’s Children and Youth Education Centre. I am also an amateur actor in Trabzon Art Theatre. It all started when I met Ms Minna. I told her about our centre and proposed to her that we might participate in the project as well. We actually met in the Art House during a presentation about the project, and she began to think about incorporating our kids in the project at that point. There are other groups in the book as well, but our kids were in the majority. That is why we divided them into groups of two or three, and they engaged in teamwork. We also got substantial coverage in the book because of the music event. It was a very productive engagement for both the kids and us. They learned how to play the instruments. In this regard, the project contributed to us a lot. For example, the music band did not end with the project. We asked for a music instructor from the Institute of Public Education. The kids still continue to make music. My City project initiated our project. I would like to thank to all the project team. 27 January 2011 Olbicare band Enver Can: darbuka Birol Şahintürk: drums OzanYılmaz: base guitar Olgun Yılmaz: electric guitar TR-ENG by B.K.

INTERVIEW

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Abdurrahman Albayrak “Plakçı Apo” The vinyl record collector Could you please introduce yourself?

[1] Translator’s note: Saz is a popular music instrument with strings in Turkey. [2] Translator’s note: Aranjmans are the Turkish covers of popular pop songs of non-Turkish origin.

Since I was thirteen. I did not inherit any of these from my family. I just fell in love with these vinyl records. One day I was watching TV, and I heard the name Ahmet Sezgin. I am a graduate of Trabzon Religious Vocational High School. We used to listen to religious chants in high school. Back in the old days when I heard the phrase “folk music” on the radio, I could not make sense of what it meant. I wondered what folk music was. Turkish classical music? Pop music? Naturally I later came to understand that the one with saz1 is folk music, and I developed a passion for it. Emotionally, I mean, I gave my heart to this kind of music. Let me say, “Every cloud has a silver lining.” I guess it was my destiny that one day I saw the phenomenon that is Ahmet Sezgin on TV. My father used to talk about Ahmet Sezgin as well. But my parents did not have any tapes or vinyl records at home; they would only listen to the state channels on the radio. This is how I got acquainted with Ahmet Sezgin. I admired him for several years and became a fan. I have great memories about him. Let me tell you briefly some of them. He used to sing me some folk songs (türkü) on the phone. I mean, he was one of the greatest names as a folk music artist. From 1950s to 1970s, throughout the 1960s, he was as famous as Tarkan is today. That is to say that he was a very very popular name. My friendship with Ahmet Sezgin continued for 15-16 years until he died. We talked on the phone almost everyday, every three days. Exchanging letters... The first letter I wrote to him was around 40 pages, and I wrote to describe how tremendous my admiration for him was. Well, of course, it all started when I was a child back then. We would go to school and follow those folks who would have vinyl records. We would sell our school books in order to find money to buy records. We would go to the second-hand book and music dealers. My interest in vinyl records began in this manner. I would ask the customers who frequented the restaurant everyday whether they had vinyl records or not. I would follow those who said they did. That’s how our feelings developed. Things have reached a whole new level as we began getting to know some truly valued people, our vinyl record archive got bigger, and we came to know many artists as we became more professional. I started collecting records of pop music, aranjmans2, and Turkish classical music alongside folk music. Then I came to know about gramophone records and phonograph records. As I came to be acquainted with older people who collect records, I came to know personally many artists with the help of these people. Among these people were Ahmet Sezgin, Yıldıray Çınar, Mehmet Bozdoğan,and Muzaffer Akgün.

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You are collecting vinyl records, especially Turkish folk music; you have your notebooks where you write about your memories; you collect news clippings about music artists and, at the same time, you work in a spice shop. Yes, but, well, I am working here on minimum wage and maybe it is a very low amount, but I am always here in the storage section. “It is okay to have records,” they told me, and that is why I agreed to work here. Otherwise, even if they pay me 2,000 TL for a job, I wouldn’t want it. I am happy here; I have the chance to be very close to the vinyl records. I have 6-7 friends here. One of them likes pop music a lot. Another friend likes Turkish classical music. We have another friend here who is a fanatic of Ajda Pekkan. And you know, I like folk music a lot. We have conversations while we are having tea. We drink tea surrounded by the records. We play all kinds of music for everyone’s taste. We have wonderful memories. When we meet younger people who are newcomers to the world of music, we help them out as well.

“Plakçı Apo” and his diary about Ahmet Sezgin, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Seçil Yersel

It has been 10 years that I first played a record on television in Trabzon. I played the first vinyl record on TV, I was the first to use this format. I am proud of it. I played the entire vinyl record from the beginning to the end. It was not like playing a 10-second clip for nostalgia. I played the vinyl

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Pages from Ahmet Sezgin diary, the musician, Trabzon, 2010. Photo: Seçil Yersel

along to the pictures in the cover, and the sound quality was excellent. There were people who asked for more of these. They would stop me in the street, asking, “When are you playing this week?” We did this show on all local channels in Trabzon. The programme was called “Melody Hours.” We are going to restart the programme on a digital channel on Friday evenings at 9:15 p.m. Actually, it has already been on for some time now, and I am going to be a guest there two weeks later. We used to be invited to the TRT Trabzon radio channel regularly. We would interview artists on the phone. Well, we did some nice programmes. Well, let us ask you about Minna’s project. How did you come to know about this project and get involved with it? In fact, to tell you the truth, I did not understand anything at the beginning. She only said that it was going to be an art project, an art project with European Union funds. However, I did not know what this meant and what it included. But since I have a love for the vinyl records, I thought that it would be great if there would be a chance for me to be able to play the records. Ms Minna said the following, “I wanted to work with you.” I told her that I would join with pleasure. I would wait for the six months to pass to see people come and listen to the records to have pleasant memories. Minna conducted some workshops in the Youth Centre. Did you get involved in them in any capacity? I could not go out very often due to my job. But, of course, I saw all about it when I got the book. They went to the fishermen and took pictures. They were in the local newspapers, but I did not keep them. There are now some news articles about the project, too. For example, “Why was such a big organisation done in a closed place?” I guess people have shown some reactions, thinking that an EU-funded project should have taken place in

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bigger places, in more glamorous places. But maybe Ms Minna thought that the project needed to penetrate into people’s lives and she wanted to get to know people better. She did not want the project to be superficial and wanted it to be more sincere. That is how I answered those journalists. When they heard about the EU, they might have thought that everything would be very glamorous. I have examined the book and saw that they have taken very good pictures. Even a person who does not know Trabzon that well has taken beautiful pictures. Well, Trabzonites might have been upset that there were pictures of the shelters and the unpainted places but not the others. Well, these are the beauties of life, too. Otherwise, there is no meaning to take pictures of painted places; they are everywhere. Actually, I congratulate Ms Minna, too. What did you do in the opening? I played from my own collection. They told me, “You only bring vinyl records.” I also did something, which I have never done before. I was playing the records, and Ms Minna said, “Let him be on stage.” I was happy to go on stage. Maybe she said this, thinking that it would look like a DJ performance. We played Füsun Önal, too. I tried to choose a variety of tunes from the vinyl records in the evening before the event. Thinking about what the young people would like, I played pop tunes from the 1970s, those rhythmic tunes including songs from Ajda Pekkan, Seyyal Taner, and the best of Cem Karaca. Well, we played Ajda Pekkan from the 1970s. Then we played Sezen Aksu. We played them all so that people could listen to them. The only problem was the rain. It rained a lot that day. Of course, had it been in a covered area and had there been a nice sound system, I believe that there would have been 500 people, maybe even 1,000 people. I played records, and the speakers whom Ms Minna had brought talked to the people. But, as I said, because the sound system was rather insufficient and, because of the rain, the event turned into a chaos. Had I been informed about the theme, I would have played vinyl records from the band Üç Hürel. But there was not enough time. In fact I am a person who always thinks about the artistic side of things, I am trying to master different kinds of music. What kind of comments did you hear from the audience and the other participants in the programme?

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Of course, my friends were there despite the rain. People had a very nice time there. In fact, the hands of the young people were always up in the air. I mean, while I was playing pop music, there everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even the passers-by would suddenly stop and pay attention, wondering about the music playing there. There has never been such an open-air performance with vinyl records before. Could this project be considered as an encouraging sign for the possibility of carrying out similar projects in the future? For example, would you think about organising such an event? I mean, I would. Only if we had a covered area. I even thought, if only we had a nice place. My biggest goal is to open a place in Trabzon when I have the means. Let’s say if there wasn't the problem of the rent, it would have been really nice to have a place where there were the pictures of the records, and where people could show up, drink their tea, and reminisce about the good old days while listening to nostalgic music. I mean, it would be about sharing our similar feelings with others. The younger people would learn about the old times. It would be a very different environment. What they see on TV is enough for young people now; they have already forgotten the existence of some of the music artists. Barış Manço is a good example. Everybody knew him. But today, a 15-year-old kid does not know who Barış Manço is. What a sad situation! These are the grave realities of today. I gave the example of Barış Manço deliberately, as he is such an important name. Our young people do not know Zeki Müren any more. This is a big shame for us, I mean. I feel so sorry that they have forgotten our true values, culture and folklore. 27 January 2011 TR-ENG by B.K.

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what is happening now? 5 cities The interviews in Ă&#x2021;anakkale, Ä°stanbul, Konya, Mardin and Trabzon which you can read in this book were made several months before publication. They reflect varying points of view at particular moments in the development of the My City project. Written as this book goes to print in April 2011, here is a summary of the current state of play.

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Çanakkale Mark Wallinger’s Sinema Amnesia was not designed to be a permanent installation but future exhibitions of this piece (in Çanakkale and elsewhere) are now under discussion. İstanbul The exhibition of Andreas Fogarasi’s Panorama (The Right of View) on the Anatolian shore of the Sea of Marmara at Kadıköy has ended and will be followed shortly by installation of the piece next to the Golden Horn in Eminönü in the old city. Konya The Walter Benjamin in Konya pool by Joanna Rajkowska continues to excite discussion in the city and measures are being taken to provide greater security for the visually impaired. The limited-edition book, of which the first-numbered copy rests on the shelves of the Yusuf Aĝa Kütüphanesi, has been distributed to libraries and cultural centres in several countries. Mardin The local authorities have landscaped the approaches to Clemens von Wedemeyer’s Sun Cinema and the piece is undergoing refurbishment to ensure a longer-term installation than was initially envisaged. A regular film programme will begin shortly. Trabzon The book of Minna Henriksson’s project The One Who Loves Speaks the Truth has aroused much debate in Trabzon and, since stocks are now exhausted, we have received a request from the youth affairs department of the Municipality to print more copies. The neon installation still blazes. The British Council is negotiating the bequest of each of these works to relevant institutions and local authorities. Educational Programme The My City educational programme is set to begin a new life across Turkey as a project in its own right.

ARTIST-IN-RESIDENCIES

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

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Warsaw

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Can Altay

The directed gaze, in Warsaw

Can Altay

* From an earlier note found in a notebook. Due to its tone, this statement is placed as a quote.

“The reality of a parachuted condition is always different to the aspirations of the artist prior to arriving to a site. The site always vibrates something real that changes the proposal into the project, which rarely has much to do with the preconceptions, desires, and the imagined outcome. The site dictates the parameters that will ultimately differentiate the project.” * Upon my arrival to Warsaw, it once more dawned on me that I can never have access to a city, or a site, unless my gaze is directed in a range of manners by a set or a group of locals (locals – as individuals – and localities – as situations, conditions – from a range of degrees of affiliation with the site). This had happened to me, fortunately and coincidentally, during my experiences in Dubai and Tbilisi. As always, the desire to formulate the coincidental for further utilisation took charge, and I had a structured experience in Liverpool: not in a dream to recreate a similar situation, which is impossible, but to make use of that observation to come up with a new methodology for the condition I was facing. I wasn’t inventing a whole system but just attempting to repeat what has enabled me to have those open windows onto sites, which could have as well remained behind shutters. I returned to “directed gaze,” with the hope that it will enable access to the site in one sense or preferably more. To simply put, the directed gaze works like this: Revealing a dose of my interests in how cities work, I would ask people I meet to take me on a tour, a half-day or at maximum, a day-long tour. This could be a tour of interest, of problems, of change, of life, of possibilities, of impossibilities, of imagination or of reality, to put it shortly, a meaningful tour for the guide her/himself. While keeping in mind with the agenda of my work in general, of micro realities, stories, and the interest in further projecting possible settings, I add an additional layer that defines how I start an investigation. I simply asked people to direct my gaze to a place, a situation, or a condition in Warsaw. These people would be from a variety of backgrounds and positions, but not necessarily an extensive list, a few people from diverse viewpoints is good enough. They could direct me, or take me to a place,

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Can Altay, Another Empty Pedestal: after similar skids from recent pasts, 2010 Setting with concrete Lotus Leaf sculpture from the evicted Vietnamese Community Worship Centre in Warsaw. Installation view from Centre for Contemporary Art Ujazdowski Castle, Warsaw. September-November 2010. Photo: Mariusz Michalski

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MY CITY / CAN ALTAY

give me basic information on the site, with their remarks or recollections. The possible agendas I offered were: ✓ Self-claimed/inventive modes of using the city and its resources (i.e., entrepreneurial, anarchic, nocturnal, for fun, not criminal but can involve illegality or informality), ✓ The changes in the city, the breaks, the tears, nostalgia, “regeneration” and its counterparts, ✓ The visible and the invisible, the mediated Warsaw and the Warsaw nobody wants to see or show, ✓ Access or “the right to space,” who has access to certain/various parts of the city; who gives that right, how the right is taken, and official and unofficial modes of territoriality and seclusion, ✓ Inherent excess, or the underbelly of the city. What are the excessive practices, from youth cultures to, literally, issues around garbage and residue? Kaja Pawelek and the CCA Ujazdowski Castle have been extremely helpful in arranging contacts and enabling various sessions for “the directed gaze.” Several meetings and field trips in Warsaw were organised, offering perspectives on the city and its historical, social, architectural and spatial structure, with a very personal twist, story, or connection. One of these trips led to the Praga district and the areas inhabited by the Vietnamese community of Warsaw (former X-Anniversary Stadium), where I visited the former Buddhist Temple of Warsaw Vietnamese community. Being evacuated, for demolition to make room for the construction of a larger new stadium for the 2012 Football Cup, the Temple and the Community Centre were left almost intact, with virtually immovable parts and the buildings themselves. With the help of my guide (the director of my gaze), Dam Van Anh who was closely and familiarly involved in my work, we got in touch with the community representatives to allow us to transplant certain pieces from here, as a fundamental and integral part of an installation I proposed for the CCA Ujazdowski Castle. Another empty pedestal: after similar skids from recent pasts, a plywood construction with a genuine piece from the former Buddhist Temple in Warsaw – a concrete sculpture of lotus leaf and a small wooden sculpture of a fish – was installed as a reminder, a direct link to the demolitions and evictions taking place in cities all around the world. Still a hopeful promise was there as the first encounter with empty pedestals suggests: You can’t tell whether something has been removed, or is just about to take place.

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London

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Güneş Terkol

The city, sounds and a banner for an ordinary day

Güneş Terkol

Güneş Terkol, The Sounds of London, embroidery on fabric, 220 cm x 265 cm, London, 2010. Photo: Güneş Terkol

After getting off the plane and explaining to the border police what I was doing in their country, I came across a crowd. Mostly immigrants, they were all holding signs with the persons’ name that they were waiting for. None of the signs had my name on it. We stood in front of each other for some time. While we were waiting, many people found each other. Then, a Pakistani with a sign written “Perkol” walked in. He insisted that he was waiting for an old lady who was an artist. When I finally convinced him that it was me whom he was supposed to meet, he took me out of the noisy crowd, and took me to the house where I was to spend the next three months. This was my first day in London. I started exploring the city on foot. The place I was living in was walking distance from the studio. On my way to the studio, there were shops where I could take care of my daily needs like a market, a park, the post office, etc. The Gaswork building was a white building at the end of the road, next to huge gas stations and a large cricket field where sounds of cheering, batting and announcements were heard. While the Gasworks building looked small from the outside, it was full of galleries, offices, studios, the staff, artists visiting their studios, and those who were visiting the artists. In the following days, I started walking farther. I would walk around the streets, the blocks I didn’t know, and I would explore the city centres. The city was so big, crowded, diverse, chaotic and problematic that sitting in the studio with the remnants of the artist there before me, I would think about where I would start in this unfamiliar city, what I could bring to it, hence what kind of routine I would create. Initially I came up with three plans. The first one was to try to collect materials from around, the second was to organise a workshop in three months, and finally at the end of the process, to exhibit the outcomes in an Open Studio day and organise a mini-concert. Since I had been mostly doing work with sewing in the recent years, the material I used consisted of pieces of cloth that I would collect. First, I looked around for a sewing machine that I could use temporarily. As for the fabric, which I used to find in İstanbul through the wastes of the textile factories, I thought I could go to London’s second hand flea markets

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Güneş Terkol, Make Your Own Banner, workshop, Gasworks, June 2010, Photo: Alba Colomo

MY CITY / GÜNEŞ TERKOL

Güneş Terkol, The Sounds of London, artist book published by Ditto Press, 2010, London. Photo: Güneş Terkol

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during their closing time, and I started frequenting the markets on Sunday afternoons. However, it wasn’t easy to collect leftover materials from the stands as there were big containers to recycle fabrics and clothes next to those for glass and paper in the city. I started recording videos for a while, but then a police officer stopped me when I was videotaping the gas station next to the studio, on account that I could be a terrorist. The city was not very accommodating in letting me collect the stuff that I would normally collect. So then I decided to change my methods and started collecting the sounds of the city. Everyday I’d take a newspaper and take the underground or the bus and go somewhere I didn’t know, take long walks around the area, all the while recording the sounds around me. At the end of the day, I would take my notebook that I had named Trepo, through changing the word “report,” and sketch a real or fictional event for the day, while at the same time taking these sketches into sewing. During those two months, I came across a diverse range of sounds from the enthusiastic cheering of the crowds in a marathon to a street singer in the underground, from protests against the elections to 1 May protest slogans, and to the tranquil sound of the skies freed temporarily from passing airplanes thanks to the volcanic ashes. All of the little sketches and the short recordings served as the guide for the workshop I was planning to do at the end. I thought we could prepare a banner together with the participants based on the sounds of the city for a day without any ceremonies. Thinking about the sounds and asking the question,“ Is it possible to build our own narrative of the daily life?” I thought if it would be possible to recreate our lives through following the sounds, that would help us build a more liveable daily life. Would it be possible to redesign our rhythms by imagining a sound and going after that sound or planning an ordinary day through putting in order the sounds we would like to hear? I wanted to consider the possibility of using our ears to build the narrative of our daily lives. On 5 June, I organised a workshop in Gasworks that was open to the

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public. The subject of the workshop was “banner for an ordinary day.” To examine the participants’ daily problems, utopias and their hopes about the city, I asked the questions, “What is the sound you want to hear today?” and “What is the sound you don’t want to hear today?” With the participants, we made sketches inspired by the sounds that I had recorded earlier. To make the banner for an ordinary day, we put together different sounds instead of trying to find a single voice. In the end, different ideas led to a single banner. The banner was made up of eight black-and-white flags that had similar shapes but different contents. This form was inspired from the original banners that have been done by women since the 1900s, sewn over clothes for drawing attention to women’s rights, suffrage, etc., which I had found during my research at the Women’s Library. The final version of the poster was hung on the façade of the building on the Open Studio day. The same day, we performed the GUGU concert which I had organised with Güçlü Öztekin. The preparations for the concert took one month. For the concert, we made an album with handmade covers, made T-shirts and wrote lyrics inspired from situations we had encountered in the city. In addition, Patrick Lacey from the åbäke graphic design group and Jorge Escudero, who makes music as a one-man band named Hyperpotamus, also participated in the concert. In the studio, open to the public for three days, we exhibited the sewing work I did throughout the three months, as well as the book. The book was created BY making copies of the notebook, which included my everyday experiences, newspaper articles I had collected, and a reconstruction of my dreams. A total of 100 copies of my notebook, which was more like a journal including sketches I had drawn everyday, was published by Ditto Press. Before this, I had never experienced being an artist-in-residence on my own, but had attended various short-and long term residence programmes in different countries with the Hazavuzu group we had formed six years ago. This time I had developed a project through my own methodology, instead of developing it through collective ideas. I had the opportunity to execute most of the things I had planned throughout the residency. This was an opportunity for me to experience a change in my usual work, as well as work together with people in different ways. The critiques and opinions of the people whom I had met briefly during the workshop and the preparations for the concert performance, as well as the artists and the studio visitors, helped me in shaping my project. Everyone working in Gasworks, and especially Catalina Lozano, Katie Orr and Alba Colombo, helped me in every possible way. I had truly inspiring experiences, which helped me to reconsider my work from a different perspective. TR-ENG by B.K.

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MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

Dortmund

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Işıl Eğrikavuk

From coal to culture

Işıl Eğrikavuk

My mother is a retired government employee. For 35 years, she had worked in the Foreign Relations office of the Social Security Authority. The office kept the records and regulated the paperwork for the workers who were going abroad. My mother began working in this office in 1969, the year when the one millionth Turkish worker, İsmail Bahadır, was welcomed in Munich with celebrations. Before he was sent off to his factory, he was given a television set as a gift. My mother’s stories about her work were full of characters like İsmail Bahadır who had left their villages to go and work in countries like Germany, Austria and Belgium. Her stories, just like the Turkish films of the time, included people who would come back with flowers on their fedoras or who would walk around listening to loud music from the cassette players they carried on their shoulders. My mother used to tell me that they recruited most of the workers according to their muscle power. The picture of Germany in my mind before going to Dortmund was, of course, not only limited to the Turks who were there. But during the three months I spent there, I realised that it was impossible to disregard the migration issue as a Turk living there. Yet I also knew that I wanted to transcend the often-repeated stereotypical migration stories. Different coffeehouses Let me first provide some brief information about Dortmund. This is a town of about 600,000 inhabitants, and is in the Ruhr region, which includes the surrounding small cities. Ruhr was one of the European Capitals of Culture, along with İstanbul, in 2010. This region used to be the stronghold of the German industry 40 years ago. Ruhr was of key importance to the German economy, with its more than 200 coal mines and the related iron and steel industry. Hence, Ruhr had been the most favoured destination for many of the immigrants who arrived in Germany from Turkey during the 1960s and the 1970s. The Turkish population of the region began to increase as the guest workers acquired German citizenships, and brought their families to

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Zollverein (Former Coal Mine Industrial Complex) in Essen, Germany, 2010. Photo: Işıl Eğrikavuk.

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Işıl Eğrikavuk Still from Memory Museum, interview with Max Rehfeld, 2010 Photo: Işıl Eğrikavuk right: Video stills from Memory Museum, 2010

Germany. It is possible to find towns where Turks constitute 90 percent of the population. The situation had slowly begun to change in the 1980s. When countries like China and Australia began producing cheap coal, it intensified the competition, and Germany responded by cutting its mining investments. While initially, the laid-off miners found employment in other sectors, job opportunities gradually dwindled. Today, there are only eight coal mines that are still in operation in Germany. The German government, under the pressure from the European Union, announced that these remaining mines would be closed down in 2018. However there are still 35,000 workers employed in this sector, and the trade unions are opposing the shutdowns. It is possible to see the ramifications of this situation all over Dortmund. The streets and parks are filled with the unemployed. While most of the unemployed are the immigrants, there is quite a substantial number of unemployed people who are not immigrants. Rampant unemployment amplifies ethnic polarisation. While the immigrant workers are concentrated in the northern part of the city, the southern part belongs to the “decent” whites. Dialogue between the Turks and Germans is almost

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nonexistent. What’s more is that the Turks are divided among themselves according to their towns of origin, like those who come from Trabzon or Aksaray. They have their own separate associations. They even frequent different coffeehouses. From coal to culture The local government came up with a “solution” to take Ruhr out of its dismal state, and revitalise it. All of the vacant and idle industrial sites and spaces have been transformed into spaces for the culture industry. Once the heartland of the coal industry, Ruhr today is focusing on culture. It is impossible to disregard the impact of this transformation on the region’s architecture. The former coal mines have now been turned into cultural centres, open-air cinemas or museums. This way, the number of tourists visiting the region has increased. Some of the sites have even made it into UNESCO’s world cultural heritage list. This was the picture in Dortmund that I had encountered. It took a long time for me to comprehend what I have summarised above. I spent two thirds of my time there gathering information from the people. I talked with former miners, current miners, ex-miners who are now working in

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Işıl Eğrikavuk Video still from Memory Museum, 2010

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MY CITY / IŞIL EĞRİKAVUK

other sectors, unemployed people, and the people who are working in the cultural offices of the municipality. Among these, the most interesting was a six-hour interview I had done with the 83-year-old Max Rehfeld who had opened up a mining museum on his own. Rehfeld, in his two-room museum, is exhibiting both his own collection and the scale model of a coal mine that he himself has constructed. All this experience led me to ask the following question: While the transformation of the city was offering new opportunities in the field of tourism and culture, could the inhabitants of this city who used to dig their bread out of this earth be able to adapt to the culture industry like the buildings have been adapted? Specifically, where did the Turkish immigrants fall in this new economic activity? My aim was not to answer this question. Through my observations, I could only begin thinking about how this transformation had an impact on the inhabitants of the city. There were former miners who were working as tour guides in their old mines, which had been turned into museums, or those who had opened their own museums. However, Turks had not begun to work in this sector yet. The coal mines not only were spaces of employment, but they had also enabled the Turks and the Germans to work next to one another. However, the conditions of the new industry seems to be radically different now. Third generation immigrants today may well have television sets, but language and educational problems still continue to pose barriers in their incorporation into this new sector. It is difficult to talk about integration without discussing the problems of the industry. Memory Museum I spent my last month in Dortmund trying to produce something out of this process. Since I practice art mainly through writing stories, this experience resulted in a fictional story. The title of the story is Memory Museum, or Anı Müzesi in Turkish. Memory Museum is actually a fictional interview. It is the story of a Turk who has opened the biggest coal-mining museum in Germany. The protagonist of the story is a former Turkish coal miner called Haluk Köker. He decides to turn the coal mine that he has worked in for years into a museum with the money he had saved. This museum, still under construction, is different than your typical museums. It will not include any objects, machines or photographs. It will be a museum where the former miners tell their memories to the visitors. Köker wants to recruit 5,000 former coal miners to narrate their memories in this museum. The real Haluk Köker, on whom the protagonist of the story is based, had come to Germany when he was 9 years old and has indeed worked first

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as a miner in the mines, and then as a trade unionist. Mr. Köker helped me in my research and directed me to various mines. He later accepted to be filmed and acted for the video. This was also a fictional film, which was shot as if it were real. It was quite an exciting process for me, not only because it was touching both on Dortmund’s transformation and the issues of adaptation of the immigrants to this transformation, but also because it was offering a different ending. Residency as an institution It is not an easy process for artists to go to a foreign city and produce there in a very short time. It is not easy especially for those artists who generate the material they work with from the places they go to. The anxiety to produce a “good” work in a short period sometimes makes it even more difficult. However, before all this, perhaps it is necessary to question the artistic production process of the residency, which has become almost a requisite for most artists to produce and to circulate their work internationally. While this enables artists to have different experiences and produce works in foreign cities, it can also lead to feelings of being uprooted from where they are located and thrust in a completely alien environment. What I want to underline is not the multiplicity of experiences that residency enables us to acquire, but how this mobility and rapid displacements are fast becoming the only way to produce art. This generates artists who are running from one place to the next like top models, producing not very well thought-out works, but ones that are hastily put together, and exhibitions predesigned to be shown in different locales. This does not mean that artists should not be in circulation. Of course, residency can be an experience that helps artists develop their customary production processes. The problem lies in the fact that residencies, which are designed to provide artists with different experiences, are becoming the only valid system of production, and the artists in these programmes are becoming complicit in the system without questioning. When the anxieties of putting together international exhibitions are added onto all this, residencies turn into touristic experiences of short durations. Today, becoming an immigrant is not only a survival strategy for working classes but also for artists. For both groups, the duration and the conditions of work are vaguely determined, with no security. Contemporary art institutions are importing labour power just like the industrialised countries used to import workers. Artists have become the voluntary soldiers of this process. Perhaps for far lower wages. TR-ENG by B.K.

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Berlin

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Caner Aslan

Soft Ground Illumination

Caner Aslan

Caner Aslan İsimsiz, black&white photography, mounted on the panel, 160X120 cm, 2010 Photo: Krzysztof Zielinski

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I stayed approximately three months in Berlin. This work actually began to take shape and its initial ideas began to form before I arrived in Berlin. The project seems to bring different cities together, but it actually is not directly related either to Berlin or to İstanbul. When I arrived in Berlin I wanted to visit the salt mine, the place where they store the nuclear waste, and do something about it. This is a place in Lower Saxony, three hours away from Berlin, where there are salt minerals. The reason for me to go to Berlin was actually its proximity to the salt mine. Ye, when I first arrived in Berlin I was not absolutely sure about doing something about the salt mine, and I was also undecided about working on something directly related to the city. You can never know what or how you are going to produce in this limited time. You can leave the place after three months without producing any concrete ideas. I could not visit the salt mine in my first month in Berlin. It was difficult to get the permission. I bought a bicycle in Berlin and I just cycled around the city without any particular routes. It is not possible to find the direct traces of my experience in Berlin in the project. It must have had some influence, but it would not be right to establish a one-to-one relation. Before Berlin, I had spent some time in Amsterdam at the Ateliers Institute for an artist-in-residence programme that was partly educational. But that was rather different from my experience in Berlin. What distinguishes DAAD from other residences is that one can make use of all the opportunities of the institution as its guest, and one does not have to produce a work. The programme does not make such an imposition. Hence, I did not feel like I absolutely had to produce a work at the end of the three months. Anyhow, the exhibition was put together at the end of the six months. The expectation of My City project was the production of a work. There was no fixed format; this could have been an exhibition, a book, or a presentation. I mostly concentrated on the production of this video. Before going to DAAD, I was living in İstanbul. But I did not have the comfort that an office or a studio provided. Working without an office or a studio makes life more difficult for an artist. Having a studio and living

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MY CITY / CANER ASLAN

Caner Aslan Hari, installation view, 2010 Photo: Krzysztof Zielinski

without pressures is mind opening. In and of itself, changing cities also nourishes you. The most significant advantage of residence programmes is the creation of an opening where you have a studio, a place to live in and a time during which you can leave behind all your worries about making a living. This helps you to concentrate. You meet new people and you experience the city at your leisure. Because of the limited nature of the situation, you live willy-nilly like a tourist, and you cannot completely get rid of this feeling. This is a disadvantage. Moreover, you end up having to leave the city just as you are beginning to settle. This can be distressing. Of course, it gives you many ideas and it nourishes you, but it does not give you enough time for production. The main project that I had in mind was this: I was already interested in archaeology and with this work, I ended up realising what I had in mind. I was researching the storage of nuclear waste. Simultaneously, I was thinking of archaeology. We can say that the fundamental notion of archaeology is that unexpected things that come out from below the earth gain value and meaning. Archaeology creates cultural, economic, and ideological value, albeit with problems. The salt mine presents a reverse analogy. It is a place where things unwanted, things that you want to get rid of are put underground and fixated there. I found this analogy interesting. It was important to physically experience the place. The process was quickened with the acquisition of the permission and DAAD was helpful in this. I had some abstract ideas, but you arrive at very different points when you see and experience the space. It is also important that this nuclear waste storage place used to be a salt mine. It used to be an active salt mine until the 1960s; then it lost its function and was turned into storage for radioactive waste. Salt is an effective container of radiation. Nuclear waste began to be stored there after the 1960s. However in the 1980s, they realised that the mine is not stable. The mine is active and this causes water leakages. Currently the mine is totally unstable. The entire organisation there is about stabilising the mine. This was not something that was on my mind. I learned its story when I went there. I also saw later that all this was covered in the media. The place generated major opposition. It has a political meaning as well. I gradually realised its political significance. I tried to keep my distance from the ecological aspects of the issue. It is too hefty a problem to become the material of art. I thought my silence on the issue could perhaps be more mind opening. The idea of the museum found its way into the project through an analogy as well. A museum is a place that aims to keep the objects fixated in a place in a healthy manner. Other than categorising, a museum is about protecting the objects. This film ended up mixing the footages in both places. The work involves both the İstanbul Archaeology Museum and the salt mine in Berlin. The end product is a collage of these two. It is also

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MY CITY / CANER ASLAN

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about the meeting of the distant past and the distant future. The presentation that took place at DAAD includes a film, a slide show, a photograph and some objects exhibited in a special box. The photographs in the slideshow are a collection from an archaeological reconstruction work. The photographer is Bekir Köşker. It is the story of the city walls of Hattusa near Çorum. The architecture in Hattusa was based on adobe bricks. Hence, the entire city has long turned into dust. Archaeologists were engaged in something they rarely do in the three-year-long BoğazköyHattusa project that was completed in 2005. They were rebuilding a structure from scratch. Using scientific methods and analyses, they were building a structure with the methods that were used 3,000 years ago. At that archaeological site, when part of a building comes alive, the process is repeated. The interesting part is that, based on the descriptions found on the clay pottery, the archaeologists are also rebuilding the city walls. The project is about the strangeness, failure and beauty of reaching to a physical object that had long disappeared. In the box, we come across with an object that was also part of the slide show. On this, we worked with the ceramics artist Andrea Schuber from Berlin. Based on my interpretation, it is a reproduction of an object that belongs to the craftsmen of 3,000 years ago, an object which the archaeologist had used in reconfiguring the wall. From afar they look like archaeological finds, but you can tell that they are reproductions when you look at them closely. In a way, I wanted to try out what the archaeologists were doing. I tried to reproduce the original object through its image. We tried to reproduce the historical object itself from its image in the book. Perhaps its significance lies in its failure and the tensions that it causes. TR-ENG by B.K.

Caner Aslan Hari, reproduction of ceramic pieces, 2009-2010 Repositories, 2010, HD Video,12 min. 2010, Photos: Krzysztof Zielinski

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MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

Helsinki

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Leyla Gediz

All tomorrow’s paintings Leyla Gediz

Leyla Gediz Intro (in progress), cardboard, line, wood, 240x215 cm., 2010 Photo: Leyla Gediz

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While many artist friends of mine from Turkey have been participating in artist-in-residence programmes, I had never thought of them as an option for me. I am a painter who is deeply attached to her studio, and had thus far arranged my life around this attachment. I had studied in London, and always found it to be very opportunistic to jump onto every chance to go abroad. Nevertheless, sometimes one’s city becomes suffocating. In a period in my life when I felt I was at a standstill and when I did not exactly know where to turn, My City project was a godsent opportunity! Breaking with my routines helped me to rethink my work in a different light. It did not really matter which city I was going to go. I was willing and ready to experience Finland as it was far away and it was a foreign place. I spent three months on the island of Suomenlinna located off Helsinki. When I arrived there in March, everything was covered with snow. I had never seen so much white in my whole life. The sea was covered with ice. I was taking these hourly ferries to go to the city for art supplies like paper, stretcher and paint, and to run my errands. These trips were taking much longer than the usual ten minutes that I was accustomed to spending running errands in Nişantaşı, the neighbourhood that I had spent all my life. To be honest, initially I needed to listen to myself rather than to other people. Actually I can even say that I spent the great majority of the artist-in-residence programme in quite an antisocial mood. Still, I quickly became friends with the curator Marita Muukonen, the carpenter Niko Rissanen who lived on the island, and the successful director Hamy Ramezan who often visited me for his documentary. Irmeli Kokko, who had initially linked me to the island, helped me to establish a relationship with the fine arts academy where I had later delivered a talk. I spent the rest of the days visiting the workshops of the students. This experience led to the collective work titled Shoutbox, which was included in my exhibition that opened at the beginning of June. Similarly, everything in the exhibition emerged through my encounters with the city, its spaces and its people. I was impressed with the enormous attention given to recycling in this northern country. To put it crudely, while I lived there I was expected to sort out my garbage. And I did this. I tried to sort out all the things that made it difficult for me to take new steps, everything that rolled around my feet in my painting practice. My anxieties, discomforts, and complaints surfaced. I tried finding ways to express these. I was happy as long as I was able to do that. For instance, I lined up the fishing lines with circles that I had cut out from the discarded

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Leyla Gediz Under Construction, Helsinki, 2010.

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MY CITY / LEYLA GEDİZ

Leyla Gediz Under Construction, artist,s book by Leyla Gediz, 2010 Photo: Ulaş Uğur

(next page) left: Leyla Gediz Intro, cardboard, line, wood, 240x215 cm., 2010 Photo: Sakari Viika right: Leyla Gediz All Tomorrow's Paintings (in progress), handmade shoebox, wrapping paper, diced studio trainers (artist's own) 32x20x12 cm., 2010 Photo: Sakari Viika

cardboards in Soumenlinna. I tied these lines to a fibreboard above, and turned them into a large door curtain. This door curtain (Intro) which itself evoked an abstract painting served as a precondition to reach the oil painting (Construction) that was hanging right across from it. This door curtain, however, had created its own waste during its construction process! The coloured cardboard strips left over from the circles that I cut had a unique beauty of their own. At the very least, they reflected my days of labour and I could not bear to part with them. I needed a structure that would absorb them. I made a scale model of one of the many buildings under construction on the island of Suomenlinna. They used to cover the metal and wooden structural frames with semitransparent plastics to contain the construction site. This enabled us to vaguely see what was going on inside, and eavesdrop on the music playing on the workers’ radios. I incorporated this model in my own work (Work in Progress). I filled all the floors of my four-storey scale model with the cardboard leftovers, and placed a radio set to one of the local stations on the first floor. I had another work similar in spirit to this one that I was very proud of, called All Tomorrow’s Paintings. Of course, the name is a word game inspired by the lyrics of the famous Velvet Underground song, written by Lou Reed and sang by Nico. This dark song tells the story of the breakdown of a young woman lost in the vortex of night life. This young woman, who was crying as opposed to having fun, reminded me of the self I had left behind in İstanbul. I had distanced myself from the art of painting I love and my beloved studio in İstanbul as a reaction to the gallery owner with whom I worked and who pressured me to make money with my paintings. Each time I entered my studio, I would burst into tears even before I touched any of my brushes. In order to put an end to this, one day I got myself a pair of colourful Adidas sneakers. I would imagine that when I put on these magical shoes, I would be free from everything holding me down, and would begin making colourful paintings again. These shoes that I had carried with me to Helsinki were symbolic of this. Soon enough, their actual function became totally irrelevant to me and I started to cut down the pair of shoes into very small cubes. My aim was to get multicoloured confetti! This way, a pair of sneakers had transformed into something that described the intangibility of my imaginary colour paintings. In earnest, I would have wanted my exhibition that was put together as a result of all these exciting processes to be promoted better and hence reach a larger audience. We

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have managed to achieve this with a book that I have put together with my friend and designer Ulaş Uğur in İstanbul. I had wanted to create a book on this process since its very inception. Yet, the idea of turning the book into a painting came from Ulaş upon sharing the contents with him in great detail. He is an impeccable designer! Retrospectively, I see that the tranquil three months that I spent in Helsinki by myself have restored my inner balance, enabled me to reach into my essence, and in this sense, have given me a sense of purification. Throughout my stay there for the programme, just as the ice was melting and the water was returning to earth, my various problems also faded away and vanished. Undoubtedly, readers will find these descriptions highly personal, and perhaps a bit romantic. My initial question was whether we could discuss the art of painting independent of the discussions around commodification. How did the art of painting manage to live outside recognised economies? For instance, how did it survive within and outside of the academy as a form of “knowledge?” Could we manage to think of it independent of the canvas and, if possible, could we inject it into the everyday life? Here, we are not talking about a problem that is specific to a particular place (İstanbul or Helsinki). We are questioning the relationship between the market and the art of painting, and the ways through which we could break free of the dilemmas and the vicious circle that this relationship produces. I believe I am touching on a problem that could be identified as global. The boom that İstanbul’s art life was experiencing had begun to strain me at some point. As the pressures of the people approaching art from the outside were increasing with their increasing interest in its commercial aspects, I was finding it more and more difficult to maintain my balance. On contrary, the Helsinki that hosted me was tranquil to say the least. Yet all the people whom I had the chance to talk to, more or less, understood my language and my concerns. Apparently, Helsinki itself had lived through such a boom a while ago, had become quite volatile for some time, and had its run. I am afraid that a sudden burst of interest in and generosity towards art does not offer a long-lasting support either to the art or the artist in any place. After the opening of my exhibition, we had a public discussion with my curator friend Adnan Yıldız who had come from Berlin. At the end of the discussion, somebody from the audience said: “I am very curious about the paintings that you will produce after this!” Nobody could have articulated better the sense of curiosity, which was my very own! I might have dumped a pile of troubles in Helsinki, but I also met people there with whom I could share my passion in the art of painting. I created works that I could never have created if I were to stay in İstanbul, and I moved forward. TR-ENG by B.K.

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Vienna

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G端ls端n Karamustafa

Vienna: A story of ‘‘inter’’nalizing

Gülsün Karamustafa

7 January 2001 / This morning I flew to Vienna on the 7:25 a.m. flight from İstanbul. I am currently in the taxi. I gave the taxi driver the address that I have memorised by now. With my house keys in my pocket, I will soon open the door and encounter the part of my project that I did in Vienna. The other part, we sent here from İstanbul two days ago. It was quite a challenge to bring together the half I did in İstanbul with the other half I did in Vienna. But in the end, with the hard work of the project coordinators, we were able to succeed. I am here in Vienna, a city that I can now call “my city” in many ways, to organise the final details of my exhibition to open on 20 January 2011. This is the last time I come to the city for the My City resident artist programme, but I feel that my relationship with Vienna will continue in the future. I believe that this encounter will turn into a mutual long-term relationship. The exhibition I will open in Vienna, “The Monument and the Child,” is based on a relationship between Austria and Turkey in the 1930s. The contemporary art space designated for me to reflect this relationship began nurturing other unexpected connections as well. In 1927, a well-known Austrian architect Clemens Holzmeister received a proposal from Kemal Atatürk to work on the urban planning of Ankara and the architectural design of various government buildings including the new parliament building. In 1931, Holzmeister was selected as the president of the Vienna Fine Arts Academy, and assumes this position until 1938 when the Nazi government searches his office and captures all his documents. Luckily, Holzmeister is in Ankara during those years, and is saved from being arrested by the Nazi government. Holzmeister lived in Turkey until 1954. Another name that is the basis of my project is Anton Hanak, a professor in the Academy’s Sculpture department between 1932 and 1934. Holzmeister asks him to collaborate in a monument he is planning a park in Ankara. That is how the Monument to a Secure and Confident Future is born. Unfortunately Hanak dies before the monument is finished. Holzmeister, this time, asks the sculptor of the 3rd Reich, Joseph Thorak, to produce the sculptures for the monument. Thorak dies before he can finish his embossments, and the students of the Vienna Fine Arts Academy

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Gülsün Karamustafa The Monument and the Child, installation view, Vienna, 2011 (Akademie der Bildenden Künste Wien) Photo: Gülsün Karamustafa

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MY CITY / GÜLSÜN KARAMUSTAFA

complete his work. That is how the Monument to a Secure and Confident Future, dedicated to the police and gendarme forces of Turkey, comes to life. My relationship with this monument goes back to two photographs that my father had taken of me as a child, with me hugging the embossments at the bottom of the enormous monument. I am going to interpret this context in the 300-square-metres space of four interlocking rooms in the Academy. The first room, the Park, is going to explore the relationship of the little girl standing under the shadows of the six-metres-high sculptures. In the second room that looks like a corridor, there will be the Frieze intensifying the claustrophobic feeling of the little girl being dominated by the overpowering figures. In the third room, there will be the Sanctuary, which the little girl builds for herself. Here, there will be knickknacks, children’s toys, ceramic objects collected from flea markets in Vienna and İstanbul, which will be exhibited in strange combinations on top of pedestals made of cardboard. The footage I found in an archive of a little girl dancing will screen in a loop to intensify the mood in the room. The fourth room, the House, will be a space of reconciliation. The four-metre carpet on the wall with the photo of the little girl with the sculpture and the couch covered with a white sheet will point to an abandoned house. On the other wall will be a composition with one of these photographs sealed with a gold leaf, representing the idea that reconciliation is complete, and will become a space of tranquillity. Vienna, a place I have been travelling to since the spring of 2010, has truly become “my city.” It has a significant place in my life. When I first found out that I was going to participate in the My City artist programme, financed by the European Union and run by the British Council with the support of Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center and Anatolian Culture, I never thought I would find myself in a project that I would feel such a sense of belonging to. I must say that this was made possible by the staff of the Vienna Fine Arts Academy, who were wonderful hosts, and the creative organisers that I mentioned above. I had participated in a couple of guest artist programmes before. My problem with these programmes was the obligation to stay in that specific city throughout the whole project. It is unimaginable for an artist to stay in one city continuously for three to five months throughout an active production process. It is necessary for the artist to be able to travel in order to do other works that he/she is obligated to do. However these programs are not designed for that. It is expected for the artist to use the opportunities presented to him/her within a given period of time, and to stay and produce in the specific city for the duration of the programme. The advantage of this programme was the fact that it presented the artist the opportunity to travel to the designated city twice.

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My host, the Vienna Fine Arts Academy provided me with a schedule in line with the school programme, and let me be a resident in Vienna during different seasons. This helped me to use my time without having to disrupt my regular schedule. This was a great opportunity for me. It was also quite significant that the My City programme was organised in collaboration with an institution such as the Academy in Vienna, and that it encouraged the artist to establish relationships with the Academy’s students. I had already known some of the students from the Salzburg Summer Academy, and it helped me not to feel a stranger in this environment. The intensive seminar that we did with a group of students during the summer semester allowed me to look at the city through their perspective, and perceive details about the city that I probably would not be able to see through my own experiences. The work that we did together was not constricted to the space of the workshop but also provided opportunities to see the city’s streets and human relationships. Another problem with these kinds of residence programmes is that the living/working spaces offered to the artist might be in beautiful and inspiring places that are in nature or part of the history, yet located outside the city. However this time, my house was literally in the city centre, and all of Vienna was at my feet. Because of this great location, I did not waste time commuting to places. I benefited from being in a central location from which I moved out to the surrounding places and was able to understand the city thoroughly. While I was concerned about working on a long-term project, I was learning how to look at my surroundings in a different light. This way, I experienced how to see the smallest details about a city. It was also a great advantage for me that the programme was already set and planned, ending with an exhibition with dates and locations predetermined. I was able to work towards the exhibition without disrupting my yearly work programme. My project specifically directed me towards side streets and hidden alleys. If I didn’t have to go to these places, I probably would not have made contact with the richness of the city and would have left it with a rather superficial impression. Now I know exactly what awaits me in every street, what surprises I may come across when I turn the street corner, and who can help me when I desperately need the resources to finish an object. I know where to go for everything. I walked through the frozen streets of the city covered with snow, I also walked under the heat of the summer. Each time, I discovered small details that would compliment my project, and best of all, I made some great friends during my stay here. When my exhibition at the end became clearer, it became obvious that I would have to work between İstanbul and Vienna. This created a problem of transportation that would be time consuming and tiring. While

MY CITY / GÜLSÜN KARAMUSTAFA

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Gülsün Karamustafa The Monument and the Child, installation view, Vienna, 2011 (Akademie der Bildenden Künste Wien) Photos: Gülsün Karamustafa

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MY CITY / GÜLSÜN KARAMUSTAFA

a part of the project had to be realised in Vienna, another part had to be produced in İstanbul. At the end of this tiring process, when the pieces in the locations were brought together, it looked like an abstract performance of the My City project to bring together two cities, and I thought that this could be a self-constructed secret game very much in tune with the character of the residency programme. From the very beginning, I thought of the My City project as a brave and passionate initiative. It was different than the projects run by cultural institutions, and explored a new and creative format. First of all, five European artists were invited not just to İstanbul, but to cities that were spread throughout Turkey such as Konya, Trabzon, Mardin and Çanakkale, and they were asked to establish a relationship with their environments through working their creativity into public spaces. Throughout this process, they were given places to stay in the cities and all kinds of support that they needed to produce their work. Seeing how the locals embraced the artworks, and how the artists had blended with the cultures where they spent quite some time just prove how temporary and permanent artistic processes serve to unify. On the other hand, the adoption of the artworks by the cities is also very fascinating. As an artist from İstanbul, if I felt myself at home in Vienna as part of this project and felt that my creativity served a purpose, I believe that the other artists must have felt the same. The success of the project will be more evident when the project is completely finished and the results of all the works in the cities are gathered, but I can say, even today, that the project has definitely reached its goal. My City will be a great example for future creative cultural projects that serve to connect and unify. TR-ENG by Z.Z.

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Gülsün Karamustafa A performance by the students of Gülsün Karamustafa in Brunnenmarket, Vienna. Photo: Gülsün Karamustafa

EDUCATION PROGRAMME

MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

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325 Educational Programme in Mardin, 2010 Photo: N. Barış Karayazgan

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“Art is what you pour your soul into!” Experiences from the My City project contemporary arts activities for children and youth at PACE Children’s Art Centre N. Barış Karayazgan Education Programme Project development, execution and coordination

When we first heard about British Council’s My City project at PACE Children’s Art Centre, we were really excited. We started working hard right away in the preproduction stage to give children and young people an opportunity to design a project in “art” and especially in “contemporary” and “public” art fields known by only a few people in society. While we were planning the programme, we knew that we were entering into a difficult field that had huge potential for influence. For us, the project had four important stages: design, organisation, execution and exhibition in each city in association with the Ministry of Education. We aimed to present opportunities for children and young people from different cultures and various locations in Turkey to experience contemporary arts and to show that art could be a part of our lives by bringing the notions of life and the city together. We designed the activities to provide a wide platform of dialogue and sharing of knowledge in which the children and young people could be actively involved and, at the end, produce three different arts events that bring life and art closer together within the framework of our discussions. We organised an event in which 1,500 students from each city, and 7,500 in total, participated. The children and the young people participated in a workshop that lasted three hours. After meeting us, they were given information about My City project. Then we had a very engaging discussion about “talent” and the question of “Who can be an artist?” A response from a 13-year-old participant from Mardin to the question “What is art?” impressed all of us. His answer was “Art is what you pour your soul into.” Only a child could give such a clear and honest answer! We came to the conclusion that art could be inside everything in our lives and anyone who wants to become an “artist” can do so. Afterwards, to solidify this conclusion, the kids made a key chain or a necklace representing their perception of the city in which they live in. Perhaps for the first time in their

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lives, art, the city where they live in and their lives came together in an object, namely a necklace or a key chain. When we were looking at the results, we talked about how everyone’s creation was different even though they used the same material in the same location at the same time. The kids said that this was natural because we were all different and everyone’s work would come out differently. In other words, art gave them the opportunity to be themselves. There was space for everyone in art. After this activity, we looked at the works of different artists from different cultures and lives, and talked about the works. The kids saw the works of artists from Gaudi to Bruce Nauman, Tom Friedman to Wolfgang Laib, Keith Haring and Maya Lin for the first time in their lives. They noted that they all had different ideas, feelings and experiences looking at the same work. At the end of this activity, the kids were much more comfortable in discussing their opinions about the works. During the workshop, they were not only learning from us but also from their peers. In fact, we also learned a lot from the different perspectives of the children! Moreover, they saw that the artists were now starting to consider spectators as active participants, and that art no longer had to be distant and untouchable but that it is a notion that they can actually get involved in. They recognised that art was inspired by life, that it is not only just about beautiful and good things, that it is a vehicle through which they can share their emotions and experiences in life, that it can, at times, make one happy or uncomfortable, and that art encompasses all of life. In the final part, we organised two more events for them to experience the extremes. First, we asked them to make a model of a public artwork for their city that people could touch and have the urge to touch. This model would also be a kind of a tangible “toy” sculpture that would become a part of their lives. Bringing art and life this close together and making them intertwined with each other, we could no longer only use art materials. We mixed together old newspapers, cardboards and electric cables with a special kind of dough. It was a creative experiment that was undoubtedly the first time anybody had used these materials in this way. After this entertaining activity, we did another one to entertain and disturb them at the same time. Following the approach and work of one of the artists we discussed in the presentation, we did a short photography project that would disturb the spectator. The kids made strange and disturbing gestures using their hands and faces, and we took photos of them. Many of them were uncomfortable about this activity but they also realised that this was a necessary experience that was also a part of art. It was understandable that a few of them refused to do this project. All of the kids and young people who participated in the project

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MY CITY / N. BARIŞ KARAYAZGAN

Çanakkale 1,348 participants in 57 groups.

İstanbul 1,445 participants in 51 groups.

Konya 1,469 participants in 54 groups.

Mardin 1,611 participants in 53 groups.

Trabzon 1,511 participants in 50 groups. created their work on their own, and according to what they like. Seeing the effects of the work in the eyes of the kids was the main factor in motivating us in this tiring project made under difficult conditions. We were especially touched after seeing the excitement of the kids during the activities. The support and the interest of colleagues and teachers who work in the Ministry of Education was very touching. We want to thank the teachers and the authorities in the Ministry of Culture who joined hands to help us in carrying the five huge boxes of material, which even contained a small oven inside, from school to school. In Mardin and Çanakkale, the kids were very impressed that we had come from İstanbul to do activities with them. We also received very good feedback from the teachers who appreciated that the kids were involved in such a participatory and applied artistic activity. It made us very happy to see that our work not only pleased the kids but also the teachers. A total of 7,384 children and young people from five provinces – İstanbul, Konya, Mardin, Trabzon and Çanakkale – participated in the activities. At the end, the works will be presented at an exhibition in each province. At PACE, we continue to search for support in order to keep doing the activities and to share this experience with more children and young people. TR-ENG by Z.Z.

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Educational Programme in Çanakkale, 2010. Photo: N. Barış Karayazgan

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The City of Children Suade Taşlıca Education Programme Project coordination

Childrens workshop in Çanakkale Photo: N. Barış Karayazgan

The arts events of My City project to be run by PACE Children’s Art Centre in schools in the five provinces started in March after a series of meetings with the city’s local government, the British Council, representatives from Anadolu Kültür and the Ministry of Education. After the PACE team organised the material to be used and finished the preproduction stage, we turned in a written statement to the Provincial Directorates of the Ministry of Education in each city. We were going to run arts activities with groups in schools in each city chosen by the Ministry of Education’s European Union Project departments. After the list of schools for two-and-a-half hours of workshops with groups of 30 students between theages of 11 and 18 years were sent to PACE, our team took off to the cities to start the project. We planned to do three groups a day between March and June, and two groups a day between October and December, because of the shorter days of winter. The project targeted to address 1,500 students in each city, and 7,500 students in total, continue for seven months. The participation of the Ministry of Education and the administration of the schools was key in reaching this goal. Even though we had some miscommunication at times, on the whole, the support of the representatives from the Ministry of Education and the schools’ administrations, as well as the hard work of our team led to a project that received much more attention than expected. In every city there was much more demand for the project than expected, and people expressed the importance of organising similar projects in the future. We recognised that the project had just as much effect on us as it did on the students and teachers. The project outgrew itself from just being an art activity to an experience where we understood the importance of human relations, sharing, collaborating, and being able to create freely. The written and oral statements of the students and teachers sincerely demonstrate their gratitude. We often heard the words, “Thank you for coming all the way here from İstanbul just for us!” When our artist trainers left one of the schools in İstanbul after a workshop, the school director called us right away, and said, “We’re always quick to express our

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MY CITY / DAVID CODLING

Childrens workshop in Çanakkale Photo: N. Barış Karayazgan

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MY CITY / SUADE TAŞLICA

criticism but we don’t do the same for our praises. I’m calling you to say thank you for the workshop you ran today in our school, and congratulate you and your colleagues for your great work. We saw the effect on the children’s faces when you were working with them all day. My colleagues and I were very much impressed with the programme that you planned so well from beginning to end. You are doing really great things.” Another example was when one of the kids who participated in the workshop in Konya called his sister, a temporary teacher in Mardin Midyat, and told her about it with such excitement. His sister got curious about the programme and did some research; however she couldn’t find any information about it. Some time later, she got appointed for an activity in her school. When she found out that it was the project that her brother was talking about, she got very happy and shared this story with our team. The Ministry of Education’s local administrations gave a lot of support during the whole project. During hard times they did everything in their power to come up with solutions. The project was a success because of the hard work of the local representatives from the Ministry of Education who went above and beyond their duty and worked long hours, and on one occasion, even organised the list of participating school on the phone while travelling on duty from Rize to Trabzon. Due to their efforts, many kids who lived in rural areas also had the chance to participate in the activities. We want to thank Ayşenil Şenkul, Ece Selvi, Meriç Akdiş, Sevcan Tekcan, Ebru Deniz, Serenay Özen, Kübra Demircan from the PACE team who poured their hearts into the project, and Ece Gürleyik who helped our team in the execution of the project. TR-ENG by Z.Z.

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Works by the children from different cities, 2010. Photo: N. Barış Karayazgan

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Letters from the students and their teachers commenting on the Education Programme.

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ARTIST BIOGRAPHIES

340 Can Altay

his exhibition at the Hungarian Pavilion. A comprehensive

Can Altay is an artist living in İstanbul, Turkey. His

publication about his work, entitled Information was

installations of videos, maps, books and photographs

published in 2008 by Revolver. Among many, Fogarasi has

incorporate different forms of research on the urban

had solo exhibitions at Museo Nacional Centro de Arte

environment. Altay has had solo exhibitions at The

Reina Sofia, Madrid (2011), Kultur und Freizeit, Hungarian

Showroom, London (2010), Kunstlerhaus Bethanien, Berlin

Pavilion, 52. Biennale di Venezia (2007), Norden, Georg

(2008), SalaRekalde, Bilbao (2006) and Spike Island, Bristol

Kargl Box, Vienna (2006). His work has been included

(2007). His work has been included in biennials of İstanbul,

in many group exhibitions; to name some, Related Spaces,

Havana, Busan, Gwangju, Taipei; and in museums and

Ernst Museum, Budapest (2010), A Pair of Left Shoes,

galleries such as the Walker Art Center (USA), VanAbbe

Kunstmuseum Bochum (2009), ABCity, Trafó, Budapest

Museum (Netherlands), ZKM (Germany), P.S.1 MoMA

(2003).

(USA), and Platform Garanti (Turkey). He is a co-founder of art, design, and publishing collective “Diplomacy in Reflex”

Leyla Gediz

and is editor of Ahali: A Journal for Setting a Setting. He was

Leyla Gediz was born in İstanbul in 1974. She graduated

a co-curator of the “Refuge” section of the 4th International

from the Slade School of Fine Art in London in 1998, and

Architecture Biennial of Rotterdam in 2009. Altay also lectures

later received her M.A. in Visual Arts from Goldsmiths

internationally and writes on the fields of art, architecture and

College. Her solo exhibitions include “Perfect Moment”,

urbanism.

Galerist, İstanbul; “It Takes Two” , Fabian-Claude Walter Gallery, Zurich; and “Passenger”, Roberts & Tilton, Los

Caner Aslan

Angeles. Among many other exhibitions she has shown work

Caner Aslan was born in Malatya in 1981. He received a BFA.

in: “Seriously Ironic”, Centre Pasquart, Biel; “On Connait La

from the Graphic Design Department of Marmara University,

Chanson”, Aksanat, İstanbul; “Sampling” Museum of Folk

Faculty of Fine Arts, İstanbul, in 2003 and has attended De

Art, Athens, “Acıyla Karışık” , Platform Garanti, İstanbul,

Ateliers, Amsterdam. His work has been exhibited in Straw

and “Eindhoven-İstanbul” , Van Abbe Museum, Eindhoven.

Poll, Salford, UK; “Relative Positions and Conclusions”, Suriye Pasaji, İstanbul; the Frieze Art Fair, London, the 5th Berlin

Minna Henriksson

Biennial, Berlin; “My Voice, My Weapon of Choice”, Kasa

Minna Henriksson has spent time as an artist-in-residence

Gallery, İstanbul and in Offspring, De Ateliers, Amsterdam.

in many ex-Yugoslavian cities including Zagreb, Ljubljana, Pristina and Belgrade, all places that were not at the time

Işıl Eğrikavuk

already hosting a permanent artist-in-residency programme.

Işıl Eğrikavuk studied literature at Boğaziçi University İstanbul

The first time Henriksson visited South-east Europe was

then went to The School of The Art Institute of Chicago

during her participation in a collaborative project with

for her MFA. She moved back to İstanbul in 2008 and has

artist Hüseyin Bahri Alptekin that took place in 2003.

taught contemporary art and media at Boğaziçi, Sabancı and

Henriksson is currently living in Helsinki. One of her main

Bilgi Universities. She is currently working as an instructor

interests is the investigation of collective identities and more

at Bilgi University as well as reporting for the Hürriyet daily

specifically different manifestations of nationalism, which

newspaper. Selected exhibitions: 11. Istanbul Biennial, Turkey;

she also explored when co-editing the book Contemporary

“Endgame” at LoopSpace, Seoul, South Korea; “Moment of

Art and Nationalism - Critical Reader together with Kosovar

Agency” at Kunstmuseum, Basel, Switzerland; “The Interview”

sociologist Sezgin Boynik.

at Boots Contemporary Art Space, St. Louis, USA; “Be Realist, Demand The Impossible” at Karşı Sanat, Istanbul, Turkey.

Gülsün Karamustafa Gülsün Karamustafa was born in 1946 in Ankara. She lives

Andreas Fogarasi

and works in İstanbul. Karamustafa received her

Andreas Fogarasi was born 1977 in Vienna and lives in Vienna.

PhD from the School of Applied Arts, İstanbul in 1981.

He studied architecture at the University of Applied Arts in

Her academic employments include the Salzburg Summer

Vienna and art at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna and

Academy, International Women’s College in Hanover,

at Le Pavillon, Palais de Tokyo in Paris. Since 2001 he is co-

Academy of Fine Arts in Munich, and Boğaziçi University.

editor of dérive – Magazine for Urban Studies. In 2007 he was

Her solo exhibitions include “Opening” , Rodeo Gallery,

awarded the Golden Lion at the 52. Biennale di Venezia for

İstanbul; “Mobile Stages” , Salzburger Kunstverein;

341 “Bosphorus” 1954, Kunstmuseum Bonn; “Gülsün

Liverpool, 2008, Rotterdamse Schouwburg, Rotterdam, 2008;

Karamustafa”, EXIT, Kosova; “Unawarded Performances”,

Triennale Bovisa, Milan, 2008. Recent solo shows include:

Konsthall C, Stockholm; “Memory of a Square, Museum”

They were trying to climb against the current, NON, İstanbul,

Villa Stuck, Munich; “Memory of a Square/ 2000-2005

2010; No Ceremony for Transition, Apartment Project,

Video Works by Gülsün Karamustafa”, Kunsthalle

İstanbul, 2008.

Fridericianum, Kassel; “Men Crying”, Musee d’art Moderne de la Ville de Paris, Paris and “Galata: Genoa”, Alberto Peola

Mark Wallinger

Gallery, İstanbul. Her works have also been presented in

Mark Wallinger’s work has been exhibited internationally,

many other shows such as: “Translation / Tarjama”, Queens

including major solo shows at Whitechapel Gallery, London;

Art Museum, New York; “The View from Elsewhere”,

Museum fur Gegenwartskunst, Basel; Palais des Beaux Arts,

Sherman Contemporary Art Foundation; “From Site to

Brussels; Serpentine Gallery, London; Portikus, Frankfurt;

Site”, Skissernas Museum, Lund; “Who Killed the Painting”,

Wiener Secession and most recently the Kunstnernes Hus in

Neues Museum, Nurnberg; 11th Cairo Biennial and 3rd

Oslo. His sculpture “Ecce Homo”, (1999) was the first project

Guangzhou Triennial.

chosen for the vacant Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square and he represented Great Britain at the Venice Biennale in 2001.

Joanna Rajkowska

Wallinger has been nominated for the Turner Prize twice and

Joanna Rajkowska (born 1968 in Bydgoszcz, Poland) is an

was the winner in 2007. His subsequent installation “State

author of objects, films, installations, ephemeral actions,

Britain”, described in Artforum magazine as “…one of the

as well as interventions in the public space. Her artistic

most remarkable political works of art ever…” was on display

practice reflects changes in the reception and expectations

at Tate Britain from January to August. Wallinger’s proposal

of society towards art along with the art works’ potential

for a 50 metre high White Horse was selected by the Ebbsfleet

social functions, referring to the complexity of identity

Landmark Commission and will be constructed in the near

problems affecting the communities living in Eastern

future. Publications include Mark Wallinger, JRP Ringier,

Europe after the economic and political transformation

Easter/Via Dolorosa, Artache, Milan; Mark Wallinger –

of the 90s. Rajkowska’s most widely discussed works

Credo, Tate Gallery Publishing, London; Mark Wallinger

include “Pozdrowienia z Alej jerozolimskich/ Greetings

– Prometheus, Portikus, Frankfurt am Main; Mark Wallinger

from the Jerusalem Avenue” (2002-2009) and “Dotleniacz/

- Ecce Homo, Vienna Secession, Vienna; Mark Wallinger,

Oxygenator” (2006-2007), which were seen to function

Museum fur Gegenwartskunst, Basel.

as contemporary “social sculptures,” activating layers of meanings (both historical and ideological), provoking

Clemens von Wedemeyer

conflicts, serving as specific platforms interwoven into

Clemens von Wedemeyer was born in Göttingen, Germany,

the urban tissue of Warsaw, and in addition were used as

in 1974. He studied Fine Arts at the HGB, Academy of Visual

material for debates, arguments and manifestations.

Arts, Leipzig, and has received numerous international awards for his films, including the Kunstpreis der Böttcherstrasse

Güneş Terkol

in Bremen, Germany (2005), the VG Bildkunst Award for

Güneş Terkol was born in Ankara in 1981. She completed

Experimental Film and Video-art, Munich Film Festival,

her B.A. at Mimar Sinan University, Fine Art Faculty,

Germany (2002), the Marion Ermer Prize, Leipzig (2002).

Painting Department and her M.F.A. at the Yıldız Technical

Clemens von Wedemeyer frequently employs cinematic

University. She lives and works in İstanbul. Some recent

strategies and motifs in his work, but tends to thrust such

group exhibitions include, “Port İzmir 2010 // Silence-

references into the context of art, cross-cutting them with

Storm”, İzmir, Turkey, 2010; White Out, Kunsthaus

the viewing and image traditions of the visual arts. “Art and

Erfurt, Erfurt, Germany, 2010; 2th International Antakya

cinema are different languages, but they are related,” von

Biennal, Antakya, Turkey, 2010; “états d’âmes”, ENSBA,

Wedemeyer has stated. “I am interested in both languages.

Paris, 2010; Turkish Delight, Galerie Mycroft, Paris, 2009;

Taken together, they make it possible to devise a practice

“Unfair Provacation”, Hafriyat, İstanbul, 2009; “Truths and

that opens up space for new investigations.” Von Wedemeyer

Mirages”, NLA, Sofia, 2008. As Ha Za Vu Zu art collective

does not just bring film memories to light by linking art

member, some of the group exhibitions she had participated

and cinema, but creates new ways for viewers to access and

are X Baltic Triennial of International Art, Vilnius, 2009;

perceive their reality. (Quotes from an interview by Jens

10th Lyon Biennial, Lyon, 2009; Kaserne, Basel, 2008; Mercy,

Asthoff )

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ÂŠ British Council

This book is also published in Turkish