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Showing posts with label Istanbul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Istanbul. Show all posts

Saturday, 6 September 2014

imagining dragons....

Corner detail of my Kashmiri coffee table.


















Five and a half decades ago, my mother- and father-in-law lived for a time in Pakistan. They were working there as doctor and nurse for the British Civil Service Overseas. At some point, they purchased a coffee table and a tall floor lamp made in Kashmir. Both were made out of black walnut, and both were carved with dragons. About a decade ago, we inherited them.

Having recently come back from a trip to China, I can see that the dragons on my furniture are descended from the ones I saw there -- they have the rope-like tentacles that emerge from their faces near their mouths, like whiskers. Like moustaches. The long serpentine bodies, the bird-like claws, the horns of goats and the manes of lions.


I come from a dragon-plagued people too -- the Scandinavians -- though our dragons are different. They have wings. They have fuller bodies and sturdier legs.


I wonder if dragons all began in the Far East, slowly following the sun along the Silk Road; from China, through Tibet and then through Kashmir, through Persia and finally to the barbarian West where we claimed them as our own? (As we so often have....)

Or did they emerge from the two ends of the ancient world at the same time (the human mind being hard-wired to imagine gods and monsters)? I wonder if they met up in Istanbul, or Constantinople as it was then known. I wonder if they clashed, all fire in the darkened skies; or if they found themselves a little less lonely in the world, knowing that others of their kind existed?


Dragons writhe around the margins of my Kashmiri coffee table.


Corner detail of my table.

A dragon detail on the leg of my table.

Dragon at the base of my Kashmiri floor lamp.


For more posts about Chinese dragons, click here or here.

Tuesday, 28 May 2013

underground

Jennifer Steinkamp. Eye Catching. Video installation
in the Yerebatan Cistern, underneath Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. 2003






















Underneath the 4th century Hagia Sophia cathedral/mosque in Istanbul, lies a vast nearly-empty cistern that once supplied the city with water. No longer used for its original function, it nonetheless retains a few feet of water. But the stone columns, walls, ceilings and arches have given it the name "the sunken palace." It was here, for the 2003 Istanbul Biennial, that Jennifer Steinkamp installed her video of computer-animated trees. The column in the foreground is supported by the head of Medusa, repurposed from some earlier sculpture or architecture, and installed, here, upside-down.



Medusa's head inverted. Subverted. Subjugated. Subterranean. Her halo of serpents directed down into the water; doused. Planted into the earth. Hidden from view, like roots.

And nearby, trees. Amidst a forest of stone columns, trees made of light.

Branches waving, writhing like snakes.

Jennifer Steinkamp. Eye Catching.

Jennifer Steinkamp. Eye Catching.
































































*** Spoiler Alert! I was reminded of this work while reading Dan Brown's new book, Inferno, this week. This cistern is the setting for some of its events.






Saturday, 18 May 2013

holy waters

Laura Vickerson. Velvet. Rose petals on bridal tulle.
4th century church, Istanbul. 1995








































A hundred thousand red rose petals bleed down the wall of an ancient Turkish church. 

While across a continent and more than a decade, a hundred thousand pigeon feathers erupt and gush from a wall in an English crypt.


Kate MccGwire. Retch. Mixed media with pigeon feathers.
St. Pancras' crypt, London. 2007

Kate MccGwire. Sluice. Mixed media with pigeon feathers.
St. Panras Crypt, London. 2009

Kate MccGwire. Sluice. Mixed media with pigeon feathers.
St Pancras crypt, London. 2009
































































































See more of Laura Vickerson's work here or here.

See more of Kate MccGwire's work here or here.