Monday, November 12, 2012

Ten Least Painted Scenes of Istanbul - Writhing Iron

....That old bad world that swallowed its children quick
At one great gulp. We would not have it again.
Sometimes we think of the nations lying asleep,
Curled blindly in impenetrable sorrow,
And then the thought confounds us with its strangeness....
Edwin Muir - The Horses

Chains are crafted, forged, fashioned. Their strength is put to use and they stretch, pull, twist and buckle to the will of industry and power. They also seem strangely human, their strength wholely dependent on others like them, if one's integrity fails all feel the collapse, and they rest curled up silent and vulnerable.

Friday, November 2, 2012


Standing on the bus today I noticed a whispering sound. Buses here are usually very quiet, urban dwellers the world over seem to prefer silence on public transport. I sometimes feel a sense of unease if my mobile goes off on the bus, not only can some people react in fear to being near mobile phone radiation waves (I'm serious), but they will be able to hear my less than perfect Turkish bouncing off the walls of the vehicle and they will all instantly know I'm a foreigner. 

Anyway, I heard whispering, it was coming from a lone woman sitting by the window staring out at the passing street, she had in her hand a small counting device. My guess is that she was counting how many times she was saying a particular prayer, undaunted by the fact that her prayers were audible as a whisper she frequently checked her 'score'. 

It's these little details that I find fascinating here, here we are on a bus that looks much like any bus in the world going a long a pretty unremarkable street and yet there are glimpses of an inner world and belief system that are very foreign to the culture I was raised in.

I remain commited to rusty objects at the moment, although it's taking time and practice to get the results I'm after, still not there yet.....

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