In What Ways Has Art Changed in Eastern Mediterranean Countries
In this text, the visual artist Selim Birsel tells the story of his journey of several years through diverse Mediterranean places marked past war and violence (the Turkish Syrian edge, Northern Cyprus, inland Lebanon) in an try to discover the surroundings and, by interacting with it, make a piece of work of fine art emerge from that discovery. Thus, the artistic procedure is triggered by the artist's curious gaze, the walks, the talks with the locals and other artists or the work with the students. From this, Birsel builds an oeuvre constantly in dialogue with the environment that inspires information technology, as a response to the emotions and thoughts that arise in the interaction. In this way the artist cultivates his ain garden, which is nothing but a reflection of everything that surrounds, moves and provokes him.
Cairo/Alexandria, Egypt
15.05.2007
I landed in Cairo, dust, yellowish desert sand, racket, traffic…! I went directly to the train station. I took the first train to Alexandria. Information technology was 4 o'clock in the afternoon. I could run into from my window the changing mural as the train went up the Nile Valley. Green all over, palm copse, flying birds, I was in Africa. Effectually eight o'clock I reached Alexandria, the Mediterranean. It is withal the same sea even seen from another continent.
Aley, Lebanon
17.08.2008
I arrived at Beirut drome tardily. Somebody with a paper with my name written on it met me and we drove into the Beirut streets. He brought me to Ghassan's house. He told me my room was at the stop of the corridor on the left and that I would share information technology with somebody else. There were two beds in the room and in one my unknown roommate was sleeping quietly, taking deep breaths. A dim orange light was coming through the thin curtains on the window. I undressed in the dark as best as I could and went to bed. I believe it must have been well-nigh iii.30 am; I went to sleep listening to the sounds coming from the street. The side by side morning time when I woke up, I met the other artists who were staying in the same firm. Together we took a minibus to Aley boondocks. A warm wind was bravado on my face from the open window of the minibus. Traffic in Beirut was confusing. Information technology may seem strange to a European but all kinds of vehicles such every bit equus caballus carriages, bicycles, trucks, cars, buses, a moped and a person running with a cart were travelling on the same street equally if with an unwritten code. After climbing a mountain, nosotros arrived in Aley town situated about ten kilometres east of Beirut.
Looking downwardly, through a mist, I could see the Beirut town, the strand and, in the distance, the Mediterranean Bounding main in a brume.
They brought us to our lodgings. I started arranging my room where I would spend xv days. My room faced the road at the back of the building and the water tanks. In that location must be h2o problem hither, I idea, as every house had its own water tank.
Who knows what had taken place in this garden? Who knows what these stones, trees, walls had witnessed?
When I climbed to the attic of the house nosotros were staying in, I discovered five big water tanks and later I witnessed the fact that they brought water with tankers to fill these tanks. The second problem was electricity cuts; every house had its ain generator. A power cut could last the whole twenty-four hour period, and the generators functioned similar a noisy orchestra. In the afternoon, we went to the place where we would be working. Information technology was a fifteen-minute walk through the boondocks. The space consisted of three houses and their remains with gardens connected to each other. I sat on a stone in the garden and lit a cigarette. I took out my water canteen from my waistcoat. First, I wetted my stale lips and then I swished the water in my mouth earlier swallowing. I looked around me, I smelled this new air surrounding me, my keen gaze inspected the minutest details of the garden. Once upon a time, this had been a beautiful place, but life, death and war had since passed over this beautiful spot. Who knows what had taken place in this garden? Who knows what these stones, trees, walls had witnessed? This land had been in abiding war for over twenty years and it seemed to me that this garden carried all the marks of this past. Information technology had been proposed to cull a site in these gardens to work. It was early notwithstanding to make a decision only information technology seemed to me that the moment and the feeling were whispering a message: I should remain in this triangular garden and I could produce something here and just below, where the hexagonal table stood.
18.08.2008
The adjacent solar day I started talking to people. I could even retain some names. Mahmoud, Camille, Patricia, Juliana, Norman, Luca. Later on the difficult, depressing, long winter that I had lived through, I felt that here I could observe the ways to discharge my energy. I found an internet café. With Harth I had my first existent conversation. We walked effectually the boondocks together, we spoke, and we asked each other questions most our arroyo to our works and our environment. We went to the market place and did some shopping. I bought some paper. It was ordinary yellow wrapping paper; the kind they call toast paper hither; I could start doing some sketches, drawing the garden. This paper may besides be useful to the other artists. Perchance they would also like to do some drawings, sketches. I discussed with Harth what these seemingly aimless walks around town meant for me. Strolling aimlessly… During these random walks, I would detect an object and put information technology in my pocket. A artistic procedure had started. Dorsum to the site, I went into the garden over again and saturday on the same stone. I wanted to prove something to myself. Would I experience the same sensation? I lit a cigarette and this time started to sip my ice-cold beer. Almaza Pilsen, the Lebanese beer! I decided to work here. I would organise the garden, pull upward the weeds, sweep it, smooth the soil with a rake, take intendance of the flowers; in other words I would clean the "rhizome" in my listen. Every bit Voltaire said in Candide, "nosotros must cultivate our garden."
xix.08.2008
I worked a long time in my garden. I was beginning to get the impression that the piece of work I was going to create was slowly taking shape. I
was collecting objects and cleaning the garden. Later that day something I did not expect happened. Nabil came and sabbatum at the hexagonal table; Camille joined the states and Abu-Fadi, the gardener, brought us Lebanese coffee on a tray. The table had become the place where we socialised, had conversations. Events were progressing towards the betoken where my work would take shape, gain pregnant. In the evening, I did some drawings and noted the events that changed the mean solar day.
20.08.2008
I found some writing in the garden. On 31 July 1958, when these gardens were laid, a mason had probably written this appointment and the proper noun Al General Fouad Chehab in wet cement with a nail. According to what Ayman told me, Chehab was remembered as the person who established the start university in Lebanon and helped modernise the country. My project had assumed a new significant with this newfound data. I felt similar an archeologist digging in modern times, archaeology of the modernistic historic period. As I arranged the objects I had collected on the hexagonal table, they seemed to be photographing the past fifty years of this rural region. Chehab was a well-liked person; as a personality who created a remainder between the different indigenous groups and different religions in the country, he had taken his place in Lebanese history.
21.08.2008
The weather changed. Fog started to descend. I think I should actually say fog was rise from the foot of the mountain to where we were, to the top of the mountain. A stake colour that slowly turned to a colourless veil was covering the environment. Sometimes I could hardly come across beyond v or half dozen metres. For the Aley inhabitants this change in the weather signalled the terminate of summertime. The cats, wondering what this stranger, who invaded their territory, was doing at that place began to scratch the ground while observing me. In the afternoon, it began to rain, rendering the conditions impossible to work. As a result, all the artists gathered in the house and we had our commencement coming together effectually a table. Who was doing what hither? How was everyone progressing? We put our names on a programme of the working area. The house we were staying in became a studio until the late hours of the night. During this process Ayman, Tagreed, Nabil, Mahmoud, Camille and I had long conversations on art and the various projects at that place. We permitted each other the freedom to interfere in each other'southward works. In reality, this was the reason why we were hither; we were participating in a workshop. We were exchanging ideas, enriching each other'south gardens and, at final, nosotros were experiencing this atmosphere. During the following days, this working temper permitted us to intermingle our piece of work as well. At the end of a 24-hour interval, when the weather condition was a little ameliorate, in that location was an optical miracle after the rain due to the aerosol hanging in the air.
We were drinking coffee with Mahmoud in front of Abu-Fadi's door and watching the sunset. We were facing west; we could expect directly at the setting sun because its effulgence had macerated now. They were smoking a water pipe and talking; I was trying to catch some words of this language that I do not speak; the lord's day was setting. If I describe a straight line from where I am standing, I tin can find myself in the Strait of Gibraltar. Hither is the finish of the sea. A place where something ends and something begins. The sea ends, mountains begin. When we cross the mountains, nosotros come up to the desert. Damascus is 1 hundred kilometres away. My eyes on the horizon, I dreamt of Gibraltar where the Mediterranean begins, as a mouth;
I inhaled the sun, the orangish ball that hangs in the mist, in a single breath. I was in a sweet melancholic mood. I rose and quietly entered the light in my garden and lost myself in a magical world.
22.08.2008
I showed my works, Convivial Garden for Chehab and Table of Collected Memories, at the end of the workshop. I thanked my garden; its stones, its globe, its trees, its flowers, its dust, its smells, its fruits, its lite, the bird cages, its colour, for the satisfaction and the energy that it had given me. I put out the lights. We said our farewells to Abu-Fadi. He can always go back to the garden, put the lights on and drink his coffee. I gave him back the garden I had borrowed from him. May he long enjoy information technology. I brought back near all the objects I had exhibited on my table with me. I am hoping to show them again as a travelling memory of those regions, in other lands. Why not get to Gibraltar one day; fifty-fifty cross the straights over to the other side? In order for the piece of work to live, it is plenty only to wish. It is enough that I continue to work, construct retention bridges between people and things. As long equally I retain my conventionalities in the magic of things.
Mardin, Turkey
26.05. 2010, 18:33
I sit on a terrace; there is a large vacant piece of land in front of me laying s. A very flat, straw yellow mural stretches towards a hazy and dusty horizon and vanishes. As my gaze rises, the grit cloud gets thinner, turning into a blueish infinity. There is a warm breeze. Within sight, there are long-tailed kites, gradually increasing in number. The blue background becomes enlivened by a kite fest. Thousands of swallows fly to and fro dancing madly. Neither the kites nor the swallows collide. The dominicus is setting on the Mesopotamia Valley. Information technology is getting cooler. Desert! At the horizon, clusters of lights are turned on. Syria. I am sipping my Assyrian vino, having some sunflower seeds. A armed services helicopter flies by at low altitude. Why is there warfare around here?
31 May 2010
I turned on the Tv set. Israel raided the Mavi Marmara vessel, which was delivering humanitarian aid. Co-ordinate to initial reports, at that place are sixteen dead and many injured. The manner things stand, a war is at the door. Now what? How volition the earth react? I thought well-nigh my sons. What kind of a earth is humanity leaving to its time to come heritage? How are nosotros supposed to resist? The endless cries of confused, blurred, dark, gloomy, mournful, frantic crowds… These lands have always been on fire. Sigh information technology away! I spent ten days walking around the streets of Mardin. I went into near every downtown store. I tasted tobaccos, weighed knives, sipped myrrh, touched fabrics, planted olive trees, harvested spikes, watched stove makers forge the sheet metals, smelled wild pistachio oil soaps, talked a lot, drank a lot of tea and water, and walked a lot. During my stay, I kept press lifetank trees on fabrics. I created Cabinet Mardin. I depicted trees of life made out of pocket-sized tanks filled with the emotion in these lands where humanity was born and countless belief systems have lived next. What does a tank have to do with the tree of life? Aren't the two contradicting motifs or ideas? Obviously, they are. And so once more, isn't this a region, difficult to understand and describe, embodying contradictions such as hard/soft, dry out/wet? Weren't nigh of the religious beliefs built-in correct here? Mesopotamia.
Lefkaoşa, Northern Republic of cyprus
09.01.2011
I first heard the proper name of the island during summertime of 1974. The Turkish Army had fabricated a landing on the island. That summer, we had blackouts in Ankara and throughout the country. I went with my father to the stationary shop in the neighbourhood to buy nighttime blue wrapping newspaper, which until and then I had never used for any reason other than to cover my notebooks. That 24-hour interval, with this paper nosotros covered the headlights of our family car. We also placed the paper over several windows of the house. Because all the lights of the urban center were dimmed, the stars seemed shinier in the cloudless August heaven. On a black-and-white TV with a unmarried channel, the news bulletins covered nothing just the landing and the ongoing war side by side door. Many years after, in 2011, I landed on the isle to agree a workshop with immature artists in Northern Cyprus. Zehra and Özgül from the European Mediterranean Art Association have invited me. Now, I am no longer the kid of the seventies, neither is Özgül. We are the same historic period. She told me her story on the previous days. She experienced the landing there in 1974. Being a war kid is something else. Since 1974, the island has been divided into 2 states. The north part is Turkish and the south function is Greek. A buffer zone separates the capitals, Nicosia and Lefko şa. During my strolls in the city, virtually to the border, dead end streets were stopping my way. The cardinal words of our workshop plan with the young Cypriot artists were plurality, multiplicity, serial, accumulative, rhizome. As I gave a talk about these concepts, I learned from them the history and the nowadays situation of their lives. What does information technology hateful to be a young Northern Cypriot Turk and artist? I have to stress that the Northern Cyprus Turkish part is today all the same unrecognised as a country by the UN. We strolled around the backyard of the urban center, abandoned buildings and stores where we collected objects and dug into the history. Every nation, every urban center has a lawn. Sometimes, something hidden in those backyards tin can reveal lots of meanings to an artist's eye. Archæology of mod times? Fifteen days after, a group of eight young artists created an exhibition entitled: Is this an exhibition? Then I spent one more than day with Zehra and Özgül. They took me starting time to Bellapais hamlet where Lawrence Durrell had lived and wrote his novel Bitter Lemons of Cyprus. Information technology describes the iii years he spent on the isle of Cyprus. We took a java under the "laziness tree" where he passed almost of his days non far from his home, today transformed into a footling museum. And so we drove our car further n until the finish of Karpass Peninsula. There, one-time around sunset, we walked toward the peninsula. Nosotros climbed up until a cliff stopped us. Rocks and bits of land next, spiking from the bounding main, sharp stony teeth chiselled through the caress of the oily tedious waves smiled. We headed north, south; the same horizon appeared at the far end of the stairs of the United nations watchtower.
Chios, Greece
07.08.2017
I came to the island early in the morn with a ferry. I took a coastal road to Volissos. A modest village situated in the northwest of the island. On my way, I stopped in one case once again at a place called Daskalopetra (the stone of the master). This place is supposed to be where Homer told his legends of Iliad and Ulysses. And so Homer disciples were learning those texts past heart. Ion of Chios and Socrates are having a dialogue in Plato's book, Ion. The place is a big circular rock as information technology is in levitation with a half-broken sculpture of Kybele in the centre. All effectually at that place are benches for the auditors carved from the same rock. This place is magic. I mean, it is magic for me, beingness in the place of these old legends told by Homer. The village of Volissos is up in the mountains where I find refuge in my spare fourth dimension. I live there with a customs of artists, writers, designers, architects and wine, honey, olive oil, cheese producers. I accept been involved
in the cultural life of the village by sharing my knowledge of art and many other things. We believe in our friendship. Ane solar day we will make our ain schoolhouse with our understanding of art and life education. This is a narrow path but I believe in it, instead of huge highways. This is Ionia, where philosophical thinking was built-in long earlier Socrates. I am an Ionian.
Famagusta, Northern Republic of cyprus
thirty.03.2018
This is the second fourth dimension that I have landed in Cyprus. Famagusta, the biggest harbour urban center of the south of the island. In its beingness, the city of Famagusta has seen many kingdoms and states pass away. Founded around 274 BC by Ptolemy II Philadelphus. Information technology has been under Byzantium, Genoa, Venice, Ottoman and British rule and, since 1974, the metropolis has been inside the borders of Northern Cyprus Turkish Commonwealth. Nonetheless, Turkish, British, Greek and Cypriot military forces have their bases there. Information technology is a very strange geopolitical situation having all those nations around an abased quarter of Famagusta called Varosha. Before 1974, it was the modern tourist area of the metropolis. Its inhabitants fled during the 1974 war. Famagusta city came under Turkish command, and Varosha has remained abased e'er since. Only in 2020, some parts have been opened to the public, the beach in summer, but about of the quarter continues to exist uninhabited; buildings have decayed, some streets have been overgrown with vegetation; and the quarter is generally described equally a ghost town. I had the chance to follow the border past motorcar and took photographs (which is prohibited equally it is a military area) of very interesting examples of late Bauhaus or fifties/sixties architecture. In 2011, I led an artistic workshop. This time with more than multidisciplinary immature creators: designers, architects, writers and visual artists. Our subject was installation art. The first two days were in a classroom, tracing the history of installation art. Then we were in the field in Famagusta. During our stay, we met a history professor who gave united states of america an overview of the history of the city. The space where nosotros worked for the exhibition was an old thread factory. At the terminate of the workshop, my x young creators responded very well to the installation arroyo, considering the site, the history and their ain lives in this city. A site and time specific installation was built-in. The divergent background of the group probably pushed them to innovate something together. The exhibition was entitled Installing into Life.
Istanbul, Turkey
13.11.2020
Days are shorter. What kind of wintertime is awaiting all of us? I cannot plan a new trip. The time to come is uncertain. I have my books to read, my research to practice, my art to create, my students to guide. I guess "we must cultivate our garden" for sunny and peaceful days.
Source: https://www.iemed.org/publication/travel-log-of-an-artist-in-eastern-mediterranean/
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