Carpets: Beauty of Steppe and Palace

We heard two talks on carpets and carpet quality.  Is a longtime carpet collector and owner of Nomad Carpets. He is a little, wrinkled, clever-eyed, spry man with strong opinions and a deep love of carpets. We learned from him that the quality of a carpet is not in the knots (“F…. the knots!”) but in the material and the design. Wool, wool and cotton, and silk are durable and beautiful. No other materials will last so long or keep looking good over a lifetime. The design and its colors is a matter of taste and a good eye. He sends his pupils to the Istanbul Museum of Textiles to look at those carpets to help them form their taste. 

Punto is a store a few blocks outside of the Bazaar. It is a bigger, slicker space than the Nomad Art gallery, and the owner is a bigger, slicker type of carpet impresario. He served us Turkish coffees and tea and had his assistants roll out carpet after carpet of glorious silken flowers and vines. We saw carpets for collectors worth as much as $100,000. We saw geometric and floral designs, earth tones, greens, silvers, blues, and reds.

A traditional-looking woman came out to demonstrate weaving on a small loom. Her fingers flew through the threads at lightning speed. Our host told us that she had learned her skill from her mother who learned it from her mother and back through the generations---but her daughter is studying to be a doctor. Who couldn’t be glad that women are finding opportunities that will give them dignity and choices in their lives? How do we reconcile a love of beauty with a commitment to justice and freedom? How can justice be in opposition to beauty?

The art of carpets was invented by nomad women living on the steppes and in the deserts of Asia and the Middle East. What other art form has migrated from its invention and original purpose in non-elite non-urban ways of life to the homes and palaces of the urban elite?

Whirling Dervishes

We went to see Whirling Dervishes. Their form of prayer has been “performatized,” perhaps even “touristized,” that is, presented in a concert setting with reserved seats and tickets for sale. Despite the commercial setting, the performance seemed to me to be profoundly spiritual. The dervishes entered one by one in a solemn manner, kissed the floor, and slowly began to whirl.  They formed a circle and moved in a circle as each person whirled within his own space. They made no eye contact with the audience, but seemed to have their intention fixed on an interior space, perhaps a divine presence. They all looked like “ordinary joes,” not like dancers. Our guide said that they are all real members of a Dervish Order, and that they do these performances “for Allah,” as a service to God, not for any payment.

The music was traditional, consisting of stringed instruments, some horns, and a drum, and a singer. It, like the dancing, had a trance-like quality, without clearly defined phrases or strong repeated rhythmic patterns.

The Dervishes played an important role in spiritual and social life throughout the Ottoman times. Dervish lodges or “convents” functioned as civic organizations that Muslims would join, often in affinity groups based on class or profession. The lodges did charitable acts and supported the development of social communities based on the members’ mutual interests. They also preached an ecstatic kind of religious belief, not incompatible with, but perhaps parallel to the practice of formal Islam. People made pilgrimages to the tombs of Dervish saints, combining social with pious activities.

 

Image:

Whirling Dervishes Performing Dance, Istanbul. Photography. Encyclopædia Britannica Image Quest. Web. 29 Jul 2013. http://quest.eb.com/images/165_3336640

Hagia Sophia: Church, Mosque, Museum

Hagia Sophia, as it was named by the Byzantines—or, Aya Sofia as it has been called since Ottoman times, has had three incarnations. Fire and earthquake destroyed the first two churches, the first being dedicated in 360 A.D., and the second in 415. Emperor Justinian I ordered the third construction in 532.

Mehmed II recognized the symbolic and practical power of Hagia Sophia. Immediately after taking the city from the Byzantines he ordered that the dilapidated parts of the church be renovated and that a mihrab be installed, the Christian relics removed, and the the mosaics near eye level covered over.

Dana Sajdi discussed with us her research on the gradual nature of the Islamization of Hagia Sophia. The upper mosaics were not covered over until the 19^th century when rising Safavid power created a challenge for Istanbul and motivated a resolve to re-assert the Islamic identity in a public way. The large roundels were installed at that same period and for the same reason.

Dana also pointed out the installation of a Koranic saying that is almost a paraphrase of a Christian text from the Byzantine period about God being the light of the world.

Her point is that the Islamic conquerers did not carry out a wholesale re-decoration of Hagia Sophia, perhaps at least in part because they wished to be connected to its venerable history. She further cited Muslim writers who referred to Hagia Sophia as having been a holy place “since ancient times” or since “forever.”

Nevertheless, it should not be forgotten that the women and children who were praying in the church when the city was attacked were killed or enslaved without mercy.

Dana also compared Hagia Sophia to the mosques of Sinan. Sinan’s buildings are clear, “frontal,” and transparent in the sense of the entire plan of the building being visible for the most part from both within and without. In contrast, Hagia Sophia is a complex building that can only be seen in parts and sections from any one vantage point. It is full of alternating light and shadows, and has many acoustic effects that foregrounded the musical role of the building. Some scholarly analysis has commented that Hagia Sophia seems to be in dialogue with the Bosphorus and its changing reflections and movements.

This lecture and tour was extremely thought provoking. It helped me to mentally strip away some of the noise of tourists and find a sense of the building’s spirituality. It strikes me now as having a historic role, as is intended by its designation as a museum. As a Christian, I can't help but feel sad about a church losing its Christian identity. However, most early Christian churches are built on pagan shrines, and it seems to be a universal fact of the life of a spiritual building to move through a succession of confessional as well as architectural changes. Ataturk's purpose in changing Hagia Sophia from a mosque to a museum was to make it available to all people on an equal footing and to reify the secular identity of the new state. To me, Hagia Sophia's Christian past seemed very alive, eloquent in the glowing and majestic mosaics. Aurally, it sounded like a museum, full of conversation and camera clicks. One has to listen with the eyes for the sound of Hagia Sophia's Christian and Muslim pasts.

Topkapi Palace: Quintessence of Ottoman Palatial Architecture

Sultan Mehmed II ordered construction of the Topkapi Palace a few years after ousting the city’s Byzantine regime. Taking advantage of its prestige and high ground, he set the location on the Byzantine acropolis, overlooking the Bosphorus and within walking distance of the other great marker of imperial majesty, the newly-Islamisized Hagia Sofia.

The palace is laid out in a series of three courtyards that take the visitor from semi-public to less public to private levels of access and prestige. A beautiful and elaborate fountain surrounded by a sort of house structure precedes the gate to the first courtyard. Built in the 17^th century (or was it 18^th?), it shows an awareness of European baroque aesthetic as well as decorative poems, which reflect the increasingly public character of poetic discourse during that period.

The approach to the first courtyard is a majestic straight avenue surrounded by formal gardens, most notably a line of tall Cypress trees on either side of the broad path. Barbara Petzen reminded us of the romantic feminine symbolism of these trees. I thought also of Heath W. Lowry’s In the Footsteps of the Ottomans, A Search for Sacred Spaces ad Architectural Monuments in Northern Greece (Bahcesehir University Press, 2009), which discusses many instances of tree cults centered around Cypress trees. I do not assume that there was a cult of trees taking place at a conscious level, but it seems possible that this association could have been in people’s minds as these gardens were designed.

Barbara also commented on the large number of servants who worked in the palace---cooks, serving maids, pages, artisans, and groundskeepers of various levels within the servant hierarchy. The palace was a site of tasks and dramas both humble and elite.

The Harem is the inner most court, the most private and exclusive area. Eunuchs, young princes, women in waiting, concubines, and the Valide Sutan (the mother of the reigning sultan and most important denizen of the harem) all lived in these rooms. It was the experience of a lifetime, made all the more thrilling because there were so few other tourists present. The most striking visual feature of the Harem is the lavish decoration of tiles, paint, and inlay on walls, doors, and ceilings. Iznik tiles cover the walls. I noticed cypress trees in several locations, echoing the trees in the park and also referencing the female symbolism. The blue “evil eyes” were in evidence as were many vines and flowers arranged in curvilinear shapes that suggested peacock tails, vases, and bouquets.

The room of the Valide Sultan and the Sultan’s Imperial room were the biggest spaces. The latter contained two pieces of furniture that I think were sofa-thrones with decorative pillar-like columns marking the corners. The size of these rooms reflects the power of the Sultan and his mother.

The costume collection showed many kaftans of Sultans, with voluminous legs and sleeves. Some were of simple white; others were elaborately embroidered. The large size of garments, like turbans, show the power of the Sultan and his wealth rather than the size of actual bodies. I especially liked a small kaftan with many embroidered marks, including Koranic phrases in Arabic and symbols from numerology, which were believed to have protective power over the wearer.

Begun in 1465 and used until 1856, Topkapi received many alterations and elaborations from each succeeding Sultan and his court. However, the basic framework of thee courtyards and a high view of the Bosphorus steadily maintained the hierarchical relationships among the players in court politics and between the court and the outside world.

The beauty of this palace is as much in its proportions and its relationship to the gardens and the Bosphorus as it is in its decorations. The open pathways from one gate to another, the grand doorways or portals to courtyards, and the intensification of interior decoration that the viewer experiences after entering each successive building has a rhythmic grace. Sultans generally learned an art such as calligraphy or gold smithery (Suleyman the Magnificent was a goldsmith), and this education may have contributed towards their interest in creating and sustaining such a beautiful palace. Moreover, as Walter Denny suggests in “The Palace, Power, and the Arts” from The Palace of Gold and Light: Treasures from the Topkapi, Istanbul, the construction of Topkapi did much to maintain the Sultan’s prestige and authority. Moreover, the palace’s enormous consumption of jewels, silks, and other luxuries contributed significantly to the economy of the Ottoman Empire.

Topkapi has a deep beauty that I think is founded on lucid, clear lines and big rich swaths of green grass and blue tiles.

Unfortunately, my camera became dysfunctional shortly after I entered the gate, so these images are from Wikimedia Commons:

Dolmabahce Palace: The Ottomans Try On the Architectural Costume of Europe

In Topkapi Palace we can read the essential identity of the Ottoman Sultans as it existed for most of the Empire's duration. It is inward-oriented, with plain, simple lines and modest exteriors, interior courtyards, and infused with geometric designs both inside (in the use of decorative tiles) and outside (in the lines and shapes of buildings). It is hierarchical in its organization of increasingly private and elite spaces. Dolmabahce turns away from this aesthetic to embrace the Western European vocabulary of palace architecture.

Built at a time when the Ottoman Empire was in a state of extreme flux, with territories moving out of its direct influence in an ongoing game of geopolitical moves involving Western European, Russian, and British powers as well as independence movements both within and just outside its (shifting) borders, the Dolmabahce Palace was a statement about the Sultan’s engagement with Europe. From the outside it could be mistaken for a French chateau with its formal, symmetrical gardens, elaborate baroque architectural ornamentation, and outward-oriented display

This outward-turning display is typical of the 18^th-19^th century, during  which lives both elite and ordinary were lived more in the public sphere. Socializing moved from exclusively within the home to public Coffee Houses. Inner courtyards gave way to ornate frontal faces and portals. Tombstones were inscribed with detailed accounts of the life of the person buried within. Public fountains displayed poetry that had formerly reserved for private reading. In keeping with this aesthetic, Dolmabahce is situated on the Bosphorus and has a gate and pier that connect directly to the water. Many large windows provide views of the Bosphorus and the surrounding garden.

Dolmabahce claims European taste as a source of legitimacy—in contrast to Topkapi’s adherence to traditional architectural traditions emphasizing a hierarchy of privacy, outward simplicity, and inward complexity of ornamentation.

On the outside, the Sultan’s Tughra is the only clear sign of Ottoman identity. Indoors, that identity is much stronger, as one sees from the provision of carved lattice-work screens for the women of the Harem and the rooms and corridors themselves that are for the Harem.  The Sultan’s aspirations for grandeur are evident in the size of his Ceremonial Hall, which is the largest in Europe. Likewise, the immense crystal chandelier is the largest in Europe.

I am wondering why this Palace struck me as essentially heavy, even clumsy in its use of European architectural tropes. I compare it with Fontainbleau, which I remember as being as densely ornamented as Dolmabahce. However, unlike Dolmabahce, the effect of Fontainbleau is exuberant, frothy, elegant—like a wedding cake that could dissolve into soap bubbles in a moment. Is it the preponderance of brown hues in Dolmabahce that makes it seem so different from this? Has it perhaps not been as well restored? (it is still used for ceremonial occasions, and the carpets are not the originals.) Have the preceding weeks of looking at the grand simplicity of Sinan’s mosques changed my eyes?

The Ottoman state became bankrupt only 20 years after the completion of Dolmabahce. It was not Dolmabahce alone that bankrupted the treasury, but it seems emblematic that this palace demonstrates a radical separation from the aesthetic legacy of Sinan.