I know this blog is supposed to be about Athens… but my recent trip to Istanbul inspired some thoughts…
attic treasures
I have a few old
boxes in my mother’s attic. Whenever I am back home in the US, in the house
where I spent most of my childhood, I inevitably go upstairs to the attic in
search of something or other (a piece of luggage for a weekend trip, an old
alarm clock for my nightstand)… and I always get distracted by the dusty boxes in the corner.
Last time I was up
there, from the window, a ray of light fell on a trophy from high school. I
moved an old trunk to reach the box, dust particles swirling in the warm glow, and
took the trophy in my hand. A slice of memory from 1988, the excitement of that
small victory flashed through me again as I held the trophy to the light. I was
transported to that day, that moment.
I couldn’t ignore
the other objects in the boxes and without realizing it, an hour had passed as
I sifted through old memories. I found my lunchbox from kindergarten, my grade
school textbooks from Greek lessons, my Snoopy pencil box with the bright green
eraser still inside. Just looking at these items made me feel like I was
sitting in the classroom again…
For some reason, I
have not been able to throw these items away, and year after year, I keep them
tucked into cardboard boxes in the corner of my mother’s attic.
a living story
I never really
thought about the power of everyday objects and their ability to instantly
transport us back in time, and allow us to re-live, re-experience feelings, thoughts,
emotions.
But when I walked
into Orhan Pamuk’s Museum of Innocence, in Istanbul, and saw all of the objects
on display, I felt I was living the story of his book (also named The Museum of Innocence). Through the
novel’s two main characters, Kemal (a wealthy, educated man belonging to
Istanbul’s elite class) and the young woman he’s in love with, Füsun (a distant
relative of a poorer class) the history of Istanbul from the 1970’s to the
mid-80’s is revealed. Their secretive relationship is filled with longing, and
Kemal takes comfort in collecting objects that remind him of Füsun – the
cigarette butts that once touched her lips, an earring she ‘lost’ during their
first encounter together, a glass soda bottle she drank from, the yellow shoes
she wore…
The museum contains
83 cabinets with glass fronts, which correspond to the novel’s 83 chapters. The
museum houses Kemal’s collection which not only chronicles his relationship
with Füsun, but also serves as a narration of that era in Istanbul’s history.
Listening to the audio tour while viewing each cabinet is like stepping into
the novel itself, reliving the story – not as a reader, but an active
participant. Seeing all the objects displayed together in this way – it’s as if
the objects themselves are speaking and telling you their story.
Never again will I
look at ‘plain’ or ‘everyday’ objects in the same way. I began to think about
my own objects, the childhood trinkets that I’ve kept in my mother’s attic half
a world away… and the objects that I keep in my own home and what they say
about me, about my past, my own history.
And I wondered, if I
had to select the objects that detail my own life and story, which objects
would I display? Which items are so dear to me that I couldn’t bear to part
with them?
your life in a suitcase
With the thoughts of
items and possessions swirling in my head, I stood on the creaky wooden
floorboards of a former tobacco warehouse, staring at the suitcases… The old
warehouse has been converted into an alternative cultural center called DEPO,
which focuses on exhibits, talks & workshops that serve as an exchange of
ideas, cross-cultural discussions and regional collaborations.
This year marks the
50th anniversary of the forced deportation of Istanbul Greeks on
March 16, 1964. DEPO commemorates the occasion with an exhibition called 20 dollars 20 kilos. Upon entering the
space, the first thing I saw, gathered in the middle of the room, was the old
suitcases. Those forced to leave, had to leave everything behind – their homes,
businesses, money, belongings. They were only allowed to take 20 kilos of their
possessions and the equivalent of 20 dollars. How can you fit your life into a
20-kilo suitcase? I brought that much
with me for a 5-day trip to Istanbul, I thought as I stood among the old suitcases
and stared at the photos of people fleeing on that day.
It is estimated that
50,000 people were affected by this forced exile. I looked at all the objects
on display – newspaper clippings of the time, photos… and watched an interview
of the deportees… Although conducted in Turkish (without any subtitles) I did
not have to understand their words, as the pain of exile was clear - in their
eyes, the tone of their voices, in their gestures.
As I wandered the
streets around DEPO, in the neighborhood of Tophane – the very area where many
of the Istanbul Greeks lived before they were forced to flee – I wondered what
became of their belongings, their everyday items. Did the new occupants who
moved into their abandoned homes listen to the stories that their forgotten
objects begged to tell?
Istanbul momentos
As I type this, I am
back at home in Athens… my suitcase is
still on the floor, its contents telling a short story of my brief journey -
-Turkish tea
-boxes of baklava and
lokum-a book of women’s short stories by Turkish authors
-a copy of the
literary magazine The Istanbul Review
-a bookmark from the
delightful Kirmizikedi book shop (for my bookmark collection)
-ticket stubs from
Istanbul Modern & The Museum of Innocence
-programs from the 20 dollars 20 kilos exhibit-and my little black notebook (filled with my scribbles on new places I discovered, including the address of an amazing chocolate shop I found…)
These are the objects
I collected on my trip and will put away and save. And someday, when I open my desk
drawer, absent-mindedly looking for a pen or a scrap of paper, I will come across
the museum ticket stubs, the exhibit program and remember… I will feel the
creaking floorboards beneath my feet; recall the forlorn suitcases gathered
together, ready to tell their tale of exile; I will be reminded of Füsun’s
yellow shoes, the trace of her red lipstick on her crumpled cigarette butts - and
feel the sting of Kemal’s longing and loss.
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