Long before Baghdad, Crusaders made for its closer neighbor, Constantinople (renamed Istanbul in 1453). They were neither first nor last. This ancient city at the meeting point of two continents has been invaded or ruled by Romans, Muslims, and nearly everyone else within reach. In the 20th century the city modernized and westernized. No wonder its citizens suffer an identity crisisEuropean of Asian, traditional or modern?
This exhibition, one of many exchanges celebrating the Year of Turkey in Japan, uses the theme of palace (the title means where? Here?) to complicate some of the stereotypes of Turkey and create a pluralistic view of the diverse contemporary art being produced by Turkish artists living both inside the country and out. The ten artists represent three generations: those who introduced contemporary art to Istanbul in the 70s, those who brought international attention to Turkish contemporary art in the 90s, and the emerging artists of today.
The physical and historical dimensions of Istanbul are the starting points for most of the work, while gender roles, identity, changing social conventions, and poetics are the thematic destinations.
Gulsun Karamustafa (b. 1946) uses the narrow streets and spacious courtyard apartments of Istanbul as sets for a trio of short, melodramatic vignettes, Men Crying (2001), is shown simultaneously on adjacent monitors. Karamustafa was interested in how popular films of the 60s and 70s first revealed a soft side of macho Turkish men. She hired a director of such films and three of the Cary Grants of their day to (re)create climactic scenes, each of the now older actors brought to tears by the actions of strong woman.
Secil Yersel (b.1973) shows a personal side of the city's interiors in her Cinemascope, fish-eye photos of her grandmother's modern apartment. A cold sun cuts into the spaces, painting the elderly woman, white walls and empty furniture in both hard light and Vermeer diffusions.
Huseyin Alptekin (b.1957) compiles the dreams and memories of the city as crossroads in his photo collection of hotel, restaurant and shop signs, Capacity/Capacities IV (2003). There's Seoul Cosmetic and Aspirin Café. Hotel Arafat is near the Sayonara Club, Hotel Eiffel below the metal pylon of a power line.
But Istanbul's most visible symbol of identity complication is the Bosporus the convoluted trough cutting the city in two. A pair of suspension bridges lashes the continents together with tenuous narrow bands. One of them stars in Cevdet Erek's dual video projection. The Second Bridge (2003). Two cameras, one on either side, capture tankers navigating the currents above.
The bridge plays a supporting role in Esra Ersen's humorous video, Hello, Where is it? (2000) wherein the artist videotaped front-seat conversations of people driving back and forth. For some, like the arguing couple who crosses to the European side every weekend, the trip is a source of conflict. Most, however, seem to ignore the intercontinental sashay as part of the infrastructure of their daily lives.
Many of the younger artists, like Ersen, look to European and American artists rather than to the older Turkish ones who helped smooth their way. And so, they continue to straddle two worlds. They avoid ghettoization or orientalizing not “Turkish artist,” just artistand yet feel free, thankfully, to insert regionalisms.
