Cigarette Butts, Melting Skin, and Madonna in Red: My Istanbul Museum Pilgrimage
Every corner you turn is a glimpse into the past. Buildings creak as the Bosphorus breeze brushes against cinder, whispering foreign tongues. Graffiti kisses stone, envision Michelangelo’s Madonna in Rouge Velvet Lipstick, shade 999 velvet.
The wind carries aromas of burnt ‘kahve’ and powerful perfume. I jump off the boat, Karaköy. The seagulls put on a symphony, performing for the fishermen who fill their bellies.
Black Mary Janes click-clack as I flow with the human traffic, slip left, step right.
Left.
A street filled with taps. How functional is that? Over and under the bridge, I arrive at the door…
Istanbul Museum of Modern Art
You can find a modern gem in a city fundamentally, characteristically embedded in history. On the first floor, you will find a library filled with books reflecting history, laid out as the cobblestone streets outside the modern glass box where you are situated.
A scale of the glass box itself invites you to play god for a moment, tiny human figures below reflect your own position in time. The floors above are stained with the blood, sweat and tears of Turkish creators, expressed through string, paint, film, clay and unnameable materials.
And the thorn crown on top, quite literally, is the rooftop view: as your quiet wandering comes to an end, you are met by seagulls sunbathing in front of the Galata Tower.
You are baptised in modernism, yet in every direction, history still watches.
Pera Museum
Beautifully curated, from modern to historical, time seems to pass one by as you wander from floor to floor.
You are introduced to fascinating, inspiring humans, such as Rákóczy Gizella. I got caught up in her symmetrical skins of colours, blended and isolated sections of intrigue. She coloured outside the lines without crossing a single line, unapologetically creating.
As I wandered, I stumbled on art that moved, played and predicted the future.
In stark contrast, you would find ladies painted, gossiping and dancing (seems like nothing much has changed) from times long forgotten.
Basilica Cistern
Walk on water. As a frequent daydreamer, I can broad-chestedly announce that this is a theatrical, cinematic, archaic backdrop for any fantasy you fancy. Pieces of art illuminated in colours come alive as the strung strings of a cello echo off the arches.
You can feel your lungs fill with thick particles, heavy as they carry water and the scent of yesteryear. It takes a moment to wrap your mind around who floated on those waters, figures with names dedicated to the stars, when humanity was tipping from beast to being.
And there you are, an insignificant modern mammal, admiring real brilliance, physical creation that withstood the literal test of time. There will be many more, admiring the connection of nations, the melting of minds and the sharing of life source (power).
Arter
Astounding.
Astonishing
Awe-inspiring.
Amazed to say the least. All around, all together, ambient by art assembled with accurate attention. Possibly one of the best museums I have had the absolute honour to enter. Pieces placed perfectly, precision and possibly prestidigitation involved.
I will attempt to articulate a room filled with chairs on a wall, a centre piece of stairs and melting skin dripping from a tub. I don’t know, go! Sex, Picasso, urinals decked out in crochet and Jesus as a crutch.
Don’t forget to look up, spot the taxidermy monkey or the location of lust. I spent too many hours of my life in this building, yet it was not enough.
The Museum of Innocence
I left this for last as I broke out in tears in this red building. Have you ever been inside a museum that is a museum of a museum of someone who was so in love that he collected every single cigarette bud his lover’s lips ever kissed?
Every object she touched would be displayed, a perfect depiction of her life, a documentation through the eyes of a soul so infatuated. When she died, he lived among her things, he lived among the memories he stole from the life she lived in the arms of another.
The Museum of Innocence is the masterpiece of Orhan Pamuk. Buy the book a month before you go. Get lost inside Kemal and Fusun’s story, fall in love with Istanbul through the eyes of the innocent. Dedication to craft.
This is the best.
Istanbul is a treasure trove of art, I hope you discover some, more, abundance of beauty that touches your being.