Tales from Turkey of our handmade lives in Istanbul + Sharing the common language of craft + Cultural commentary + Exploration of fiber art treasures, ancient and modern
Writers’ lives, reading history, social commentary, knitting, handmade adornments, women who challenge convention: I love them all. The best work arrives out of the blue, aligning these favorite endeavors into one design project. Like this hand knit wrap I designed, currently published as a pattern in Interweave’s inaugural issue of Jane Austen Knits 2011.
About this time last year, my friend Figen, owner and designer of KB Knitting, and I were discussing adaptations of vintage clothing into contemporary knitwear. An editor at Interweave, a quality publisher of fiber art and craft magazines, posted a request for knitwear designers to submit hand knit items inspired by her favorite writer, Jane Austen.
No one really knows if Ms Austen was a knitter, but then in the days of Regency England (1795 – 1830) most females had probably been taught and were expected to knit, sew, embroider – some type of handwork to display their talent and wile away the hours. We were to imagine the characters of Jane’s novels and bring to life garments imagined from intricate tales of human interaction, family intrigue and romantic encounters in that rigid social structure.
I immediately thought of Turkish oya, the needle lace that women in Turkish villages created as a colorful, visual way to silently communicate with each other in a ‘language’ that only they understood. Like their Regency sisters, Anatolian women were expected to excel in weaving, crochet and needle lace in addition to their home and farm chores. I thought of the connections between the two cultures, at first glance very different, yet both with women who must learn to read social cues to survive in these insular worlds.
I chose Austen’s novel Northanger Abbey not just for the main character’s name Catherine, but because it’s a tale of missed cues, of non-verbal communication between Catherine, an elder daughter raised in a straightforward, huge rural family, and the confusing world of double-talking inhabitants in the much larger English town of Bath. She faces peer pressure fraught with body language and innuendo, and ends up expressing quite the wrong sentiments. If she’d been in a Turkish village, the oya she chose to wear could have signaled her mood, or whether she was even intent on marriage without ever opening her mouth.
Though I would have preferred to use KB Knitting’s richly colored cotton tweed yarns, this silk and wool lace wrap was inspired by the romantic appeal of Regency-era clothing: high-waisted, draped shapes that would not be out of place in Ottoman times. Both cultures used simple decorative inspiration from nature. Jane Austen’s characters used a torrent of verbal language in tangled stories of emotion and etiquette. Adding autumnal oya flowers to the body at the hood, itself a flirtatious way of covering the head, was my nod to the subtle language these needle lace floral trims conveyed about convoluted village life in my adopted Turkish homeland
It’s obvious that the designers represented in this issue, the first of many to come based on its sold-out status before it even reached newsstands, truly do love the work of Jane Austen. We’ve worked not just to present lovely garments, but to use fiber arts to bridge worlds, drawn from another era yet relevant to our own.
All garment photos Interweave Knits
Digital and print copies are available here; be sure to check out the Table of Contents page! And if you’d like to add oya, you may buy it here.
“They are young, with burning blood” - a line from Iffet
Iffet is the name of the main female character in a popular series on Turkish TV; her name translates to ‘chastity’. In modern day Istanbul, a working class guy torches his own taxi in manipulative atonement after Iffet rejects him for date-raping her. Drinking and economic troubles ensue for him, yet despite his baggage, she eventually forgives his behavior. No thought that his bad luck may be karma for his shady character. The latest episode cliff-hangs as her traditional widower father overhears the girl tell her younger sister she’s pregnant. She should feel “safe, protected and free from violence in her home and family setting”. “In reality, however, it is in these places that girls often experience violence and abuse”, according to a 2009 UNICEF study on violence against girls. Will Iffet live through the next installment?
On another channel, Firar, meaning desertion or escape, takes place in present day Mardin, in the Turkish Southeast. A longsuffering wealthy young widow is overcome when she smells the scent of her dead husband on the married woman servant whom he raped, then seduced. This transgression leads to his death at the hands of the servants’ enraged husband, aptly named Adil, or ‘fair’. The servant is kept locked in the cellar after the murder not by the men, but the women of the household, is beaten and cursed by them, with no empathy shown for her weakness against power. No thought that the dead man’s disgusting behavior would have consequences. Predictably, his brothers set out to avenge the death. At least the widow screams, “What did I ever do to you?” as she rips his shirts apart before turning the scissors on herself.
These are tales of intense violence against females of all ages, fired by a sense of male entitlement to whatever he wants. What a culture watches on television not only reflects but reinforces cultural and social mores. Programming sex and violence as means to capture viewers is a time-honored marketing tool in all cultures, though there is no honor to it.
Yet I’m wondering whether the message the writers of these series ultimately send will turn out to be more than a confirmation of such behavior. Are they only offering titillating escapes from the reality of daily violent attacks in the Southeast, or the pro-Kurdish BDP Party taking seats in Parliament after an extended boycott in time to influence a new constitution, or the Turkish leaders’ quest for national admiration as a role model for the rapidly evolving Middle East?
Perhaps the writers will surprise me and plot to teach the ultimate perils of violence against women. They have the opportunity to change minds and traditions by showing the high cost to society. Official records for how many people, predominately women, die yearly in honor killings vary; such information is suppressed or goes unreported. Nearly 10 years after a well publicized murder of a young Swedish woman of Kurdish origin, or another in Mersin this year, these dramas continue, one by one, drops in a water torture slow death of rights at the reactionary hands of revenge. There are strong role models for women here, those who struggle and prevail in their work for change. I know it will take much more work from all of us to influence evolution. But I have personally witnessed encouraging small signs, not quite a year after I first wrote about the horror of honor killings.
“We won’t be anyone’s honor” - mourning women at Hatice Firat’s funeral
As the new primetime TV season plays out, in real life, a girl and boy 16 and 18, from the coiled branches of the same extended family, fall in love. Even among traditional families with origins in the Turkish southeast, chastity does not always figure in: the girl becomes pregnant. The couple runs away from the small Aegean town in which they grew up, to the anonymity of big city Istanbul. Do they stay in an out-of-the-way hotel? No, since hotels outside the touristic center can be quite strict about unmarried couples sharing a room, and they are too ashamed to try anyway.
Shame is a strong motivator here, the other half of honor. The writer Elif Safak explains the difference between men and women, in an excerpt about violence in Turkey’s strict patriarchal society. The fact that she uses textiles as metaphors makes her definition all the more vivid to this craftivist:
Since my childhood I have heard more than once old women advising young women to be modest. Traditionally, females and males are thought to be cut of different cloth. Women are cut of the lightest cambric whereas men of thick, dark velvet. The colour black doesn’t show stains, unlike the colour white, which reveals even the tiniest speck of dirt. A woman who is believed to have lost her modesty is at times worth no more than a chipped coin. There are always two sides of the coin: dignity or disgrace, and little consolation for those who get the wrong side.
A potential ‘blood war’ ensues. The couples’ brothers and cousins are forced into leaving their work and families to search for them, pressured by family elders into divulging anything they learn. Cell phones burn as the extended group holds 21st C tribal council on what should be done. The couple are discovered at the suburban home of a sympathetic relative. One would think their parents would be relieved they turned up safe after their escape. But no – the father of the girl decides he must kill the father of the boy, “for not controlling his son”. It’s quite a twist to talk of killing a father for the sins of his son. The victim of an honor killing is more typically the girl, for anything talking to boys, or in this case, being underage, pregnant and running away. Life-changing actions by someone so young, but retribution by violence starts a downward death spiral that will leave families ripped apart.
While these threats are coming from the older generations, the younger members are more forgiving, thinking beyond the immediate anger and sense of betrayal. They learn the girl wants to marry the boy, continue her studies by attending university to become an accountant and to have their child; the boy agrees. They know it will be tough, but they want to determine their own fate. They ask for their families’ support. More honor in that resolution than killing anyone, the youth of the family concur. Though a by-standing, mid-30’s relative says, “It’s not possible to change how our people think”, his contemporaries and those younger do not agree with this bleak assessment. Two weeks now after the couples’ request, the families have gathered face to face in Istanbul, and no one has come to harm. People are talking. More importantly, they are listening to each other. There may be glimmers of hope.
Gandhi’s truth that “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind” comes to mind when I witness these events, whether fiction or reality. Balancing honor and equality against dominance and violence is like standing a coin on its side – eventually one side ends up. But maybe the lessons of these tales are emerging: That families can learn that violence does not bring honor, only more violence and senseless loss. That women must stand up for each other against any type of coercion. That a man’s sense of entitlement to take whatever he wants is mistaken. A woman has the right to choose her own fate, to determine the cut of her cloth.
You don’t have to be an expert to help educate about the importance of a girl’s wellbeing in any society. You just need passion, concern and a blog. The more we speak out, the more who will listen.
Turkish fiber arts were woven in the past with a purpose in mind: to carry belongings, to use as seating, to warm a floor. Always practical, yet beautiful and decorative too, through pattern, embroidery and other embellishment techniques.
But when it comes to sheer whimsy and exuberance, nothing comes close to tulus: Anatolian kilims that knot in long strands of mohair from Turkey’s angora goats. This luxurious fiber takes bright color with a silky luster.
The weavers create bold geometric designs with these shaggy yarns on typical striped kilim bases. Tulus were primarily used for sleeping, so most are twin bed size.
These are vintage, about 40 to 60 years old, but have a modern vibe that would make any space giddy with color. Just the thing as we head from summer heat into perhaps an early autumn here in Istanbul.
I just can’t stop posting these, so here are more. All for sale, so contact us, above!
Stitching ourselves together, bit by bit…we think these rugs will help us offer women – local, visiting or expat residents like me – a place to connect, learn and create, and hopefully to revive some dying crafts. Read more here.
Well, in this case, not gold…but something we like just as much: hand-embroidered silk. Abit the treasure hunter was taking a shortcut home two nights ago from his Sirkeci workplace to our Kadirga home. So many streets are currently under renovation in Sultanahmet, worn old cobbles being replaced with newly hewn granite ones, that we’ve come to expect dodging piles of discarded material.
But generally those discards do not include hand-stitched images of peacocks. Abit’s eagle eye spotted a hint of bright color as he stepped over a lump of white cotton, tossed up against steps to the door of an auto supply shop. Unafraid to get his hands dirty in pursuit of potential cast-offs of value, he turned the lump over to discover a garden of flowers, butterflies and birds on a field of blue silk. Large enough to cover a double bed, the embroidery is backed in white cotton, though the maker never added batting or bound the edges to finish the bedcover.
Did it fall from someone’s overfilled arms as they moved from one home to another? Unlikely since there are few residences along that lane, just car part shops being gentrified into hotels. The piece seems used, for the cloth has very slight spotting along one edge, and the silk on the face has faded considerably (for the better) from the brighter blue of the other side. It’s otherwise clean, though in need of a good ironing. Would someone intentionally dump a work that would have taken the very skilled embroiderer weeks to create?
I’d love to know the story behind this piece, with its design and patterns that seem more Chinese than Turkish to me. But any trader of the thousands in Istanbul who now deal in Chinese goods, passing them off as Turkish (neglecting to utter the words “in inspiration” when showing them to potential customers) would not have been so loose with their merchandise. We’ll never know what happened, but it does reinforce our belief that there is treasure to be found along an Istanbul street.
What cast-off treasures have materialized in your life lately?
Places we hope to see this May, in the company of friends new and old, staying in ancient “karvansarays” and villages where Abit grew up, where many in his large extended family still live. Details are being determined, and will appear here soon.
If you are interested in joining us, please let us know by sending us your email via the sign-up on the upper left…and thanks!
In my grade school spelling bee days, one of my favorite words was “meander”. Another was “Mesopotamia”. Portents at an early age that I’d marry a man from that region and settle with him in the valley where that river flows? Perhaps.
But rather than stay settled, we’ve taken to living out of suitcases this past year. I’m far from Turkey at the moment. Certain that I’ll always be a wanderer. Whether through a tumbledown Istanbul neighborhood, or here, in a vibrant vineyard after a week of rain.
Shades of green, bounded by blue mountains…
Sharp cold sun against winter-bared trees.
The sound of running water to calm my racing mind and channel my focus.
It’s easy to be lulled by bucolic pastoral scenes, but my urban life awaits.
So for a few more days, I’ll relish my favorite color. Green. Pungent, fresh, eye-catching. Invigorating.
Drawing my attention to where I’m going…
Reminding me to always look up.
And to be assured that, mirrored within, the winter greens of California will always be with me.
When asked why I love Turkey,I could take hours to respond, and often do. There is so much to say. But Natalie Sayin of Turkish Travel Blog says volumes in a single post, asking several bloggers, myself included, to submit our favorite photo of this ‘addictive’ country. Visit her blog, and see for yourself:
It’s a barely forged New Year.One in which I vowed to blog less about me, and more about the crafts, the history and the cultural aspects of our work. I’ve even newly defined my vocation as a craftivist, in my designer + writer + treasure hunter chosen life. But that term, a combination of craft and activism, includes my political side. Since the shooting in Tucson on January 9th, my focus has been riveted by coverage and commentary in our rapidly moving Media 2.0 world. I’ve marveled at the sheer wave of evaluation, some of it brilliant, some haunting.
It’s a watershed moment for communication, to relearn how we process the aftermath of tragedy.
I wish I could say I was surprised that yet another crazed guy with an easily purchased gun went after one of our nation’s leaders, but as a child, I remember when Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were assassinated. In Los Angeles, I lived around the corner from where the Manson Gang had murdered a couple; more than two decades later, I shuddered to think of them each time I walked by. What I was doing when I heard of John Lennon’s death is still vivid in my mind. While foremost in my memory because of the sensationalism that surrounded the deaths of these cultural icons, not so famous people are killed in the streets of this country daily.
Whenever I come back to the US after months in Turkey, I’m overwhelmed with how polarized the US has become, while Turkey seems to be slowly more open to discussing differences and conflict. Yet young men gun down leaders in that country as well; there is always talk of conspiracy, of larger groups behind a lone shooter. As a child of the Vietnam War, I can’t recall a unified time, an era when atrocities did not happen. The truth to the lyrics to Lennon’s Imagine becomes increasingly clear as I grow older; MLK’s entreaty for his children to be judged “by the content of their character” becomes all the more poignant.
The death of a nine-year-old girl with an interest in politics and an unnerving connection to September 11, 2001 is a wakeup call to our culture. Given the day she was born, she’d be more aware of history than most children her age. Is her death more tragic because she was born that particular day? Of course not. But out of 365, what are the odds that this child, “a Face of Hope”, would have been born on that exact day of national sorrow? There areno coincidences.The Universe cannot possibly scream any louder at us to stop this madness of hatred and vitriol. Osama bin Laden could not have planned our demise more diabolically: we are proving capable of destroying ourselves from the inside.
So, will we? This past week has been a rollercoaster of emotion. Anger at thinly veiled calls to action: people with influence who place target marks on a map of the US, tweeting followers that ‘reloading’ is how to solve a problem, then claiming not to be advocating violence. Words are tools, just like guns are. Yes, their effect may not be quite so immediate or deadly. But the “sticks and stones…” taunts of childhood have become the schoolyard of our political discourse. We as a nation have to grow up.
Phrases in common usage now – “pulling the trigger” when making a decision, “locked and loaded” when ready to do something – reflect a culture in which violent talk is taken for granted. Nothing which alludes to violence should ever be used so nonchalantly. True, Sarah never pulled the trigger; neither did Charlie Manson. The cult of personality so easily fosters fringe elements. In our worship of celebrity, we give far too much focus to the margins – to the outrageous, the sensational, the obscenely wealthy – to whatever gets the most ratings, the most ‘hits’. Even that term has a violent tinge.
‘Most’ Americans are not aligned with these margins, any more than ‘most’ Muslims are terrorists. Many can’t distinguish between Fascist Mein Kampf of the far right and The Communist Manifesto of the far left. When we’ve been raised as consumers, not citizens, little wonder it’s so easy to confuse. What’s missing from our polarized society is education, compassion and the pursuit of common ground. But maybe that’s where social media can help. The internet may foster a freedom to speak to virtual strangers in ways that heal, “to sharpen our instincts for empathy“.
You may say I’m a dreamer, but a brief convo I had with a friend of a friend on Facebook brought the power of such a forum home to me, in the hope that two people with opposing views can have a civil exchange of ideas, even now. She, a gun owner, was adamant that the Tucson shooter was “acting of his own free will”. I countered that “if we all acted of our own free will” we’d have anarchy, not democracy. Her “Free will is the capacity of rational people to choose a course of action from various alternatives” to my “But he was not rational. Something is fundamentally wrong when it was easier for a person with mental health issues to legally buy a gun than to be treated for obvious psychiatric problems.”
Then I took the risk of getting personal.Yes, I know that FB gives too many details of our lives away, but I saw that she lived near Tucson. When I asked, she revealed that she’d been within two miles of the shooting that morning, that she was a recently arrived military wife from a very different part of the country. Aha – how could I not have empathy for someone far from home, so close to a scary situation?
Perhaps President Obama’s somber appeal to the ‘better angels of our nature’ did lift the majority of us to consider this tragedy from a higher perspective, as did a president from an earlier divisive time.“…how we treat one another is entirely up to us.”
“But at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized – at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do – it’s important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other ina way that heals, not a way that wounds.”It’s unfortunate reality that our empathetic encounter may not change our perspectives for long. We look for a “…speedy “closure,” followed by a return to business as usual, followed by national amnesia.”
When Muslims in Egypt are protecting Coptic Christians from attacks, saying “We either live together, or we die together,” and Tunisians have overthrown a dictator to put themselves on the rocky road to democracy, we Americans need to step back from the brink and consider the enormity of what we have to lose.
Yes, I do think more carefully about what I post about Turkish issues on public forums than I do about American ones. I’d like to have the freedom of responsible dialogue regarding both my countries without the fear of being threatened or worse. We must “align our values with our actions”, if we are to deserve this great experiment called democracy, to honor our ability to speak freely and not use it to bash each other.“Government is not the enemy. It is our reflection”a wise commenter by the name of Martin Nyberg said somewhere in that deluge of words I read this week.
We are a long way from forming that more perfect union, but We the People have to keep talking…“in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.”
Ouravatar is a detail from a suzani, hand embroidered silk and cotton textiles traditionallybegun at the birth of a daughter for her dowry. A suzani’s circular motifsrepresent Gardens of Eden, reminders of an abundant life here in an earthly paradise.
These circles imply connection, the arcs of bridges spanning divides andeven cultures. Colorful rainbows leading to brighter futures, eternal curves encompassingthe hands-on-hips symbol of strong women, as stitched in Turkic handcrafts for millennia. In 2011, we’ll take the energy of this sustaining form into creating a culture in whichgirls and women, from Turkey, but also from around our globe, draw from thestrength and beauty of these cultural arts and remake them to empowerthemselves, their families and their communities.
It’s now 2011 in Turkey, where Abit is, and still 2010 in California, where I am. We’re temporarily bridging years for these 10 hours, but I’m eager to get back to being our creative, craftivist force for bridging cultures.
Wishing everyone a Happy New Year, wherever you may be!
All garment photos Interweave Knits
