EMPRESSES & ABSENT FRIENDS
Wednesday 9 November
Having just watched, on YouTube, the Chinese Old Folks’ Choir cover of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance, I got curious and watched her original video. All I can say is, Who cares about a crumbling old palace? I feel irrelevant, stuck in a hostile place waving goodbye to friends, angry and lost and gone. Well, what the hell else should I do but draw? There doesn’t seem to be anything else that I’m uniquely qualified to do, so I am doing it. By God. Here’s where we left off last time:
I want to be out drawing right now, but there’s a commercial job I promised someone so I’m here in the apartment in Cihangir, trying to work. It’s making me crazy, because Jeannie and Rhonda are still at their hotel today and maybe won’t be tomorrow, since they have very happily sold it. They’re leaving forever very soon, and I do not know if I’ll ever see them again. They’re remarkable women and I’m glad I got the chance to know them and I’m so happy they are off but OH I will miss—
—– Thursday 10 November
At this point I realized: You moron, you’re mooning about your friends being gone and they’re still here. So I called them, said To Hell With Everything, went over to the hotel and hung out all day, and am I glad I did. That was yesterday. The day before that, I drew. And drew. The sky was so blue it almost seemed like the day was warm.
Drawing Session: Tuesday 8 November 2011, 1-5 PM
Here’s a photo that floats around the Internet, taken of the Boukoleon around 1860. It would have to have been from a ship.
This balcony was above the Sea Gate. That’s the round shape at lower right. I’m going to post some fabulous CGI recreations of the Palace, from byzantium1200. Here’s a recreation of this same balcony:
The lions are the ones in our Archeological Museum. Byzantium 1200 works with facts provided by Byzantine scholars, mostly in Germany, so when there’s no information on texture the building is shown as standard grey marble. It was much more. There’s a lot of this broken grey marble lying around, but equal parts of colored stuff too, and no Byzantine building was left plain, even in the Iconoclastic period. Here’s Mr Oner’s view of the Sea Gate.
It’s the little opening in the middle of the wall, below the balcony and a little to the right. Here’s the Sea Gate in 2008, with the railroad in the background.
Those big carved chunks on the grass in the foreground, that’s the long balcony that runs clear across the front of the building, high over the water. The rounded broken opening, taller than a tall man, is the top of the gate, leading to a trash-choked place of butchered fig trees and dumped furniture, up to the wall over the railroad. This in front, while behind you are the cars whooshing along the highway. Back in 2008 when I drew this, I was with my friend Leyla, who makes waiters walk into walls, and the trains gave earsplitting whistles as they roared and rattled around the bend. Back then, I was living in an apartment right behind the Portals, in an airspace that once was Palace. I used to sleep better, knowing that. In this photo of the Portals, through the Right Portal you can see the windows behind the second balcony down on the pink building. That was mine.
All those drawings I’ve posted of the backside of the Portals were done from that little balcony, and a lot of living as well. I stood there in a red sunset over the silver sea one New Year’s Eve, listening to new Robert Plant, crying because the music was as good as the view. Singing hot days of August, the sea like mercury studded with ships clear to the horizon. April when the bushes began to grow again, misted with tiny flowers, October when they rained down red over the arches. In the black night of a December storm I went out there on a nameless impulse, the wind ripping my hair around like a ragged cloak, and suddenly saw myself through my friend Faye’s eyes, clinging on the edge of this ancient city over the ruined palace, over the savage alien seas. Faye, guide to all the wonder of our dawning adulthood, cackling priestess cohort of a thousand magical meanderings, emotional soldier. Later I discovered that was when she slipped into a final coma, I swear I felt her go by. Friends, friends, life is nothing without friends. You friends reading this, how glad I am that we are all still here, still interested.
Here’s the Palace at present. There are the Portals at the left of the photo. At the upper right, see the pillar sticking out of the wall? That’s the first one of our colonnade. I’ve indicated with a little white circle where I’m working now.
Here’s the same view “before.” And again, we must thank Byzantium 1200 for this CGI glimpse of the vast scope of the palace rising out of the sea.
There are the big square stones where Hulusi painted his name, halfway up the wall. There on the left is Donna’s Big Arch, soon to be blogged about. There’s my little white dot, a rough idea of the present work spot. Sitting there in the snappy breeze I felt quite at home. Here came Hasan the Ghost, lugging a huge bag of cans, giving a friendly wave. From the other direction Ahmet Affable Guy ambled by, “Ah, Madame!” It’s too cold for the Neckers, but one pair wandered by, holding hands and smiling. I’ve never seen their faces, but their hair was familiar. I’ve been sitting down there drawing since June. I’m part of the scenery. Here’s what we got on Tuesday. Sometimes it’s all I’ve got, and increasingly it’s enough.
11 11 11, and at 11 11 AM I called Jeannie and Rhonda. They’re dealing with business details, happily counting the days until they can be gone. The numerologists tell us that this day is some kind of convergence of energies. It’s a fine day for a new start. I’ve been so sad about this for what seems like forever but is only about ten days. I love them and I am glad for them. I admire Jeannie’s lack of sentiment. She feels intensely, but she can let go of everything and look to the future. She lives all at once. Rhonda has a gentler aspect but is just as intrepid, in a steel-under-silk kind of way. They are practical, they can do anything. Me, I struggle daily to free myself from my own past. So I immerse myself in a greater past, the thousand-year-ago past, and draw the grizzled, truncated foundations of Western Civilization. It’s all there, all my genesis, imagery as powerful as anything on video and seen by as many people in its day. I can see Lady Gaga parading ephemeral through these halls in her gold brocade shoes and white leather crowns, calling through these windows, over the eternal sea. Past and present converge in my consciousness and give a great comfort. I am present in the world, I draw myself a place in it. There’s the Internet, and there’s Skype, and friendships that bend tend not to break.