BIG MOTHER HAN 3: Drawing in Buyuk Valide Han

Well, she’s gone. My drawing partner from the past six months, Gabrielle who got me up on this blog, is now drawing her tucchas off in Rome.  I’ve never had a drawing partner, and my we had fun, both drawing and hanging out. We’re about the same height and coloring, and she’s half my age. Everyone thought she was my daughter.

Gaby & Me ©2012 Trici Venola

UP ON THE ROOF

Our last drawing session was up on the roof at Buyuk Valide Han. We meandered up there about a month ago the first time, on a miserably cold dark day, and held out for about two hours. We knew she was leaving, and wanted to make the most of any dry weather. Here’s what I got: not much:

Up On the Roof WIP 1 ©2012 Trici Venola

And we had a swell pizza. This beloved place is just out the back door of the Han complex. If there’s a better in the Old City I don’t know where.

That Great Pizza Place ©2012 Trici Venola

After that day the snow set in and drawing outside was impossible. About ten days ago, we staggered up there anyway to finish the drawings. Plein Air, brrrrr.

Suleymaniye Vista ©2012 Trici Venola

But here’s the view, isn’t it wonderful? That’s Suleymaniye Mosque on the hill up there. It was built by the great master architect Mimar Sinan, still studied all over the world, back in the mid-16th century for Suleyman the Magnificent. It’s been in renovation for the past five years. It used to look like God had been living in it for half a millennium, and now it looks like a movie set. It actually is a movie set; they shot part of the new Bond movie up there last fall.

Bosporus Vista ©2012 Trici Venola

And there’s the Yeni Mosque in front of the Galata Bridge in Eminonu, and beyond it the Ataturk Bridge across the Bosphorus. We’re looking up toward the Black Sea.

The Guys in the First Courtyard ©2012 Trici Venola

Where are we? You go all the way through Buyuk Valide Han: up the steep driveway and through the first little courtyard, through the Big Han parking lot with the Shiite mosque in it, clear to the back. If you’re lucky, you’ll meet one of the all-time great faces: Cemel.

The Best Face in the Han ©2009 Trici Venola

I’ve never encountered a face like this. Cemel tells me he’s got several brothers look just like him, but this is a two-shot of his face alone. You’d do a lot worse than to get a shoeshine from him, too.

Cemel at Work ©2012 Trici Venola

Through the arched Byzantine passage, past the sunken courtyard, and out the back door of what I call the Church Han. Back in 2009 there was this kid, Firat. He hung around for hours when I drew the Han, and since he did not demand it I drew him. He was so excited. Firat’s probably in the Army now, but here he is with his first mustache.

Firat Holding Still ©2009 Trici Venola

Like all portraits, I did this in about ten minutes and rendered it later, along with the background. Notice the pen strokes, how they can really strengthen the illusion of depth. Here’s a photo of the Church Han courtyard:

The Church Han Courtyard ©2012 Trici Venola

As you may remember from older posts, the roof, a barrel-vault arching across from side to side, came to just above the tops of the arches. The altar area is straight ahead. Just at the exit, there’s an astonishing work of art on the stone wall: the electrical panel for the Church Han. Lost in admiration at the sheer audacity of this job, I once started to draw this but got lost in the wiring. See?

Wired: Big Mother Han ©2007 Trici Venola

Then a hard right and a climb up a flight of tilted cement steps stuck precariously onto the side of the centuries-old wall. It’s stone and brick, with horizontal wood spacers in places. A mason friend told me that these take stress and keep the wall from collapsing. The wood is hard to recognize but wood it is. Here’s what the place looked like in fall 2004.

BVH Back Porch ©2004 by Trici Venola

I found this unfinished take with a note: Too damn cold. Later. This is common when one does not have a drawing partner. It was far colder when Gabrielle and I were up on the roof finishing those bloody drawings. This roof, like the much larger one of Buyuk Valide Han’s biggest structure, is covered with small domes, each topping a workshop. This smaller han’s domes used to cover the church, and possibly a monastery or convent.

Rooftop Domes ©2012 Trici Venola

Up here on top, the domes are weedy in places, holey in others. See them sticking up above this doorway?

There are several workshops up here, built onto the roof. Right at the top of the stairs is an earsplitting din. Glance in and see hundreds of spools furiously spinning, winding brass wire. The smiling proprietor is partially deaf, as was his father before him, but still employed.

Roof Shop Spools ©2012 Trici Venola

There used to be a cypress tree growing up here, and a rusty old weaving machine and a tribe of bronze tabby cats. And down at the end a shanty with a million-dollar view, in which dwelt a happy bearded man and a lot of barking dogs. There were more chimneys, too. One day in 2007 I was told in the Han that weaving machines had been banned. I came up and found a pile of rubble, a tree stump, and one lonely chimney. The Forces That Be had swept it all away. No one knows why.

That last morning, I got to the roof about fifteen minutes before Gaby. I’d just set up when I noticed the air turning thick. This jocular group was cleaning stove parts. In no time it looked like Armageddon.

Rooftop Smoke ©2012 Trici Venola

I leaped up and away, and fifteen minutes later there wasn’t a trace of smoke. Thanks to its location, a natural castle moated by seas, Istanbul has remarkable powers of recovery. Here’s my final drawing. Suleymaniye is undoubtedly the most magnificent mosque in Turkey. Its proportions are perfect. The four minarets (one is hidden by the dome) are of graduated size, and give a different aspect from every angle.

Up On the Roof ©2012 Trici Venola

As you can see from the rough at the beginning of this post, I tried to draw the top of this historic Ottoman chimney, but my own proportions got away from me. To my chagrin the top didn’t fit on the paper, and I’d already invested a few bone-shattering cold hours. So after I finished the drawing, I drew the chimney-top, and Photoshopped the two together.

Up On the Roof Composite ©2012 Trici Venola

Gaby with Chimney ©2012 Trici Venola

You know what? I like the first one best. The complete chimney throws off the balance and pushes the whole composition too far down. But we should pay attention to this fine old Ottoman chimney, because it is the very last. The much bigger roof of the main part of Buyuk Valide Han was covered with them, but now there are no more anywhere. Or so I am told by architect friends.

Tower of Eirene.detail 1 ©2012 Trici Venola

At the end of the roof is the Tower. This is the one I mentioned in Big Mother Han 2, the tower the guidebooks peg at 11th century but the guys in the Han call 6th. It lost its top in an earthquake in 1926 but is still impressive. A young woman was taking photographs of it, with a ruler for scale. We asked her, in a polite way, what she was doing. Her doctoral thesis, no less. At last, an expert. “What is the name of the church?”  Unknown, and this from a Turkish graduate student. She commiserated on the complete lack of information. She’s looking to find out, and I’m rooting for her. One tiny puzzle piece: an 18th-century writer referred to this tower as the Tower of Eirene. A churchly friend thinks it was a bell tower. And there it must rest.

Gaby Smoking Nargile ©2012 Trici Venola

As did we. We packed up and wrapped up, and my drawing fell facedown on the roof, which accounts for its murky wash shading in places. We clambered down the steep steps, me clutching the handrail, and out the Han, charged up the icy street and flung ourselves gasping into the clamorous color and warmth of the Grand Bazaar. Straight through, out the top and over the cobbles to the nargile cafe at Corlulu Ali Medrese. This haven deserves its own post, so I will leave you with this picture of Gabrielle smoking a snowy farewell nargile. In Rome, in Paris, in Laramie, Wyoming, draw on, girl, draw on.

All drawings Plein Air.

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HAGIA SOPHIA AGAPE: Drawing the Basilica Entire

In response to requests, we are republishing this fine post from the archives. You just can’t get too much of Hagia Sophia. And if you’re in Istanbul now, go to the back corner of the basilica, on SogukCesme Street, and look in on the new antique carpet museum.

HAGIA SOPHIA

Ναός τῆς Ἁγίας τοῦ Θεοῦ Σοφίας, 

Church of the Holy Wisdom of God

Hagia Sophia Agape.detail © 2011 by Trici Venola

STEEPLES AND MINARETS

Sultan Mehmet. Ottoman miniature, 15th century.

When Mehmet the Conqueror took Constantinople in 1453, he was twenty-one years old. He said: Give me your city and I’ll not let my soldiers loot. Gutted by the Fourth Crusade, shrunken to villages inside the walls, Constantinople had nevertheless held him off for a year, and still they fought him. They believed Rome would come to their rescue. A big mistake, and the city fell. The sky black with smoke, ships burning in the harbor, streets running with blood; screams and explosions; devastation and horror everywhere, and Constantine XI the Last Byzantine Emperor died on the walls, sword in hand. Afterwards, many witnesses claimed that a beam of light shot out of the top of Hagia Sophia, and the Archangel Michael soared out of the church and away, abandoning the city to the new Conqueror.

Enraged by unexpected losses, true to his word and the custom of the time, Mehmet let his soldiers run amok for three days. Afterwards, he says in his diary, he rode through the streets weeping at the devastation. Young Mehmet admired Alexander the Great, who burned Persepolis, but he refused to mind his own ministers, who advised him to burn Hagia Sophia. “It’s the most sublime building in the world,” he said, and converted it to a mosque. The Pope visited it in 2006. It was a huge event. The entire area was blocked off to all traffic, and the few trams running were jammed to the ceilings, steam on the windows. As I plodded up the hill from the ferry along with thousands of other displaced commuters, I thought of the Pope. Six hundred years too late, Your Eminence.

The Fall of Constantinople, from an old manuscript. Notice clerics at right in front of Hagia Sophia.

Hagia Sophia Agape.detail © 2011 by Trici Venola

All the surviving Byzantine basilicas in Istanbul are now mosques. It’s why, traditionally, mosques are round. And common sense tells me that the Crusaders, despite wreaking havoc all over the Middle East, had by 1453 noticed the lovely minarets, gone home and invented Gothic Architecture. I’ve not found any scholarly backup on this, but I’d say minarets are why we have steeples on churches.

VANTAGE POINT  June 2011, when Michael Constantinou asked me for the umpteenth time to draw him a picture of Hagia Sophia entire, I saw a two-week project. “Aç Ayi Ornamaz,” means in Turkish “The hungry bear doesn’t dance.” A commission was agreed upon. “The whole structure,” said Michael, “no tricky perspective, no slants, no seagulls!”

Aw shoot, no seagulls?

 

Ayasofya & A Gull ©2007 by Trici Venola

So I had to move closer.  I roamed around Hagia Sophia, checking out various views, and settled on the terrace at Seven Hills Restaurant, site of many fine dinners, drunk on the view. Here’s what they think Hagia Sophia looked like back in the day, when Emperor Justinian was still alive.

Justinian’s Constantinople. A print of this painting is in the outer transept at Hagia Sophia. If you know who painted it and where I can find a copy, please let me know in the comments section.

This vantage point is similar to the one I used. Here’s what it looks like today:

The scene is so spectacular, the 21st-century June light so white and intense, the sea right there, no way to even begin to get it all down, but trying is what makes art. The waiters were so nice to me that I drew them in gratitude. I sat at the same table every day for ten days, drawing for five hours, in that intense sun. They brought me coffee and water and made a big fuss, but never more than when I came back the last day and did this drawing.

Swell Fellows All: The Waiters at Seven Hills ©2011 by Trici Venola

These guys are from all over Turkey: Istanbul, Ardahan, Siirt, Diyarbakir and Nemrut Dag. All posed in the same spot for five minutes each, and everybody got a copy.

Me up top. Hagia Sophia is to the immediate left of this photo. Think what the mosaic artists saw, working up in the dome!

THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS  I blew the first two tries. The second one, I had gotten all the way across the east face at the right before I noticed that the proportions were off.

Hagia Sophia Agape.detail ©2011 by Trici Venola

Started again right here, with the frontal projection to the right. I do not know the proper architectural term for these. Have you ever seen them anywhere else? I sure haven’t.  That plaster floral medallion on each one covers a Greek cross.

This is drawn with drafting pens on 35 X 70 cm rag paper with no preliminary pencil, so it had to start right. Then I measured everything off of this one, as explained back in the summer of 2011 with the Drawing the Boukoleon posts.

Hagia Sophia Agape.detail ©2011 by Trici Venola

June 9: Trying to get my mind around the implacable testament of this building’s age, and not as a ruin, either, but a continously-occupied temple of worship coming up on 1480 years. Thinking about the 10,000 workmen in two teams: 50 foremen with100 men to each, and they raced, and they met at the dome. Five years.

Ayasofya Beautiful ©1999 by Trici Venola.

June 12: Today got badly sunburned on left side but didn’t stop. I’m noticing on the east face, which is toward the Marmara, what 15 centuries of storms have done to the shape– the wear, rain tracks and moss and such are very interesting. The sea is deep turquoise.

Hagia Sophia Agape.detail ©2011 by Trici Venola.

RIght in the middle of this section, see how the rain has sluiced diagonally across the brickwork, carving a trough? And you can see how it has hit that point of connection of the roof below, bounded over and fountained up, leaving a rounded mark on the wall above before flowing down into the shadow to the left. That shadow is very dark green: moss.

Hagia Sophia Agape.detail ©2011 by Trici Venola

Here’s an angular spot I like, although the original brickwork has been obscured by new plaster. Hagia Sophia has been standing, despite earthquake and catastrophe and supported only by columns, for almost 1500 years. Much credit for this goes to Mimar Sinan, the great architect of the Renaissance. In the natural course of things, the walls under the huge central dome move apart, causing collapse. In a masterful and politic stroke, Sinan buttressed them and anchored the buttresses with minarets, pleasing the gods of structure and his Sultan, Selim II, as well. You can see the buttresses right here: those massive piers to the right, one of them under a minaret base. How massive are they? Look at those tiny people on the ground!

Hagia Sophia Agape.detail ©2011 by Trici Venola.

Emperor Justinian gold coin. Big wide-set eyes, full face, wide mouth. Justinian!

To design Hagia Sophia, the Emperor Justininan hired a mathemetician and a physicist: Anthemius of Thrales, and Isidoros of Miletus. Religion, Mathematics, Science and Art: they say that at the peak of understanding, all of these converge. Justinian’s rule, and his life, reached a crescendo with his partnership with his Empress, Theodora.

Justinian and Theodora, from their respective mosaics in Ravenna.

Ah, Theodora. There’s a lot on her in a previous blog, Standing the Obelisk: the notorious nude Hippodrome performer who got religion, became Empress, quashed child prostitution, invented tiaras and pointed shoes, and quelled riots with equal aplomb. Justinian had the laws changed so he could marry her. By every report they were passionately devoted to each other, to their faith, and to their Empire. Here’s Theodora painted into life from an ancient bronze statue now in Milan, using information from the Ravenna mosaic and contemporary descriptions.

Theodora Comes Alive ©2012 by Trici Venola.

Look at that eyebrow: now she could quell a rebellion. Justinian and Theodora: where art, religion, science and mathematics converge, add great love and get High Byzantine. Eros: the love of another, and Agape: the love of God. Here is the final drawing of Hagia Sophia Agape: the convergence of all the great mysteries: an answer so great that the questions don’t matter anymore.

Hagia Sophia Agape ©2011 by Trici Venola.

Hagia Sophia Agape ©2011 by Trici Venola.

“Even had its Empire never existed, Byzantium would surely have impressed itself upon our minds and memories by the music of its name alone, conjuring up those same visions that it evokes today: visions of gold and malachite and porphyry, of stately and solemn ceremonial, or brocades heavy with rubies and emeralds, or sumptuous mosaics dimly glowing through halls cloudy with incense. — John Julius Norwich

Mosaic Detail Imperial Gallery

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Alll drawings Plein Air, ©1999-2011 by Trici Venola. All drawings created with drafting pens on paper. Hagia Sophia Agape and Waiters at Seven Hills measure 50 X 70 CM. Other drawings measure 18 X 52 CM. Theodora Comes Alive was created onscreen with digital tools. Thank you for reading. We love your comments.


When I Drew Rustem Pasha

by Trici Venola on Monday, 17 October 2011 at 00:33

The following is compiled from emails to friends last March.

From 7 March 2011

 From their emails, some friends back home think I’m in Rural Turkey.

I live in a city of 20 million people they tell us is only 15. I’m in a 1940s apartment with 10-foot high ceilings, orchids blooming next to the computer, a big geranium-covered balcony over other balconies, and five cats. It’s two rows of apartments back from a spectacular view of the mouth of the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn, across from the Old City, Istanbul, Constantinople, Byzantium, the Center of the World for 2000 years, layers of antiquity overlaid with a frenetic young culture obsessed with technology, surrounded by water on three sides which I can see if I walk outside and around the corner. I go over there to the old city a lot these days to draw.

Just now I’m drawing in the Spice Bazaar in Eminonu at the Galata Bridge. I’m drawing Rustem Pasha Mosque, and today did not go well. I sat on a campstool on a manhole cover next to a cafe in a parking lot for four hours and blew it, so I have to do it again tomorrow. I have to draw Rustem Pasha because it is like a pain every time I look at it until I do. Until I draw it. Here’s the drawing I finally did: Rustem Pasha & Friends ©2011 by Trici Venola.

The mosque rises above the right-angle joining of two long buildings topped by many domes. The masonry is rubbly stone layered with red brick. The vintage is Medieval. The windows piercing the stone on the building to the left, Papazoglu Han, may have been standard when the buildings were new, but centuries of reinforcement with marble and wood have made them different sizes and personalities. Most of them have black cross-hatch iron grills on them. Above them, arches of brick are visible in the texture of the stone. There’s a lot of green growth erupting from patches of the masonry on both buildings, and the domes are whiskered in places.

The building to the right, Chukur Han, has pairs of windows with pointed arches built in the brickwork. Both buildings are two stories, with a store under each dome. At the corner, there’s a Coffee World, a local chain that serves chocolate spoons with every cup. The other stores sell spices, dried fruit, nuts, candy, tea, restaurant supplies, hardware, lunch and so forth. The spices and dried food are mounded in open bins, the place is jammed with people shopping, the ferries are loading and unloading just across the highway zooming with cars, old people feed pigeons on the square, lunatic seagull shrieks and ferry horns blowing, guys jumping in and out of cars, parking them, and in the middle of this daily melee, the charming old mosque.

It was built by Mimar Sinan, Suleyman the Magnificent’s great architect of the Renaissance. From the ramp to the Galata Bridge you can see it below Sinan’s great Suleymaniye Mosque on the hill. Sinan said that Suleymaniye was his masterpiece, but Rustem Pasha was his heart. It’s got a fine dome with many clerestory windows and one minaret, the view I’m presently drawing. It’s built high, over many shops and courtyards surrounded by arches and workshops (these are called Hans), some functioning and some fallen into ruin. High Medieval walls loom above narrow passageways going up to the mosque, where you duck into a dark enclosed stone staircase leading up to a high airy courtyard of marble pillars and arches and fabulous Iznik tiles. I love Rustem Pasha for the same reason everyone else does, because as Sinan felt, it does have a heart. It’s small, highly textured, accessible, and covered with the wonderful tiles in many different patterns, most of them cobalt and turquoise and white. There’s one right next to the door, a souvenir tile from a hajj, a pilgrimage to Mecca, that looks to be from a few hundred years ago. It’s a lone picture tile stuck into the middle of a frieze of identical floral ones.

It’s naive art, and I was drawing it because I love it. People coming out of the door after prayers were laughing and telling me they love it too, and one of them told me it was Mecca. Six minarets all round the edge, the requisite pairs of doors, the sacred oil flasks, the fountains, and in the middle, the big sacred black cube: Mecca. I’m hunched on my stool thinking how much I’d like to be drawing inside but it’s got to be forbidden, but I’m drawing away and people are coming up and telling me what the picture means and buying my book (I have a book of drawings I sell out of my handbag, sold about 1000 so far) and the Imam (priest) comes out and invites me to draw inside anytime. So I did but froze to death, it’s still too cold.

So today I spent out in the sun, trying to capture the charm of this place, but I’ll have to go back tomorrow and try again. I quit, disgusted with blowing the drawing but on the whole happy to care enough to do it over and have the time to  do it. I bought cheese and olives and walked across the Galata Bridge over the Golden Horn, fishermen on both sides, ferries and tankers and cruise ships and seagulls and the heaving teal sea, Japanese tourists everyone is being extra nice to, because of their disaster. Walked along the piers toward home past a decayed Byzantine chunk of old church pressed into service as a parking lot I should draw before it’s demolished. Walked up the steep hill to home.

Tomorrow night I’m going to an art opening, see some swell new work, talk to the artist, a professor friend from New York about art tours. But tonight I made soup, my Winter Soup staple that lasts five days, and watched a movie like I do most nights. Some days I take people on tours, some days I take people shopping, some days I work on the computer all day. I have 27 sketchbooks full of drawings and a few stories.  I live really quietly, but I live in Byzantium.