an open letter

Dear Kripoe,

Your work intrigues me. I'll admit, at first I overlooked it. The simplicity of your design isn't shocking. So I kept walking by. What's another fist on the wall? But the same simplicity made me realize that you're onto something big. Your work is recognizable. You've become legend in your own right. You own the streets in Eminonu and Karakoy. It looks like the area around the Galata Tower is yours, too. I appreciate your art, I do. I just have one question: what does it mean?

Sincerely yours,
Cait

a little design for everyone (most everyone)

Like most big cities, Istanbul is no stranger to the odd, the occult, the radical, or the inspiring. Walk down any street in Taksim and you'll find vendors selling not hot dogs, not pretzels, but corn (boiled or grilled to your liking). Venture through the side streets in Besiktas and you'll find several (if not countless) street people missing body parts - eyes, feet, legs, arms. Look down any street, anywhere in the city and you'll see how the homeless dogs and cats look both ways before they cross the streets. None of this is surprising in itself, though. These are the particular unique elements that comprise any big city. You don't have to go out of your way to find them.

No collar? No problem.

Oh, hey.

When I am in the mood to look for something of a particular strangess, however, a museum of modern art is generally where I turn. I'm not saying that I find modern art less credible or important than other types of art, I'm saying that I don't always understand it, and it's in my lack of knowledge that I find myself adventuring into some of the most thought-provoking pieces.

This was the case when I recently went to the aptly named Istanbul Modern. The temporary exhibition featured clothing designer and film director Hussein Chalayan. The individual pieces of clothing were intriguing - they looked soft and delicate, yet durable and structural at the same time.  His films, however, were admittedly over my head. Shots of a woman dressing another, or of a man blotting a woman's face, or a girl posing with a gun. There's context there, there has to be, right? So I'm sure the difficulty I find in trying to understand these pieces has more to do with my lack of knowledge than with the art itself.

Either way, it was weird and I liked it.

Also on temporary exhibit was a piece called "Discover Manga!" (I've never seen an exclamation point more accurately placed). Let's be honest here, I've never gotten into the whole Japanese cartoon thing. I understand there's a huge following, but I'm just not that intrigued to delve any deeper into it. Maybe I'm missing something. I'm willing to deal with that potential loss, though. At any rate, the employees dressed in Manga-inspired clothing were the quirky icing on top of my odd day.

Those kids from high school. Remember them?

while the city sleeps

There's something beautiful about a Sunday morning. Sunday mornings are the one time during the week when, in the majority of places I've visited and lived, the city takes a deep breath and doesn't feel rushed to release it. Car horns are silenced, music is softened, and the crowds of people normally found rushing through the streets are abated. The rule is that Sundays are peace; Sundays are quiet. Istanbul doesn't stray from this rule.

It rained this Sunday morning, but it was unlike the rain experienced in the Northeastern part of the United States. The rain dropped almost soundlessly while the sun was shining just beyond the clouds into the Bosphorus Straits. As a cloud would pass, there would be a period of sunshine, and then another cloud would come with the same soundless falling apart. Off and on throughout the morning.

Hopeful that this weather pattern in combination with the day of the week might teach me something the normal pattern of the city might not expose, I took to the streets to experience the shell of my neighborhood. This is what I learned: Istanbul is intentionally and unintentionally layered. Streets are constructed where roads once where, where paths once were, but still lead you to the local grocery, nonetheless. Buildings of stucco and brick are crammed together on the same plots of land where structures of stone and earth once stood (still might stand) and these buildings house the bank clerk, the taxi driver, and the professors at this university. These are layers that are unintentionally complex, but yet intentionally simple.

I learned this morning, as I walked down Cengiz Topel Caddesi, that no matter how many layers a city has, they all serve the same purpose. We have created these centers to interact with each other, be it for economic means, to exchange ideas, or just to chew the grass. This is what I learned this rainy, Sunday morning. Istanbul isn't, but could be home.

Fish market in Kabatas

Clothing 'store' in Kabatas

Hello Kitty

Homeless man