FOURTY ENTERTAINERS
Whenever I am in an Ottoman building, my imagination
conjures up innumerable ghostly figures: sultans, grand viziers,
janissaries, princesses, serving girls, falconers, astrologers and
many more. They step out from the past that time has left behind
and fill the rooms, gardens and streets. An archer shoots an arrow
towards a castle, a palace official unrolls an imperial edict, and
a prince runs up a flight of stairs. That is why, when I wander
through Topkapi Palace gardens, I wish there were life-sized statues
of sultans speaking to their viziers, a horse impatient to be off,
a hawksman ready to let his bird fly, young princes playing. Or
in Koza Han in Bursa how pleasing it would be if statues of camels
carrying silk and spices and caravan masters stood in the courtyard.That
is why when I first saw Sekip Davaz's statues of forty entertainers,
I was so excited by this marvellous combination of imagination,
knowledge and skill that I found myself centuries back in time,
participating in a carnival procession through the Hippodrome!
The sultan was seated on a balcony in Ibrahim Pasa
Palace watching the parade. Evidently the occasion for celebration
was the circumcision or birth of a prince.Around me drummers and
pipers played enthusiastically; jugglers and acrobats displayed
their skills. I immediately recognised the shadow puppets, Karagöz
and Hacivat. Then came the wrestlers,
followed by the delis plunging swords in and out of their flesh.
I watched the dancers and contortionists, and laughed at the clowns.
The dwarf bird handler made his bird perform astounding tricks,
and I watched with amazement as the illusionist made an egg he held
in one hand disappear after placing a little cloth over it with
the other. With difficulty I dragged my thoughts back to the present.Festivities
like these held in the Ottoman period have lots to tell us about
life at the time. These colourful carnivals with their music, fireworks,
public feasts and entertainments were the equivalent of public relations
campaigns today.
Each of the trade guilds, from blacksmiths to boat
builders displayed their skills on floats in the procession. Instead
of history played out with swords, shields and arrows, here we see
another facet of the past in these cheerful events of peacetime.Sekip
Davaz could not allow all of this to be forgotten, and decided to
lift some of the entertainters out of the closed pages of history
in the form of life sized statues. He read books about the festivals
of the past, examined miniature paintings, and set his imagination
to work. He almost memorised by heart the Surname, a manuscript
in Topkapi Palace library describing the circumcision celebrations
for the future Mehmed III (1595-1603) held during the reign of his
father Murad III (1574-1595) and illustrated with miniatures by
the famous painter Nakkas Osman. He studied their clothes, fabrics,
and the postures of the conjurers and acrobats.
He then proceeded to build frames of metal pipes
welded together, and covered these with sheets of sponge to build
up the body of each figure. For the details he used sponge, felt
and wood. He wrapped his statues in fine coloured muslin, and coated
these with polyester and glass fibre. Then it was time for the hands,
ears, noses and other features. Once dressed in clothing of real
fabric in the authentic style of the time the statues began to come
to life, and after the final painting of the faces and hands, they
were coated with polyester again and ready to re-live the past in
the present.
The face of each has an expression full of meaning, encompassing
both melancholy and sorrow as well as fun. In this way Davaz contributed
his own artistic interpretation to these masters of entertainment,
in the course of bringing them to life so many centuries after their
own age.He gave his figures names like Rasit of Baghdad, Dilaver
of Üsküdar, and Rabbit Osman, and invented a life for
each, as in the story of Acrobat Vehbi:
'One summer evening he saw jets of fire and shapes
of light rising into the sky and was dumbfounded. Trying not to
lose sight of them in Istanbul's narrow streets, sometimes running
and sometimes walking, and never looking behind him, he arrived
at Aynalikavak. He realised how empty his life had been until now,
and joined the firework makers.
He did whatever work they gave him: wrapping rockets,
sieving saltpeter, pouring gunpowder, cooking meals, washing dishes.
He made his companions laugh and won everyonons affection. His agile
body attracted the notice of the chief acrobat, who began to include
him in the acrobatic displays sometimes. His talent for comedy made
him one of the most popular members of the troupe.'
In holding up a mirror to the anonymous heroes of
history, Sekip Davaz also harbours a dream: to set up a Museum of
Carnivals in Istanbul. He wishes to display his statues in rooms
surrounded by mirrors, and with sound and light effects, creating
a museum along the lines of Madame Tussaud's in London or the Grevin
Museum in Paris. In this museum in which modern design enables visitors
to relive Turkey's past, his forty entertainers will create new
carnival processions for all to enjoy.
* Akgün Akova is a writer
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