esw bursary 2012. beyond Snehta. 2

A rather initial proposal based on recent research and ideas.

Text.1 Proposal

below: Graves chiseled in tuff underneath a church in Cappadocia at Soganli area

below: Chatalhuyiuk excavation of walls of the prehistoric city

below: Inside a house in Chatalhuyiuk – sleeping area

below: drawings of the clay sarcophagi from Kaiseri and the area of Anatolia

A cold dark place, which shows its bowels, a rigid structured space A space that looks old but never dies, a diachronic space.

And there are wooden gangways laid out amongst the relics / the ruins or that unknown dark matter.

The planks bend as someone walks on them so as he has the impression that he  gets submerged into the unknown matter yet still safe standing on wooden ramps. Is it a perilous flirt, a question directed towards the unknown.

Down there lie the mummies of past, the sarcophagi, the ancient burial rituals, the dead families the parents, the cosmology of ones lifelong poetry.

And I am being reminded of the older cultures of Anatolia who for hundreds of years and until very recently slept on naked stone floors that sealed the dead bodies of their ancestors. Death is lurking, again not far from the living flesh; from the anxiously moving inquisitive mind.

below: Acropolis museum standing on top of excavations of the ancient city

The path

That place that hosts this new faith whatever that is, is built upon these rickety wooden gangways and looks temporary however it hosts something, which is eternal.

These gangways are the roads laid out. The finger’s pointing. You must move dear son, dear girl. That is the way through, however the question still is where do these gangways lead or do they come back to the beginning?!

And there are lit spots on the dark under strata as if stricken by divine light we can see the qualities of mud, the moving giant earthworms, the forgotten pipe lines and sewage systems. We can almost reach out and touch them, fill our hands in dirt if we wanted, as we can also smell the dampness, the unleased smell of physical processes, the essence of sulphur and decomposition.

Points of the abyss

There are points of utter darkness, where the eye cannot scan or reach. These are the bowels. If you walk through the wooden gang way and stop there allowing the wood to bend fully you have the impression that you are being sucked by the Abyss.

Its like the trips with the small flat-keeled boat in the Diros caves in the Peloponnese. Although still a teenager I recall the guide saying. “And now we are crossing the abyss, a thirty meter underwater cavern”. The small canoe then twiddled slightly more than before whist on his announcement our actions became somewhat wearier. Underwater lights installed at a 10 meters deep would give you a dramatic impression of an aquatic cavernous depth, and of course you knew that the thing went deeper. Those murky artificially lit waters, the sound stillness on the surface the contrast of its still microcosm with the immensity alien nature of the appalling, moving depths.

below: The Roman cistern in Istanbul in Sultanahmet

below: entry point at Diros caves in Greece

Soft Towers

Now there are points of ascend. There are peaks, which are based on old scaffolding parts, there’s a breeze here coming from the cracked roof. Different scaffolding parts; some seem stable but others step on muddy bits on moving ground or on organic matter and junk. There are even carpets up here and soft spots similar to children play rooms with huge couches and gigantic pillows. Still recall the jumps on the beds the soft falling and rising again.

The carved rooms

And the space around that huge excavation is withered perhaps even carved. Holes connect spaces forming now the new nave. There are walls here, brick walls, with bits of insulation sticking out,

below expert taken from:

” …Imagine it – you’re sitting in your living-room, which you know so well; this is the room where the family watches television together after the evening meal, and suddenly that wall disappears with a deafening roar, the room fills with dust and debris, and through the wall pours one soldier after the other, screaming orders. You have no idea if they’re after you, if they’ve come to take over your home, or if your house just lies on their route to somewhere else. The children are screaming, panicking. Is it possible to even begin to imagine the horror experienced by a five-year-old child as four, six, eight, 12 soldiers, their faces painted black, sub-machine-guns pointed everywhere, antennas protruding from their backpacks, making them look like giant alien bugs, blast their way through that wall?..”

below: walls in Nablus, Palestine after an Israeli invasion (

The photographs from the excavated fabric of the city, (see photograph) mainly those of drilled walls in the city of Nablus in Palestine remind me of the chiseled churches of Cappadocia. However here instead of chiseling the stone material, the troops used explosives.


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