Dolmabahçe Palace, Istanbul

I love this place ... Istanbul’s Dolmabahçe Palace. It was built by Sultan Abdul Mecit back in 1856. 

Once, long ago while visiting Istanbul, I was wandering with a Turkish friend who ‘knew people’.

He talked with one of the more important employees at Dolmabahçe Palace. We were told to come back after closing time, and voila, we were gifted the most magnificent tour of the empty palace grounds.

It was so surreal, and beautiful. As so often happens, it was like stepping inside a magnificent book.

Dolmabahçe Palace was also the palace that Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the founding leader of the modern republic of Turkey He used it as a presidential house in summers, the palace where he enacted some of his most important works.

Atatürk spent his last days and died here on 10 November 1938.

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Under the Tuscan Sun, Frances Mayes

Back in the days when I was the wife of a New Zealand Airforce officer, living on Base Woodbourne, up in Marlborough (‘up’ because I came from ‘down’ in Dunedin) I bought a book that has traveled everywhere with me ever since.

I devoured Frances Mayes, Under the Tuscan Sun, as we moved off Base and out of that airforce life. We were heading to Fiordland, in the south west of New Zealand, chasing that husband’s career - back in the 90’s. (Yes, I’ve lived here before) And I read that book, holding it close, through the crazy days of packing moving and unpacking.

It’s a beautiful poetic prose book, one that I dip in and out of when I’m seeking beauty and some kind of peace ... a book that takes me wandering even while grounded.

Some years later, I was flying between Istanbul and New Zealand, on my summer holiday break from teaching, and Under the Tuscan Sun was there as a movie choice on my Singapore Airlines flight.

I had at least 19 hours of flight time ahead of me, and so I selected it as a movie to watch, as I flew to the other side of the world ...

The movie is not not like the book. Do not expect it. It’s a nice enough movie but it contains none of the depth and richness I find, again and again, when I go back to my tattered copy of the book.

An extract from the book: I remember dreaming over Bachelard’s ‘The Poetics of Space’, which I don’t have with me, only a few sentences copied into a notebook. He wrote about the house as a “tool for analysis” of the human soul.

By remembering the houses we’ve lived in, we learn to abide within ourselves. I felt close to his sense of the house. He wrote about the strange whir of the sun as it comes into a room in which one is alone. Mainly, I remember recognising his idea that the house protects the dreamer; the houses that are important to us are the ones that allow us to dream in peace.

And this: ‘Choice is restorative when it reaches towards an instinctive recognition of the earliest self. As Dante recognised at the beginning of ‘The Inferno’: What must we do in order to grow?

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The foto: The Ligurian house I wanted, passionately, madly, deeply.

Portraiture ...

If the photographer has forged a relationship which permits an atmosphere in which the subject feels relaxed and safe, there is an intimacy that allows the person being photographed to be uninhibited and to reveal unknown aspects of herself.
- Eve Arnold, Magnum Photographer 

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