PARRHESİAPAR

Cevahirciyan, who was an apprentice to Abdullah Brothers in Istanbul, established the first photography studio in Ankara in 1889 or 1890. Until the mid-1910s, he photographed events such as groundbreaking ceremonies of official buildings, inaugurations and official celebrations. Tsolag, one of the Dildilyan Brothers, apprenticed under Cevahirciyan, who is believed to have had a studio in Sivas before Ankara, and learnt the profession from him.

Following Chienne d’Histoire [The Barking Island], a wordless film from the perspective of the non-human, where we only hear the dogs’ voices, Avedikian’s documentary Histoire de Chiens [Dog Stories] was screened. This documentary, focusing on the relationships between Istanbul residents and street dogs 100 years after the 1910 dog massacre, differed from the first film in that it presented people’s perspectives on their relationships with dogs. The film momentarily eased the heaviness left by the first film with its style.

When I met Parrhesia Collective, this word gained a much more special meaning for me. Parrhesia Collective is the name of a community of women who think, speak, read and write in Armenian, different from the ancient usage of the word.

Although Hagop Oshagan, who was born and raised in Sölöz, near Bursa, is a well-known writer in the diaspora, the fact that he is less known and read by Armenians in Turkey, and that his works have not been translated into Turkish, is a very telling absence. These works, which provide significant information about the last period of the Ottoman Empire, and daily life in the provinces, thus will be extremely illuminating at the intersection of literature and history.

This highly evocative performance can be interpreted differently by each viewer at a time when earthquakes, wars, and consequently forced migrations take up a lot of space in our psyches throughout the world. For Armenians like myslef, who are trying to fill in the gaps of the migration stories in their family history, this performance would probably have very strong echoes in their inner world.

Hrant Dink, who comes from an Armenian family from Malatya, took on his historical identity by leaving his daily life in the middle of the gap between the province (kawar) and Istanbul. It is an identity woven with annihilation, the erasure of traces, inconsolable mourning, and an endless sense of injustice.

With her “Dance with Armenian Letters” project in Berlin a few years ago, Babikyan approaches her return to the roots perhaps from the very beginning of the story, through the alphabet. Giving life to letters through bodily expression is a significant example in her unique artistic journey of exploration and teaching. Moreover, Babikyan does not keep this experience to herself but enables children and adult participants in the workshops to gain their own experiences, thereby involving them in this journey. At the core of this practice lies an artist’s awareness and sensitivity.