I’m in a modern art gallery, at an exhibition featuring the artist Hare Tahir, and there are other artists from both the Northern and Southern parts of Cyprus. Among them is Andreas Charalambides - my art teacher. I truly try… honestly. This exhibition provokes in a complex mixed impression of so m any things: including vital and vibrant colour, and monotone, all at once.
Tahir’s works are luminous, expressive. Certainly she is a measured abstractionist, perfect for such a discipline. Andreas is almost traditional, with a sharp, personal flourish of the brush - one of the greats of the island. A few pieces leave me spellbound, and they are the canvases of a local Turkish-Cypriot artist, Senol Ozdevrim.
I am quite surprised, and even a bit confused how few people speak English there. However, we meet a young lady who helps us, me and my companion of the brush, with translating and explaining Ozdevrim’s central idea to us non Turkish speakers. Only through the author’s own words and that translation was I able to begin to understand the questions posed by one of the pictures in particular, a piece called Question, featuring the portrait of a man, partially obscured by spilling colour lines.
One thing here that is so important to me is clearly underlined in this exchange:
Dialogue is a deep and intellectual part of us human beings, no matter how terrifying a past we may carry. I don’t want to draw any immediate conclusions and make formulaic judgments.
But what I would like to emphasize is this: dialogue is always vital - that priceless and timely dialogue between ourselves and the so-called other. Time is a fickle measure. A reminder of this is the conflict and the division of the island which has been ongoing for over 50 years now, yet dialogue has also been constant to a greater or lesser degree. The fact is that people interact, communicate, and engage in good-faith debate, despite all this island’s historical pages. It is worthy not only of mention but also of recording. In a clear and un-evasive way. This interaction is about ourselves which includes the other, always.
Additionally, I could only remind and promise myself to always stay aware of my surroundings with empathy, and to look around with wider eyes and strong emotions. By observing the world more broadly, I can protect my sensitivity from people who have lost their humanity and shut themselves off from sincere conversation, unable to afford to understand more, failing to preserve their open-mindedness and vigilance toward human destinies. I refuse to be such a person.
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