t to be called. A knock at t to find Black Effendi, o look at trating and at my paintings, t o direct a question to me in tan. “Very ion I’m to answer?”
old me. Very hen!
Style and Signature“As long as tists motivated by money and fame instead of t increases,” I said, “io ness mud greed akin to tion yle“ and ”signature.“” I made trodu because t is done, not because I believed rue ability and talent couldn’t be corrupted even by trutold, money and fame are ts of talented, as in my case, and only inspire us to greater feats. But if I o say trators in turists’ division, rabid o prove t I love t ture of a tree on a grain of rice. I’m t for “style,” “signature‘ and ”cer“ o us all t by ain unfortunate Cers ures broug by Jesuit priests. me tell you t prise a recital on topic.”
tyle and SignatureALIFOnce upon a time, to t, in a mountain castle, ted ing and painting. triking tatar s of lovemaking, sing until m, and lived in sucasy t to live eternally.
t o realize tounding and flaures of ters. As tared at t renderings, unfalteringly reproduced, t as time op and ty ories. In turist, a master of masters, er depicted tous, suggestive looks fabled alteration ist tatar beauty. Be ture er miniaturist ually, ion caused turist to stray from good sense; incited by t t o ters for tion of ures, and ily assumed t a tous—tylistic toucer miniaturist—not imperfes, urbed by tings, t ed in numerous ar beauty oucer. So, ention of making ty tatar jealous, upon learning of trayal from t sly ree in tyard. tanding take turist’s oion yle lay beerrible i, immediately blier artist ed.
BAOnce upon a time in a try in t tan, a lover of illustrations, illuminations and miniatures, soon tan’s an’s young ing. Since ed out tings t admirers couldn’t distinguisers. tan took great pride in !” as sings. “Yet, time an responded, “If my son signs ings, ly taking credit for tecyles of ters, ed? Moreover, if ings bear my imperfes“?” t s be able to vince ure, o ceal ty young stepmoting, bet ice. t picture he signed, was a se from hüsrev and
Ser marriage, falls in love , entering tly sinks o . an sa ting embodied some fla sciously a, ao ture , “ting bears a fla any sucers, tan ing t ted not a story or a legend, but uing a book: reality itself. error. rator soing, and even looking t ly drove ing—into .
DJIMIn ory, Rases t 250 years ago in Kazvin, manuscript illumination, calligrapratioeemed and beloved arts. t t time ruled over forty tries from Byzantium to Cs of t po alas, o prevent ter o find a brigurist iful daugoition among t young masters of elier, all of of tition ing or! Like Rasurists k painting in ters, and tion of t of self, a young aiful maiden stood amid cypress and cedar trees, among timid rabbits and anxious saring at turists ly as ters ed to distinguisake responsibility for ting’s beauty ure among t secluded spot in t of t, by broke y of tuosos, ely exiled from Kazvin to Cition urists. time, boted a picture lovely as a poem, depig a beautiful maiden mounted on garden. But one of turists—, no one knerarils of te er. true, turist signed in ing, ly included a masterful variation in trils to distinguis “Imperfe is tyle,” exiled trator to Byzantium. Yet t signifit event acc to ty ory by Rasions er and talented miniaturist, ly like ters any signature or variation: For tire day before ter gazed grief-stri at ting made by t master wo bee evening, sed o
is true, yes, t ters, in te paintings, beautiful maidens as Cerable rule e to us from t,” s of tiful maiden’s broion in trations could be read by tared at tiful maiden mounted on rae in urist is per master, love me.” t once, and fater lived out together.
“to tion gives rise to yle,“” said Black quite politely and respectfully. “And does t t turist is in love bee apparent from ty’s face, eye or smile?”
“Nay,” I said in a ma bespoke my fidend pride. “ passes from ter miniaturist’s love, to ure is not ultimately imperfe or fla a ic rule. Because, after a time and tation, everyone o depict t like t particular beautiful maiden’s face.”
e fell silent. I sa Black, ently to ted, tentions upon ttractive him menagly.
“t story establis ”style“ is imperfe,” I said. “tory establis a perfect picture needs no signature, and t and trates t ”signature‘ and “style” are but means of being brazenly and stupidly self-gratulatory about flaand of painting? I said: “ood wories?”
“Certainly,” vi.
So you don’t try to dis o tell you directly. I do anyters of Kazvin, I drater tsoever to do , ion serves me correctly—is t Effendi the Gilder.
Black asked me about t.
I and I enjoy my ly married t beautiful maiden in t illuminating, to ’s not how I
ans’s a serious issue,” I said. “If masterpieces issue from turist, o issuing it to a loss to bestir te rue as isfies tistry of turist, Black, too, believed tened.
ed to see t pages I’d illustrated. I seated my able, among ts, inking boards. Blag I ing for tivities, beside my beautiful ting ly; indeed, I o draunate prisoners before Our Sultan, as my intelligent o the reed of my manhood.
tied tors and tan. I’d situated tan on t covered in bags full of silver s, as I’d personally nessed during suced treasurer of t ledger. I’d portrayed tors, co eac broeary eyes. I’d paie players in sific faces as t folloan’s presentation of gift: sparing to emp of debt—t tset—beside t of tcitution, along er, sorro beautiful, clad in a crimson mantle. So t t uand rating equaled love-of-life, I o explain ended across to tell ture; I o elucidate ters never did—ting off to tan’s caftan of atlas silk, but eous question:
ould I, perate Elegant Effendi might be?
did unate”! I didn’t say t Elegant Effendi , a fool ion. “Nay,” I said, “I do not know.”
tical follo’ve done Elegant Effendi harm?
I maintained my posure and refrained from responding t Elegant Effendi one of t. “Nay,” I said. “hy?”
ty, plague, immorality and sdal o in ty of Istanbul only be attributed to our anced ourselves from time of Our Prop, Apostle of God, to adopting neoms and to alloo flouris. t t tempt to persuade tan ot ttag dervis tombs of saints. t sy toions: “Are you taken care of our brot Effendi?”
It suddenly da turists. t group of uninspired, ued inpetents I a beastly murderer. I felt like lo onto took turists seriously.
Blag everyto memory. ently my long paper scissors, ceramic bo, bo, t resting on tove in tive coffee cups, t filtering to of a page, my ss and, over t like a sin in t as s t t door.
Despite t t I’ve cealed my ts from ings I’ve made and to o you all, but I am t money, and t of all miniaturists! Yes, God must’ve ed t of illumination to be ecstasy so rate self is ecstasy to truly see.
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