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, “inue to ness mucy and greed akin to tion yle“ and ”signature.“” I made troduction 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. Nevert me tell you t comprise 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 morning, 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 toucions—tylistic toucer miniaturist—not imperfections, 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 incident, immediately blinded ter artist ed.
BAOnce upon a time in a country in t tan, a lover of illustrations, illuminations and miniatures, soon tan’s an’s young ing. Since ed out of trengtings 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 imperfections“?” t s be able to convince ure, o conceal ty young stepmoting, bet ice. t picture he signed, was a scene from hüsrev and
Ser marriage, falls in love , entering tly sinks o . an sa ting embodied some fla consciously a, and ed to ture , “ting bears a fla any sucers, tan ing t ted not a story or a legend, but unbefitting a book: reality itself. error. rator son ered ting, and even looking t ly drove ing—into .
DJIMIn ory, Rases t 250 years ago in Kazvin, manuscript illumination, calligrapration esteemed and beloved arts. t t time ruled over forty countries 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 kne t painting in ters, and tion of t of self, a young and beautiful 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, depicting a beautiful maiden mounted on garden. But one of turists—, no one knerangely trils of te o traiger. true, turist signed in ing, ly included a masterful variation in trils to distinguis “Imperfection is tyle,” exiled trator to Byzantium. Yet t significant event according to ty ory by Rasions er and talented miniaturist, ly like ters any signature or variation: For tire day before ter gazed grief-stricken at ting made by t master wo become evening, sed o
is true, yes, t ters, in te paintings, beautiful maidens as Cerable rule come to us from t,” s of tiful maiden’s broion in trations could be read by tared at tiful maiden mounted on race of me 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 become apparent from ty’s face, eye or smile?”
“Nay,” I said in a manner t bespoke my confidence and pride. “ passes from ter miniaturist’s love, to ure is not ultimately imperfection or fla a neistic 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 menacingly.
“t story establis ”style“ is imperfection,” 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-congratulatory about flaand of painting? I said: “ood wories?”
“Certainly,” conviction.
So you don’t try to discern o tell you directly. I can do anyters of Kazvin, I can 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. Black ing 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.
ting depicted tors and tan. I’d situated tan on t covered in bags full of silver coins, as I’d personally nessed during suced treasurer of t ledger. I’d portrayed tors, co eac broeary eyes. I’d painted te 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 understand 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, percunate 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 composure and refrained from responding t Elegant Effendi one of t. “Nay,” I said. “hy?”
ty, plague, immorality and scandal o in ty of Istanbul can 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 ttacking dervis tombs of saints. t sy toions: “Are you taken care of our brot Effendi?”
It suddenly da turists. t group of uninspired, untalented incompetents I a beastly murderer. I felt like lo onto took turists seriously.
Black ing everyto memory. ently observing my long paper scissors, ceramic bo, bo, t resting on tove in tive coffee cups, t filtering to cion of a page, my ss and, over t like a sin in t as s t t door.
Despite t t I’ve concealed 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.