Istanbul Talisman

 

This print, titled Talisman, was born from my time in Istanbul, carved from a walnut woodblock, using the laser to reproduce the marks. It carries the weight of a city that has always been a meeting point of cultures, faiths, and histories—sometimes converging harmoniously, sometimes clashing, yet always transforming.

The central image of the Hand of Fatima, with its ever-watchful eye, draws on shared symbols of protection and perception, spanning Greek and Turkish traditions. In the hand, I see both the Virgin Mary’s grace and the Nazar, the eye that dispels the unseen forces of harm. These symbols belong to everyone and no one, weaving across borders like the threads of a tapestry—proof that meaning outlives ownership.

In the background, a silhouette of Istanbul rises. A church, a mosque—layers of time etched into stone. It is a place that has been many things to many people: a sanctuary, a fortress, a symbol of divine connection. Its minarets and domes stand tall, reflecting change, sometimes painful, but always enduring. In Greece, churches became mosques; in Turkey, mosques were once churches. Stones remember stories of human hands, prayers whispered in different tongues. Yet the walls remain, neither diminished nor dishonored by their shifting roles. It is up to us to respect the building, the purpose, the history. The fabric remains the same, but we light it up with our presence. With our love, our belief for better. 

I made this piece as a meditation on continuity—on how symbols, places, and even pain can transform without erasure. The eye in the hand sees this truth: appropriation and loss exist, but so does reinvention and sharing. I wanted to acknowledge this, not with judgment, but with hope—a quiet, tentative hope. Because I’m still figuring it out, like all of us. Maybe we can learn to hold both the beauty and the bruises of the past, not perfectly, but honestly. Maybe we can allow the stories of others to exist alongside our own, without fear of losing something. Or maybe we can just try. Trying is enough, I think.