Safe Places
Safe Places: A Journey Within and Without
There’s something about Istanbul that lingers in your mind long after you leave. Its streets, its stories, its many, historical layers, and particularly its sacred spaces—they carve themselves into you, becoming part of your inner landscape.
In Istanbul I was fortunate to be able to visit many such locations, many of which have endured centuries of turmoil, sometimes being rebuilt after catastrophic events. One thing that is quite remarkable is the care and love invested in the many Christian churches, now being maintained and cared for by the Greek Patriarchate and the Turkish government. (See my footnote at the end of this post).
When I returned to the UK after my residency in August 2024, these impressions began to take form in my studio, shaping a series of works that blend first experiences with lasting reflections. Among them is The Safe Places, a piece inspired by my visit to Ayios Dimitrios Greek Orthodox Church and its holy spring, or Agiasma.
This work, created in digital form in Nomad ( a 3D program available on IPad) and printed several times in Hyper PLA, began as a way to process my encounter with the church and its profound history. But as I worked, it became clear that it wasn’t just about the physical space—it was about the way these sacred places settle in our minds, shaping who we are.
The Church Inside the Mind
Looking at The Safe Places, the central motif is unmistakable: a human head with a church sitting quietly inside it. The placement is deliberate, suggesting how deeply these spaces embed themselves in our consciousness. Sacred places like Ayios Dimitrios are not just physical structures; they are living memories, spiritual anchors that we carry with us, long after we’ve left their walls.
The relief of the church within the head conveys this duality. It’s not just a place you visit—it becomes part of you. The unpainted, raw texture of the piece mirrors the simplicity of the church itself, where the rough stone exterior holds centuries of prayers, rituals, and resilience. In keeping the work monochromatic, I wanted to focus on form and concept, leaving space for viewers to reflect on their own connections to places of safety and faith.
The Underground Path to the Spring
During my visit on Saturday, 3rd August 2024, one of the most striking parts of the experience was the approach to the Agiasma. The holy spring lies at the end of an underground tunnel, a dimly lit passage that feels like a journey into the heart of something sacred.
The tunnel walls shimmer faintly, coated with layers of minerals and salts that have seeped out over the years. Light catches on these crystalline formations, creating a surface that gleams, almost as if the tunnel itself is alive. It’s both tactile and transformative, a quiet reminder of how nature and faith intertwine. Walking through it, I couldn’t help but feel that the journey to the spring was as meaningful as the spring itself—a descent into calm, reflection, and renewal.
The spring, believed to hold healing properties, was a focal point for those who visited the church. People came to touch its water, leave offerings, or simply pause in its presence. There was something timeless about it, as though it had been quietly nourishing both the faithful and the curious for centuries.
Faith in Tangible Acts
One detail that stood out during my visit was the way faith expresses itself in small, deliberate acts. At Ayios Dimitrios, these acts centered around the spring—offering prayers, touching the water, or writing wishes on walls. Each gesture felt deeply personal, yet also part of a larger, shared tradition.
The shimmering walls of the tunnel and the simplicity of the spring found their way into The Safe Places. The idea of a "safe place" isn’t just about the physical—it’s about what it holds for us, the quiet acts of faith and hope that make it sacred. These spaces endure because they are repositories of memory, belief, and healing.
Final Reflections
When I began creating The Safe Places, I wanted to capture more than just the architecture of Ayios Dimitrios. I wanted to reflect on how such spaces live within us—how they become part of our internal landscape. The church within the head is a reminder of that: these places of faith, healing, and sanctuary don’t stay outside us. They settle deep, shaping the way we think, believe, and find solace.
The journey to Ayios Dimitrios, through the mineral-coated tunnel to the holy spring, was both a literal and metaphorical descent—into memory, into the sacred, into ourselves. Through The Safe Places, I hope to convey a fragment of that experience, inviting others to reflect on their own safe places and the ways they shape who we are.
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