HAZAN
The flowers of Iznik have long been read as images of paradise: gardens on the walls of mosques and palaces, meant never to fade. In classical Ottoman poetry, hazan is autumn, the counterpart of spring, when the garden loses its beauty. Here, hazan falls on a garden that was never meant to know it. A flower I know from Iznik opens as if its genes had gone wrong, its heart swollen into a cluster of cells; under a crackled glaze, bare, dark branches rise. Ashen, pale colors; the unease kept hidden.
The flowers of Iznik have long been read as images of paradise: gardens on the walls of mosques and palaces, meant never to fade. In classical Ottoman poetry, hazan is autumn, the counterpart of spring, when the garden loses its beauty. Here, hazan falls on a garden that was never meant to know it. A flower I know from Iznik opens as if its genes had gone wrong, its heart swollen into a cluster of cells; under a crackled glaze, bare, dark branches rise. Ashen, pale colors; the unease kept hidden.
Hazan / ceramic vases, left: Silver Apples on Tangled Branches, Ø 27 cm, h. 30 cm; right: Mutated Flowers, Ø 25 cm, h. 30 cm
Hazan / ceramic vases (details), left: Silver Apples on Tangled Branches, Ø 27 cm, h. 30 cm; right: Mutated Flowers, Ø 25 cm, h. 30 cm
Hazan: Silver Apples on Tangled Branches / ceramic vase, Ø 27 cm, h. 30 cm
Hazan: Mutated Flowers / ceramic vase, Ø 25 cm, h. 30 cm
Hazan: Silver Apples on Tangled Branches / ceramic vase (detail), Ø 27 cm, h. 30 cm
Hazan: Silver Apples on Tangled Branches / ceramic vase (detail), Ø 27 cm, h. 30 cm
