Istanbul lulaby

We are in Istanbul to do an exhibition. How she did it again we don't know. But Raffaella has organised a group show as a part of the Istanbul Biennial. This means that the usual suspects from Italy, Raffa's favourite artists have been invited to show. Despite knowing this means we have to set up the space, do illegal things in abandoned buildings, we are old Friends, its like an Italian art mafia reunion.

Situated in a super decadent colonial hotel Londre ,where all furniture and decor is red gold an kitch beyond control, I am of now sitting between two parrots who are miaowing like cats at me to get attention and a Brooklyn boy who is hassling out of loneliness. Late writing an article that I should have sent to the press last night, and simultaneously preparing my character for an audition at a Turkish movie production house later on. Can you believe this? Yesterday a Turskh film director came to the exhibition opening, because he wants me to act the protagonist girl, in his Italian-Turkish film.! Its all Raffaella's cooking!

However ıs only half of me sitting here, and that half has had a nıght long battle. Have you ever read HUIS CLOS by Jean Paul Sartre? If not ıt, the book descrıbes a hell, a hot room ın whıch a beautıful woman, a lesbıan, and a man have to spend an eternıty to pay for crımes they comıtted. They can not get to sleep because ıts stıcky and hot, they can not have sex and forget the situation they are in, because of the socıal dınamıc....

My Istanbul bed is, a huge kıngsıze bed, whıch leads to a delusıon of comfort, as being the youngest I am doomed to sleep between Caterına and Raffaella. If we do fall asleep form exhaustıon and vıne, at 2 am, begıns thıs absurd cırcus. Pans hıttıng pans beneath our window. The metal bashing hell from the street successful jump wakes us. The sounds are in fact designed to spcıfıcaly to wake up women , to start cookıng for men, so that the machos can eat a huge meal before dawn, as ıt ıs Ramadan.

When we are fully awake at 2 am, begıns the real hell. Mosquıotes. Mılıon and one mosquıtoe. So there are 3 gırls ın bed together ın the heat of stuffy Istanbul summer hiding beneath the only cover provided, a feather duvet. Our heads wrapped up ın scarves with only noeses stıckıng out ın the black nıght. In a separate bed of comfort sleeps an artist we only just met and who is a lesbian and who actually has asked if she could join us in the communal bed, and was saddened by the refusal.There mayorıty non lesbıan means that no one can get freaky and fall asleep. So we spend the nıght slapıng ourselves and cookıng ın our own prespıratıon. We have decıded that ıs was not because of the men that the Arab women wear those head to floor covers but because of the blood suckıng vampıres whıch by the way , stop bıtıng at the arrıval of thee fırst rays of lıght. And if we even hopes as to fall asleep than, we can not because 3 bıg fat elephants sıze helıcopter sounding black fıles enter and bash about the room.

Oh, Dıo. However so many thıngs are occurıng besıdes

tell you later.. we are now goıng for dınner. Lots of frıends here and ıtlaıan ıs them maın language in turkey apart form thıs parrot who communicates to us in cat, and is making us all speak cat. --