Unexpected art

Istanbul is a city marked by art. Of course, there are the usual grandiose, slightly imposing galleries that you would expect to find in any metropolis, but the kind that I like the best is all of the little 'pockets' of art that nestle into the nooks and niches of the city, seeping into every unfilled crevice.

A couple of weeks ago I was walking with a friend in the sun and the cold, no particular destination in mind. On the small, steep street we saw a makeshift sign proclaiming in bold black lettering 'painting exhibition - don't be scared'. So we decided not to be scared, and obeyed the arrow directing us to duck under a corrugated iron roof into a sort of breeze-block shed. It was dark and dusty, and every inch of the walls were covered in colour; words and patterns graffitied over the greyness. We paused a second to admire this, and then took the narrow corridor that funnelled us into a small courtyard where there was a wooden door into the building it was attached to. And there was a man sitting on a low wooden stool surrounded by what looked to be his entire body of work. Stacks and stacks of paintings of the most engaging vibrancy were propped up against the wall, piled upon the the various tables and on the floor. The larger pieces were hung. Everywhere was colour and image, all the more awe-inspiring because of the unexpectedness of it. A city full of surprises.