Sultan Mahmud II holds a pivotal place in the history of Turkish modernization. He approached modernization not merely as a military endeavor but also as a means to build a new identity for society across various layers of life. Among his initiatives, the introduction of the fez stands out. The fez symbolized an attempt to create an Ottoman identity that transcended religion and fostered a sense of homogeneity. It remained a prominent feature of Ottoman identity until the last days of the empire, only to be banned during the clothing reform in the Republic of Türkiye. Even today, the fez is still used in some of the former territories of the Ottoman Empire, reflecting its enduring cultural significance.
The production of the fez was an industrial process centered in a building called Feshane. After the abolition of the Janissary Corps, the new army adopted the fez as part of its uniform, marking it as an essential element of Turkish modernization. Feshane, commissioned by Sultan Mahmud II, now serves as an arts center. Currently, it houses Ahmet Güneştekin’s installation "Lost Alphabet." The exhibition, which spans multiple layers of meaning, is supported by Yıldız Holding, whose chairman of the board, Murat Ülker, has shown particular interest in Güneştekin’s works. Ülker’s engagement with art spans various disciplines, as he has followed the works of prominent Turkish contemporary artists such as Burhan Doğançay and Bedri Baykam, reflecting his observation of Türkiye’s broader cultural pursuits and searches.
Güneştekin’s artistic journey is deeply rooted in his heritage, including the cultural influences of his grandmother, who was a Yazidi and later converted to Islam. The Yazidis’ reverence for the sun is a recurring motif in his work, which explores the interplay of identity, memory and cultural depth. His installation "Lost Alphabet" provokes important questions about Türkiye’s ongoing efforts to foster societal harmony. By inviting audiences to reflect on what might be considered the “lost alphabets” of cultural memory, Güneştekin’s work underscores the challenges and possibilities of building a cohesive and inclusive cultural identity.
One of Güneştekin’s other notable installations in Türkiye was titled "The City of Names: Istanbul," showcased at Galataport, where major cruise ships dock. Istanbul has been called many names over the centuries, one of which is Miklagard, meaning “Great City” in Old Norse, a name given by Viking travelers. Today, the name lingers in the form of a restaurant called Mikla, reflecting Istanbul’s many layers of cultural history. The city’s Viking heritage is also visible in the graffiti left by Viking soldiers on the walls of Hagia Sophia, a lasting testament to the city’s deep cultural layers. The installation featured circular forms resembling the sun, containing various names of Istanbul. It also included ancient coins and inscriptions in different languages, highlighting the diverse names attributed to the city throughout history. I had the opportunity to hear the story behind this work from one of its curators, the esteemed Hasan Mert Kaya.
Near Galataport, the Nusretiye Mosque – "nusret" means divine help, specifically God’s aid – was another creation of Sultan Mahmud II that further exemplifies his legacy. Built as a “Victory Mosque,” it stands next to the Tophane, where Ottoman cannons were once forged. The mosque was constructed during a period of cultural transition and served as a political response to rumors of religious estrangement following the fez’s introduction. It signified a deliberate effort to balance cultural change with religious symbolism, emphasizing the intertwining of tradition and modernization.
Türkiye’s ongoing culture war can be understood as an expression of the country’s effort to build a bridge between its past and future. The repurposing of industrial buildings from the Ottoman period – especially those with military significance – into cultural institutions today carries a deep sense of irony. These transformations symbolize the country’s broader struggle to reconcile its historical legacy with its aspirations for modernity. The importance of turning cultural wars into cultural peace becomes increasingly evident. This transformation, however, is only possible by answering the profound questions posed by art and culture. Through these answers, a peaceful dialogue between differing cultural perspectives can emerge, fostering greater understanding and cohesion.
Today, Güneştekin’s installations in the shadow of Sultan Mahmud II invite us to question the meaning of our lost alphabets and cultural memories. Art, as seen in these examples, does not merely provide answers but inspires new questions, encouraging us to open more space for creativity in our daily lives. Perhaps this is the key to better understanding our shared heritage and the path forward, where culture serves as a bridge rather than a battleground.
