Joseph Prestwich

“The state is the public space,” Kemal Aydoğan tells us. In one of several moments of serendipity that occurred throughout our visit to Istanbul, Kemal just so happened to be arriving at the Moda Sahnesi – the theatre he co-founded and now directs – as we were loitering nearby. After Emine explained who we were and what we were after, he was quick to raise the shutter and invite us in (NB: where would this happen in London?!). Down a couple of flights of stairs, we found ourselves in an expansive, concrete space with an inviting mid-century-styled bar and various long tables for visitors to congregate around. We were introduced to a modest studio space, with a pane of glass cut into one side to allow spectators to observe without participation, and a screening room, one of the few reminders that Moda Sahnesi itself grew out of a cinema. From 1969, this space was Kafkas Sineması (renamed Moda Sineması in the 1980s), but it wasn’t until 2013 (marking the start of the Gezi protests, a seminal year in the history of Istanbul’s contemporary urban history) when the cinema transformed into the theatrical and cultural centre it is today. Posters of shows adorn the walls, along with a large, black, lidless coffin, one of several used for a renowned 2013 performance of Hamlet.The main theatrical space was a gasp-inducing wonder, on a scale the unassuming foyer does little to prepare you for.

Kemal tells us openly about his, and his theatre’s left-wing politics, and the perpetual threat of government-enforced censorship. In part, this censorship takes the form of funding cuts: Moda Sahnesi receives no state funding and operates entirely from commercial income, he tells us (or rather, he tells Emine, who interprets for us, Kemal joining in with our laughter as his jokes too get translated). It is the topic of institutional space that leads him to make the comment that opened this diary entry. Kemal’s words position the current regime as one that seeks to manage, manipulate, and ultimately control its citizens through its politicization of urban space – or conversely, it’s attempts to ‘de-politicise’ certain areas in the city. This reflects a common theme in our conversations around Istanbul, namely the apparent lack of green, open park spaces in which people can gather freely on the one hand, and on the other, the prevalence of secured and commercial spaces in which people may be able to assemble, but in a controlled way. Where do theatres position themselves in this urban paradigm? What roles are theatrical spaces able (or permitted) play in urban life if their use as social and cultural centres comes under threat?

Whilst Moda Sahnesi is able to continue producing its repertoire of adapted European ‘classics’ and new performance pieces in a space its renovated and held since 2013, other theatres have been less successful in their attempts to hold on to their institutional spaces.

On two occasions, we spent time searching for lost theatrical spaces. In the shadow of the Galata Tower, a well-known Istanbul landmark and tourist hotspot, we looked out for evidence of GalataPerform and its former first-floor performance space. GalataPerform is an independent theatre company founded in 2003 by Yeşim Özsoy, who was also a participant in our recent artist networking event in Vienna and contributed to our roundtable discussion. A waiter was able to help us pinpoint the building, any evidence of it at one time being a performance venue stripped from the building’s exterior. Our second hunt took us just off Tarlabaşı Bulvarı, a busy, multi-lane thoroughfare that runs through Taksim Square to the Golden Horn.

Our search was perhaps ironically made more difficult be a series of construction work sites that blocked our path. Turning off the main road however, we were confronted with a newly developed street of warmly glowing lanterns and pastel buildings. This cluster of hotels, aparthotels, golf buggies, and offices offering package plastic surgery holidays, was described by Aurélien as looking like “a film set”, and this moniker effectively described its lack of vitality and ambience of emptiness. An orange building with green doors and window shutters, itself a closed off site undergoing internal renovation, was identified by Emine as the former performance space we were seeking. There was a sense of melancholy in this moment, especially as the close proximity of developed streets to dilapidated (but lived in) avenues felt like a clear architectural sign of gentrification in this area. But what did these hunts for former theatrical spaces reveal to us? As Emine continued to make clear, these closures are not a failure of the artists or institutions themselves. Rather, they are a direct result of a lack of municipal and national policy to protect artistic and cultural institutions, allowing (and even promoting) the commercialisation of space in the city centre. At the expense of institutions that could offer a sense of community (amongst other things) in this huge and densely populated city, we saw instead businesses and housing geared towards foreign tourists and wealthier city inhabitants. These examples of ‘regeneration’ not only overlook the local in their quest for social and political security then, but raise further questions around the role of globalisation and commercialisation in the urban and cultural development of Istanbul.

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