The Sultan of Nutcrackers issues an invitation to the puppets

Posted on December 8, 2011 by lizcameron

His Highness, The Sultan of Nutcrackers, resident of Provincetown, Massachusetts

When we were last together, dear reader, Hacivad Bey was struggling forward through the thronging crowd of Karagöz shadow puppets in order to respond to the newly discovered Sultan of Nutcrackers. The Sultan had just issued his welcome, and inquired about where the puppets hailed from “in his kingdom.”

Zenne called out to Hacivad – “Canım (dear), remember your very best âdâb-ı muâşeret (the Ottoman Turkish word for ‘etiquette’). These are foreigners – we may need to use our Avrupa Âdâb-ı Muâşereti yahut Alafranga (European-style etiquette).” Hacivad Bey, normally the consumate, zen-like and peaceful gentleman of words and letters, shot her the death look. Apparently the death look exists in Karagöz puppet marriages as well as human ones. 🙂 Before Karagöz could even get a word in to mock the death look moment, several of the little dancing ladies caught him in their long veils and stopped him from a) making a fool of himself and b) possibly creating some sort of inter-species puppet diplomatic incident.

Bowing graciously to the Sultan of Nutcrackers, Hacivad Bey assumed a most regal stance and tone of voice, saying “We offer you our sincere thanks for your most kind and generous welcome to this very interesting and open-hearted land. I am not sure we come from within your kingdom – I don’t know what your kingdom is, but we are actually Karagöz shadow puppets from the Ottoman empire era – in what is now referred to as Turkey, sir. And, well, uh, er, um, we are a rather unique group of this puppet species, as we live in the head of this human woman here. We are called by our inner hearts to guide her on her ‘road trip through her Turkish-American cross-cultural marriage’ – although truth be told, lately, she is really taking us on a road trip through America as well!”

The Sultan lifted himself up, listening intently as Hacivad spoke. Placing his hands together in an almost prayerful position, he spoke with great authority and a calm sense of respect for the Karagöz shadow puppet troupe and its emissary. “I see, I see…I have heard of this special calling that some puppets and dolls have…yes indeed I have, but I have not yet had the honor to meet any of this sort – and let me, therefore, extend my welcome to your human as well.” Startled, I jumped back a bit – not only did I have a troupe of rollicking Karagöz shadow puppets in my head, but I now had the Sultan of Nutcrackers as well. This could get interesting. “Thank you, Sultan, sir, for your welcome.”

With a suddenly quite chipper and cheerful note, the Sultan spoke on – throwing his arms out wide and knocking over some of his subjects without meaning to (a quick apology made under his breath) “Please, dear human and puppets, do you need a place to rest? Oh – sorry folks.” Hacivad Bey proceeded to explain that we had a home – but that we were just out walking the dog and learning about Provincetown along the way, but that we were grateful. As this conversation ensued, I noticed that some of the little chorus of dancing ladies were engaging in sign language with some of the Sultan’s subjects…but I couldn’t quite tell what was going on.

Ammon the Nutcracker doll from Egypt (Misir - formerly part of the Ottoman Empire)Ignoring these goings on, the Sultan continued “I must also state” his Nutcracker jaw clacking in its squareness, the jaw overworked by his loquacious welcome, “that I do know of the Ottoman Empire – and actually, two of my subjects hail from this region many generations ago as well – please meet Ammon and Tawaret.” Ammon and Tawaret, resplendent in their golden skin, stepped forth silently and gracefully, bowing in greeting, before bestowing some wicked winks our way. “I am sure that Ammon and Tawaret will make you feel right at home in this town – perhaps they can show you around tomorrow? And, while I am mentioning tomorrow, puppets, would you care to join us at the Nutcracker’s annual ball – all the puppets and dolls in town participate – we would love for you to be our guests!”

Tawaret the Nutcracker doll from Egypt (Misir - formerly part of the Ottoman Empire)

All puppet eyes turned to me. “May we, please, may we m’lady? May we go to the puppet ball and go on the tour with Ammon and Tawaret?” I was stumped. I didn’t know I had such power over the puppets – but they were in MY head after all, so…well…”of course, sweethearts, you help me so much – I think I can manage on my own for a night – why not!” Cheers erupted, hats flew in the air, and plans were made to meet for the tour at 10 a.m. the next day.

Meanwhile, back in the world in which the puppets and dolls could not be seen in their verbal and animated state, M. hurried me along – we were, after all, tired and walking down the street in our pajamas and coats. It was time to go home and rest up for a big day tomorrow. The happy jumble of ecstatic puppets and tired humans made their way back down Commercial Street to the Provincetown perch and the puppets fell asleep before their heads even hit the pillow….but we humans realized that we had a bigger problem – no water in the house… (to be continued)

Related articles
Posted in Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Walking through Ptown at night: LGBT civil rights symbols and the Sultan of Nutcrackers

Posted on December 7, 2011 by lizcameron

Image of the Provincetown monument at night

The wood upon wood sound of the lazy susan rotating dominated the tiny white house as I made ready for bed in our Provincetown perch.That lazy susan was carrying the tiny Karagöz puppets as they spun their goodnights to the universe as a silent group.  As if suddenly inspired by Madonna’s “vogue” they had all seemed to strike an early 1990s pose versus adopting the Sufi spinningstance of my roadtrip dreamscape.  Imagine tiny wax paper puppets, striking cool poses, flying around on a wooden lazy susan at about 11 at night in Provincetown– yup, that’s my life.

Madonna, "vogueing"

Click clack, another sound was back, and I noticed that our pup was walking anxiously back and forth, ready for his walk, his nails indicating the time for grooming was upon us and that we had totally forgotten to take him on his night walk.  The puppets – a few of them – broke their “vogue” pose stances a bit to see if they could gather my attention – but no.  Donning coats over our pajamas – as anything goes in Provincetown – we headed out the door for a walk around our quiet end of town with just enough time for the puppets to join hands and jump at the last rattle of the lazy susan onto my coattails before climbing up to nestle themselves into my moss green, magenta and satsuma green scarf with turkuaz flecks.  There will be no peace from the puppets, most of the time.  Karagöz rode herd on the top of my head, crying “giddyup, cowgirl!”  The little chorus of dancing ladies burrowed themselves deeply in the scarf now – looking out between the wide woven spaces to check out the scene.

We passed Angel Foods, it’s halo signage painted on the window, stacks of gourmet cheese and chocolate spilling off of the shelves, and the broken china driveway glowing ghostly pink in the holiday lighting.  Khadijah was perplexed.  “Why, m’lady, is all of this broken china not in the rubbish, but in the driveway?  The housecleaners must be very lazy”  As usual, I entered teaching mode.  “Well, Khadijah, it is a style of driveway that mimics the broken shell driveways on the coast here – it is a way to re-use something that is broken, a green concept.”  Khadijah pointed out that green was the color of the Ottoman flag – what did this have to do with Islam, and a conversation ensued about the various meanings of green as we ambled down Commercial Street.

Red saplings installation in front of PAAM – the puppets were very curious about this!

We passed the painted-red sapling installation at the Provincetown modern Art Museum.  Kenne and Zenne were wide-eyed through my scarf – “What strange place is this where trees grow in bright red shades – and have no leaves?”

We passed pink and rainbow-light lit houses galore…with the puppets wondering about the choice of colors.  I explained that pink is a color that has been adopted as a result of re-claiming the negative use of the color in Nazi Germany.  As wikipedia says: “Originally intended as a badge of shame, the pink triangle (often inverted from its Nazi usage) has been reclaimed as an international symbol of gay pride and the gay rights movement, and is second in popularity only to the rainbow flag.” The puppets expressed outrage at the story of the pink triangle – and talked about how to some extent, Gay and/or Bisexual men  were accepted in the Ottoman court…so why was this an issue?  As our dog pulled us along in our sleepy, pajama’d state, we had a long talk about Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender history re: oppression and civil rights movements.  As we spoke, the puppets pointed out the rainbow flags, pink triangles and pink lights they saw along the way.  Hacivad proclaimed: “This must be a very open place, this Provincetown, from what we can see!”  I nodded my head, indeed it is.

The Nutcracker Species of Puppets/Dolls caught the collective eye of my very own in-house puppets – – in a window in Provincetown

And then we walked by a brightly-lit window…and all bets were off.  Apparently the puppets have better eyesight than I do, as they all leaned forward and nearly choked me with their collective weight pulling the scarf down around my neck…”Look…at…that!”  Hacivad cried.  “It is people, well, dolls, our size – all together!  Why are they all standing at attention in that window like that?  This must be a different puppet species…”  The collective gasps, oohs and ahs flew around my head while the puppets led me via my scarf (as if I was a horse with reigns) towards the window.  “Oh, this is a group of Nutcracker dolls, for Christmas!” I said, proceeding to explain about Tchaikovsky and The Nutcracker Suite and the hilarity of a Nutcracker collection here in Provincetown given the double entendres that could ensue.  Pulling me close to the glass, they practically plastered themselves to the window – and I realized for the first time that the puppets had breath – as I could see little foggy patches where they were pressing themselves to the window – calling out to the Nutcrackers in all of their various Ottoman era languages to see which one would work – Armenian, Arabic, Turkish – and finally settling on the commonality of English.

The Sultan of Nutcrackers in Provincetown, Massachusetts

The Nutcrackers didn’t move, at first.  And then a few of them started to move their eyes.  And then I noticed the Sultan – resplendent in his blue velvet cap, with a diamond on the front – a diamond the size of a golf ball.  He shook himself a bit, as if to shake of the stiffness of standing in a window for so long – and issues his greetings! “Welcome, puppet people – from where in my kingdom do you hail?”  A hushed silence fell on the shadow puppets, as Hacivad Bey was pushed forward to speak for the group.  (To be continued).

Related articles

Posted in Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , | 7 Comments

Gecekondu: The puppets protest at the Ptown digs

Posted on December 6, 2011 by lizcameron

Image of a gecekondu - from this website with an interesting article on Istanbul's gecekondus http://urban-age.net/publications/newspapers/istanbul/articles/13_OrhanEsen/en_GB/

When I last left you, Hacivad Bey was, as usual, quoting Rumi about “strange journeys,” and it indeed had been one, as I awoke to Provincetown bathed in pink light after dreaming about spinning like a Sufi at worship.  But here I am, pressing the well-known code to our garage, the frustratingly gummy buttons blinking a light green upon every extra-hard touch – and no door opening commences.  Falling quickly out of my sleepy, pensive and dreamy state, I hit the garage door code box a few times for good measure, to no avail.  Leaving the puppets in the car (although he is not able to see them), M. joins me in a totally fruitless effort to open the garage, so we can park the car and unload.

“What kind of gecekondu is this, after all?” Karagöz hollers from the car.  “You can’t get the door open? What a mess.”  Karagöz is, of course, referring to the structures built overnight in the wasteland areas of western Turkish cities by people emigrating from Eastern Turkey.  The general idea is, if you build it over night (gece), it is then yours.  M. tells me that in a somewhat misguided public health policy effort, local belediye (government authorities at the local level) will install sewer and electrical services in order to stem the flow of ill health and disease.  This has resulted in great swaths of gecekondu around the outskirts of many cities – all built to nothing close to the legal code.  And here we are in Provincetown, and Karagöz is saying we live in a gecekondu.  Well, to be honest, I am frustrated as well.  I am tired, we want to park the car, the dog needs to pee – we need to lug our stuff up the stairs.  It would be nice if the garage door worked, but it does not.

We find a space for the car – unheard of in summer – possible in winter.  We commence the lugging…the humans, the puppets alike.  As we trudge up the steps to the second floor entrance, I hear the complaints beginning.

“Look at the state of this patio.  Shameful, m’lady, no plantings!  And the state of those unruly bricks?” Kenne is demanding in her tone.  A lady, apparently, should not let her patio go.

“Yes, I know, Kenne, we are leaving it like that until after the construction.  It will be a lovely spot then!” My reply is meek.

“Look at the state of the windowpanes – sand-etched from the winds off the bay – why not replace the glass?”  Zenne touches the glass with her finger, feeling the bumps of it.

“Yes, I know, Zenne, I realize, but again, we are getting all new windows next year, so for now, we can live with it, yes?”  I am hopeful for a positive nod, but am still feeling meek.  Zenne rolls her eyes.

The beat up floor in our very own pre-renovation gecekondu

As M. opens the door, there is a great hue and cry from the chorus of little dancing ladies.  They are not a strengths-based bunch. “We protest, m’lady, look at the floor!  It is covered in deep scratches – and looks like you have not cleaned it in an age!  Are we expected to exist in this imperfection?  We never noticed it in the daytime, but this time, we see it so clearly – and you must act!”

“I realize, dear puppets ,that the state of the floor is unacceptable, but my same answer holds – we are knocking all the insides down and starting from scratch.”  I am feeling a bit impatient with the puppets, even though I totally agree with them.  The truth is, this place is a gecekondu – truly.

When we met our neighbor, Eartha, an old French lady artist with lots of opinions -and a long memory – she told us all about how this building came up – an illegally built apartment later granted permission as there was no option given the political connections of the owner.  You can see the gecekondu nature of the place everywhere – the kitchen walls are made of plywood, the windows are installed at strange angles, the closets are hastily constructed from pressboard and the bathroom is fit into the smallest space imaginable.  Over the years, as it has been bought and sold, it has been brought “up to code,” but it is not a tightly-designed space.  We are going to gut the inside and start over – but it takes time.

As I explain the plan for the metamorphosis of our very own gecekondu to the puppets, they nod their heads in understanding and decide to take up residence on the lazy Susan (rotating tray) on the middle of the table for the night.  I notice that they too are interested in spinning Sufi-style – I did not know that these little puppets – so diverse they are as a bunch – all practice Sufism through spinning.  They are spinning – one hand to heaven, one hand to earth – as the lazy Susan is spinning on the table.  This is the final image in my line of sight for the night, as I beat a hasty retreat to sleep.

Posted in Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments