I visit Istanbul
often, and whenever I need space I duck into the insides of the Hagia Sofia
with such frequency that the guardian recognizes and greets me. Then, after
greeting the mosque myself, I pass through the third column on the right and
take my usual place. Looking closely, I see figures carved into the mosaics
there, figures that Mimar Sinan, out of courtesy, did not scrape off when the
Greek Basilica was being transformed into a mosque. He kept the mosaics created
by artists of the past in his renewal of the structure because he knew that
history would bridge his perception and the culture of Turks. His vision was to
mold the past into the present.
Great architecture
is not just the meticulous flow of space and harmony of light, but the ability
to frame a vision. It is the struggle between the duality of culture and
utility as my life has been, and the inept sagacity to form an indelible
perception. I know that for the rest of my life I want to create visions.
Musicians hear
music, writers acquire a pen, painters become their paintings and I have a bent
for creating visions. That is precisely why I want to become an architect.
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