The Tattooed Hill: Mario Prassinos

30 June 2016

Mario Prassinos

Red Alpilles, 1978, Aquatint, etching and engraving on copper, 57 x 76 cm.,
FNAC 35371, Centre National des Arts Plastiques

In 1951, Mario Prassinos and his wife Yollande moved to Eygalières in the south of Avignon. The immovable model he encountered every time he stepped out of the house, this self-tattooed hill took Prassinos under his spell. The struggle he experienced as he worked on the hill ink drawings contained both an inner conversation and questioning for Prassinos, culminating in the striking Alpilles series that, at times, attained a calligraphic nature with the artist’s brush dipped in ink.

Mario Prassinos

Alpilles, 5 July 1972, Chinese ink on Arches vellum, 100 x 150 cm.,
FNAC 35288, Centre National des Arts Plastiques

“I made the blind, the deaf, and the mute speak. I covered it with images. Our relationship grew closer with each passing year. Each chaos became a battlefield between its obsessive spectacle and my zeal for giving it life. Each one of its fissures, shrubs that grew over the years, the tears that became imperceptibly deeper were points and runs, ink and paper, and the hill became an immense drawing of mine. Of my own.” (1983)

On the 100th anniversary of his birth, Mario Prassinos returned to İstanbul and his place of birth Pera, where his story began, to share, through this exhibition, the many things he took with him in his memories.Mario Prassinos, In Pursuit of an Artist: Istanbul-Paris-Istanbul exhibition took place at Pera Museum between 25 May - 14 August 2016.

Istanbul-Paris-Istanbul: Mario Prassinos

Istanbul-Paris-Istanbul: Mario Prassinos

Mario Prassinos liked Istanbul more than the current Istanbulites of today. It is obvious that you can understand this from the article written by her daughter Catherine Prassinos in the Pera Museum's book on the artist.

Midnight Horror Stories: The Landlord <br> Hakan Bıçakcı

Midnight Horror Stories: The Landlord
Hakan Bıçakcı

Three people sleeping side by side. On the uncomfortable seats of the stuffy airplane in the air. Three friends. I’m the friend in the window seat. The other two are a couple, Emre and Melisa. I’m alone, they are together. And another difference. I’ve only closed my eyes. They are asleep.

Midnight Horror Stories: Witches’ Sun <br> Mehmet Berk Yaltırık

Midnight Horror Stories: Witches’ Sun
Mehmet Berk Yaltırık

I walk over rocks hot as iron under the September sun. I can make out a few lines in the distance, and a few cracked rocks, but apart from those, not a single tree, not one plant. I have walked until I reached this hill, in the trail of the letter that hurled me once again to my home town...