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LETTERS

PLEASE WRITE TO THE EDITOR, HALI, 50 POLAND STREET, LONDON W1F 7AX, UK FAX: +44 (0)20 7578 7222 E-MAIL: hali@centaur.co.uk

JOSEPHINE POWELL 1919-2006

PHOTO: H ARALD BÖHMER

The death of the much-loved Turkophile ethnographer, photographer and collector Josephine Powell elicited tributes from friends and associates around the world. We offer a selection in her memory.

Josephine was endlessly generous and supportive. In 1998, standing in my apartment in Bloomington, in one hand a rejection letter for a research project, in the other the telephone, I called Josephine, whom I had known for eight years, to say that I wanted to go to the DOBAG villages. She did not hesitate to offer her support for my dissertation research on the project which she and Harald Böhmer had founded. Our workbraided together. In 2000, on my visits to Istanbul, shetalked about the possibility of a Center. She described a place to house her textiles, ethnographic objects, and a copy of her photographic archive, books and notes. We speculated. I made bold proclamations. Josephine would stand by my side, or sit, as I typed. By 2001, I divided my time between Örselli and Cihangir. At the time I imagined my ‘real’ fieldwork was in the village, where I lived with the President of the Yuntda g˘ co-operative.

Now I see that my research was just as real with Josephine in Istanbul. Living with her was an adventure. In the morning, she was in the kitchen, leaning against the refrigerator listening to the static of the BBC on the shortwave radio, a burnt out cigarette in one hand, half a cup of cold coffee at her elbow. I wouldplant myself on one of the low stools wedged betweenthe cabinets and the exercise bike, which had becomea hanger for ribbons from gift boxes, plastic bags holding small stashes of tobacco, and an old sweater. We would talk for hours, warming up to the day. I had just returned from the village, and would unravel the new things I learned. Josephine would sit on the other low stool. The cat came along, rubbing herself against us in turn. The phone would ring. We would review what needed to be done. We were wedged between present and future.

Josephine told me tales of her travels in Anatolia, Afghanistan and Iran, her apartment and life in Rome. It is all a jumble: standing on a scaffold in an Italian church, mosaics, frescoes. The effort to make columns appear parallel in a photograph. Ruins. Photographing each item in the Kabul museum. Illnesses and recoveries. Chicken and pilaf in Iran. Nomads who always took her in, except for once, when the women said there were no men in the camp. How she used her interpreter to distract attention from her own presence, so she could photograph more freely. Photographing newborn lambs tucked into saddlebags perched on the back of a camel. Josephine deepened her voice, widened her startling blue eyes – her stories tapered off, never really ending. Josephine was able to summon up the moment, recreate it, act it out with gestures and shifts in her voice. She inserted dry wit, unexpected twists. Part of

me felt that recording all those stories would be wonderful, but at the time she did not want to be recorded, filmed, or photographed. Towards the end of her life Andrew Finkel interviewed her and wrote a beautiful article, ‘An American Nomad.’ She was happy with that. As for the Center, the paradox I never faced was that it required her death to make it come alive. Josephine is gone now. She died knowing that her collection would be cared for by the Koç Foundation. I hope she will have many visitors. Kimberly Hart, University of Regina, Saskatchewan

I first met Josephine in Istanbul in 2002 when I was invited to speak to the Symposium on Natural Dyes organised by Marmara University. We quickly became friends: she easily talked me into parting with the natural dye indigo scarf and even the indigo shibori shirt that I was wearing! Last October I met her in Washington soon after the Textile Museum had presented her with The G.H. Myers Award for her lifetime achievement. We spent some time chatting and to my great surprise and joy, she told me she had worn the indigo silk hand-woven pua kumbuto the Award ceremony! What an honour it meant to me, and to my weavers of the Rumah Garie longhouse in remote Malaysian Borneo! It is with much sadness that I learned of her demise. I had volunteered to help with the exhibition she was planning in April 2007 and she was offering me a room to stay …and coffee! But I know that she is in Paradise; and at peace. She has lived a full and exemplary life, and that is hard for any of us to follow. Edric Ong Kuching, Sarawak

We mourn the passing of a remarkable person and feel incredible gratitude that she had such a rich and full lifeand that we were ableto share with her our profound appreciation for her life’s work through the presentation of the G.H. Myers Award. We are also grateful that we still have Andrew Finkel’s wonderful video interview, part of which was shown at the October event, to remind us of her keen intelligence, humanity and twinkling eye. Daniel Walker, The Textile Museum, Washington, DC

I was really saddened to hear about Josephine’s passing. I am glad that she made her transition peacefully and while still working. She represented so much to so many people, especially those privileged to share her passion and work with her. Josephine had a magnetic personality and I will cherish the memory of her lectures, trips to the DOBAG villages and especially the breakfasts we shared when in Istanbul. A true friend of Turkey, she knew how to surround herself with friends from all walks of life. She was a staunch supporter of the DOBAG project and would not accept the slightest criticism. I will never forget the long discussions we had on the colours they obtained. She especially loved the purple and the intense green. It was a pleasure to see how she appreciated watching a weaver at work, pointing out how skilful she was. We will all miss her. She was a gifted person who gave so much of her love and passion, and who knew how to share. Samy Rabinovic, Philadelphia

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