My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk
en
Orhan Pamuk

My Name is Red

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But painting without its accompanying story is an impossibility.
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my story bore a promise of both sorrow and bliss that would bind the two of us together.
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Now that I’ve reached this age, I know that true respect arises not from the heart, but from discrete rules and deference.
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Panicking, I grabbed a stone that lay beside the well. While he was still on the seventh or eighth step, I caught up to him and struck him on the back of his head with all my strength. I struck him so swiftly and brutally that I was momentarily startled, as if the blow had landed on my own head. Aye, I felt his pain.
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“The old masters of Shiraz and Herat,” I said, “claimed that a miniaturist would have to sketch horses unceasingly for fifty years to be able to truly depict the horse that Allah envisioned and desired. They claimed that the best picture of a horse should be drawn in the dark, since a true miniaturist would go blind working over that fifty-year period, but in the process, his hand would memorize the horse.”
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What was venerated as style was nothing more than an imperfection or flaw that revealed the guilty hand.
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My death conceals an appalling conspiracy against our religion, our traditions and the way we see the world.
Khurshid Mehtiyeva
Khurshid Mehtiyevaalıntı yaptı2 yıl önce
love is the ability to make the invisible visible and the desire always to feel the invisible in one’s midst.
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Give me the license not to dwell on every single detail, allow me to keep some clues to myself: Try to discover who I am from my choice of words and colors, as attentive people like yourselves might examine footprints to catch a thief
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I’m explaining all these things because they relate to my predicament. But if I were to divulge even one detail related to the killing itself, you’d figure it all out and this would relieve me from being a nameless, faceless murderer roaming among you like an apparition and relegate me to the status of an ordinary, confessed criminal who has given himself up, soon to pay for his crime with his head.
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jealousy becomes an element as indispensable as paint in the life of the master artist.
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From within houses, now and again, I heard the noises of miserable people having coughing fits or snorting or wailing as they cried out in their dreams, or I heard the shouts of husbands and wives as they tried to strangle each other, their children sobbing at their feet.
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After I took care of that pathetic man, wandering the streets of Istanbul for four days was enough to confirm that everyone with a gleam of cleverness in his eye and the shadow of his soul cast across his face was a hidden assassin
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As I stare at people’s faces, I realize that many of them believe they’re innocent because they haven’t yet had the opportunity to snuff out a life.
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I couldn’t let the false accusations of one foolhardy man endanger the entire society of miniaturists.
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My previous master was a very just man. When we set out at night to thieve, we’d cooperate: I’d begin to bark, and he’d cut the throat of our victim whose screams would be drowned out by my barking. In return for my help, he’d cut up the guilty men that he’d punished, boil them and feed them to me. I don’t like raw meat
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In the lands of the infidel Franks, the so-called Europeans, every dog has an owner. These poor animals are paraded on the streets with chains around their necks, they’re fettered like the most miserable of slaves and dragged around in isolation. These Franks force the poor beasts into their homes and even into their beds. Dogs aren’t permitted to walk with one another, let alone sniff and frolic together. In that despicable state, in chains, they can do nothing but gaze forlornly at each other from a distance when they pass on the street.
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See, my master is pouring coffee for me from a small coffeepot. A picture can’t drink coffee, you say? Please! See for yourselves, this dog is happily lapping away.
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I have no problem with the fact that my portrait was drawn on such cheap paper or that I’m a four-legged beast, but I do regret that I can’t sit down like a man and have a cup of coffee with you
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I’m not denigrating anyone
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