Picture this: a Turkish painting. Go on - close your eyes for a second, and see what sort of image floats into the darkness. Tricky, isn't it? Because, unless you are the possessor of either a considerable quantity of expertise in the art world or an unusually complex and varied set of responses to the word "Turkish", the chances are that you'll never have laid eyes on a chunk of oil on canvas, a la Anatolia. Which is why a number of interested and curious folk assembled in the light-filled reception rooms of the American College in Merrion Square two weeks ago at the opening of the first exhibition of Turkish representational art in Ireland. Four painters, four very different styles; from one set of chunky metallic frames, ghostly Byzantine faces materialised enigmatically from grey-blue geometric shapes, while across the corridor, a series of bright-hued, jewel-like canvases depicted ferries, apartment buildings and restaurants packed to the rafters with life, laughter and instantly recognisable Turkish faces.
String quartet
Some of the visiting Irish faces were instantly recognisable, too: their owners had been present at the National Concert Hall a couple of weeks earlier, when the first Turkish string quartet to grace these shores delighted a sizeable audience with a cleverly-chosen programme in which Mozart and Beethoven mingled happily with pieces by contemporary Turkish composers. A feast of Turkish culture? Hardly. But, by comparison with the famine which had gone before, these events were appetising, bite-sized starters - and the fact that they happened at all is due, though he smilingly denies it, to the vision and enthusiasm of the outgoing Turkish ambassador to Ireland, Mr N. Murat Ersavci.
"No, no, no," he protests, "they were part of the ongoing celebrations of the 75th anniversary of the founding of the Turkish Republic, which are taking place everywhere this year." It is, however, no accident that the celebratory events which just happened to be staged on Mr Ersavci's particular piece of diplomatic turf just happened to be cultural events of interest to - and, more to the point, accessible to - any Irish person who might happen to be interested in Turkish culture.
Of course, during his two-year tenure here, Mr Ersavci has had more pressing diplomatic concerns than the mounting of art exhibitions and concerts - the establishment of an Irish embassy in Ankara, for instance. "Turkey has been represented in Ireland since 1973, and it has been the priority of every Turkish ambassador since then - and heaven knows, we had five or six of them - to be able to secure that. We worked hard to increase trade, which we have done by about 47 per cent, and we formed an Irish-Turkish business council, and all these elements helped to persuade our Irish counterparts that an embassy was absolutely essential right now. So it did happen, and the new ambassador, Antoin Mac Unfraidh, will be going to Ankara in about 10 days' time."
Arklow pottery
An increase in trade between Ireland and Turkey seems, on the face of it, about as likely as a Turkish string quartet at the National Concert Hall - but the results may eventually prove just as pleasing to the ears, with a Turkish tile company due to re-open the old Arklow pottery and ceramics plant next spring to the tune of 450 jobs, and plans afoot to bring groups of Turkish tourists to fill some of the hundreds of those new hotel bedrooms which are currently springing up all over the country.
"Changing face"
Mr Ersavci insists, however, that links which cannot be measured in monetary or political terms are just as important - maybe, in the long run, more important - than those which can. Thus he devoted huge amounts of time and energy during the past two years to, as he puts it, "introducing the changing face of Turkey to the Irish people". There were celebrations in Drogheda in memory of the Turkish ships which arrived there, loaded with potatoes and corn, during the Famine. There were lectures about the 3,000-plus Irish soldiers who died at Gallipoli and about why Turkey needs to join the EU just as much as Ireland did. The sprightly 60-year-old poet who translated Ulysses into Turkish ("did you know," he asked me within seconds of being introduced, "that your name is an anagram of `Martian'?" I didn't. It explained a lot) came to Dublin for a joint Turkish-English reading on Bloomsday. There were Turkish films at the Screen and the Irish Film Centre.
Mr Ersavci notes, with a mixture of pride and amusement, that at the end of the film Hamam, a stylish and deeply emotional Italian-Turkish production which featured stunning footage of the city of Istanbul, people burst into spontaneous applause. On reflection, though, Mr Ersavci isn't surprised at all. He was himself surprised to find, when he came here, "a complete lack of the deep-set prejudices against the Turks that you see in continental Europe. Here I found an open mind, a mind that was willing to look and listen." Here's hoping, as he prepares to move to his next assignment, that the openness and variety of Irish-Turkish cultural exchange which was so evident during his tenure will continue, and expand, in the years to come.