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istanbul —
“This has been in the safe for a long time,” says Umit Barksoy, 78, leaning over a table with a magnifying glass in hand and gently running his fingers over the shiny stones inside the wrinkled white cloth. “You won’t find a ruby of this size that would fit in a ring anymore.”
With this touch, Berksoy, a veteran jeweler from Istanbul’s legendary Grand Bazaar, is ready to embark on yet another creative journey through one of the world’s oldest and most beautiful covered markets, navigating the history-filled halls of a unique production culture.
It is a world where, for centuries, all materials have been woven into art, where masters from Turkey’s various religious minorities (Armenians, Greeks, Jews, Syrians) have worked together, forged lasting partnerships, and contributed to the survival of the bazaar.
The foundations for this shared commercial world under one vast roof were laid by 21-year-old Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II shortly after his conquest of Constantinople from the Byzantines in 1453.
“The true art lies in building cities and winning the hearts of men,” declared Mehmed the Conqueror. He needed a trade center to fund his foundation and serve a very diverse community.
Expanding over hundreds of years and enduring earthquakes, the Grand Bazaar has grown into Turkey’s traditional commercial center and vast training ground for generations of artisans.
Over time, the criss-crossing alleys became organically divided between traditional crafts and named after the trades on display, as Ottoman art historian Mustafa Cesar notes, “They were orderly like barracks.”
However, the store has changed its face in line with new trends and changing tastes of foreign tourists. Behind it, thick masonry walls protected the spirit of the bazaar, Barksoy said.
I sketched an invisible map of the bazaar in the air as I weaved my way through groups of tourists and street vendors, pointing to alleyways stocked with jewelry, silver, leather goods, traditional souvenirs, and handmade rugs.
This vibrant, bright world, which attracts up to 400,000 visitors a day, is just the surface, he added, as he confidently walked through Nur-Osmaniye Gate, one of the 11 main entrances to the labyrinth of 65 streets, 14 inns and some 3,600 shops.
“Beneath all the charm and wealth,” he whispers, “the true value and beauty lies in a small workshop.”
Passing under a 6-metre-high vaulted ceiling, jewelers stop at an inn marked by a Byzantine relief of a fearsome eagle with its wings spread wide. Bright sunlight illuminates the arch through a small air shaft.
“This is truly the heart of the Grand Bazaar,” he said, pointing to Cevahir Bedesteni, the 15-domed structure in which today’s market grew.
The inscription reads, “Profit is the wild bird of the sky,” and “if it can be hunted with grace, this inn may prosper,” said economics professor Kenan Mortin, who wrote about the Grand Bazaar in 2010.
It was with great grace that Barksoy and his companions plied their trade in the bazaar for half a century, settling differences, forging lasting partnerships and friendships, and passing on their experiences to new generations.
While tourists gaze through windows, stop to take snapshots, and engage in heated negotiations, veteran jewelers greet patrons at every corner before exiting the main building.
Our first stop is Apraham, a small wooden-frame shop named after its Armenian founder. Selling raw gold and other precious metals since 1882. A dangling copper bell hangs next to that door and beneath one of the bazaar’s more than 128 surveillance cameras, monitoring the streets and rooftops 24 hours a day.
Next, he visits Epoch, an antique store that seems to have been frozen in time since 1865. Getwald Teminian, 76, was still a teenager when he was hired as an assistant.
He is now the sole manager of the business, along with his former disciple Ibrahim Khalil Isalak, 63. “Recently, because of the economic situation, more and more people are coming to get rid of their good items,” Teminian said. “But there is always a way to bounce back in the fall, and we are here to help.”
Nearby, in Ikizler Khan, a cluster of jewelery workshops and wholesalers dating back to the late 1940s, Barksoy’s 12-carat ruby is changing hands and trying to claim its gold frame.
Many of his stones were already worked here before being put on display at Barneys New York before it closed, and have adorned numerous celebrities over the years.
Sevan Harunian, 54, the founder of Sadekâr workshop, one of the most established workshops in the bazaar, has spent decades translating designs into precious metals and has brought countless Berksoy pieces to life.
His humble goldsmith workshop is a testament to the 46 years Severn spent mastering his craft.
The centerpiece of the room is a large, aged wooden table filled with a maze of scattered objects and cables. In contrast to the chaos, Severn grabbed one of the small tools neatly arranged on the wall and gently pushed it into the gold frame in his hands.
From the room’s only window, it’s easy to imagine Daniel Craig racing his James Bond motorcycle across the tiled roof in the opening scene of the 2012 film Skyfall.
“I never get tired of seeing this view,” Severn says, looking out with a big smile on his face. It was the same room where his sons, Alda, 22, and Aras, 25, got their first taste of the profession when they were about 10 years old.
“During the school holidays, I would come early in the morning and sleep here,” Aras says with a smile as he points out his workstation, which is now across from his father.
“Then we would just look at the quick sketches that my dad would give us, or at most try to make them into reality.”
A graduate of the Department of Statistics at Mimar Sinan University in Istanbul, Aras brings computerized design to the family business, adding his own unique touch to production.
Alda was a more practical person. “There’s still a lot to learn, so I’ll just pick up the extras for now,” he says. “My father does the delicate hard work.”
Following this craft was a common career path for the brothers, who were born into Istanbul’s Armenian community. Although Armenians are now a minority in Turkey, their roots can be traced throughout Anatolia long before the Ottoman period, and for centuries they maintained a reputation as the finest craftsmen.
Armenian artisans dominated the jewelry scene in and around the Grand Bazaar, says Barksoy, recalling American masters.
Ruby is kept safe. Having worked together for more than 40 years, the two knew exactly how Barksoy’s pencil sketches would take shape. They just exchanged a few words, nodding to each other.
“We must continue to preserve this profession and the master-apprentice tradition that comes with it, because this profession deserves to be passed down,” Severn says. “I feel a sense of responsibility because I am working at the center of the work.”
“At the end of the day, no matter how many shopping malls are built, this is the way it works in bazaars,” he added.
According to a study conducted in 2017, the Grand Bazaar’s single largest trade remains jewelery, with 57 masters handling the 532 jewelers, gold dealers and jewelery stores within its walls.
One of these masters, Frant Zorbas, 66, specializes in mihrama, or stone setting, and is working on setting a ruby in a Severn ring frame according to Barksoy’s design.
Zorbath neatly covers his knees with a thick leather cloth made of two collapsible wings attached to the table to catch any precious residue. He places a rectangular magnifying glass over his prescription glasses and begins to rub the ruby with one hand while inspecting the polished frame with the other.
“Shant,” he says, pointing to his 42-year-old son sitting across from him. “I like to do this with a new-age jeweler’s microscope, but I need to see with my own eyes for cracks, imperfections, and setting marks.”
It certainly helps to do such time-consuming tasks accurately. Mr. Zorbath does not complain. He is happy to have a son who is willing to collaborate in a profession that modern times have threatened beyond the emergence of the jeweler’s microscope.
“People’s lifestyles – the way they use jewellery, the way they think about luxury – have changed dramatically over the last few years,” says Chant. “While elaborate tie clips and women’s jacket pins are no longer in fashion, there are still people who appreciate the value of handmade jewelry.”
Zorbath holds the ring in his hand and admires its final appearance. The ruby fits perfectly into the frame and is supported by rows of narrow baguette diamonds on either side.
“Is there a factory-made ring that can match this beauty?” Barksoy exclaims. “This is the soul of the bazaar.”
