Re-Imagining Home in the Mosaic Diaspora
The renowned Turkish cultural critic, Nurdan Gürbilek asks in one of her books, "Does the homeland of those whose homes are dispersed expand?" Here, the concept of home appears as an existential dilemma between leaving or staying, and encompasses the human experience. Especially in the context of the mosaics of Antakya/Antioch, Defne/Daphné, and Samandağ Çevlik/Seleucia Pieria in the Hatay region, we can pose the same question of the material remains that have been displaced, uprooted from their subjective stories and multisensory existence, torn from the web of relations that once surrounded them. The dispersion both of people and objects is integral to Hatay’s twentieth century history: here, Latife Tekin's observation, "the homeland of the dispersed expands," which had inspired Gürbilek’s question in the first place, brings us to the concept of diaspora: Can one’s homeland truly expand?
Home: Abandoned, Excavated, Lost
The multi-layered historical journey of the concept of home in Antakya, Defne, and Samandağ, in the Hatay province of Turkey, which was known as the Sanjak of Alexandretta until 1938 and formed part of the Aleppo province in Syria, is a rich and complex subject that deserves scrutiny (Figure 1). If we imagine these towns as historic settlements that have changed hands multiple times since their foundation in antiquity, “home” points to a diverse, ambivalent, solidaristic, and agonistic web of social relations. The modern story of these towns is shaped by traumatic events such as the genocidal violence of 1915, wars and (un)natural disasters, including, most recently, the twin earthquakes of February 2023. Furthermore, it is characterized by continual developments including colonial rule, nation-state building, archaeological research and migration. Within the span of a century, the concept of home has come to be seen as the homeland that had to be abandoned in 1915 and, then again, between 1936–1940, what had been excavated archaeologically between 1932–1939, and what has been lost in earthquakes. How can these different notions of home connect and overlap?
After 400 years under Ottoman rule, following World War I, the Alexandretta region, including Antioch, Daphné, Seleucia Pieria and the port of Alexandretta, fell under the French Mandate. The excavation of homes from Late Antiquity began during this period. The Antiquities Authority of France, responsible for archaeological work in the Middle East, initiated the excavations in Antioch and its environs. By the end of the 1920s, the Antiquities Authority sent an invitation to Princeton University’s Department of Art and Archaeology in the United States of America. Accepting the invitation with great interest, the head of the department, Charles Rufus Morey, sent academics to join the excavations in Antioch. The project was realized with the financial support of institutions such as the Worcester Art Museum/MA, Baltimore Museum of Art/MD, Harvard Art Museum/MA (formerly Fogg Art Museum), and Dumbarton Oaks Museum/DC. However, excavations were suspended with the outbreak of World War II.
Figure 2. Workers excavating Theater of Dionysus, 1936. Courtesy of Antioch Expedition Archive, Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University.
During the mandate era excavations in and around Antioch, 300 floor mosaic pavements were uncovered in Roman villas. The mosaics, adorned with vibrant colors and intricate designs, had once graced these homes, telling stories of mythological tales, daily life, and grand banquets. As part of this process, though, the floor mosaics were also uprooted, fragmented, and subsequently dispersed among 30 overseas institutions. The arrival of new materials, in turn, encouraged the study of remains from the early Christian period in the United States.
Figure 3. Transport truck with workers, fieldman and driver & excavated finds, date unknown. Visual Resources Collection, Princeton University.
In February 2023, I planned to begin fieldwork at several North American institutions that housed some archives and objects from these excavations. My fieldwork focused on tracing the mosaics’ dispersal and how they were displayed and contextualized in the contemporary transnational museumscape. Notably, at exactly the same time as these mandate-era excavations were taking place, a part of the local population also experienced displacement due to the rapid shifts in regional borders in the politically unstable Interwar years.
Building on my fieldwork in 2023, this essay investigates the concurrent geopolitical events in the Sanjak of Alexandretta, since World War I, examining the relationships between displaced objects and individuals affected by different power relations respectively. There is a rupture between the stories of the displacement of people and objects. The differences in the types of violence they endured obscure the intertwinement of their trajectories. To mitigate this rupture, it is essential to narrate these two historical events and their associated stories together. This narrative approach can open up new ways of discussing these multiple overlapping relations of violence and allow us to ask how these material remains are embedded in the memory of those living in Hatay and those living in the diaspora.
Despite France’s archaeological, cultural and economic exploitation of Syrian territory and its policy of divide and rule, which severed Lebanon from Syria in 1920 and established a separate mandate in Beirut, the mandate period provided a reduction of political violence in Alexandretta compared to the genocidal violence experienced by the Christian population, mostly Armenians, during the Late Ottoman period. In 1923, Turkey signed the Lausanne Treaty without being able to include the Alexandretta Sanjak within its borders, but it did not relinquish its designs over this strategic region, particularly its port at the nexus of trade routes between the West and the East. Alexandretta occupied a central place in the Turkish nationalist imagination during the early years of the republic. As World War II approached and fascism rose in Italy and Germany, political developments in Turkey and the Alexandretta region compelled France to renegotiate the latter’s fate, eventually leading, in 1938, to the recognition of the autonomous Hatay Republic. When it became apparent that Nazi Germany was planning to invade Poland, France consented to Hatay’s annexation on the condition that Turkey remain neutral in the impending war. Amidst these developments, Alexandretta, renamed Hatay in 1938, witnessed a significant population movement: between 1938 and 1940, over 40,000 individuals, Non-Muslims and Muslims, emigrated from this region mostly to Syria, Lebanon, France, and the United States.
My planned fieldwork in North America coincided with the February 6, 2023 earthquake. The loss would inevitably shape my fieldwork as a witness to this contemporary catastrophe in Antakya and its surroundings, not only as a researcher but also as someone with deep familial ties to the region. Given that ancient Antioch and its environs have repeatedly been devastated by earthquakes in ancient times, I decided to examine whether the mosaic fragments on exhibit had been hit by earthquakes by referring to existing research and whether this was reflected in their presentation and contextualization in the museums. I also considered how an earthquake – as an event witnessed by these objects – can play a binding role in a multi-layered history between its material remains and its people, fostering a shared practice of mourning.
The concept of mosaic diaspora is useful to probe the historical interplay between human and object migrations in the Alexandretta region in the 1930. While diaspora refers to the dispersion of people from their native lands to other geographies, ancient mosaics typically involve the mobility of mythological narratives, and patterns from different regions, coalescing into a site-specific assemblage with various materials. They are similar processes moving in opposite directions.
Currently, there is a growing tendency in scholarly literature to borrow terms from migration studies and apply them to objects on the move. Concepts such as 'object diaspora', 'diasporic objects', 'objects in exile', 'museum objects as accidental refugees' and decolonial perspectives are increasingly used metaphorically to describe the condition of such objects. These terms primarily aim to recognize the diasporic condition of objects held in European and North American museums. These objects are detached from their places of origin and are in a state of displacement and dispersion. This metaphorical framework emphasizes the objects’ historical and cultural journey and highlights the need for a critical reassessment of their placement and significance in museums – while also considering the possibility of restitution within the diasporic condition. Therefore, I suggest using the concept of diaspora to describe the experience of the dispersion of mosaic fragments from Antioch and its environs.
“The question is not solely about the historical ownership of material remains, but about who has the agency and experience to narrate their stories. ”
Figure 4. Excavations at Musa Dagh, House of Cilicia (House 1 and Vicinity), Courtesy of Antioch Expedition Archive, Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University.
Archaeologists discovered several house floor mosaics from Late Antiquity, particularly in the Daphné district, a suburb of Antioch, and on the slopes of Musa Dagh, situated to the south-west of Antioch near the Mediterranean Coast. The material remains of the Doric Temple and the mosaics from the House of Cilicia in the same vicinity were dispersed across the globe (see the example fig. 4 and, for the map, fig. 6). The Musée d’Antioche was constructed in Antioch under the supervision of Michael Écochard, an architect affiliated with the French Service des Antiquités to house the finds.[1] Thanks to the excavations by French and American institutions Antioch acquired an international reputation as the “City of Mosaics.”
At the same time, as multiple museums that had financed the excavations also requested floor mosaics, tableaus typically originating from a single villa, ended up getting divided up and distributed among various institutions. Consequently, mosaic pavements that had once stood in the same home or in close proximity to one another are now on display as free-standing objects in over thirty museums and universities across three countries. Such fragmentation and dispersal have severed not only the integrity of the original mosaic composition and assemblage, but also our connection to the histories of these homes, making it impossible to even imagine or reconstruct their original contexts. Dedicated to a specific purpose and place at the time of their creation, they now stand cut off from their subjective stories, the original webs of sensory relationships between them, and the events they witnessed.
Figure 5. Yoghunoluk, one of the Armenian villages on the Musa Dagh, 1928 (Source: Vahram Shemmassian collection, Los Angeles).
Home and Homeland
Meanwhile, the homes abandoned by the locals during the same period as these excavations took place tell another, yet, parallel story of displacement, which lies between the dispersal of people and the dispersal of objects. When it became clear that the French government had made a deal with the Turkish government over the Alexandretta region, uncertainties began to unsettle the local population. In particular, as Şule Can states, Armenians who had already once been deported in 1915 (and some who had resisted in Musa Dagh), and who had been able to return in 1921 following the French takeover, were compelled to emigrate again in 1936-1940 due to the annexation of the Alexandretta region to Turkey. Christian Arabs, Sunni Arabs, Greeks and Jews followed suit. Although, with a population of nearly 25,000, Armenians comprised 11% of the population of the Sanjak of Alexandretta in 1936, today only the village of Vakıflı (Vakef) remains as the last Armenian settlement in the entire region. Vakıflı was one of the villages on Musa Dagh, along with Bitias, Haji Habibli, Yoghunoluk, Kheder Beg, and Kabusiye, whose residents have long since abandoned their homes.
Figure 6. The Map of Musa Dagh and its environs (Source: houshamadyan.org)
Locating photographs of abandoned homes in these villages during or immediately after the departure of these populations presents significant challenges. While some family albums and collections feature homes prior to 1939, documentation from that specific period or shortly thereafter is scarce, which indicates a loss of recorded memory.[2] A survey dated July 11, 1939, presumably conducted by the French administration to document ownership and property values, provides valuable insights into the abandoned homes of the Armenian, Greek, Arab populations, despite the survey's lack of verification. When supplemented by oral historical interviews, however, the information from the survey enables a comprehensive tracing of the homes and their identities, encompassing architectural features, interior design, daily living practices, and cultural artifacts of the period.
Figure 7. An old house in Yoghunoluk. (Photo: Norair Chahinian)
Figure 8. An old house in Yoghunoluk. (Photo: Norair Chahinian)
Some individuals, mostly Muslim migrants, including some from the Balkans, who were being resettled to the village of Kheder Beg/Hıdır Bey in the early 1940s reported finding the village in a state of ruin. Today, some of the houses have been architecturally altered, while others remain in ruins. Walking through these villages, one is struck by what endures, particularly in Yoghunoluk/Yoğunoluk, where many old houses remain in disrepair. Observing the church of Yoghunoluk was especially poignant for me, as it serves as a remarkable example of the ongoing state of decay.
Figure 9. Mulberry Tree, video still by the author (2019/-). View of Kel Mountain from Yoghunoluk Church.
Figure 10. Mulberry Tree, video still by the author (2019/-). Inside of Yoghunoluk Church.
In brief, the excavated homes and abandoned homeland of region Alexandretta underscore the resonance between the departure of countless remnants of ancient civilizations and the exile of people sharing similar experiences triggered by imperialist and colonial violence. The landscape of Musa Dagh bore witness to significant episodes of violence and displacement among its populace. While these developments stem from distinct policies of violence, they represent simultaneous spatial migrations, enabling the construction of an epistemological bridge, a shared visual language, and a relational aesthetic between them, thereby fostering an imaginative solidarity among these diverse experiences. In this sense, the parallels between abandoned homelands and scattered mosaics from excavated homes connect the fate of people and objects.
Following the departure of people and objects from the Alexandretta region—a history marked by erasure—we now confront a contemporary moment where the narrative of these displaced objects continues in their new homes, in Western museums. This situation raises important questions about the responsibility, ethics, and diasporic conditions surrounding encounters between people and objects from the same region, whether people reside in the diaspora or in Hatay. Specifically, I question whether the earthquake experiences of these objects should be contextualized within museum exhibitions, and I explore whether people from the region have the opportunity to engage with the complex, multi-layered phenomenon of earthquakes in relation to their cultural heritage.
Earthquake Experience
From the 3rd century BCE until the 9th century CE, evidence indicates that earthquakes nearly obliterated the entire ancient city of Antioch and its suburb, Daphné, on numerous occasions. The earthquake of 341 CE, in particular, instilled great fear and anxiety in both Antioch and Daphné, with archaeological findings suggesting that the theater of Daphné and several private residences succumbed to the tremors. The impact of earthquakes on artifacts is discernible from the structural cracks in the mosaic floors of the excavated homes. Notably, the Antioch earthquake of 388 CE caused significant damage to the House of the Boat of the Psyches (see Figure 4), evident in the visible traces left on its mosaic flooring. This house, excavated by American and French archaeologists in Daphné, serves as a testament to the seismic history of the region.
The mosaics from the House of the Boat of the Psyches are dispersed among museums and academic institutions in three different countries, including the Hatay Archaeological Museum, the Louvre Museum, and over five museums and private collections in North America. Moreover, my field work reveals that some mosaics from this home still remain in circulation. In recent years some have been donated or sold between institutions. This ongoing process of fragmentation and dispersal further undermines our ability to fully interpret the past they represent, including their earthquake exposure in Late Antiquity.
“Following the departure of people and objects from the Alexandretta region—a history marked by erasure—we now confront a contemporary moment where the narrative of these displaced objects continues in their new homes, in Western museums.”
Figure 11. House of the Boat of Psyches (DH-200-217), general view of the entire remains of the building showing mosaics. Courtesy of Antioch Expedition Archive, Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University.
Figure 12. Europa, House of the Boat of Psyches, the Baltimore Museum of Art, Maryland/ABD, 2023 (Photo: Ezgi Erol).
Once removed from their original context, mosaics, even within academic institutions, often serve dual roles: as valuable assets and as decorative backdrops for social occasions. For example, the Baltimore Museum of Art, which financed Princeton University’s excavations, now owns several mosaics from these digs. These mosaics are displayed in an area of the museum known as Antioch Court, where floor mosaics are arranged randomly on the walls. The courtyard is also rented out for weddings or celebration receptions by the museum. The table in front of the Europa mosaic is usually used for serving drinks.
Figure 13. Detail, Europa, House of the Boat of Psyches, the Baltimore Museum of Art, Maryland/ABD, 2023
One of the mosaics displayed there depicts the Phoenician Princess Europa, formerly a centerpiece in the House of the Boat of Psyches. Interventions that disrupt the original perception of the mosaic include painting parts of the floor mosaics that were damaged by earthquakes or other events and then displaying them on the wall. The Europa mosaic of the Daphné region is enriched with colored glass and stone tesserae. The mosaic features intricate details such as birds, leaves, and crowned heads and depicts the myth of Zeus transforming into a bull, kidnapping Europa from Sidon, taking her to Crete, and the scene before raping her. My observation is that the story of Europa also reflects a narrative of forced migration[3].
The mosaic has been damaged, particularly the central section containing the bull, and when unearthed, only a tiny part of bull’s pink brick-colored back was exposed. The museum used a special painting technique to reconstruct the image of the bull and other missing parts and re-incorporate it into the mosaic composition. This intervention indicates that the museum approaches the natural erosion of the mosaics over time as a deficiency rather than as a register of its complex history as an artifact.
Figure 14. Courtesy of Antioch Expedition Archive, Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University, 1934.
In short, these mosaics, damaged by earthquakes or other events and later unearthed, have been moved from their original setting to the museum, obscuring their social history. The fragmentation and displacement from the original site and the subsequent conservation practices in the museum foreclose the opportunity to weave a narrative about the concurrent displacement of people and objects. Moreover, the mosaic’s relocation denies those of us, who recently experienced the devastation of Antakya and its environs in the February 6, 2023 earthquake, the chance to connect with these mosaics through our earthquake-ridden history, to engage with our past, and to collectively mourn. Even though these museums are not easily accessible for most of us from Hatay, when some of us do encounter them in museums, our desire to connect with diverse historical events should be acknowledged.
The dispersal of mosaics from an ancient home as an aesthetic experience in the context of colonial modernity represents a tale of cultural appropriation and a desire for ownership, with shared heritage dispersed and claimed by museums, academic institutions, and private collections. People's desire to engage with material remnants can prompt a discourse against such colonial practices.
Nowadays, the connection between people and objects has eroded significantly, and within the vast and magnificent spaces of museums, this lack of connection appears to be normalized. In this article, I have attempted to build a metaphorical image of a shared home by combining the concepts of lost, abandoned, and excavated homes. My aim has been to think about unifying spaces of mourning and treat objects' stories as analogous to the stories of the people, including the recent disaster and loss in Antakya and its environs. Historically significant sites that were part of Hatay's multicultural society and witnessed several events, were either completely or partially destroyed due to the earthquake in February; the St Asdvadzadzin Church in Vakıflı, which was also damaged, has just been re-opened after being restored with donations received from around the world.
Figure 15. St. Asdvadzadzin Church in Vakıflı, in restoration, 2024 (Photo: Johanna Bröse)
Figure 15, 16. St. Asdvadzadzin Church in Vakıflı, in restoration, 2024 (Photo: Johanna Bröse)
It is evident that the floor mosaics of the excavated homes will never come together again and that this dispersal does not expand the home's space, just like so many homes lost and so many lives shattered. However, reuniting these lives and objects can be achieved with the knowledge and experience of people living locally or in the diaspora in a fair network of relationships with them. The question is not solely about the historical ownership of material remains, but about who has the agency and experience to narrate their stories.
In essence, collective memory can be reimagined through the shared experiences of people and objects, connecting them to familiar places, events such as earthquake, or moments of dispersal. If an object, a material remain, cannot be made to speak, this is tantamount to ignoring it or silencing the knowledge it embodies. In this way, objects are removed from their original setting, losing their connection to their home, and as a result, their meaning and context become more limited and reduced. Past practices are reproduced today from a colonial perspective through archives and museums. Museums can counter this by critically and anti-colonially reflecting on the social and cultural history of acquiring these material remains under colonial conditions. Otherwise, neither the homeland nor the home is expanding, neither for people nor for objects[4].
Acknowledgments
I sincerely appreciate Vahram L. Shemmasian, Norair Chahinian, Johanna Bröse and the Houshamadyan team for granting me permission to use images from their collections.
Notes
[1] Opened in 1934, the museum remained closed until 1948, following the annexation of the Iskenderun region by Turkey as Hatay. It then began operating as what is known today as the Hatay Archaeology Museum.
[2] I would like to thank Osman Köker for sharing this information with me. Köker mentioned in our communication that while I was searching for the images, we could determine which homes were abandoned when we investigated on site.
[3] This argument is part of my artistic research "of sea, leaves, sunshine, and red" (2022/ongoing). For more information: https://ezgi-erol.net/of-sea-leaves-sunshine-and- red/
[4] A different version of this article was first published in the Antioch based online magazine Nehna. I also discuss some of the arguments in this text in detail in a forthcoming article in a publication.
Citation
Ezgi Erol, “Re-imagining Home in the Mosaic Diaspora,” PLATFORM, August 19, 2024.
