It all started last year. It was our first trip to Sason, our first climb to Mount Helkis in search of Iris gatesii. Sadly, we arrived too late for that magnificent flower — but we discovered that one slope of the mountain is covered with Iris gatesii and the other with Fritillaria imperialis. There was nothing to do but come back the following year. And now, that year has arrived.
Selahattin Güzel from Sason called a few days before we set off and said, "The flowers have bloomed — come now." So I went. Öykü, one of the editors of Flora of Turkey, joined with excitement and enthusiasm. My job was to paint; her job was to collect living and herbarium specimens for the NGBB collection.
We bought our tickets and rented a car — and then we heard that the military had launched an operation on Helkis. The mountain was now forbidden. Damn! Mount Helkis is becoming a serious challenge every year. Everything around here is gorgeous, but nothing is ever easy. We were devastated, of course, because this is not something you can simply postpone. You have to be there at exactly the right moment, or you wait another year — and every year, the planning grows more complicated. But we decided to go ahead anyway.
April 26
We met Öykü at Trabzon Airport and took a direct flight to Diyarbakır, where we picked up our rental car. After a quick stop for supplies, we drove straight to Sason, arriving late in the evening to find Selahattin waiting, a little worried by our delay.
April 27
A big day — destination: Fritillaria imperialis! Mount Helkis was still off-limits, but we had been told of another location. Despite torrential rain and a very real risk that the roads would turn to mud, we set off with high tension and even higher hopes.
We headed northwest of Sason rather than towards Helkis. İsmet Güzel, Selahattin's nephew, guided us, and another İsmet — İsmet Kahraman — drove. We passed through Şahinli village and continued along the red soil roads, and then we fell into heaven.
There they were — cascading down the cliffs and glowing between the rocky slopes. They truly shone. They were everywhere. Öykü went one way and I went the other. Our guide İsmet was visibly delighted at having led us so well, while the other İsmet vanished up the mountain to collect Rheum ribes.
The moment was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. As I wandered for hours, the composition of my painting began to take shape — growing bigger and bigger in my mind. I didn't even have paper large enough for what I was dreaming on that hillside. A problem to solve another time; for now, the best I could do was dream big.
Seeing a plant in its habitat is the true foundation of my compositions. For this reason, I wanted to paint this plant not alone but as I encountered it here — as a great, glorious group. I knew I would never fully capture what I saw, but I resolved to express at least something of that garden of paradise. I painted many individual plants and chose a range of colours and tones, from deep opaque reds to bright orange. I even found a yellow one.
It was as if the flowers had bloomed and time had simply stopped until I arrived. The stamens and tepals of each plant were in perfect condition — as fresh as could be. After collecting my samples, we returned to Sason and decided to stay two more days to draw that paradise. I worked hard preparing my sketches, while Öykü and İsmet went to the foot of Mount Helkis in search of other plants.
April 29
After a full day of drawing, we set out for Mardin. From the very beginning, this fieldwork had two goals: the first was Fritillaria imperialis, which we had achieved; the second was Iris polakii — an extraordinarily beautiful iris that grows in a minefield on the Mardin–Syria border and blooms at roughly this time of year.
Last year, Abdurrahman, a villager from the region, was growing one in his garden and photographing every stage of its development — from bud to flower — and sending the images to my father. I had been planning to visit the previous year, but the pandemic made it impossible. We had hoped to see both species on this trip, but the extremely dry season meant I. polakii had decided not to bloom this year. Disappointment.
We continued to Mardin regardless, thinking that if I. polakii was not flowering, we could at least survey the I. gatesiisites in the area, as that species blooms in the second half of May. As I write this, I am already packing my bags and preparing for another trip to Mardin in two weeks' time. I am wishing myself all the luck in the world to find and illustrate this iris.
April 30
We visited three different Iris gatesii locations and found leaves at each site. Along the way we spotted Aristolochia bottae, which I sketched quickly. Later I made another sketch of Silybum marianum — known as milk thistle or Scotch thistle — a species native to southern Europe through to Asia that has now naturalised across much of the world.
May 1
Öykü departed for Istanbul with an impressive quantity of collected plant material.
May 3
I left for home after a brief, warm visit with Döne and Hakan, the wonderful organisers of the Mardin Biennial. On my return, I hope to have the chance to encounter some remarkable art and artists from around the world.
