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EMERGENCY  EX I T S :  M i g r a t i o n -­‐A r t -­‐ I d en t i t y ? 1  

 

Persefoni  Myrtsou  |  2012  

 

In  this  chapter  I  will  present  my  own  artistic  work  in  progress.  This  work  is  the  result  of  my  

involvement  with  the  concept  of  a  migrant  model  of  life  [the  model  is  extensively  analysed  

in  another  chapter  in  the  thesis].  At  the  end  of  this  chapter  I  will  present  in  more  detail  the  

idea   of   a   revised   migrant   model   of   life   after   reflecting   on   my   personal   experience   as   a  

migrant  artist.  

(At  this  point  I  would  like  to  make  an  observation,  which  does  not  belong  to  the  main  text  of  

the  work  and   is  being  addressed   specifically   for   the  Greek-­‐speaking   readers.   In  Greek,   the  

terms   "migration"   and   "migrant"   are   connected  mainly  with   the   experiences   of   Greeks   in  

terms  of  labor  migration,  thus  the  experiences  are  mainly  perceived  as  negative  ones.  In  the  

context  of  my  study  I  intend  to  use  the  term  freed  from  its  negative  connotation  and  to  use  

it  for  any  more  permanent  than  temporary  human  movement,  though  without  overlooking  

the  weight  it  often  carries  in  the  collective  memory  of  Greek  society.)  

When  my  grandfather  Constantine  Mirtzos  (our  name  would  later  morph  into  Myrtsos  due  

to   state   negligence   in   transcription)   and   my   grandmother   Persefoni   Christodoulou,   both  

born  in  Ainos  in  Eastern  Thrace,  were  expelled  as  refugees  in  Turkey  and  sent  to  Greece  in  

1923,  they  were  given  -­‐  according  the  Treaty  of  Lausanne  that  regulated  the  population  and  

property   exchanges   between  Greeks   and   Turks   -­‐   a   piece   of   land   in   the   village   of   Agioneri  

(also  known  as  Vourlantza),   located  near  Thessaloniki.  Before  the  population  exchange,  my  

grandparents  had  never  even  heard  of  this  place,  nor  did  they  know  anyone  there.  So,  they  

decided   to   live   in   Thessaloniki,  where   they   had   some   relatives.   They   still   had   to   travel   to  

                                                                                                                         1  The  text  is  part  of  my  graduate  work  entitled  Gegenwärtige  migrantische  Biographien.  Lebens-­‐  und  Arbeirsweisen   griechischer   Künstlerinnen   und   Künstler,   which   was   written   in   2012   [in   English:  Contemporary  migrational  biographies.  Ways  of   living  and  working  of  Greek  artists].  The  thesis  was  written  as  part  of  the  graduate  program  Art  in  Context,  Berlin  University  of  the  Arts  (Institut  für  Kunst  im   Kontext   -­‐   Universität   der   Künste   Berlin).   My   supervisor   was   Wolfgang   Knapp.   The   original  publication  of  the  text  appeared  in  Greek  in  the  journal  O  Faros  Alexandroupolis.  For  reference  to  the  English   version   of   the   text:   http://www.organicallycooked.com/2015/04/emergency-­‐exits-­‐immigration-­‐art.html.  The  text  has  been  translated   from  German  to  Greek  by  me,  and   in  English  by  Maria  Verivaki  and  me.  As  I  waded  through  it,  I  felt  the  need  to  make  some  additional  comments,  in  appreciation  of   the  readers  of   the   journal  with  which   I  wish   to  share  some  extra  personal   thoughts  that  did  not  fit  within  an  academic  work.  

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Agioneri   where   my   grandfather   had   set   up   a   small   grain   mill   in   the   fields,   and   a   dairy  

products  business  with  his  brother,  Anastasios.  

From   the   beginning   Agioneri   was   a   cursed   place   for   my   grandfather   and   grandmother.  

According  to  the  population  exchange,  this  village  was  defined  as  their  new  home.  This  place  

had   to   replace   their   idea   of   “homeland”   which   they   had   for   their   own   village   in   Turkey.  

Clearly  it  was  impossible  to  replace  Ainos,  a  place  that  they  were  forced  to  abandon.  Neither  

in  their  memory  nor  in  their  heart,  nor  in  their  bodies.  My  grandfather  Constantine  was  able  

to  work  for  a  few  years.  Later,  the  work  situation  at  Agioneri  went  awry,  his  body  gave  up,  

he  left  and  remained  constantly  sick  until  his  death.  Although  I  did  not  meet  him,  because  he  

had  already  died  before  I  was  born,  I  do  not  think  anyone  knew  exactly  what  disease  he  was  

suffering  from  -­‐  to  a  certain  extent  his  diseases  were  exaggerated  by  my  grandmother,  who  

adored  him  tremendously  -­‐  but  I  think  deep  down  inside,  the  pain  of   leaving  his  homeland  

ate  him  away.   I  did  not  get   to  know  him,  but   I  got   to  know  to  my  father  and  my  aunt,  his  

children,   who   inherited   the   same   disease:   they   hated   Agioneri,   and     its   people.   They  

believed  that  the  village  was  the  source  of  all  the  family’s  ills  and  there  is  still  silence  about  

the  family’s  past,  much  of  which  is  probably  ignored  by  them  all.  

The  refugee  culture  of  the  Greeks  from  Asia  Minor  and  Eastern  Thrace  significantly  changed  

the  composition  of  Greek  society,  mainly  because  the  concepts  of  migration  and  “prosfigia”  

(which  roughly  means  “being  expelled  from  your  home”)  were  introduced  into  the  collective  

subconscious  of  the  people.  After  1923,  the  feeling  of  homesickness  and  nostalgia  for  the  so-­‐

called  “lost  homelands”  became  two  central  motifs  in  the  Greek  language.  As  I  stated  above,  

in  my  family  there  is  a  mystical  tendency  to  avoid  making  clear  references  to  the  past.  In  this  

way,  I  too  neglected  our  family’s  past.  For  me  Turkey,  namely  Eastern  Thrace,  where  Ainos  is  

located,   represented   an   eerie   place.   For   my   grandparents,   their   place   of   origin   was  

something  whose  memory  was  very  painful.  So  they  decided  not  to  talk  about  it.  In  this  way  

they   tried   to   live   a   normal   life   in   Greece  without  mourning  what   was   left   behind.   I   have  

mentioned   many   times   above   [meaning   in   the   thesis]   that   my   personal   perception   of  

migration  has  been  influenced  very  much  by  the  story  of  my  grandparents.  Sometimes  I  feel  

an   inexplicable  desire   for  homing,   as  well   as   the  need   to   redefine  my   roots.   I   think   this   is  

something  I  inherited  from  my  family.  

For  me  the  fact  that  I  made  an  effort  to  learn  Turkish,  which  was  somehow  the  key  language  

in  which  my   grandparents  were   born   into   and   raised   by,   as  well   as  my   constant   visits   to  

Turkey,   were   an   indirect   means   of   a   personal   effort   to   understand   this   remote   past.  My  

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experiences   in   Istanbul,  where   I   stayed   for   three  months,  were   for  me  a   forced   landing   in  

reality.  Today’s  Turkey  is  connected  with  my  family’s  past  only  in  an  imagined  way.  In  fact,  

rationally   speaking,   Turkey   is   now   simply   a   neighboring   country   of  Greece.   In   present-­‐day  

Istanbul,   whose   population   composition   has   changed   fundamentally   due   to   the   internal  

migration  of  the  last  20  years,  mainly  from  Eastern  Turkey  and  areas  of  the  Black  Sea,  I  was  

nothing  more  than  a  stranger,  coming  from  a  country  located  more  west  than  Turkey  on  the  

global  map  composed  from  a  western  perspective.  So  my  experience  as  a  migrant  artist   in  

Turkey   canceled   a   romantic   and   naive   side   of   my   personality,   almost   bordering   on  

orientalism.  [...]  

 

The  road  to  the  roots:  a  journey  into  the  de-­‐mystified  past  

 

According   to  Nicolas  Bourriaud   (Bourriaud,  p.52),   plants  which  are   radicant,   such  as   some  

types  of   ivy,  continue  to  grow  and  create  new  roots   in  the  new  soil   they  are  transplanted,  

although   the  original   root  has  already  been  cut.  The   trunk  of   the  plant   remains   the   same,  

but  it  morphs  through  the  transplanting  process  in  the  new  soil.  If  one  understands  this  idea  

metaphorically   in   the  context  of  human  migration,   it   seems  purposeful   for   someone  to  be  

able  to  transplant   their  culture  to  a  set  of  new  geographical,  cultural  and  social  situations.  

However,   at   the   new   point   where   it   has   taken   root,   there   is   always   the   risk   of   a   violent  

degeneration   of   the   root   of   the   plant   (and   respectively,   of   the   personal   culture   of   the  

individual),  perhaps  because  if  the  transplant  does  not  assimilate,  it  might  throw  its  root  out  

of   the   soil   and   it   will   thus   wither   (and   respectively   the   person   may   drop   out   and/or   be  

evicted  directly  or  indirectly  from  the  community).  In  the  migrant  model  of  life,  the  personal  

culture   of   each   immigrant   tries   to   root   in   a   new   place,   and   is   always   influenced   by   this  

migratory  transplanting  process.  

My  personal  reservation  concerning  this  process  was  the  family’s  silenced  past.   In  this  way  

somehow,  I  decided  to  make  a  real  journey  back  to  my  “roots”:  a  trip  to  Ainos.  

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Thracian  land,  en  route  to  Ainos,  29.10.2011,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

 

In   October   2011   I   traveled   with  my  mother   by   car   from   Thessaloniki   to   Ainos   in   Eastern  

Thrace.  This   trip  was  exactly   the   reverse  of  what  my  grandfather  and  grandmother  did  89  

years  ago.  My  father  could  not  come  with  us  because  of  work,  or  so  he  claimed.  I  decided  to  

record  our  trip  with  a  camcorder  and  a  photo-­‐camera.  As  an  artist   I   thought  such  a  record  

would  be  excellent  material  for  a  future  artwork.  In  my  mind  I  constantly  had  two  questions:  

is   this   trip   an   allegorical   return   to   the   “homeland”   or   an   attempt   towards   a   symbolic  

appropriation  of   space   (in   the   sense  of   a   personal   colonial   exploitation  of   the   space)   as   a  

greedy   artist,   who   wants   to   use   the   history   and   her   relationship   with   this   place   for   the  

purposes   of   her   work?   What   is   the   real   significance   of   this   journey   to   the   village   of   my  

grandparents’  origin?  Am  I  travelling  as  a  visitor?  As  a  tourist?  As  an  heir?  

The  day  we  traveled  to  Ainos  was  a  national  holiday  in  Turkey.  Later  we  found  out  that  the  

29th  of  October  was  the  day  of  the  proclamation  of  the  Turkish  Republic  by  Mustafa  Kemal  

Atatürk  in  the  year  1923  (in  Turkish:  Cumhuriyet  Bayramı).  In  the  same  year,  the  population  

exchange  took  place,  the  one  in  which  my  grandparents  left  Ainos.  In  the  central  square  of  

Ainos,  a  big  celebration  had  been  organised    -­‐  much  like  our  own  ones  in  Greece  -­‐  with  flags,  

with   grandstands,   with   children   from   schools   reciting   poems   about   Mustafa   Kemal   and  

Turkey,  and  all  these  in  the  predominant  presence  of  military  forces,  which  probably  had  to  

do  with  the  location  of  Ainos  at  the  border  of  the  political  map  of  Turkey.    

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The  central  square  of  Winos,  29.10.2011,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

 

At  the  end  of  the  feast  we  walked  around  for  a  bit  in  Ainos.  There  were  a  lot  of  people  in  the  

village,  mostly   from  Istanbul  and  Edirne,  who  were  probably  originally   from  Ainos  and  had  

travelled  especially  for  the  holiday.  After  a  while,  we  got  tired,  and  sat  down  in  a  restaurant  

to  eat.  We  ordered  meatballs,  rice  and  shepherd’s  salad,  my  mother  asked  for  Ayran,  and  I  

had  a  Coke.  The  well-­‐dressed  waiter  asked  us  where  we  were  from  and  what  we  were  doing  

on   a   day   like   this   in   Ainos.   I   replied   in   Turkish   that   we   were   from   Thessaloniki,   but   my  

grandfather   and   grandmother   were   from   Ainos,   and   we   had   come   to   see   their   place   of  

origin.  The  fact  that  we  had  come  on  the  day  of  the  holiday  was  coincidental.  He  stared  at  us  

silently   for  a  while.  Then  he  sat  down  next  to  us  and  began  to  chronicle  his  own  story:  his  

own   father   came   from   Thessaloniki,   or   from   a   village   near   there,   during   the   population  

exchange  -­‐  I  didn’t  understand  him  very  well  as  he  was  speaking  rather  fast  and  my  Turkish  

was  quite  rusty  at  this  point.  He  himself  had  never  travelled  to  Thessaloniki,  “it  is  that  damn  

hard   to   get   the   EU   Schengen   visa   thing”...   On   my   cellphone,   I   happened   to   have   a  

background  photo  of  the  promenade  in  Thessaloniki.  I  showed  him  the  photo.  He  asked  me  

to  send  it  to  him  by  MMS,  and  I  did  so.  

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Central  road  of  Ainos,  29.10.2011,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

 

 

The  oldest  remaining  houses  of  Ainos,  29.10.2011,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

 

 

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The  (happy?)  coincidence  of  the  national  celebration  and  the  conversation  with  the  waiter  

could  make  a  beautiful  scenario  for  a  nostalgic  film,  similar  to  "Politiki  Kouzina"  [“A  touch  of  

Spice”,  directed  by  Tassos  Boulmetis  in  2003].  However  these  events  revealed  a  very  obvious  

truth:  Ainos  is  not  a  “home”  for  me,  like  Thessaloniki  is  not  a  “home”  for  the  waiter.  Ainos  is  

nothing  more   than   the   imaginary   topography   of  my   family’s   past,  whose   visible   signs   are  

gone.  This   trip  was   for  me  a  solution  to  my  very  personal  concerns   regarding   this   invisible  

past.   This   trip   helped   me   to   clarify   my   personal   and   artistic   position   and   responsibility  

towards  this  village,  which  had  taken  on  mythical  proportions   in  my  childhood  and  later   in  

my  adult  mind.  

 

Ainos   is   right   on   the   political   border   between   Turkey   and  Greece,  which   divides   the   river  

Evros   (in   Turkish:   Meriç).   Ainos   is   one   of   the   entry   points   for   many   undocumented  

immigrants   into  Greece   and   at   the   same   time   the   European  Union.   Recently   I   traveled   to  

Alexandroupolis  with  a  German  delegation  as  a  translator  and  I  had  the  opportunity  to  talk  

to  the  guards,  who  describe  in  gruesome  detail  the  efforts  of  immigrants  to  cross  the  river.  

In  their  attempts  to  enter,  many  drown,  as  their  means  of  transport  is  extremely  dangerous.  

Sometimes  they  are  perceived  by  thermal  cameras  installed  on  the  Greek  side  and  they  are  

sent   back.   Once   they   cross   half   the   river   and   manage   to   get   out   alive,   they   are   on  

“European”   soil.   If   they   get   caught,   they   are   identified   by   FRONTEX,   the   European  border  

police  -­‐  this  identification  is  relative,  since  most  come  without  any  official  documents  -­‐  and  

they  are  then  kept  for  some  time  in  the  notorious  detention  centers  for  immigrants,  known  

in  Greek  as  centers  of  “hospitality”.  Once  the  lengthy  identification  process  is  finished,  they  

are   released   on   the   condition   that   they   return   within   one  month   to   the   country   of   their  

origin2.  Why  would  anyone  return?.  Most  travel  to  Athens  in  order  to  find  a  way  to  get  into  

another   European   country,   and   their   tracks   are   usually   lost.   Thus,   this   place,   which   my  

grandparents  yearned  for,  is  today  a  tomb  for  many  people  with  basically  the  same  story  to  

tell  as  my  grandparents:  people  who  were  forced  to  leave  their  homeland  or  were  expelled  

from   it.   These  modern  migration   stories   relativised   the   story   of  my   grandparents.  On   this  

very  real  basis,  it  felt  right  to  act  artistically.  

 

                                                                                                                         2  Bear  in  mind  that  the  text  was  composed  in  2012,  so  regulations  concerning  the  EU  migration  and  asylum  policies  may  have  been  revised.  

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Panorama  of  Ainos,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

 

The  highest  point  of  Ainos   is  dominated  by  the  ruins  of  a  Byzantine  castle.  From  the  castle  

one  has  a  panoramic  view  of  the  natural  border  created  by  the  river  Evros.  Next  to  the  castle  

ruins  I  set  up  a  camping  tent  and  shot  some  black  and  white  analogue  photography.  I  chose  

the  castle   for  this  artistic  action.  Through  the  Byzantine  aesthetic  of   the  ruins,   I  wanted  to  

situate  the  photograph  in  space  and  time.  

The  Byzantine  castle  of  Ainos,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

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Panorama  of  modern-­‐day  Ainos  from  the  castle,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

 

The   operation   of   setting   up   a   tent   in   Ainos   is   invoking   an   ostensible   and   simultaneously  

naive  contemporary  repatriation.  Black  and  white  film  photography  was  deliberately  chosen,  

since   such   aesthetics   allude   to   the   one   and   only   photograph   of   Ainos   that   I   found   in   the  

family  archive  -­‐  I  found  the  very  same  picture  on  the  Internet  later.  This  photo  was  probably  

distributed  among  many  of  the  residents  of  Ainos  at  the  time  before  or  after  the  exchange.  

In   my   own   photograph   the   item   that   confuses   the   romantic   landscape   of   the   old   is   the  

modern   camping   tent.   The   tent   is   the   simplest   and   cheapest   that   can   be   found   in   its  

category  on  the  market.  Moreover  it  is  a  one-­‐person  tent.  By  selecting  this  particular  kind  of  

tent,   I  wanted   to  give  a  personal   and   collective   interpretation  of   this  work.  On  a  personal  

level,  the  tent  is  a  temporary  form  of  accommodation  in  the  space:  just  like  an  archaeologist  

who   is   trying  to   leave  no  trace  at   the  place  she  was  studying,   I   try   to  discover  signs  of  my  

family’s  past  in  modern-­‐day  Ainos.  The  choice  of  a  cheap  tent  as  the  key  item  of  the  picutre  

is  an  act  of  self-­‐sarcasm  referring  to  my  personal  need  for  “repatriation”  -­‐  an  idea  inspired  

by  a  nationalistic  rhetoric,  which  has  been  the  scourge  of  modern  Greek  identity  -­‐  and  to  the  

discovery  of  my  now-­‐proven  bogus  roots.  

 

  10  

The  black  and  white  photo  that  I  took  while  in  the  castle,  photo:  Persefoni  Myrtsou  

 

On   a   collective   level,   the   tent,   installed   on   the   border   of   this   area   between   Greece   and  

Turkey,  becomes  a  report  on  the  living  conditions  of  refugees,  living  a  precarious  life  forced  

on   them,   and   the   undesired   uprooting   many   of   them   experience.   Some   months   ago,   a  

journalist  in  Berlin  told  me  that  this  action  alludes  to  the  global  "Occupy"  movement,  which  

also   symbolically   incorporated   camping   tents   in   their   actions.   How   would   it   be   to  

“decentralise”   such   actions   and   organise   them   in   places   like   Ainos,   exactly   on   the   Greek-­‐

Turkish  border,   instead  of  Wall  Street   in  New  York,  the  Bundestag  in  Berlin  or  Syntagma  in  

Athens?  

 

In  conclusion,  the  fundamental  objective  of  this  project  was  to  create  a  bridge  between  the  

two  stories  of  refugee  phenomena  that  have  occurred  in  this  very  same  area:  one  story  from  

1923,  and  the  other  from  the  present  day.  The  river  Evros  appears  on  the  right-­‐hand  side  of  

the  picture.  Greece   is   discernible  beyond   the   river.   The   country,  which  was   regarded  as   a  

place  of  exile,  while  it  became  home  for  my  grandparents  and  for  many  other  refugees  after  

1923,   has   been   transformed   today   into   a   graveyard   and,   in   the   best   case   scenario,   into   a  

transit   station   for   another   prosperous   country   in   “Europe”   and   at   the   same   time   into   the  

first  station  of  hope  for  a  better  life.  

 

 

  11  

Selected    Bibliography  

 

Anderson,  Benedict,  1983,  Imagined  Communities,  Verso,  London  2006  

 

Auge,  Marc,  1992,  Non-­‐Places.  An  introduction  to  supermodernity,  Verso,  London-­‐New  York  2008  

 

Bourriaud,  Nicolas,  2009,  The  Radicant,  Lukas  and  Sternberg,  New  York  2010  

 

Brewer,  David,  2010,  Greece.  The  Hidden  Centuries.  Turkish  Rule  from  the  Fall  of  Constantinople  to  

Greek  Independence,  I.B.  Tauris,  London-­‐New  York  

 

Chambers,  Iain,  1994,  Migrancy,  culture,  identity,  Routhledge,  New  York  und  Oxon  2005  

 

Charim,  Isolde,  Auer  Borea,  Gertraud  (Εκ.),  2012,  Lebensmodell  Diaspora.  Uber  moderne  Nomaden,  

Transcript  Verlag,  Bielefeld  

 

Hikmet,  Nazım,  1925,  Die  Luft  ist  schwer  wie  Blei,  Dagyeli  Verlag,  Berlin  2000  

 

Hirschhorn,  Renee  (Hg.),  2003,  Crossing  the  Aegean.  An  Appraisal  of  the  1923  compulsory  

population  exchange  between  Greece  and  Turkey,  Berghan  Books,  New  York  und  Oxford  

 

Kristeva,  Julia,  1991,  Stangers  to  ourselves,  Columbia  University  Press,  New  York  

 

Mahn,  Churnjeet  Kaur,  2009  “Romance  in  Ruins,  Ethnography  and  the  problem  with  Modern  

Greeks“,  in  Victorian  Studies,  Vol.,  51,  No.  1  

 

Özkirimli,   Umut;   Sofos,   Spyros,   2008,   Tormented   by   History.   Nationalism   in   Greece   and   Turkey,   Kataniotis,  

Athens  [Edition  in  Greek]  

 

Said,  Edward,  1979,  Orientalism,  Vintage  Books,  New  York      

 

Todorova,  Maria,  1997,  Imagining  the  Balkans,  Epikentro,  Thessaloniki  [Editon  in  Greek]  

 

Ζαφείρης,   Χρίστος   [Zafiris,   Christos],   2008,   Μνήμης   Οδοιπορία,   Ανατολική   Θράκη   [A   wayfaring   of   memory,  

Eastern  Thrace],  Epikentro,  Thessaloniki  [title  translated  by  Persefoni  Myrtsou]