Sarine Arslanian

Two years ago, following their heart’s calling, two souls merged and birthed PATMI into the world. Guided by the vision to turn Armenia’s villages into open-air art galleries, they started with Meghradzor, sharing a local story on a wall. They “breastfed” their cosmic baby with great love and care until it was strong enough to survive on its own. This is their journey, as told by one of the “mothers.”

Located in the Western Armenian province of Kars (which lies within Turkey’s borders today), the medieval city of Ani, also known as the “City of 1,001 churches” and the “City of forty gates,” lies in ruins. Nonetheless, its remains—including the magnificent frescoes painted inside its old churches—carry the memories of the sacred city’s glorious past and abundant beauty. Strolling around Ani, I could not help but wonder what these ancient stones would tell us. If only they could speak… What memories and stories would they share? 

Unlike the snow-covered, gloomy provincial town where the murders of Orhan Pamuk’s imagination took place, the Kars that welcomed my friend and me on our short trip to Western Armenia was warm, lively, and hospitable; enough to set my soul at ease, after a tumultuous arrival in the country. 

Every night, a beautiful Armenian maiden named Tamar would wave a light from Akhtamar Island’s shore in the direction of her lover, who would then swim to her from the mainland to reunite in silence. But Tamar was a princess and the boy, a commoner. When her father found out about their secret meetings, his anger got the best of him. As Tamar was lighting her lover’s way, her father approached her and blew out the light. Without a glow to guide him across Lake Van, the boy drowned in the darkness of the night, wailing, “Akh, Tamar!” (“Oh, Tamar!”).