Architectural Geology of Ottoman Istanbul, Part 1: A Miracle in Stone, Brick, and Ceramics | Sultan Ahmed Mosque ("Blue Mosque") (AD 1616)
Taken in the precrepuscular glow a few minutes shy of an autumn sunset. Facing more or less northwestward, from the grounds of the Sts. Sergius and Bacchus Church.
It's long past time I started paying back my debt to Islamic architecture—for all the hours of fascination and sheer delight I've been given in exploring the vast body of design expertise and artistry it contains.
My first view of the Sultan Ahmet Mosque was when I was aboard a ship sailing up the Sea of Marmara and into the Bosporus, in the supernatural light of an approaching thunderstorm. Against this ominous backdrop I quickly learned to distinguish it from the Hagia Sophia by its greater number of its minarets, six in all.
As is so often the case with the Late Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman monuments of imperial-city architecture, this magnificent structure is mostly made of locally derived building materials: Miocene-epoch Bakırköy Limestone and brick. But as we'll see in subsequent photos of this set, the breathtaking display of ceramic tile in the mosque's interior is the product of Iznik (or Nicaea, if you're Romano-Byzantine history fan).
And one small, smug, and self-satisfied note about how much I like the way the pastel pinks, blues, and buffs of building and sky hover over the darkened mass of trees.
To see the other photos and descriptions in this series, visit my Architectural Geology of Ottoman Istanbul album.
Architectural Geology of Ottoman Istanbul, Part 1: A Miracle in Stone, Brick, and Ceramics | Sultan Ahmed Mosque ("Blue Mosque") (AD 1616)
Taken in the precrepuscular glow a few minutes shy of an autumn sunset. Facing more or less northwestward, from the grounds of the Sts. Sergius and Bacchus Church.
It's long past time I started paying back my debt to Islamic architecture—for all the hours of fascination and sheer delight I've been given in exploring the vast body of design expertise and artistry it contains.
My first view of the Sultan Ahmet Mosque was when I was aboard a ship sailing up the Sea of Marmara and into the Bosporus, in the supernatural light of an approaching thunderstorm. Against this ominous backdrop I quickly learned to distinguish it from the Hagia Sophia by its greater number of its minarets, six in all.
As is so often the case with the Late Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman monuments of imperial-city architecture, this magnificent structure is mostly made of locally derived building materials: Miocene-epoch Bakırköy Limestone and brick. But as we'll see in subsequent photos of this set, the breathtaking display of ceramic tile in the mosque's interior is the product of Iznik (or Nicaea, if you're Romano-Byzantine history fan).
And one small, smug, and self-satisfied note about how much I like the way the pastel pinks, blues, and buffs of building and sky hover over the darkened mass of trees.
To see the other photos and descriptions in this series, visit my Architectural Geology of Ottoman Istanbul album.