Art across the line
In times of conflict, it takes a person of exceptional courage and moral vision to rise above cultural prejudice to do the right thing. This is the story of one such man and the secret he kept for over 30 years
Artist Andy Adamos lived and worked from his Varosha studio in Famagusta. But, come the Turkish invasion in 1974, in common with many others, he and his family had to flee, leaving behind a treasure trove of art works, personal artifacts, etching plates, slides of past work, drawings and sketch books. Like thousands of other refugees, Adamos had to start over again, moving to South Africa’s Johannesburg, where he took up the post of senior lecturer in sculpture at a local university. Over the next 16 years he became a highly respected and much sought after artist, winning prizes for his work, including the prestigious sculpture prize from the Cairo Biennale in 1986.
Adamos was an artist in touch with his medium, moulded as he was by his choice of wood and stone, managing to create a prestigious portfolio of work that still exudes a wonderful sense of harmony and innate balance. But he never forgot his studio in the occupied north and all the past work he had been forced to leave behind.
Enter into the story Baki Bogac, born into a Turkish family in Larnaca where he lived for 13 years, moving to Famagusta in 1963. This was a man destined to be forever connected to the Adamos family, someone who, through his courage and fortitude, risked his life to help save the work of a fellow artist.
After the invasion, Turkish authorities appointed officials to make a record of all those possessions left behind by fleeing Greek Cypriots. Baki was one such nominated official.
Baki then took up the story from his studio in Famagusta: “I knew immediately this was an important and talented artist when I walked into his studio, especially after reading the many catalogues that were scattered around the floor from major European galleries where he had exhibited.
“Of course, by the time I got there the place had already been looted of almost all furniture, tools and personal items, but still left behind were the sculptures, paintings, and photographs. I immediately felt the need to protect this work, not only because I liked it very much but I also felt strongly that the artist should have his work returned to him at some stage.
“So, I asked permission to take on the task of caretaker of the paintings and sculptures but this request was refused. I also knew if I didn’t do something quickly all the pieces would soon be lost forever as government authorities had already set up a designated place where all art and valuables found in houses was to be stored, then afterwards it was all going to be sold off to people for very little money. In my job, I always had to be accompanied on my visits by two soldiers, but I made a plan to get a couple of the more good natured soldiers on side, men who could be relied on to turn a blind eye to what I was going to do, and that was to take out and keep safe as much of the contents of the studio as I could manage.
“I started with the paintings, then the heavy sculptures, it was all very difficult and not without some nervousness on my part as, over four nights, I went, under the cover of darkness into the studio, each time trying to bring out as much as I could carry, not knowing if I would be able to return again the next night.
“All the work I managed to rescue was stored safely in my basement, everything was cared for properly with the sketches framed under glass to protect them and any papers carefully stored in cool dark places along with the sculptures, etching plates and sketch books. Of course, I never managed to get everything out and I know there were many more pieces left behind that must now be in the hands of others but I never told a soul what I had done as I knew full well the penalty would be harsh if my secret ever became known.”
The years passed and in 1991 Baki told his story to one man, an American Cultural official whom he met when attending the Brushworks Across Cultures exhibition. He agreed that the work should be given back to the artist and offered to help as the ‘go between’ but political sensitivities at the time made it dangerous for Baki to let it be known the level of his involvement.
What Baki did not know was that Andy Adamos had died from cancer in 1990 at the age of 54 and it was his widow Jenny who answered the door one morning in 1993 to find standing before her the American cultural representative surrounded by some of the sculptures and boxes full of her late husband’s art.
“We all fell about crying,” Jenny recalled. “Because we knew it was Andy sending us his spirit in the form of his long lost work. That was truly a wonderful day for me and my children. Of course, we still could not breathe a word about how we got the work returned or Baki would have been in great trouble, so we promised to keep his secret.”
The great sadness is Adamos never knew how this fellow Turkish artist had put aside political and religious differences to take enormous personal risks to rescue his work from that studio in Varosha.
Then, in 2003 with the partial opening of the Green line, Baki was at long last able to make the long journey by bus to Paphos, determined to meet up at last with Jenny and her children. “He walked into our family restaurant clutching one of Andy’s large and very heavy sculptures and said ‘I am Baki from Famagusta’. He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence, I just gave him such a huge hug after which I cried,” Jenny said. “He also brought me a packet of old love letters and, at the same time confessed that at first he had been worried about giving these over to me, until he found out a bit more about our life, as after reading them he had initially thought that because the letters were quite passionate my husband had perhaps written them to someone else! So, it was only after he met me in person that he felt able to give me back those very precious love letters.” But according to Jenny, there was still much work lost during the invasion, as despite Baki’s splendid efforts he wouldn’t have managed to get all the art work out and safely stored in his basement. “There was many more things left behind because one year before Andy died he sat down and made a complete list of everything he could remember that had been left behind. That inventory is now in the hands of the Ministry of Culture and they hopefully still keep an eye out for his work if it does come onto the open market. I know there was a big portfolio of drawings, plus about eight to ten other pieces of sculpture, then there was also a good amount of graphics, again in portfolios, and of course his draft manuscripts.”
Andy Adamos’ absence is still acutely felt after 17 years. His widow Jenny’s house has become a shrine to his works of art, each piece illustrating not only the magnitude of his talent, but also celebrating the sheer vigour for life that set him apart from his contemporaries.
Baki now lives and works as a successful and highly respected artist in Famagusta and still keeps in regular contact with the Adamos family by phone and letter. A story of a man who loved art, hated war, and serves as a reminder of how sometimes one person can make a difference to other people’s lives.
