motherland is a place to find uncommon forms and flavors for your table. The selection will be ever-changing as new relations form but it will stay true to representing artisans from a nearest and dearest part of the world where Neptunian Turkey meets its neighbors. Let’s start with table and kitchenware made by hand in Aegean coastal towns, herbs collected in Greek islands, preserves and syrups bottled in Lebanese mountains and olive oil made with the fruits of 2000 year old trees native to Palestine. Let’s fill our kitchens with stories.
A map has no vocabulary, no lexicon of precise meanings. It communicates in lines, hues, tones, coded symbols, and empty spaces, much like music. Nor does a map have its own voice. It is many-tongued, a chorus reciting centuries of accumulated knowledge in echoed chants. A map provides no answers. It only suggests where to look: Discover this, reexamine that, put one thing in relation to another, orient yourself, begin here. Sometimes a map speaks in terms of physical geography, but just as often it muses on the jagged terrain of the heart, the distant vistas of memory, or the fantastic landscapes of dreams. _______ Miles Harvey, The Island of Lost Maps