dying。 Therefore；

during　my　lovely　funeral；　as　I　grievously　watched　my　dear　Shekure　wear　herself

out　weeping　in　vain；　I　begged　of　Exalted　Allah　to　grant　us　souls…without…bodies

in　Heaven　and　bodies…without…souls　in　life。

254

IT　IS　I；　MASTER　OSMAN

You　know　about　those　ornery　old　men　who’ve　charitably　devoted　their　lives　to

art。　They’ll　attack　anyone　who　gets　in　their　way。　They’re　usually　gaunt；　bony

and　tall。　They’ll　want　the　dwindling　number　of　days　before　them　to　be　just　like

the long period they’ve left behind。 They’re short…tempered； and they

plain about everything。 They’ll try to grab the reins in all situations；

causing everyone around them to throw up their hands in frustration； they

don’t　like　anyone　or　anything。　I　know；　because　I’m　one　of　them。

The　master　of　masters　Nurullah　Selim　Chelebi；　with　whom　I　had　the　honor

of　making　illustrations　knee　to　knee　in　the　same　workshop；　was　this　way　in　his

eighties； when I was but a sixteen…year…old apprentice （though he wasn’t as

peevish　as　I　am　now）。　Blond　Ali；　the　last　of　the　great　masters；　laid　to　rest　thirty

years　ago；　was　also　this　way　（though　he　wasn’t　as　thin　and　tall　as　I　am）。　Since

the arrows of criticism aimed at these legendary masters； who directed the

workshops of their day noe in the back； I want you to

know that the hackneyed accusations leveled at us are entirely unfounded。

These　are　the　facts：

1。　The　reason　we　don’t　like　anything　innovative　is　that　there　is　truly　nothing

new　worth　liking。

2。　We　treat　most　men　like　morons　because；　indeed；　most　men　are　morons；

no