Abbas Turki, living on the second floor of the Malakoltojar's House. He has punched the seal for half a century and since then he has done Ghalamkari every day. He earned what he got by his own hands. He believes only hard handwork’s produces worthy halal incomes.
Abbas Turki inherits a vanishing heritage. He complains about the strange days in that cozy corner to and these years, when no one appreciates the art of his fists and fingers, anymore.
In modern ages, that in Sontag’s view tries to create its own spirituality, Turki paints with the color of the past on the surface of his own meanings. A despised past that has not been replaced by anything but fuss. The art that has gone through history is vanishes and has no heir. He does not come out of the corner of the workshop. He knows that the expectation of finding the new age’s meaning does not end in any alley.