Marker 1: linguistic complexity

The first marker regards the linguistic and semantic complexity in describing the placing of the dead, which can be traced via etymologies of the English term cemetery and the Turkish word mezarlık. According to Sir Raymond Firth:

Some terms, such as grave, burying ground, burial place and sepulchre, of various linguistic origins, refer simply to the disposal of the corpse in the earth and covering it over. Others indicate places specially prepared, such as mortuary, for the temporary reception of a corpse, and ossuary, a storage place for the bones, implying their retention for a period. The terms graveyard, cemetery and necropolis etymologically indicate places specifically set apart for collective reception of the dead. The linguistic emphases in these three words are different. Graveyard refers to the enclosure containing graves; necropolis refers to the dead as buried in or near a city, or perhaps as constituting a city in themselves. Cemetery does not refer to the dead at all. In classical Greek the equivalent word meant simply a dormitory, and the English term then seems to imply a resting place or a sleeping place.²¹

To this list, other terms can easily be added, such as entombment, tomb, coffin, shroud, sarcophagus and inurnment. Further architectural and spatial forms associated with burial include catacombs, shrines, mausoleums, burial vaults and crypts. Inhumation denotes burial in the ground, while entombment refers to burial within an above-ground crypt; interment signifies the resting space itself and has come to encompass spaces designated for all types of remains, including cremated ashes. As can be seen, all these terms emphasise a different aspect of burial. Some focus on the function (such as protection, hiding, sheltering and disposal), while others accentuate the act of burial (such as digging or covering). Others point to the status of the dead (that is, resting or sleeping) or to the characteristics and properties of the space or form of burial. A corresponding variability subsists in Turkish as well, in words such as mezar, mezarlık, kabir, kabristan, makber, gömüt, sin, defin, medfen, tabut, türbe, hazire, lahit, morg and many others. While a detailed examination of these semantic clusters is beyond our scope, we find it worth noting that the word mezar in Turkish marks the grave as a site to be visited.

Marker 2: temporal complexity

The second marker involves the historical variability and connection of the placing of cemeteries to patterns of urban growth and morphology. According to Walter Benjamin:

It has been observable for a number of centuries how in the general consciousness the thought of death has declined in omnipresence and vividness … And in the course of the nineteenth century bourgeois society has [made] it possible for people to avoid the sight of the dying. Dying was once a public process in the life of the individual … think of the medieval pictures in which the deathbed has turned into a throne toward which the people press through the wide-open doors of the death house. In the course of modern times dying has been pushed further and further out of the perceptual world of the living.²²

Here, Benjamin succinctly encapsulates the modern city’s loss of connection with architectures of death. Accordingly, if previously largely propelled by hygienic concerns, actual ‘designed’ cemeteries began to appear and become part of the modernisation processes of European and American cities only in the eighteenth century.²³ Michel Foucault takes this historical trajectory further by identifying cemeteries as a paradigmatic example of ‘heterotopias’, outlined in the form of six principles.²⁴ Paralleling Benjamin, his second principle summarises how cemeteries occupied a central position within Western cities, often situated next to churches as symbols of immortality, but were then relocated to the periphery, where each family possessed its private burial spaces.²⁵ This historical shift is complicated by Foucault’s fourth principle, which associates cemeteries with ‘heterochrony’ – as spaces that disrupt our traditional understanding of time.²⁶ Accordingly: (1) cemeteries are outside of time – although they vary in form across cultures, serving as sites of both crisis and deviation; (2) they evolve over time, reflecting different societal uses and attitudes at different times; (3) they juxtapose many different and incompatible times within a single site; and (4) they embody a dual temporality, simultaneously signifying rupture alongside enduring memory. While a detailed examination of these premises is beyond our scope, Foucault’s theorisation offers a distinctly temporal framework for understanding cemeteries as heterochronic spaces.²⁷

Marker 3: experiential complexity

Our third marker concerns the experiential complexity observed inside the cemetery. From the start, our interest has lain not in the materiality of the corpse or in the phenomenology of the bereaved but in the daily experiences and discernments (sensitivities, realisations and so on) one may have or feel in the presence of the dead. This approach initially appears at odds with the literature, which focuses largely on attitudes towards the corpse, the overall design of cemeteries and the process of grief – all from a utilitarian perspective, centralising the dead body as a material, medical and spatial problem.

Expanding the primary meaning of cemeteries by inscribing them as spaces for recreation and community engagement,²⁸ a second lineage foregrounds the comfort of the bereaved in the rural settings that gave rise to the ‘garden cemetery’ of the nineteenth century. As spaces meant to inspire moral sentiment and serve as sites of leisure and contemplation, botanist John Claudius Loudon’s vision of Victorian cemeteries combined recreation with opportunities for artistic and cultural enrichment.²⁹ Over time, as parks became more prevalent, such uses of cemeteries declined,³⁰ only to be rekindled again in the twenty-first century – exploring the ecological and restorative potential of cemeteries and highlighting their value as greenspaces.

As this brief overview reveals, cemeteries accommodate a plethora of activities and affective states. Reflecting on these complexifications, cemetery studies has benefited from the ‘spatial turn’³¹ in social sciences by focusing on the locations where death is encountered (such as crash sites and disaster areas) as well as the spatialities conditioning and emerging from this encounter.³² Emphasising the cultural aspects associated with death, this attention on deathscapes and necroscapes not only expands our research horizon but also reminds us of the intrinsic spatiality of burial itself. Yet, despite the substantial increase in the number of historical, geographical, anthropological, sociological, political and economic studies centralising the definition, establishment, formation, transformation, meaning, appearance, use, management and evaluation of the cemetery space,³³ there remains a notable gap in research addressing how such spaces are phenomenologically experienced outside the contexts of bereavement and recreation. We seek to address this gap by examining how the living can interact with and repurpose these deathscapes in ways that transcend the function of burial and mourning as well as leisure.

Marker 4: contextual complexity

The fourth marker pertains to the historical weight held within the vastness of Istanbul and New York City as necrogeographies. From the outset, we felt a persistent pressure in not overlooking contextual differences; however, the sheer scope of the task imposed on us a prioritisation of commonalities over divergences. Unexpectedly, we uncovered a remarkable array of overlapping conditions and circumstances while trying to ensure equal representation of both urban cultures.³⁴

We discovered that both cities embody an urban vision that integrates life and death as part of a continuum, with cemeteries functioning as a ‘living organ’ within the metaphorical organism of the city. Reporting on New York City, archaeologist and cemetery researcher Elizabeth Meade observes that ‘New York’s residents’ relationships with, and proximity to, death and burial changed dramatically over time. In the days of the city’s colonial occupation, death was a constant presence.’³⁵ Speaking in a resonant tone, architectural historian Fatima İkbal Polat emphasises the active connection of cemeteries in Istanbul ‘to the urban experience of inhabitants [maintained] through the rituals and acts of visiting that render their symbolic functions perpetual and alive’.³⁶ Both perspectives underscore the similarities in the historical transformation of deathscapes within each city while portraying cemeteries as socially and culturally vibrant spaces, continuously woven into the rhythms of urban life.

Following this preliminary sentiment is the realisation that the growth trajectories and urban morphologies of Istanbul and New York City reveal striking parallels in the ways in which the past and present placement and displacement of cemeteries are associated with particular sensibilities and discourses.³⁷ These are histories as much infused with religious affairs as urban, topographical and infrastructural developments, and more obvious medical or economic concerns.³⁸ Though not covered in this article, there are notably intriguing correspondences between the uniquely American phenomenon of ‘potter’s fields’ – where masses of interred bodies have been covered over, often by city parks³⁹ – and the Turkish concept of ‘cemeteries of the unknown’. Finally, in both cities, we find (and feature) small- to medium-sized cemeteries that were once peripheral to the city but now exist as remnants subsumed by the metropolitan expansion.

Restricted access, yet visible cemeteries

Our first cluster comprises entirely inaccessible sites, visibly locked and closed to visitation. We look at three Jewish Sephardic cemeteries in lower Manhattan neighbourhoods (the remnants of the First, Second and Third Shearith Israel cemeteries) as well as three Muslim cemeteries in two neighbourhoods in Istanbul (the remnants of the two-part Ayrılık Çeşmesi Arab Cemetery in Kadıköy and the Mustafa Efendi tomb and graveyard in Cihangir).

It is notable that, in New York City, Jewish cemeteries are the only religious group to have their burials physically separate from their synagogues or congregational locations. It is also notable that the Sephardic Congregation of Shearith Israel, established in 1683, founded the city’s earliest gravesite, marking a significant milestone in New York’s burial history. The First Shearith cemetery was originally located outside the city limits – an important condition that continued to be met into the nineteenth century – and was nearly full by 1800. Manhattan’s urban expansion and infrastructural development resulted in a reduction in size and the reinterment of several remains at the Second Shearith cemetery between 1805 and 1830.⁵¹ Today, the site sits behind a number of row apartment houses and is bordered by a school. The Second Shearith cemetery served not only as a burial site for prominent members of the congregation but also accommodated victims of epidemics and transient Jews, especially after the 1823 New York City ban on burials south of Canal Street. In 1830, with the extension of the city grid, the cemetery was further reduced, forcing it into the somewhat picturesque triangular plot it occupies today, surrounded by a second wave of urban development.⁵² Occupying a rectangular infill space, the Third Shearith cemetery was established in response to the city’s continued growth and accepted burials from 1829 to 1851, when a ban on cemeteries south of 86th Street was instated. This cemetery, the largest of the three, also accommodated reinterments from the First Shearith cemetery during the early 1850s, when the latter was further reduced in size for area redevelopment. The remnants of these three locked cemeteries are maintained to this day by the Sephardic congregation and preservationists.⁵³

Ayrılık Çeşmesi Arab Cemetery, located in Kadıköy, once spanned a significant area, extending parallel to the railway towards Ayrılık Çeşmesi and its prayer sofa, after which it is named. Notably serving as the final extension of the vast Karacaahmet cemetery, the oldest and largest in Türkiye, the cemetery housed prominent individuals, with burials dating from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth century. Rapid urbanisation and the rise of unauthorised housing, particularly from the 1960s onwards, led to the destruction of much of the cemetery, including its historic gravestones and trees. Efforts by the Turkish Touring and Automobile Association in the 1970s partially preserved the section near the railway by removing illegal housing, restoring gravestones and installing iron railings. Yet today, significant portions of the cemetery are entirely erased, while the remaining sections are divided into two fragments that are unprotected and continue to degrade within a densely populated residential area.⁵⁴ Our third inaccessible site in Istanbul is the Mustafa Efendi tomb and graveyard, an extremely small, practically anonymous plot in Cihangir. Tightly nestled between two adjacent buildings and elevated from the roadside, the historic remnants comprise two sarcophagi alongside approximately 20 graves adorned with traditional headgear such as turbans, caps, hats and fezzes. Currently, the site is in a state of disrepair and is closed to the public, fenced off from the main road by metal wire mesh. It is worth noting that all three of these sites exhibit historical ties to Istanbul’s largest and most renowned burial grounds – although the remnants themselves are completely unmarked and unattended.

Engaging with these cemeteries first involves a relationship of indifference. As we move through the urban landscape, we either completely ignore their existence or acknowledge it only in passing. As we traverse the city with a sense of detachment, the cemeteries, enclosed by their railings and walls, appear as impermeable enclaves – their presence simultaneously pervasive and overlooked.

In the second zone, noticing, our perception begins to shift. The seemingly impenetrable boundaries of the cemeteries reveal some form of an interruption (such as a gate, an arch, stairs or an opening) that hints at the possibility of entry. This recognition generates a slight tension, as the idea of entering the cemetery becomes less abstract and more feasible. Yet, because we remain physically and perceptually rooted in the street space, this awareness is more akin to a momentary splitting of our attention. The gates, often locked, serve as both an invitation and a denial, a divide that invites curiosity while preserving separation. As we go about our own ways, there is a brief yet lingering awareness of what lies beyond these barriers (Figure 2 and Figure 3). This interplay between boundary and access reveals the paradoxical nature of cemeteries as spaces that are simultaneously within reach and remote, as experienced from the outside.

Figure 2

First, Second and Third Shearith cemeteries (from top to bottom); analogue layers presenting exterior views and interior atmospheres 

Figure 3

The two parts of the Ayrılık Çeşmesi Arab Cemetery; digital-photocollage presenting experiences from the exterior and street space (top, bottom); analogue layers expressing multiple views and interior atmospheres (middle) 

Publicly accessible cemeteries

When it comes to enterable examples, NYC Marble, on the one hand, occupies a simple wide, rectangular, flat plot, surrounded on three sides by internal walls and buildings of varying scales and serving residential and educational functions. Its primary frontage consists of a low masonry wall topped with iron railings. Alibeyköy Cemetery, on the other, occupies a hilly corner plot, flanked by a side street on one side and a long, steep stairway on the other. Its main frontage also features a wall with railings, while its edges are defined by the neighbourhood square, the old market and a small modern shopping mall.

Although not our specific purview, the 1823 and 1851 bans associated with the three Shearith cemeteries hold significant historical relevance as the latter effectively ignited the rural cemetery movement, prompting the relocation of burials to areas far outside the metropolitan core of New York City. The histories of the NY Marble Cemetery (established in 1830) and the NYC Marble Cemetery (established a year later, half a block away) reflected this shift as they were created as alternatives to standard burials, supposedly to offer greater safety against disease as well as optimising burial efficiency and maximising space. Founded by private businessmen, these early non-denominational burial grounds featured family vaults, maintained and manicured to this day by the wealthy social elite or the current vault owner’s descendants. Though gated, the NYC Marble Cemetery is open to the public on designated days. Aside from the 265 vaults and over 4,000 estimated burials that it contains, the cemetery features not only markers on the ground and the surrounding walls but also a sprinkling of upright monuments, walkways, small trees and other foliage.⁵⁵

Alibeyköy Cemetery is a cemetery located outside the city centre within a mixed-use residential area. Named after Ali Bey, the area developed as a farmstead during the fifteenth century. It was described by Evliya Çelebi in the seventeenth century as a verdant recreational site with 40 houses, a mosque and a grove of 70 to 80 plane trees.⁵⁶ According to Reşad Ekrem Koçu,⁵⁷ by the year 1946 the village had 180 households, a population of 901 and several amenities. As the village’s fertile lands produced corn, vegetables and significant amounts of milk for Istanbul, the locals engaged in agriculture and trade while some worked at the nearby Silahtarağa Power Plant. Its residents also included descendants of Rumelian migrants, contributing to its cultural and economic development through jewellery making and confectionery. In this context, Alibeyköy Cemetery is named in older maps dating back to the 1920s but is said to have been officially established in 1957. However, official record-keeping by the General Directorate of Cemeteries only began in June 1981. Owing to the cemetery reaching full capacity, burials are now limited to overlaid interments within existing family plots. Notably, it is likely the most tranquil of the sites examined and arguably the least conspicuous from an external perspective, hiding in plain sight because of the trees, especially while they were in bloom but also when they were not.

As far as our first two zones are concerned, both cemeteries extend longitudinally parallel to the street in front of them. As pedestrians, we usually walk past them, railings falling to the periphery of our visual field and thus appearing as an impenetrable surface. We thus remain unaware of or uninterested in these cemeteries – unless we deliberately turn our heads (Figure 4 and Figure 5).

Figure 4

NYC Marble; analogue layers and digital collage expressing multiple views and interior atmospheres 

Figure 5

Alibeyköy Cemetery; digital collage and analogue layers presenting multiple interior–exterior experiences, including street space 

In the third zone, stepping in, we arrive at the gate and take our first steps inside (Figure 6). This ostensibly simple act creates a sharp shift in frequency and a substantial transformation in our experience. Inside, the environment feels softer, calmer, cooler, more spacious and welcoming – which is in stark contrast with the external urban environment, now seeming harsher, agitated, warmer, crowded and confrontational. In a sense, our first awareness of the inside (cemetery) becomes an awareness of the outside (city), which then informs our awareness about the inside. A spatial shift as such also invites a moment of pause, whereby the stillness of the cemetery encourages reflection.

Figure 6

Stepping in: NYC Marble and Alibeyköy cemeteries 

In the fourth zone, transitioning, we move into an intermediary space, with characteristics of a vestibule, which gradually prepares for the cemetery’s interior atmosphere. In NYC Marble, this vestibule takes the form of a dirt and pebble section of the walkway, just before reaching a four-way intersection. The materiality of the ground – its tactile texture and muted sounds – signals a shift in pace and tone, encouraging a more contemplative progression. In Alibeyköy, this transition is provided by a cement slope, flanked by raised beds and graves, inviting an acknowledgement of our movement into a more sacred space. We begin to negotiate a new set of feelings – admiration for the craftsmanship, hesitation rooted in the sombre context, awe at the weight of history and subtle fear. All these layered responses underscore the transition from the everyday to the extraordinary as experienced from the inside.

In the fifth zone, expansion, we become attuned to the internal dynamics of the cemetery as a central path comes into focus as a guiding structure (Figure 7). A childlike curiosity takes over as we move inward with greater intentionality. Our perspective is expanded laterally. As a physical expression of this expansion in NYC Marble, the side paths diverge from the central walkway, pulling us towards one end of the cemetery. We wander off the main route and plunge into the monuments and gravestones while being taken by the interplay between the central space and the periphery. In Alibeyköy, by contrast, the central path is far more contained. The tightly packed raised graves limit physical exploration, confining our movement primarily to the main walkway. This spatial constraint, however, redirects our attention outward, compelling us to scan the surroundings with our gaze. While the path subtly curves and extends towards the back of the cemetery, this tension between the possibility and impossibility of moving and seeing fosters a dynamic perception of the cemetery space, which unfolds gradually through movement.

Figure 7

Expansion: NYC Marble and Alibeyköy cemeteries 

In the sixth zone, deepening/reversal, we walk further into the cemetery, becoming increasingly aware of the distance we have traversed from the street space. This physical separation is mirrored by a perceptual shift as the vitality and density of elements in our immediate surroundings amplify (Figure 8). In Alibeyköy, this transformation is accentuated by each step upwards, creating a heightened awareness of the topography and spatial layering. Turning back, we glimpse partial views of the city through gaps in the tree branches as if the city itself is receding into the background. In NYC Marble, the deepening unfolds laterally as our height and distance from the street remain relatively constant. The interplay of side paths, trees, gravestones and railings creates a layered effect, subdividing the cemetery into smaller, intimate subspaces that act as filters further isolating us from the street. Though we remain in the open air in both cemeteries, the perception of ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ is reversed; the street space becomes solidified as an exterior realm, while the cemetery now becomes a self-contained, interior zone within the city.

Figure 8

Deepening/reversal: Alibeyköy and NYC Marble cemeteries 

In the seventh zone, immersion, we reach a state of complete detachment from the street space (Figure 9). In Alibeyköy, this takes the form of becoming immersed in the dense canopy of trees, leaving only the cemetery’s natural and memorial elements to command our attention. The sense of enclosure created by the layering of trees and foliage is enhanced by the interplay of light and shadow under the trees while we are encouraged to focus more on our immediate surroundings. In NYC Marble, this detachment takes on a more directional quality. Our gaze is drawn inward, directed towards the distant end of the cemetery, where the interplay of paths, monuments and natural elements gives way to a more spacious field. The enclosing effect of railings and internal walls ensures that the street is no longer perceptible, allowing the spatial boundaries of the cemetery to become more pronounced. In both cases, we are invited to give in to those liminal qualities usually associated with deathscapes, where the rhythms of city life are temporarily reprieved and the boundaries between life, memory and imagination are blurred.

Figure 9

Immersion: Alibeyköy and NYC Marble cemeteries 

The eighth zone, revelation, corresponds to a moment of enlightenment (Figure 10). In NYC Marble, this opening is deeply tied to a disruption of our temporal perception – as we lose sense of time. The realisation that we are walking or sitting atop vaults, hidden below, brings about an acute awareness, transforming the cemetery into a space of engagement with the history of families and bodies. This juxtaposition of transience and permanence causes our interior experience to be taken by a meditation on the fragility of human existence against the invulnerability of that which is changeless. In Alibeyköy, this revelation is prepared for by the drama of a steeper ascent and fulfilled by the mythical oozing of beams of light through the dense tree canopies. Shafts of sunlight hit the pathways and tombstones – at the same time they pull our attention upwards, where the crowns of trees break apart to reveal and frame the open sky. In both cases, the zone of revelation marks the cemetery not only as a site of mourning but also as a trans-scalar space for existential reflection and building resilience.

Figure 10

Revelation: NYC Marble and Alibeyköy cemeteries 

The ninth zone, reinhabiting, represents a gradual transition back into everyday life, where our attention again becomes split between the inside and the outside. Our movement becomes less purposeful, as though we are reluctant to abandon the cemetery space while we head towards the exit. In Alibeyköy, if we move towards the upper gate, the cemetery’s boundaries are gradually replaced by the neighbourhood’s upper parts, where the urban landscape reasserts itself. If we turn back and down, however, the transition is marked by a quality of sharedness – stray animals, often unnoticed on the way in, reappear as cohabitants of the space; or the locals, who use the stairs as a thoroughfare, remind us of the cemetery’s dual role as a sacred space and a practical reality. In NYC Marble, as we orient ourselves towards the central gate, the markers and monuments that dominated our attention earlier begin to recede into the periphery, eventually disappearing from our sight. The sensory cues of the city gradually reassert their dominance. The boundary of the cemetery fades as the opposite sidewalk comes into view. In both cases, the ninth zone is less about departure and more about re-entry, with a lingering moment of the transformative journey behind.