When the Berlin wall came down, the Greek Cypriots relabelled Nicosia the "last divided city in Europe". The Green Line, marking the point at which Turkish troops stopped their advance after the 1974 invasion, cuts the capital neatly in half as it zigzags from west to east across the island.
For visiting tourists as well as the UN peacekeepers, mostly British squaddies who patrol the Nicosia sector, the Green Line is a dusty "dead zone". Peer between the piles of old tyres, sandbags and white-washed oil drums blocking the alleyways that lead to the Turkish Cypriot north and you catch glimpses of bombed-out buildings and patches of overgrown gardens.
Although Cyprus joined the European Union in 2004 and Green Line checkpoints have been open for the past two years, the lack of a formal peace settlement means that the "dead zone" is still a heavily charged feature of the island's landscape.
Leaps of Faith, an international art exhibition in public spaces on and around the Green Line, is an ambitious attempt to challenge political clichés about the division of Cyprus and at the same time reinforce the newfound relationships between the Greek and Turkish communities.
Twenty Cypriot and international artists from countries such as Bosnia, Finland, Lebanon and Israel, whose ideas have been shaped by the proximity of contested territories and border zones, have produced new, site-specific work for the exhibition. The project was organised by the Istanbul Foundation for Culture and Arts and supported, among others, by the United Nations and the Greek Cypriot culture ministry.
Rana Zincir, the project initiator, explains: "Bi-communal projects have been frustratingly limited so far. We wanted to stir things up, draw attention to issues that have been marginalised by traditional politics and and so called patriotism, like the situation of immigrants and of women. And we also wanted to show the potential for change and a more hopeful future."
The exhibition has certainly succeeded in shaking up the residents of Nicosia, in particular the Cypriot work, which mixes a subversive playfulness with a strong sense of social responsibility about the island's predicament.
Katerina Attalidou explored the semi-abandoned neighbourhoods adjoining the Green Line, which have been taken over by immigrants from the Middle East, Russia, Bangladesh and Afghanistan.
In full view of passers-by, a large translucent green heart, made of plastic shopping bags, pulsates erratically at the centre of her installation in a former shop. On the walls are dozens of photographs of immigrants and their families, with captions about their lives in Cyprus.
On the Greek Cypriot side of the city centre, traffic slows beside a puzzling statement in the familiar white on blue letters of a road sign. Adapting a slogan from nationalist politics, Panayotis Michael's strategically placed signs say "Remember Me" in Turkish, Greek and English, indicating an alternative but non-existent turning off the main route.
Five days after the exhibition opened, Kutlay Erk, the mayor of Turkish Cypriot Nicosia, ordered the dismantling of Anber Onar's installation close to the "dead zone", on the grounds of causing public offence.
Onar draped a modern office building to resemble a tenement, using layers of faded cloth that resembled slum-dwellers' washing - so convincingly, says Zincir, that several immigrants stopped by and asked if they could rent a room.
It is not only the mayor who is put out. The Turkish Cypriot children who play soccer on a grassy pitch near an army sentry post are noisily critical of an installation by Sigalit Landau, an Israeli artist.
She has replaced the goal nets with rolls of rusty barbed wire and attached dozens of collapsed footballs to the spikes. "It's a crazy and dangerous idea. How can the goalie play properly without getting cut up?" says Servan, one of the young players.
In the most haunting image of all - a video - Landau stands naked against a grey sea swirling a hula hoop made of barbed wire, which leaves red marks on the skin of her torso. The soundtrack booms out the noise of waves pounding the beach. And the site, a bedroom in a former Turkish Cypriot hotel, also contributes to making this 21st-century take on Venus's mythological birth in the foam of Cyprus both ironic and deeply disturbing.
Kerin Hope 'Leaps of Faith' runs until May 29.
Tel +90 533 734 5886
