The scatterd memories of a distorted future
On eighth January 2020, when I found out the Ukrainian airplane had been shot down in Tehran and all its 176 passengers and crew died, I fell into a deep silence of grief and despair. Since then, different sorts of unfortunate events have come: political turbulence, water crises, recession, Immigration of my family members and friends, and the Covid virus as the crown of all problems. When I wake up in the morning, I am like a demolished place, and everything seems to be in ruins: myself, my family, my friends, my relationships, my city, my country.
The suffering we endure manifests itself in the language of ruins. As an artist, amid all this suffering (the language of the present), I hope to find how artistic creation can be healing, inspiring, and effective? What effect does the artist have on this ruin? What role do we have in the ruins of men’s buildings?
In this series, ruins have become the metaphor for pain. Here, between the silent past and a distorted future, I invited female painters to paint what they like in abandoned places; a painting on the masculine history, a picture on the face of the past, and an unanswered question for the future.