Wahed Khakdan
Audio of the Entire Interview
Interview Transcript
Part 01
I come from family that has experienced a turbulent past
It is an old saying that, a child [born in such a family],
will turn out to have a turbulent life of his own…
My family, both, on my mother’s as well as my father’s side, were immigrants.
In the nineteenth century, and in their childhood,
my grandfathers migrated from [the Iranian] Azerbaijan to the Azerbaijan across the Araxes River
then, for one reason or another, they proceed towards Russia, and the Black Sea.
These all go back to a short period after the First World War,
and the beginning of the Russian October Revolution.
It coincides with the 1920s.
During that decade, one of the episodes is a severe case of famine in Russia.
My childhood starts with…, as my grandmother recounted for me, one day she
wakes up—in Smolensk—and notices that, with the terrible condition and the famine that existed,
there was some meat being roasted somewhere…
Then she realizes that a woman who had been pregnant and
had given birth to a stillborn child, had roasted the child so they would eat it.
Another horrible event was that her father and brother go to the railway station to board a train,
in that harshly cold weather, to go to Moscow to [possibly] get some food…
They arrive at the station only to find out that the train was cram-full…
that is, there were no empty spaces inside the wagons.
Therefore, just like hundreds of other men who had placed themselves upon the
roof-tops of the wagons, lying down, they, too, go and sit on top of a wagon.
In about three or four hours the frozen bodies of both were returned to the family.
As it is well-known, when Stalin took over, he started a process of filtration and purification:
he wanted to purify everything…everything.
He thought that the homeland must pass through a sieve.
That is to say, those who belonged there had to have a Soviet birth certificate and a passport
—Union of Soviet Socialist Republic
and those who didn’t wish to remain there,
[or] whose roots went back to other places, had to leave, right at that instance
Therefore, both families decided to get aboard a ship and go to Anzali Port [a coastal city
of the Northern Iran] via the Caspian.
None of them spoke Persian well; they even didn’t have last names. When they came there,
they had to choose an Iranian family name.
They went to Tabriz. There, my father attended an art school; he learned the theater arts…
ou might know that Tabriz was the first city in Iran that had a theater establishment.
When Tabriz had a theater, Tehran did not have one.
My father, being deeply enamored of stage designing and of theater, started working at Tabriz.
A Russian couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Makarof were stage designers and
were in charge of the art direction at the Tabriz Theater. My father started a period of training
under their supervision…
And these trainings ended up with his becoming the stage designer at that Theater.
samples of Vali-ullah Khakdan’s stage designs
These events co-inside with those of the Democratic Party of Azerbaijan.
The army, along with a flock of thugs and louts, raid the city;…
They make a pretext of one’s being a leftist,
a communist or a follower of Pishevari (the founder of the Azerbaijan Democratic Party),
to arrest people, imprison them
or exile them, and among others, both families were arrested, imprisoned for two years and exiled…
my parents, in fact, met each other in exile.
There had been an army base in the city of Kazerun that had been used during the WWI,
but at that point it had been abandoned.
So] they brought thousands of these people—women, children, young girls and boys
—and kept them in exile, in an extremely atrocious condition…
In order to get by, young women there,
My mother was very much interested in making embroideries,
but she didn’t have any reference designs to work from.
She noticed that the other girls had some pictures and flower designs which they
transferred on the fabrics and made their works.
My mother headed out and found the place; the one who
drew the flowers was my father. She found my father and they fell in love.
My father drew flowers for her and she made embroideries…and…
Once my father was punished severely, gots a slap across his face by a Colonel,
and his punishment was to go early in the morning and dig his own grave
That is, they took him somewhere in the early dawn, gave him a shovel, and demand him to dig
Upon his asking what he was digging, they told him that he was digging his own grave.
The affair between them [the father and mother] went on until they lost one another.
Penniless, with no proper clothing to wear, in a dreadfully terrible condition, and without
a determined destination, they set out; by chance they ended up in Tehran.
They did come to Tehran, but first they had to look for their relatives. For instance,
my mother had not seen her father for two years;
she had not seen her older brother for two years [either].
They came to Tehran, and there they once again found each other by mere chance.
My father came to Tehran—as I have heard it from him—in a very deplorable condition;
but he wouldn’t want to go back to Tabriz.
The very first [groups of] theaters had been established on Lalehzar Street
He knew that if he went there, there was a possibility that he would find his friends there.
I believe it was at Pars Theater [that] he found Samad Sabahi, an Azerbaijani Turkish
, who was himself an immigrant, working at the Pars Theater as a director.
When my father met with him, he asked him what he was going to do. My father responded,
saying that he was doing nothing, and he really didn’t know what to do
He told my father that he would get him to a shop, he would start working there; however,
he was not to tell them what skills he possessed.
“Just do whatever they ask you to,” he emphasizes. The shop was a sign-making shop…
on Lalehzar Street.
My father went there and started working for a humble salary. Sabahi also found him a small room…
he stayed there…
Now comes the interesting part of the story. One day Sabahi told him, “You cannot live by yourself.
You must have someone, a wife, or such.”
“Who would take me as their son-in-law?” He, declares, “I don’t have a [decent] income;
you see what kind of condition I am in.
He responded by saying that he knew a family whose past was very similar to that of his.
They went only to find out that she was, in fact, my mother
[that is to say, she was the subject of his affection in the terrible old days].
My parents married in 1949, I believe. I was born in 1950…
Vahed Khakdan’s childhood. Tehran at the family home
All my childhood was passed behind the theater scenes and movie studio;
[in fact] there are only a few well-known persons in the history of the Iranian theater
and cinema that I have not seen.
Rafi’ Halati (actor, director, 1899-1981), at the Tehran Airport, 1955
Naser Malekmoti’i (actor, director, 1930-2018), Tehran, Pars Movie Studio, 1953, with Saber Rahbari
Raj Kapoor (Indian actor, 1924-1988) with Kourosh Koushan (actor, 1947-2002), Tehran,
Pars Movie Studio, 1953
Caption: Ilush Khoshabeh (body builder and actor (1932-2012), who played in Eur
opean movies, as well,
including Hercules, Samson and Ulysses, a production of Italy), with Saber Rahbari.
Caption: Esma’il Mehrtash (master Tar player,
At nights my father took me to the Pars Theater, or Barbod Society [a center for teaching the Tar,
singing, and voice and the Iranian music scores training]
for instance. It is something that makes my childhood an exceptional one, filled with
an atmosphere of fantasy, and utter beauty.
[Caption: Vahed Khakdan, Tehran, Pars Movie Studio, 1955.]
A trauma that is lingering in me is the Mordad 28 upheaval [the Operation Ajax coup,
August 19, 1953, backed by the CIA].
My (maternal) uncle, who was very much fond of me used to often come to my Mom,
asking her to allow him to take me for sightseeing or to movies, and so forth.
[On that particular day] he came to our house—that at the time it so happened to be behind
the Iranian Parliament building, at the Baharestan Square—asking to let him take me out with him.
“There are demonstrations outside,” he explained, “with people holding large placards on
which images are drawn.”…
documentary, August 1953 upheaval
There are documentary films showing the people coming and going. They had banners
with dragons and demons painted on them.
He had thought that I would find this attractive, on the ground that I used to paint and raw a lot.
[So] he took me and brought me to the area before the Parliament entrance to see the
demonstration; and right at that moment conflicts started and tanks and the army arrived.
The mob rushed forward, and my uncle, having a child in his arms, could not run,
[so] he and I fell into a gutter,
while he was covering me with his body, while my face was upwards.
[At that moment] a tank passed over the gutter.
The trauma has stayed with me. A huge black piece of metal, with a frightening sound,
passing over our heads.
An interesting piece that I have in my archive is a sketchbook of drawings…
In which there are drawings I made when I was six or seven.
Drawings from childhood, 1956
This sketchbook…master Rafi’ Halati, who was a very well-known personality at the time,
for the reason that he was both a university professor [and] along with that,
he was active in theater arena, as well, both as an actor and a director…
he was one of the earliest individuals who in the old days succeeded to go to Paris for education
—I believe he had studied at [École des] Beaux-Arts; he also knew about sculpting—…
He went to Paris and upon returning he brought me the sketchbook, which I still have.
He has dedicated it to me in writing: “To my little Khakdan, [autographed] ‘Halati’.”
At that age of six or seven I made a copy of it and kept it next to me:
the handwriting and the autograph [that is]…
childhood paintings and drawings, 1956
Caption:Vahed and Nahid Khakdan, Tehran, 1956
Of course before that I attended the Roshdiyyeh preschool;
and there—I remember—I made drawings and painting all the time;
and all the walls of the preschool were covered with my drawings; that is to say,
whatever I drew, the teachers would decide to hang them up:
all over the hallways, and…there were my drawings hung…
At the elementary school, I would engage in the activities that is common among the
other children with the similar aptitude…
I made drawings; the kids liked me a lot, and the teachers were very much fond of me…
Caption:Vahed Khakdan, Roshdiyyeh Elementary School, Tehran, 1957
Caption: Vahed Khakdan, Roshdiyyeh Elementary School, Tehran, 1959
Caption: Vahed and Vali-ullah Khakdan, Tehran, at the fmily house, 1961
Caption: Vahed Khakdan, Tehran, Hadaf High school, 1964
At Hadaf High the first of art-related events [of my life] took place;
for, one of the principals, noticing that I had a kind of more talent in painting than others,
sent me to the Ramsar Art Camp [an annual high school art contest].
The first time I went there I believe I was fifteen…
Vahed Khakdan, the painting contest camp, Ramsar, 1965
First I received the bronze medal, then the silver, [and] then the gold
(I was chosen as the winner on the national level).
All captions: Vahed Khakdan, the painting contest camp, Ramsar, 1965
The principle at Hadaf High, Mr. Rahnama, strongly advised me [once],
while asking what I was planning to do with studying math.
I replied by saying that I wanted to become an engineer.
He replied by stating that it would be much more advisable
if I pursued art, painting, etc. “As I see it,” he opined,
“your work is very exceptional and valuable; you might be more successful there
than being an architect, or engineer…
At Ramsar Camp I often saw Mr. Gholamhoseyn Nami [an internationally successful
visual artist], who was young then, and, along with his wife, they were members of the jury…
captions: Turan Zandiyyeh and Gholamhoseyn Nami
He would encourage me a lot in those days.
One of the summers I had failed in one of the courses,
and I was heading towards home, very upset
At the intersection of Taleghani and Vali-asr (two main streets
in Tehran) there are a couple of movie theaters
I saw Mr. Nami and his wife at the box-office. We exchanged greetings
He asked me what I was doing. I told him the story.
“Why don’t you come,” he said, “and enroll at the School of Fine Arts, and ‘give us a break’?”
I registered, took the entrance exam, and I was accepted.
In 1967, 68, I started under Mr. Mohammad-Ebrahim Ja’fari’s instructions…
Alireza Espahbad, Vahed Khakdan, the Ancient Iran Museum, 1965
School of Fine Arts, Tehran, 1968
The quality I expected from an artistic atmosphere, I never found at that school.
The atmosphere was a closed one
The given information was insufficient. They taught analytical painting.
No discussion of the contemporary art [of the time] took place;
that is, the events that took place in the West was not wholly passed down to us
I was very curious and eager to know what was happening at the other side of the
globe, as regarded painting;
and I would find information, too; I would go, look for it and find it.
My teacher, Mr. Ja’fari’s opinion as regarded my painting was very logical
and he knew that I was aware of the happenings at the
other side of the world—I would reflect it in my work, anyway.
In spite of that, in those days one couldn’t reflect that which was very much up-to-date out there
After the School of Fine Arts, I took two examinations:
those of the Faculty of Fine Arts, at the Tehran University and the College of Decorative Arts
At the Tehran University exam I made it for the first place. Everybody opined that I would go there
However, I chose the School of Decorative Arts, on the grounds that…
it was partly my father’s desire…
[Here] I did not wish to study art; I wanted to learn a skill that I could use later…
and prevail upon the fear that my father had put in
my mind that if I became a painter I would have a life filled with hunger and misery.
Therefore I decided to study interior decoration.
And I studied interior decoration.
[I enrolled in] 1971; and I graduated in 1976.
Part 02
I started at the College of Decorative Arts in 1971,
after my studies at the School of Fine Arts, and in the beginning of the first year I made friends with
one of my classmates by the name of Bahram Badr Salehiyan, who is
currently a successful architects in the US.
He took the initiative to take me to the Seyhoun
Gallery for the first time.
Seyhoun Gallery was the only professionally run gallery in Tehran;
in fact, we did not have any other galleries
We went there and, for the first time there, I a painting exhibition—I believe
it was Shahla Arbabi’s—but I did not discuss anything with Ms. Seyhoun and no
exchange of words took place between us.
Afterwards I frequented the gallery. One day—I think it was in 1973—I had gone to there for
the opening of an exhibition, when I noticed Ms. Seyhoun looking at me in a rather
peculiar manner
Then she indicated me; “Come here,” she demanded, “are you a painter?” she asked.
“Yes, I am,” I replied, “I do some stuff. I am a student.” “For some odd reason,”
she went on, “my heart tells me that your work is a rather good one; would you bring
some of your works and let me see them?” “When?” I asked. I cannot remember exactly,
but we set a time during the next couple of days.
As soon as she saw my works she asked, “Should I set a time for an exhibition of your work?”
?” “Me?” I asked, “Really? Here? An exhibition?” “Yes,” she replied,
“when do you wish to have an exhibition?”
In short, she set a time for me, for which the late Alireza Espahbod designed the poster;
and thus we launched the show.
It was a successful exhibition;
for the reason that my style was kind of different from what was common.
That is to say, there had arrived a 23-year old guy, whose treatment of the colors were different
At the same time that you would found the elements of the post-modern forms…
the job held certain new factors that were the
result of my awareness as regarded the events that took place then during the 1960s
I knew that a period of painting…the history of the modern painting, that is,
was coming to an end…had met its end.
I remember, I even sold some paintings at the exhibition that at the time was a whole lot of
money for me
I made six or seven thousand Tumans, which made me very happy.
The following year I wanted to have yet another show at the gallery, but Ms. Seyhoun
advised me not to have all works at her gallery.
Seyhoun Gallery, , Tehran, 1876
At the time there was a cordial relationship between the Gallery and the Ghandreez Hall
but I did not know the people there. I went there…and…Mr. Pakbaz was very courteous
and we made an agreement that I have an exhibition there;
and in 1974 or a year later I had my second show…
House of Ghandreez Gallery, Tehran, 1975
It was very different from what you just saw
That is to say, I had returned to figurative works and it was the commencement of my
surrealistic atmospheres
Before the Iranian Revolution I had several exhibitions and, naturally, when
one has several single shows,
he would also participate in group shows, as well. Included was sending some of
my works to the Switzerland.
This brought about a set of successes that occasionally
resulted in meeting some of the country’s officials, as well.
For instance the first International Art Exhibition in Tehran was inaugurated by the Shah,
himself, along with Farah Pahlavi (the queen of the time) and the family
In an encounter he asked me what I was doing.
I told him that I had been a student, just finished my education, and that I was at the point of being
drafted for the mandatory military service
He ordered the officials to grant me a scholarship, so I could go abroad and study
I was asked where I wanted to go, to which I responded by saying that I
wanted to become an architect
…and that I was very much interested in studying in the US
Just like the youth today, I even knew where, what city, etc.…
“UCLA in Los Angeles…,” and the sort.
In short, everything was taken care of and I even received the letter of admission
Nonetheless, when one received the admission, although they knew that one was a recipient
of a scholarship and could go and start their studies without any financial worries
, someone had to sign an affidavit so if the recipient didn’t receive the financial support
on time, the signatory would support him until the money comes.
I remember that one night my Dad came home late, as usual, due to film-making sessions,
I showed him the form and explained it to him
Well, he was not particularly fond of the conditions [in Iran],
[So] he said that he was not going to sign it.
“Go to the same people,” he proposed, “who have agreed to pay, get the money, and go!”
We started an argument, my Dad and I.
I believed that my Dad had to be proud that his son had received the scholarship…and…
…he can go now and study architecture, without any
worries. But my expectations were out of place and my assumptions were faulty
Therefore, and out of despise, I went to the military drafting
office the next day and volunteered…to become a soldier.
When I returned home, my mother told me that someone by the
name of Dr. Zoka’ had called from the Shahbanu’s (the Queen’s) Office of Affairs.
“Dr. Zoka’?” I inquired. “Call him,” she advised, “and see what he has in mind.”
I called Dr. Zoka’ asking him what the matter was. “Where are you?”
he asked, “what’s happened?” I explained to him what I had done.
“You did wrong,” he regretted,
“I will bring it to her attention, and let us see what will happen.” It turned out that,
apparently she had brought it to her husband’s (the Shah’s)
attention, and he had stated that the military service under our flag was a sacred service,
and that every Iranian was duty-bound to offer the service.
I started the sacred service “under the flag”—as they say—[for] two years,
as a second lieutenant. I even went on a secret mission for which
I received an official citation, as well
military pictures
When I started the service,
in the beginning I was sent to remote cities and distant locations; and living in those locations,
created a peculiar psychological reaction in me, even ending up in my not painting for a year.
=
The reason was that I felt that what was being created in Tehran was for the
wealthy and the aristocratic class who frequented the galleries
and that this business could be only for a special class of the society.
This was the basic reason for not working for a year. A second reason was that I was getting
to get familiar with new leaving conditions that were associated with poverty
extremely unfavorable living conditions, and the people whose main problem was only to stay alive.
The problem for them was to make a piece of bread for their night
and the matters concerning art was beyond their concerns.
After a year, when I started to work, such lives affected my work.
When I painted figures, they had nothing to do with those that one
might see on the ceilings painted in Baroque style, or the marble statues carved by Bernini, or…
Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon.
It mostly had tendency towards realism. And the reality was that
these people were living in miserable
situations, psychologically and emotionally having peculiar conditions:
loneliness, fear, delusion, phobia concerning the future.
The essential reason for returning to the technique that I am still making use of and
benefit from is that, when I was very little
naturally I painted, and my father, who knew about painting to some extent and made
paintings, as well,
always told me not to draw such tumultuous…or…combat related scenes, and such.
“First learn how to draw an egg,” he maintained.
The first object that I decided to draw as I saw it was an egg.
After not having painted for a long time, I laid a paper on the table, placed an egg on it,
and I tried to copy it exactly as it was.
You can look at this manner of work from two perspectives.
One is, naturally, the critical perspective, implying that
from among so many objects that are out there, why an egg?
Why not a dried branch of a tree, or…or…a…shell?
In the meantime one can look at it from a philosophical and profound perspective:
An egg is a symbol on its own right; a symbol about which one can write a whole volume.
First of all, I set aside the fear of being criticized for this manner of work; and I started
learning how to draw objects as they really were
When I drew the first egg, I was in [the city of] Isfahan, still passing my military service at a garrison.
In the afternoons they would bring us from out there to the city by a bus
When I drew the first egg, I found the white egg on a white surface very tasteless;
while at the same time it had become what it should have
I decided to draw the egg on a different surface, so it would assume a more appealing air.
Naturally, I was looking for a color that would have an extreme contrast with an egg,
so that its three-dimensionality would show itself better
The color I chose was a dark brown: the same color that I still keep repeating in my works.
The reason for choosing this color was that, for me, the history of the art of painting
has a strong bond with this color
; you see it everywhere: in Rembrandt’s work, in Vermeer’s, and the sort.
Therefore, I laid a layer of brown and then I painted the egg on that surface. But then again,
a single egg on a brown surface seemed extremely boring: it was “empty.”
One day, as I was waiting for the bus to get me back to the city, along with others—
the fellow warriors, that is—
I looked at the sky and for the first time in my life the clouds got me petrified. Seeing
the cumulus clouds on the horizon affected me a lot.
Cloud is, naturally, a subject matter that has been used in paintings exhaustively [and]
in expansive manners
From the seventeenth century up until now the cloud has always been a subject
that, by its addition to a work, we can create atmospheres in which we can say a lot of things.
To children, clouds are always appealing because one would see animals in it
All together, the grandeur of the clouds always affects the human being, due to their enormity
When I returned home, and saw the egg on the brown surface,
I thought if the clouds were added to it, something interesting might happen, and so I did it.
When the clouds were added, the work assumed a tendency towards surrealism.
I kept working while fearing that my work was transforming into surrealistic compositions.
In order for my work to become more contemporary,
I added elements from architecture to it, as well.
I had studied interior decoration and I was influenced by the line drawings in that filed;
so they were also added to the works
so much so that when you look at these works, you would find a similarity between these
works and those in the architectural ones.
Perhaps things had been added that separated my work from the classical surrealism.
In 1978 I held a show at the Seyhoun Gallery again,
which was the most successful one I had ever held.
Seyhoun Gallery, Tehran, 1979
Many who visited the exhibition at that time have still kept the memory in their minds
The year ‘78 is an important one in the Iranian history.
The advent of the Revolution was naturally associated with new outlooks in the artists’ hearts,
as regarded their practices and their productions.
It was an event that held a direct relationship with the social and political changes
The effect of these events on the artists was different from one to another. Some even
“washed their brushes,” set them aside, and worked no more.
I thought what was wrong with reflecting that which was going on?
The reflection of these events in my work manifests itself in different forms
For instance, if you look at the works from that period, you would notice that there
are blood stains somewhere, all the time
The works from that period are combinations of that which I had seen in the distant small towns
and the events that were taking place.
The latter was more direct in the drawings; [and] in the paintings it obscured
itself and intermingled with the everyday life
What happened next was that I tried to [incorporate] elements that might remind the
spectator of my other works, such as the clouds in the rooms.
Later on I omitted these clouds, on the grounds that the work resembled those of René Magritte.
Omitting the elements that ended up in surrealistic atmospheres caused the
works to take a tendency towards realism
In any case, what happened was that the work dragged itself towards absolute realism.
Interesting was that, when I created this [new] atmosphere and continued it, many
individuals who had seen my work before
which contained surrealist elements, exclaimed that there were no elements of surreal
per se in the works, and yet they were still surrealistic!
However, I paint an empty room, with a door in the middle, a chair at one corner and a pair
of shoes at the other
I mean, nothing supernatural or extraordinary is taking place there.
It is something that you can go to any corner of Tehran, for instance, Pol-e Choobi
(the wooden bridge) and there you’ll see so many abandoned houses where you can see
these scenes in real life.
Nevertheless, the manner of displaying such commonplace and ordinary subject matters
can take the viewer to particular realms, including surrealistic,
For at least two or three years I only painted.
What happened was that the paintings I made, I made them for my own satisfaction, and aiming at
producing paintings from different angles, outside
that which I had produced in Iran in those decades.
I did things that were very much risky; and the risk was
that there was a possibility that what I painted was not going to be exhibited
Very seldom would you see the traditional elements in it;
something that was very much common in the Iranian paintings.
At the same time that the works were current,
many experts—connoisseurs—after seeing the works,
opined that the works were absolutely contemporary;
and yet the subject matters seemed to be outdated
Well, it wasn’t, on the grounds that, for instance, I painted the niches that I had seen in Isfahan,
with an extremely European technique of the 17th or 18th centuries;
even occasionally in Renaissance style
The repetition of my ability in modern themes had fed me up so much,
that I wanted to experience the pure painting that eventually had ended up in Gustave Courbet,
or the Impressionism, as well.
For instance, I liked very much that, when I stood before a work by Tiepolo or Caravaggio,
I was eager to know how Caravaggio had painted a piece of fabric
This attraction made me go, try and experiment with these techniques,
very secretly and in a clandestine manner
Eventually it has come to what you see; when I paint a piece of fabric,
I really try to apply the technique of the Baroque painters to them
I don’t work in photorealist manner. What I do when I paint a glove,
a sock, or a shoe (and it might take a whole week),
I can take a snapshot, use it and paint in fifteen minutes what I spend one whole week to finish.
But I won’t do that
Probably right know you are telling yourself, “Because you are daft!”
No, really, it is the love one holds in heart towards painting
When Kamal-ol-Molk (an Iranian master painter, 1847-1940) went to the Louvre
he was possessed by the power he was witnessing,
that which Veronese reflects in his work; Leonardo da Vinci reflects in his; that…Caravaggio does…
He returns to Tehran and tries to learn that manner of work.
My case was not different, either; it was very similar to that.
That is, I, too, repeat in today’s paintings the set of elements of which we find traces
in the preceding centuries’ canvasses, that reflects their everyday life
I might not paint a soldier with his shield, helmet, and spear,
but fabric always existed, leather always existed, wood always existed,
and I started to experiment with these in my works.
Eventually, one day Parviz Kalantary saw the works
Vahed Khakdan, Parviz Kalantary, Gholamreza Nami, The House of Artists’ Gallery, Tehran, 2011
He had an acquaintance with the director of the [Tehran] Museum of Contemporary Arts
So he invited him to see my works. When he came to my studio and saw my works
he liked them a lot, and expressed interest in having a showcase at the museum
adding that they were going to station the works in the museum.
I think it was the first solo exhibition after the [Iranian] Revolution.
The show lasted several months and,
of course, the conditions were unfavorable at the time. I believe it was 1979 or 80.
Part 03
Right before the outbreak of the war—several weeks prior to that—my younger brother
was drafted for mandatory military service
it was the 22 September 1980, or such, that the Iran-Iraq war started
my mother, father, another younger brother, and I were sitting in the kitchen, having dinner
that the phone rang—and it was late at night—I picked up the phone and said
“Hello.” I recognized my brother’s voice saying, “Don’t talk; just listen!”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “We are at the Tehran army railway station,”
he went on, “and we are going to join the ‘war’.”
He was engaged in the war at the Dezful front for nearly two years
Naturally, they were two unpleasant years
This was the main reason that I remained in Tehran until 1983.
Because under such circumstances any mother would lose her grasp over her faculties.
They were bitter points in time. For instance, during the first three months
we even didn’t know where he was
And hoping to find some sort of encouragement for my mother
while car traffic in the cities was also prohibited,
I had to change three busses to get to the barracks where he was passing his service,
[a] really long trip; and starting early in the morning, I would stay in a line for a long time,
so it would be my turn to get to the information desk
I believe there were a couple of NCOs and a senior officer behind the desk, who would tell us
where were our acquaintances and/or family members who were at the front.
When it was my turn, for instance, they would ask me whom I was looking for.
I would say, “My brother, with such and such name.”
Then they would first look into a booklet and say that he was not “martyred.”
Then they would look at the injured ones’ list, and would say that he was not injured, either.
Then I would enquire about his location, to which they responded
by saying that they could not reveal that.
And then I would get on the busses to return home, which took about two hours,
to let my mother know that my brother was still alive.
They were days that if you heard the sound of a motorcycle,
the sound might stop at your door, followed by someone ringing your bell
and, God forbid, say that the brother was martyred.
I remember one morning…early in the morning, when sun had just risen…
the doorbell rang. I stood up and with very firm steps,
and with sturdy belief in my mind, went to get the news about my brother’s having been killed
I opened the door
and saw a soldier at the door, with a bushy beard, wearing
a filthy keffiyeh and badly worn-out boots
and I was waiting for him to tell me what had happened.
After several short seconds, he sked, “Don’t you recognize me?”
I noticed that he was my own brother. In short, I had not recognized him.
They were strange days; for the only person whom he trusted and
to whom he could describe what tragic events he had witnessed was me.
He couldn’t say anything to Mom or Dad; so I was the [only] audience, hearing
his heart-rending descriptions.
Then came the period that I thought an “intermission” deemed necessary,
to take care of myself a little bit.
I decided to pay a visit to my sister,
who had been living in Canada for years.
But one couldn’t go to Canada, for the reason that there was no [Canadian]
embassy [in Tehran] at the time. I had to go to get a visa for somewhere in Europe,
get there, and see if I could go to Canada.
With a lot of trouble, I could obtain a ten-day visa for Germany,
so that I could go to Germany and get a visa for Canada.
Sometime between 1983 and 1984 I arrived there; that is, it was in January.
I had never been to Europe. I did not know anything. For instance, how on my own I could take
the Subway, go, and find the different locations, and such!
But I went and found the Canadian Embassy. I was told that I couldn’t
ask for a tourist visa; on the grounds that,
the conditions in our country was such that anybody who went to Canada wished to stay there.
Therefore, I’d it would be more logical to apply
for an immigrant visa.
Upon my asking how long that would take, they gave me a month’s period.
Staying in Europe for one whole month at the time did not correspond with my financial condition
and I did not have the permission to stay there, anyway.
An incident was that I had sold a painting to a German citizen
who worked in Tehran at the embassy. In Germany he gave me
about two-thousand DM. I used it to first go to the Immigration Office at Bonn,
and I told them that I wished to stay a bit longer.
The guy asked me if I had money; to which I replied affirmatively.
I had all that money in my picket.
Upon his asking me if I could prove it, I pulled out three-
thousand DM and put it on his desk. He stamped my passport—I think it was for a month.
Then I called my friend, Kambiz Derambakhsh (a famous cartoonist).
He had gone there several years earlier [Caption: Kambiz Derambakhsh)
He lived in Oberhausen with his wife.
“Why are you staying there?” He asked. “Just come here,
stay with us; and you can go to and fro as you wish.”
When the embassy letter arrived, it had stated that,
in order for them to grant me a visa, I had to have an employer in Canada
In those days it would cost about
ten-thousand Dollars to get a lawyer and pursue this; and I couldn’t afford it.
With a lot of humiliation I had to impose myself upon Mr. Derambakhsh.
During the time that I was there, in order not to be idle,
I would sit and make some very small drawings,
using watercolor and colored pencils.
His mother-in-law was very kind to me during her visits—that elderly German lady.
To show my appreciation, I gave her one of my small works.
She didn’t believe that I was giving it to her as a gift.
“I don’t have any money,” she said, “to by any work of art.”
“It is a gift,” I replied, “I don’t want any money from you.”
She held it in her hand; “I don’t believe it
!” she said, “in the best part of Oberhausen there is a gallery. I will take it there to have it framed.”
She left; only to return in about half an hour.
She said that the owner of the gallery wanted to see me immediately.
“O.K.,” I said. I went to that gallery and in about an hour I
returned home with a check for two-thousand DM.
It was the beginning of the whole saga.
The lady ordered some works of about the same size.
This gave me the courage to go, with the help from Elga, Kambiz’s wife, and rent a small studio.
It was a studio about twenty-seven square meters
—to say the most—that included a 20 meter room,
a shower room, and a small table for cooking.
I thought it wasn’t bad for the time; I could live there and paint, [and wait] to see what was next.
It was a very courageous undertaking; because,
aside from what that lady had ordered, I had no prospects.
No matter what, I rented the place, anyway. I started to work.
I had no telephone line, no TV, no radio; nothing at all!
I only had a mattress on the floor, a table to work on, and a couple of folding chairs.
I even didn’t have oil paints or an easel; I didn’t have the money to buy them.
One day the bell rang. I opened the door and saw a young man…very tall.
He looked more like
someone in contraband. He didn’t look like someone in a refined businesses.
He asked if he could come in, to which I responded affirmatively. He came in and sat down.
He showed me a little picture—a black-and-white one—showing a woman from
the end of the nineteenth or the beginning of the twentieth centuries, wearing
the outfits of that time—think about the Titanic!
He asked me if I could make a large painting of that.
I needed the money and thought that he would pay me well. So I said that I could.
He asked me how much I would charge. I cannot remember how much I asked for.
But I told him that I didn’t have the means to work: no paints, or an easel or canvases…
He said that his ex-wife used to paint and her stuff happened
to be left at his place; and that he would bring them to me to see if they were useful.
and a field easel,
and asked me if they were useful. “More than I deserve,” I replied
With those paints and the easel—and limited possibilities—I started painting my large canvases.
It also should be added that I remained and lived in that twenty-seven meter
apartment for ten years—I told you that it was temporary!
For ten years, I ate in that room, I slept, fried onions,
painted three meter-high oil canvases, I had tens of exhibitions,
signed contracts with many large companies in Holland and Germany
for prints of my works, signed contracts with tens of publishers of children and the youth books…
I used to rent trucks, put my paintings in them and drive to Holland,
Austria, and the different cities in Germany, to put up shows.
When I arrived in Germany it was 1983 or 84.
It coincided with the rise of the German neo-Expressionists
who had kicked up a row with their style.
Naturally, anybody who came from outside Germany and noticed this,
would believe that what they were painting was useless,
and that they had to do what those guys were.
I, on the other hand, before doing such a thing, went and studied their works:
The German Neo-Expressionists, which in Germany are refer
to as Neue Wilde, the Young Wild Ones,
In addition to understanding why they were doing this,
I also realized that only Germans could do it.
That is to say that, if you wished to work like them, you had to be a German.
Because what you would realize was that,
along with the German Neue Wilde, the Italian Transavantgardes were active, as well.
These two are two opposing fronts; they don’t like each other at all.
Germans don’t like the Italian works; Italians don’t like those of Germans.
If we think that we must be their followers, doing what the Germans do,
the question would be, “How come the Italians or the French didn’t do it?” Because they couldn’t.
In a work of art, the problem of genetics in such action or reaction turns out to be relevant, as well.
That is to say that, unfortunately, all people on the Earth are not the same,
as regards the sources that we need to create a work of art.
What happened to me was that I, naturally, studied the Neue Wilde works;
works by Baselitz, Walter Dahn,
Markus Lüpertz. I saw all sorts of their works and exhibitions.
But I realized that it would be only a German painter’s job.
And then I noticed that a wave of realism was starting to flow in Europe.
And it became a motivation not to consider my work and what I had done
as being wrong or gone astray.
The subject matters changed very imperceptibly;
nonetheless, I continued there with what I had done here.
It is very complicated and difficult to work in Europe,
in Germany, in particular. I remember that in those early days
[once] I showed a folder to a gallery owner in Düsseldorf.
He asked me where I had studied. “in Tehran,” I said.
He said: “Do you know that we wouldn’t exhibit [even] the
works of those who have studied in Berlin!”
At the places I exhibited my work in the beginning, naturally, I was relatively well-received;
although as a foreigner one cannot easily find oneself at home
in a Western society.
But I worked, anyway.
In 1996 my father fell ill and eventually passed away.
My father was buried and my mother was left alone.
When she became alone, I had to,
go back and forth, as her oldest child; a heavy responsibility pressured upon my shoulders.
She had become very old and needed her medical treatments and
being looked after. And I did that until her last breath.
At some point,
she also passed away.
From that period onwards I became very much of a Tehran resident again.
What happened was that, following 1996, when I moved to and fro several times,
gradually the number of galleries rose greater,
including a couple of governmental ones.
I remember that Hadi Jamali, who is himself a painter and university instructor,
I remember that Hadi Jamali, who is himself a painter and university instructor,
would take me to the openings of exhibitions.
I was a real stranger in Tehran, not knowing anything.
One time, I remember, there was the inauguration of a show
at one of the governmental galleries.
I went to the yard to have a cigarette. I was smoking my cigarette,
when I saw a lady standing there—she was old—
and I saw that she was constantly looking at me, smiling,
and bending her head as a sign of greetings. [So] I approached her
to show courtesy, and told her that I didn’t recognize her. “We don’t know each other,” she said,
“but I never forget your exhibition of 1978.”
Just imagine; how many years have passed since then! And she still remembered that event.
The very first gallery owner who called me was Mr. Tehrani,
from Asar Gallery, who told me that he was interested in selling my works in Tehran,
to which I responded by asking him if it was possible to sell works in
Tehran at a price that would be comparable with Europe.
He said that he would try to sell them at the same price, asking me to just bring works.
I remembered that I brought some small mixed media works,
which caused a quarrel. Every gallery owner wanted to get the right to sell them himself.
At the suggestion of the late Parviz Maleki,
who had launched the Homa Gallery,
I accepted to have an exhibition after thirty years.
Putting up shows is difficult for me. Primarily because I need a very long time for each canvas
The fact that one would sit alone…asceticism…it goes together with a self-imposed discipline
That is why it takes a long time before I can have a solo exhibition.
For this current exhibition I tried for six years before it could take place.
Some of these works are from two or three years ago, some are very recent.
By far, I believe that it is the largest in number of works;
for the reason that, especially when it comes to the larger works, I have changed my stance.
Up until a point in time my goal was a kind of depicting the reality,
which resulted in the work to take a direction towards a kind of hyperrealism
During several intervals I visited large museums and focused more on the works
from the Renaissance and Baroque periods.
And I found features in those works that were appealing to me;
mostly for the reason that I realized that behind these works,
, there are a set of adaptation of stances and motions that later
on the modernists attribute them to their own selves
claiming that it is they who have discovered, and paid attention to them;
whereas these actions had taken place
in the older works than theirs.
I was very much enchanted by details and
technical aspects. Some also are non-technical,
and have to do with emotions. They are all appealing to me. So I decided to
experiment with them in my work.
Part 04
The main difference between my work and that of a photorealist—
that is, if my work resembles that of the photorealists’
is that, I either don’t use pictures as reference,
or if I do, the usage is very limited
If I stumble upon a problem in drawing my figures, I would naturally use pictures; but
the figure gets into an atmosphere that is absolutely subjective; there are no references
The outcome of my work is very distinct
from a photorealist’s; at least from the work procedure point of view
In many an occasion it has been said that my
work is hyperrealistic. Hyperrealism is a higher level than real
I am not sure if “realist form” would define my work or not
use the term is that I obsessively pay particular attention to details
Paying attention to details does not mean that the work would become hyperreal
Ever since I started figurative works—and in my work you see the
objects as you would in reality—technic-wise I try to experiment with that which has
happened during the history
For instance, currently, maybe in the past couple of years
I have been studying the pre-Impressionist painting
and I pay deep attention to it.
The more I am submerged into it, the more I realize that
the processes they have gone through share a whole lot of parallels
with the modern and contemporary painting
The twentieth century painting starts with a set of very simple rules:
One is the negation of the tradition,
the other is provocation,
and a fundamental principle in the twentieth century art is speed.
That is, the work must be produced very precipitously.
That means that the opposite of that process is later on
undertaken by the photorealists and hyperrealists,
which is very similar to the process that took place in the seventeenth century,
and ended up in the Baroque panting
And, thus, they repeat the similarity that it has with an Eastern
painter’s imposition of self-discipline upon oneself during the creation
of a miniature work; whether it is in our land or the Far East.
Therefore, I wish to reiterate this characteristic in my work; and so far I have done it, too.
The reasoning for the emergence of such atmospheres by using such a technique lies
within the adaptation of such stances.
Work Identity
I take painting very seriously, and I don’t
want for my work to be limited to a set of decorative elements,
or look for my national identity,
and transform my work to a decorative object.
You see, the Iranian painting is such that when you browse through a book,
over all, by the end you are not sure about whether it is about the
Iranian handicraft, or the Iranian art, per se. This is the problem we are facing
But I confess that I am one of the perplexed ones.
The reason is that as an Eastern person, when
you consciously look at the history of painting and study it, you would become confused.
The first thing I look for is myself.
Who am I? What am I after? The second thing is,
all that which one would find in himself, and would wish to
convey, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally
must correspond with that which has taken place during the history of art.
You can’t create an art piece, using any means, any tricks, or any materials, without
paying attention to certain specific criteria.
The Fabric Element in the Works
The attraction towards drapery is something that is present in my work, too.
For many reasons I realized that in art, drapery plays an essential role
Fabric is like the cloud element that I explained to you what it reminds one of in my
work. It is something elastic, it is not a rigid and fixed substance.
It would bend and take any form you wish. When we return to
realism, we need a set of objects and elements that are flexible,
so we can cover the surface with them.
One of the elements that played an essential role during the past
centuries in the work s of the artists is fabric.
The thing that attracts me is
he purity in painting. The purity that at a given moment, all of a sudden, bores hundreds of artists
it is exactly the very self-discipline that bores the modern artists
No one would take the risk, like I do, and spend forty years
forty some years, on technical experiments. The technical capability inherent in this endeavor,
is a very arduous one.
I don’t claim that I possess a special genius; but during the
process of doing this for forty-some years I realized that the
representation of certain objects in a painting,
using ones memory, and without the aid of a reference before one’s
eyes, is a tremendously tough job, an extremely grueling undertaking.
The Passage of Time and Melancholy
That which is reflected in the paintings is, naturally, melancholy,
and the reason is that from childhood the works I liked in the art
history had that mood.
I never liked joyous and cheerful works.
The works of some Impressionists, in which a delightful light shines
through the window, casting upon a vase filled with beautiful
pink flowers, and such; or a young girls with a beautiful face along with a pussy cat;
I never liked these.
That which tremendously fascinate me,
and I use it in these paintings, is the passage of time; the evanescence of time.
You know that time is the most ruthless factor in our life. That is,
you can come to terms with almost anything, but time shatters and
crushes everything
Not only us, but an enormous rock, a mountain; it smashes and annihilates them.
Therefore, through showing even a green apple in the stage of decay I allude to this fact.
The clothes that are used up and thrown at a corner. Two years ago, during a large moving process
I was forced to throw out my parents’ clothing items.
Well, this is really horrible.
Throwing out the letters from your youth, for instance,
is painful for sure. You can’t just go ahead and toss them out
We have certain attachments with our surroundings that
unintentionally I reflect them in my work, and in many instances.
The element that I do not avoid in my work is that, once in a while, I am not apprehensive about
making use of my own subconscious. For instance, in this new work here:
one might ask what those red “stuff’ are there
Well, when I was painting it,
I felt that the upper left hand side of the work needed something.
I drew what I had in mind
as some simple lines on the canvas. Next I had to come up
with an idea regarding the color. I chose red.
And then I painted these forms. Rest assured that without a doubt this is
a reaction that has emerged
based on the subconscious.
It reminds one of a paint thrown in through the window.
It even reminds one of blood. Its formations remind us of something surreal
The melancholy is there; yet I am not comfortable with the definition
of the word in Persian: its characterization is a bit different.
The confusion and disarray generate themselves out of the
very state of my being enchanted; which has to do with roughness
abnormality, and agitation that emerges out of the work process.
That is to say that I like for the process to be demanding. If I make some straight lines
parallel to one another and divide the canvas into vertical
and horizontal sections, naturally the job would be easier.
The rearrangement of these lines is on its own an extremely complicated and tough business.
The Concept of Death in the Works
The most frightful fact concerning Death is in its being the killer of Love.
Unfortunately someone who cannot fall in love, or has never been in love, cannot understand Art
Death is a mechanism that bars love. Therefore, we humans are enormously
fortunate creatures to have had the opportunity to experience the moment:
The moment of falling in love.
And we always have to live with the pain and the distress that one day we shall die.
That means that our cheerfulness is always either affected or, otherwise, fleeting.
Several fundamental factors in life are true: one is birth, obviously,
and another is death. But in between, that which is more important than anything is love.
The Figure and the Still Life
Still life in my work, especially recently, repeats itself a lot
I believe that it was the still life that resulted in the great revolution in painting
If you go back in the history,
in fact Cezanne’s still lifes
were the beginning of the analytical painting
By painting apples and oranges, and small still lifes,
Cezanne arrived at the conclusion that painting is not only concentrating on the perspective
and wish to depict depth; but rather it is composed of a set of movements that
eventually end up in orderliness.
That is one of the reasons. The other is
that when you paint a figure—a human, that is—you must have a pretext
At the same time that the figure joins in the game,
an event has to take place, as well. It is [due to] that event that at the time being
I don’t wish to repeat that which I have done in my previous figures.
What I did before was depicting my figures in a state of weightlessness,
influenced by the Baroque and Renaissance paintings
where I have depicted the human figures suspended in the air;
even those who are in the lower part of the canvas are still in a state of weightlessness
I wished not to depict the figure in a straight or solid form, and rather give it more elasticity,
so I could arrive at
more desired exploitation in the compositions.
But now, if I paint figures by repeating what I have done before, it will not be pleasant to me.
I think a pause will [eventually] take place between these still lifes and the figures,
so I can find a different solution. I present the figure without
the content that has been repeated a lot in others’ works. At the same time,
figure retains the flexibility that I have benefitted from in the past.
Choosing the Subject Matter
I never intentionally choose the subject matter
During this past forty-some years, the subject matter has always emerged on its own
When a painter works the way I do, using an analytical pen and abstraction, to arrive at figures
what takes place is that he is still working with abstract forms;
he is still repeating the same rules of abstraction in his wor
with the difference that he makes the decision so the patches of colors
are transformed into objects
If you make the decision promptly enough, and without too much of a hiatus,
you would choose figures and objects with which you are
somehow connected, whether in your subconscious, or in your past.
Objects have different meanings to different people. For instance,
a pair of shoes means different to me than it does to you, or a third person.
When you see an object, it inherently carries
a mental and absolutely subconscious notion, as well.
I can speak about the objects I use for my work using two approaches:
One is from a technical and arid aspect,
that has to do with the work process of a painter.
Or I can describe it from a poetic and very sensitive stand point, which I disregard
and that makes some people disillusioned about me.
It is natural; when you create a nostalgic atmosphere, using old,
black-and-white pictures, and old unopened letters,
or a pair of old, worn-out shoes, or an old hat,
to a poet they would be a handy visual reference
to use and make a speech or compose verses about these objects.
But when it comes to a painter…
I’m not sure if it is unfortunate, or fortunate,
but to a painter the poetic aspect is somehow lost
For example, even when you look at Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers,”
the poetic attribute of the sunflowers kind of fades away; it doesn’t have that romantic expression
It transforms itself into an “object.” And before assuming the object
aspect, to Van Gogh it transforms itself into a “form.”
The same takes place in my work, as well. That
is to say, when I get the canvas to a stage—for instance, this one,
which is not finished yet, and it probably will still have another month or more to go
—I eventually arrive at the conclusion that it still lacks something. Just what it will be,
I don’t know yet;
but I put a colored patch on it and then start thinking about what that patch could be.
And from that blotch I drag out an object.
Therefore, that object could be anything,
but whatever it will be, it must share a sort of intimacy with the rest of the painting’s
atmosphere; it must fit nicely.
In these paintings you mostly find objects that are either in the state of corrosion,
disintegrated, or otherwise forgotten and left at a corner.
Therefore, inevitably, the colored blotch that has
newly entered my painting, gradually becomes one of these objects
The Fake Smile
All of the elements in this painting belong to a man:
his hat, his shirt, his picture on the shirt
The only thing that has made it about a woman, is the smile.
The reason I chose this smile is that in our consumer society,
and in order to offer our merchandises, we use this smile a lot.
“Smile sells,” in English!
That is to say that, any advertisement about toothpastes, efrigerators, washing machine,
everywhere you would see this smile framed by a very strong lipstick.
And later on we find these smiles in trashcans. All the magazines end up in the trashcans.
Sometimes, late at night you are walking on a street on your
own, while a very gloomy autumn breeze is also blowing;
when a piece of paper slides itself before your feet, and you
would see it is a lady’s smile, trying to sell you something.
In reality I have chosen this smile to take advantage of it.
Then again, the idea is not new. That is how mercilessly I treat myself.
I believe James Rosenquist, Roy Lichtenstein,
Even Warhol has used it: Marilyn Monroe’s smile
Because it is the smile of bitterness; it is not a sweet smile.
This smile is fake. Its purpose is deception. It has nothing to do
with facts. And so I have absorbed this deceptive, false, and phony smile, and placed it into this
murky and abandoned atmosphere that is in the stage of disintegration and annihilation.
I think it is a motive to fire up a mental and intellectual mechanism in the spectators,
by the means of which they make a story for themselves;
and before the discussions start, they have already made it.
You stand there and ask, “Why, why, why, why?”
It is indeed my goal to instigate these “why”s.
I don’t relate a particular story.
In fact, I won’t like to recount epics or fables. It is not my objective
By placing these objects next to each other, my objective is
to entertain the spectator, making him or her to create their own stories, which are more appealing
The Element of Photos in the Works
The first effect of an old, black-and-white
photo on a person is…as an old photographer has put it
“Photo equals death.” His statement is very interesting.
When you see a photograph, even if it is taken just yesterday,
and if you are a sensitive person, and a bit deep-thinking,
a photograph means death. At the same time that the entirety of a painting
eventually reflects the ephemerality of time, evanescence of life, and transience of all objects
these photographs are like saffron added to a rice dish;
or salt sprinkled on a wound, or however you like to explain it;
they help with that atmosphere. If I want to explain it in a painterly manner, another quality that
the photographs possess, they are of service towards the arrangement and a good compositional
process; they help a lot.
Like many other objects that are repeated in my works, such as boxes , or cones, or cylinders
they all grant me the possibility to create stronger and better compositions
of course, from my own point of view.
It is possible that this feeling is not conveyed to another expert or an artist.
The Hostage
The Hostage has an interesting story behind it.
I have a younger brother who was in the military at the city of Dezful during the Iran-Iraq war.
Later on he joined me in Germany. During those times
I wasn’t in a good shape, workwise, etc., but I tried to make good works
in that small space, as much as possible. And I needed a model.
Then it hit me that during the past thirty or forty years I had made photographs.
Then I thought of taking some pictures of my own brother.
So I made a number of pictures based on which I painted many canvases in which
there are my brother in different poses.
And in many of my paintings I also tried to show the mental condition he was experiencing
For instance, I have a triptych in which there is my brother on all three panels,
in different poses, which to some extent they also demonstrate his mental and spiritual condition.
The Hostage was based on one of these photo references which
I had shot some thirty-three or thirty-four years before, and I had never used it.
I had used most of those photos, except for this one, and a few more.
Then at one occasion I started working on a painting
for four or five days, and it frightened me!
The figure with that shrouded face and the hands on the head hit me with a melancholic
and frightening complex
I covered the painting, didn’t continue working on it,
and I painted a different work on the same canvas; which I brought to Tehran.
I cannot remember what was on it, but it was sold in Tehran, anyway.
When I was working on a new set of paintings, all of a sudden the painting that
I had eliminated came to my mind once again
I told myself, “Why don’t you paint it and see what it is going to turn out to be?”
So I painted it and titled it The Hostage
You see, when I paint a work, it is a collage that appears for various reasons. For example,
I paint some parts and then I think there could be another addition on the lower part,
or a door behind what I have already painted. A part of that has to do with my need
for the compositional intents.
Another part is carried out based on purpose.
For instance, I have a number of works with a pressing iron in them.
There is a figure with an iron before it. To me a pressing iron has always represented torture
There might be a figure along with a piece of bone.
In general, my very particular interest is that, at the same time that it can convey a number
of different meanings, I like for a painting to make
the viewers create their own stories.
As far as The Hostage is concerned, well, there are various associations involved.
A person with a covered head having placed his hands on his head
looks as if he has been held as a hostage.
And since he is in a barrel that contains a black liquid substance, one might think of petroleum
Hence, every person can create his or her own story as they wish.
Part 05
Vahed Khakdan, pt. 5, Questions and Answers
The Role of the Childhood World
Not to lose one’s creativity, an artist, in any art field, must remain a child.
It is having a child’s mind that in fact,
knots fantasy and creativity,
better than anything else.
better than anything else.
And I hate coming of age.
Coming of age, in my opinion, is for antediluvian people.
Sticking needlessly to the traditions is one of those things that can damage creativeness.
If we didn’t have Jules Verne in literature, world would have gone paralyzed.
It is Jules Verne who is responsible for so much fantasy in literature,
in cinema, that we see in the West.
Jules Verne remained a child until his death.
Childhood is a very important factor and it is very important that one retains a part
of this childhood in one’s mind until death.
The Concept of Painting to an Artist
Explaining painting or its function is like explaining Art itself.
There is a description that Fisher has included in his book, quoting Piet Mondrian,
the Dutch painter, that I
liked very much; and it goes:
“Art is a weight that is materialized to balance out
the otherwise unbalanced economy and spirituality within a society.”
A painter is a person who has a profound thirst for beauty.
If my work is to be classified, it has more tendency towards Giacometti’s system.
If my work is to be classified, it has more tendency towards Giacometti’s system.
The Difference and Balance Between Imagination and Reality
I suppose the world of imagination is very close to that of our dreams; and even our nightmares
The real world also has been philosophically a subject of debates. We don’t know if reality
actually exists the way we see it.
When it comes to painters, I’m not sure if it is a problem or a positive point.
Painters have an imaginary, a dreamlike, or a nightmarish world
That, due to their trade and what they do,
we associate it with the history of art, like it or not.
The most beautiful nightmares have been painted.
Of the nature’s and the society’s most dreadful phenomena,
you create something beautiful, as a painter.
So many paintings have been created on the subject of war;
while all of us know that war is a horrible thing;
as Brecht puts it, “The first thing that gets killed in a war is the “truth,”
painters have presented the war exquisitely.
A painter is obligated to connect what he sees and the history of art.
The main rule of the game is to drag it out of your heart,
so it would certainly penetrate into hearts. Now, that which comes out of a heart could be
gloomy and make you weep,
even make you go mad, or it can transmit to you a brimful amount of pleasure,
making you scream out of joy. Therefore, this is one of the main rules of the game in art.
As long as you don’t transfer that with which
you are not involved or entangled in your real life, the work is worth nothing,
nothing would come of it. And as Salvador Dali puts it, “We don’t have mediocre work;
it is either bad or good!”
The Effect of an Exhibition on the Artist
In many instances, setting up an exhibition ends up in a distinctive sort of self-realization.
You discover things that you have not noticed before. I’ve got an example for
you that is very funny. I have a painting that is very well-known.
Those who like my work, know this canvas very well.
It is a large painting with only suitcases in it; in a large number!
There are two reasons why I painted that work. One is that I had migrated
with a suitcase weighing me down, while millions of other people had also taken the trip.
I must admit that there was an inspiration source, as well.
When it was finished, I looked at it and I told myself, “You have painted this in Germany;
and any German who sees this painting will be reminded of Auschwitz.”
When I was painting it I did not think of this—and that’s the truth. When it was done,
I looked at it and told myself, “It is Auschwitz, though!”
But I had painted it and it wasn’t a bad one,
either. So I exhibited in Germany. On the opening night,
well, a number of Germans knew me and we exchanged greetings,
and there were some who didn’t know me at all; they did not know that I was the painter
It is stimulating to me. When people don’t know me, I stand behind them and listen to
see what they have to say about my paintings.
A very stylish lady and gentleman came,
who were very well off. The both of them were suntanned in that middle of the winter
They went and stood before that panting,
and started a conversation. I went and stood behind them.
I thought to myself that they were German,
looking at this canvas and to a German it must one-hundred percent call Auschwitz to his mind.
I heard that the lady was telling the gentleman,
“Herman, do you remember when in Spain, in such and such city,
our suitcase was lost in the railway station; and they opened the door to a room…?”
I mean, they didn’t see it as a negative scene.
It was a funny and positive thing for them.
Later on I looked more and more at the Painting and thought to myself that
genetic-wise and from the natural disposition point of view
how people are different from one another!
How diverse the encounter with an art piece could be!
My conclusion that day was that an artist cannot shove his art piece into the eyes, ears,
and the hearts of the consumers, the way he wishes; it is impossible.
Beethoven hits: “da, da, da, dam” (Symphony No 5, in C Minor);
and you ask fifteen different people what the effect is on them;
every one of them gives a different answer.
Very rarely someone might say that it is announcing a danger
It is about the moment Napoleon’s soldiers knocked on his door:
“Ba, ba, ba, bang.” But who feels this?
The Position of the Viewer in Works of Art
Several years back I was watching a film about Alfred Hitchcock’s life.
For the scene in which the girl is stabbed to death under the shower,
he struggles a whole lot to obtain a permission from the executive producers
those who had financially sponsored the film—so he could shoot the scene.
They wouldn’t grant the permission, maintaining that it was impossible.
“You want to bring a bunch of people into the scene; then place a young girl there, taking shower,
when someone would come, drag the curtain to one side and slash her into pieces
Hitchcock insists a lot that this scene must be included, saying that he promises to produce it
in such a way that would be different from what they thought.
And he shoots that scene. And still after so many years, when you
watch the movie, and then it gets to that scene, you are affected,
you get scared, your body hairs stands on their end.
You see, the first night that the film was screened,
Hitchcock was hidden behind a door, peeping into the hall through an opening,
to see whether the people would scream or not. And he wanted them to scream.
He wanted the people to have heart attacks and die in that hall.
The rule is true to painters as well. I would imagine that when Goya painted that horrible
canvas in which Saturn is devouring his sons, his objective for someone standing before
the canvas was to feel repelled.
Therefore, the denial by saying, “I don’t intend to make someone cry;
or make someone sad; or make someone think of death,”
in my opinion would be a downright lie.
In my works, I naturally like for my viewer to think about these things:
Time is fleeting, objects are doomed to annihilation, and unfortunately since we live
along with them, we are also doomed to go.
Characteristics of a Good Quality Work of Art
The thing that eventually has to exist in an art piece is what Hegel asserts:
“Encompassing the spirit of time.” Now, to reflecting this “encompassing the spirit of time,”
assumes different qualities at different periods of one’s life.
Just look at the paintings done from 1900 to 1910, and those of the 1960s.
Both do possess that which we refer to it in English as “the spirit of time,”
or Zeitgeist, as we put it in German;
there is no doubt that craftsmanship,
technique, power, that is, the ability of an artist in creating a work of art,
they play great roles…
Michelangelo hated Raphael; he referred to him as “young lady;”
Because Raphael never had the physical power that Michelangelo did in carving stones;
he painted very delicate works. Both of them great geniuses, but…
What I mean is that even physical power is important for an art piece to attain quality.
Once a German reporter asked me whom I wished I were.
I said that I wished I were a combination of Michelangelo and Hercules.
For I think if health, physical capability, and possessing both awareness and knowledge,
join one another, the art piece will definitely turn out to be a good one.
The Affiliation Between Modernism and the National Identity
National identity is doomed to extinction all over the world.
I think the time will come when all of us, all humans on Earth, will box our national identities
and place them in museums.
Because in any country all the things which are in the limelight as the national identity,
are things a large part of which will be of no use in the future, ayway!
A large number of what we refer to as the sources of the national identity,
whether the old mindsets, the popular customs….
It is laughable that we are a nation who talks about national identity all the time,
but in no other country is Valentine’s Day celebrated as grandly as in Tehran! Even Christmas,
I have seen that in many Iranian families it is celebrated much more elaborately
than our own Nowruz (the Persian New Year) celebration, for instance!
Initially the national identity is an amalgamation of strategies, behaviors
things that have been accumulated through time. For instance, they have formed what
we know as the Iranian music. In brief, Iranian music has its roots in other lands
Or literature. Its roots go back to other places. Of course, if we go to those places,
theirs have their roots somewhere else, s well. There are many things that we have
given to the world.
We also have procured many things from the world. It is just like a droplet of black ink
fell into a bucket of water; it will eventually turn grey.
You cannot hold on to the national identity by force
The Social Role of the Artist
Personally, I believe that an artist must not stay away from the daily social events.
There are artists—and have been in the past—who totally believe that by no means
should visual arts have anything to do with politics or economics at all
It must keep its distance and go about its own business; that is, art is for the sake of art.
But even among them there were individuals who later on produced works that astonished
the whole world, making some ask why all of a sudden they entered the world of politics.
Included is Pablo Picasso.
He got involved in the business of politics, he painted political works such as the Guernica,
and he even received a medal from the Chief Director of the Communist Party of the USSR,
and he was granted the membership in the Party.
Someone who is involved in arts mush consider himself an affiliate of the society.
He is a tiny creature among five or six billion humans who live here
Where he has to make some changes, cause an evolutions within the society,
it is natural that, whether he wants it or not, he would shoulder the role.
Before he knows it, he will find himself standing on a stage somewhere, holding a guitar,
singing a song against Franco.
The Future of Painting in the Age of the Internet
Anything that is invented in the technological sphere, it is attached to the “modern” life.
We also have had the modern art, as well.
That is to say, the modern technology will engulf the modern art; there is no doubt about it;
in fact, it already has.
What is taking place in the computer graphic
whatever you place next to it is boring
The images that you see in the Hollywood commercial movies, for instance
You can never create new effects in films, using the conventional procedure,
that can replace a computer generated trick
It is not feasible. Therefore, computer has naturally determined many art related events and
phenomena of the past century.
Nevertheless, I believe what will take place in return—and it already did during the discussions
regarding the strong possibility that the postmodernism would have a short life cycle—
would be in the intellectual individual’s outlook regarding the society; that is, assuming
an introverted dimension that will cause for a new form of art to come into the picture,
which will have nothing to do with technology, nor with the computer. And even if it does,
it will be on the surface
The Amazement of the Modern World
I don’t wish to involve myself in sloganeering, but something that recently made me dejected
was the appearance of ISIS (Daesh).
Just imagine that for my generation, it’s been the saddest event that has taken place
within the history of the humankind in the past sixty years; it is extremely horrible
No matter how you want to rationalize it, I won’t accept it.
An action that results in the murder of human beings, and in the people getting killed,
it is the most repulsive action that a person can take. It is horrific. It is impossible
to rationalize it. I won’t accept any reasoning
When Bertolt Brecht says, “The first thing that gets killed in a war is the ‘truth’,”
I am not sure what gets killed here! That is to say, in a regular war that we have had
in the history many times, the “truth” gets killed,
but that which is taking place now, in my opinion, is not a regular war!
Self-Description
I am a person who has worked and produced beyond measures and more than needed,
but the end result has been fruitless.
I have to come to terms with the futility of that which has been produced, and live with it.
I come from the very “in between” generation that you mentioned.
That is, if you describe that generation and see what conditions we lived in and what
bizarre economic period we went through, to which life in exile was added, as well,
I must be content with still being “in the ring,” as they say.
And you would come and receive me well, or I can have an exhibition every now that then.
I only know that I have worked way too much. So much so that I haven’t
had the time to think about where the train I am driving will end up at!
The Biggest Wish
I think about health a lot. I like to be healthy. But I don’t do anything about it; on the contrary
I harm myself by working too much.
I think my psyche demands more than my physical capabilities
And I try to coordinate this imposition of my soul with my weak body, but it is impossible
Before a canvas that I might have worked on for three months is finished, at four in the morning,
after having had three packs of cigarettes, I would think about the production of the next canvas;
So I look heavenwards asking, “God, would that be within my power to undertake such a task?”
I think this is something that many individuals who have been involved in the creative sphere
have grappled with, up to now.
And this struggle is an unpleasant one;
going together with certain anxieties, from time to time
And after each cycle, it makes me feel so beat that I just want to sleep, not doing anything else.
Hopes and Disappointments
Life leaves but a little time for complaining.
If we draw a line between the general populous and one who is creative,
the difference is that a person who is creative, likes, both, to have a family, have children,
get the life somewhere that, from the social outlook, it is a good genre,
a good class, and everybody feels comfortable in it.
On the other hand, his main difference with the general populous is that he is creative;
that is to say, creativity causes problem
Especially that the older you get, you feel that the time is running out.
You have to work more and more. But thenThe fact that I certainly shall not be able to accomplish
all that I have in mind is my biggest disappointment again,
agewise it is not within your abilities to stay awake for three nights on end, like when you were thirty.
I try to cope with it.
As for my hopes, well, naturally, and as an instance, the recent years’
happenings within my career,
especially within these borders, have been positive points in my life.
And they have given me hope that at some point, if I don’t exist, no matter what, my tiny name
will be registered somewhere as one who could stir some things and do some “stuff,”
I like to think that, so much that my work is concerned, perhaps in some manner I
have had an impression upon the upcoming generation, or the previous one.
Self-questioning
What question would I ask myself? “Why don’t you go to a head dresser?” I don’t know!
It depends on the kind of the question. If I want to be nosy, I may ask “him” (myself),
“How is your relationship with your wife?” For example!
“How is your financial situation?” “You got any dough?”
But if I want to ask an intellectual or artistic question, naturally, I might ask him (myself),
“Have you ever had doubts that what you do is right or it isn’t?
“It is possible that it is wrong, huh?”
And I shall see what he has to say.
Chances are, he would confess that he has.
“Without that doubt I wouldn’t be an ethical person.”
Someone who does not doubt about what he is doing…is there any such person?
If one doesn’t exercise doubt, he wouldn’t be human!
A murderer take a machinegun and in a split of a second
he exterminates four-hundred people, without thinking
about the rightness or wrongness of what he is doing.
I think you would also accept my assertion that even today’s politicians are burdened with
doubts in their everyday activities:
in any of their encounters in conferences, in the world political problems, the current crises.
Time necessitates that we exercise doubt about everything. For instance, I think
twenty or thirty years ago I worked with more confidence;
but as time progresses, naturally the doubt is augmented
While you are doomed to finish what you have started
Human behaviors are very much fettered by the quality of the world’s daily events.
The behaviors of every one of us are directly related to the current
economic and political qualities of the world.
Doubting about whether or not one is doing things the
right way must be taken as good human qualities.
Advice to Young People
If thirty-seven years ago, in 1978, you had asked me this question, I would have advised the
students to put this business aside, go and learn about an appropriate profession,
and do not pursue art.
I believe any advice I offer to a person is wrong. What am I to tell them?
Tell them to go and work a lot, try to reach the summit of the artistic victories….
Why should one work a lot? Is he crazy? He would work so much that he would die.
If I tell them to work very moderately and not to torment themselves,
they might not make a dime and they would die of hunger
I haven’t spent an easy life to retain what I am.
I worked a whole lot; I relatively achieved very little goals.
In my opinion, becoming a good artist,
is a collection of a number of character traits that not everybody possesses them
My father used to tell me not to do it. He was himself an artist.
He never told me that if I wanted to do this, I should do such and such.
He just told me not to do it, for I would have to deal with troubles all the way to the end.
But when I dragged myself to the age of forty, I found out that there are some who,
not only have no troubles, but they cause troubles for others, too.