Before art, I had studied another field and wanted to become a lawyer. Universities were closed during the Cultural Revolution, and it was unclear when they would reopen. I decided to study an art field in the meantime so that when I got older, I could spend my free time with it! I enrolled in various classes, one of which was painting. I started painting and never looked for another job. Before that, I was also economically active, but I reduced it very much and specialized in art.

One of the obstacles to entering university was completing my military service. At first, I was reluctant to join the military, but I saw that I had to go through this stage in order to move forward on this path and enter university. Before joining the military, I had been pursuing painting and drawing seriously and professionally, and I had made my decision.

I completed my training course in the 16th Armored Division of Qazvin. One day, we were preparing for a parade, when I vowed to myself that I would do nothing but art; while the surrounding environment had nothing to do with such a decision. Then we were divided; I was at the front for a while and behind the front for a while. That period was a very interesting experience for me. I think there was very little in the military that I had not drawn. Everyone knew me, called me by my name, and modeled for me; it was a very good practice.

I continued to do the same thing wherever I was transferred. I had various invitations to work for them. During those two years, from mural painting to various artistic experiences, I did things that might never have happened if I had not been in the military.

After my military service, I decided to study. The majors had changed, and for a few months I did nothing but study. I entered university with a good rank. In those years, the results of the entrance exam were announced in two rounds; the entrance in Mehr and the entrance in Bahman. Despite my good rank, I did not enter Mehr, and I used this gap to strengthen my drawing.

When I entered university, I put my first solo exhibition of drawings on the panels of Tehran University. From there, the door to many friendships opened; friendships that some still continue. I met many people.

University and the search for knowledge beyond painting

In university, my main question was what could university teach me that I could not learn outside of it. For this reason, I became acquainted with different disciplines: literature, philosophy, and especially architecture. Architecture was very attractive to me, although at that time I still did not know why.

We traveled a lot during those years. We had formed groups and went on work and design trips together. I was somewhere almost every week. I saw a large part of Iran at that time, I painted, and I enjoyed this experience very much.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I did not get involved in teaching very early. I thought that if I became a teacher from the beginning, I might not see many of the experiences that exist in the non-teaching space. Usually, a teacher gradually does what he teaches, while the story of art does not have these clear sizes and boundaries. I probably escaped from teaching for ten, twelve, or even twenty years and did various things during this time.

I made many collections. One of them was a large collection on the theme of Shahnameh that I painted on glass. For that collection, I had to change my design and do a lot of research. Research entered my work; the coloring, the size of my works, and the subjects changed.

I tried to put myself in the shoes of someone whose subject is the entire history of Iranian painting, from the beginning to the present. I had so many questions and I had to burst into tears while working to find the answers. The first exhibition I had after graduating at the Seyhun Gallery made friends who came to see the works ask, “Where have you been until now?” The works had brilliant colors; and that in the atmosphere of war. Where did these colors come from? This could only happen when you had searched the history and in that search you had found something worth seeing.

Many of the teachers we had were good artists themselves, but they didn’t necessarily know how to teach what they knew. It took me years to find drawing as drawing, painting as painting, and subject matter not as something imaginary and unrelated, but as something arising from social conditions and my own life; without necessarily having “society” or “community” as the subject of the work. This process is still ongoing.

Shahnameh, Iranian Mythology and Painting

The choices I make are interconnected. Without me wanting it, each topic leads to the next question and topic. When I was working on Shahnameh, I asked myself: Why is this text about the pre-Islamic world, even though it was composed in the Islamic period, in the fourth century? How do its characters and concepts change in the Islamic period? How are the same patterns re-emerging in the contemporary period?

After graduating, my first question was how and what the painters before me in Iran painted. This question seemed simple, but it was unusual in our education. Usually we repeat what we have been taught: if we learned figure drawing, we do the same, if we learned modernism, we do modern work, and if we learned painting, we do painting. I asked, if my father and grandfather had been painters, what and how would they have painted?

I saw that until the Pahlavi period, almost all our painters had worked with some kind of Shahnameh. When I turned to Shahnameh, I came across myths and characters that were present in our life, everyday language, literature, and painting, but I did not see their connection. By getting to know them, it was as if the scattered pieces of a puzzle suddenly fell into place. The colors, the design, and the place of everything became clearer to me.

I asked myself why, when the Seljuk painters depicted the Shahnameh, the heroes wore Seljuk clothing and appearance, and in the Qajar period the same characters became Qajar? In each period, the clothes, tools, lifestyle, and relationships of the time entered the picture. How could I go beyond the apparent repetition of these periods? I turned to archaeological findings; research that had expanded since the first Pahlavi period on pre-Islamic Iran and provided us with important information.

For example, I learned about the demons that they could be linked to the ancient inhabitants of the Iranian plateau and to narratives about the Dravidians. These same data changed the direction of the drawing. In pre-Islamic sculptures and images, everything was placed on one line: horses, people, and events. The earth was not a vast surface, but a line under the feet of man; the soles of the feet were on the ground and the whole body was in the sky. I used the same logic in my designs.

With these questions, I arrived at a collection of over a hundred paintings of pictorial situations from the Shahnameh: the meeting of Zal and Simorgh, the death of Rostam, the crossing of the river by Keykhosro and Farangis, weddings, battles, mourning, and the body of Esfandiar. I had to translate these narratives into a visual language that I had found during my research.

In the Shahnameh, Jamshid teaches Iranians crafts, weaving, and agriculture. I asked myself what the contemporary equivalent of these activities was and what trends and everyday matters the artist today deals with. I brought this same historical translation to the paintings.

Then I asked what would happen to our myths after the arrival of Islam? What characters would replace them, and what similarities and differences would emerge? I created a collection of about thirty-five works for this topic. The next question was what kind of medium these images should be used on.

In the tekiyas, there were trays that people ate from in the courtyard. I went to Isfahan, ordered special trays, and learned etching to create the shallow reliefs and patterns. I had to find the right color and shape for the decorations. I looked to tile work and historical forms for the patterns on the clothes and the borders. The tray was round, so I designed all the compositions based on a circle. The themes came from religious narratives, including the martyrdom of Muslim children.

From Hajj to the map of the sky

After that, I decided to examine the issue of religion more closely. I began studying the Hajj: what is Hajj? Why do we go on Hajj? Why should a Muslim make this journey, and how can this concept be depicted? I worked on it for about a year and was supposed to create seven paintings, but in the very first work, I was faced with a fundamental question: what does the sky look like in this picture? Will the sky be created if I paint the top of the painting blue? I saw that such a simple solution was not enough.

I had to go to astronomy and constellations; to recognize the northern and southern constellations, the constellations and planets, and to see what map of the sky different cultures have made and what names they have given to the stars: Orion, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, the Spaceship, the Jedi, and other shapes.

Whatever religions talk about, it is present in the sky in some way. Man has needed a map of the sky to move on Earth; because on long journeys, nothing but the stars could save him from getting lost and lead him to his destination. We have forgotten this connection with the sky in our culture. Every great and growing civilization has looked to the sky and tried to reach it. Even the creation of a spaceship, an airplane, a tall tower, special music, or clothing that allows for new movement, somehow comes from this heavenly desire.

Working on this series took several years, and I exhibited part of it at the Mansoureh Hosseini Gallery. There were so many works that it was impossible to show them all.

One of the things I did in the series was to “take the lie out of the truth.” In different cultures, they would connect the star dots with arbitrary lines and say that this is a ship, a bear, or a fish, while the drawn shape sometimes had no clear connection to its name. I removed the imaginary lines, kept only the dots, and reconnected them in such a way that the ship, bear, or creature in question could actually be seen.

In this research, I came across amazing images. For example, the Big Dipper turned into a full-fledged bear, or in the constellations I saw creatures that were half human and half animal. Pisces was not just one fish, but two fish connected by a distance. The Capricorn was a goatfish; a goat with a fish tail. These images were astonishing to me.

I also learned a lot about color. I realized that it is possible to show a world with a limited number of colors and that the work does not necessarily have to be full of different colors. The color space became clearer and more confident for me.

Plant; simultaneous tendency towards darkness and light

The next question came from the same Hajj painting: If you were to paint a plant, what would that plant look like? I realized that I knew almost nothing about plants, so I spent a period studying plants.

One day, in a school science textbook, I saw a color image of the human nervous system and blood circulation. I turned the book over and suddenly the human head looked like a seed. It seemed to me that the human being was like an upside-down plant.

A plant has two simultaneous characteristics: a tendency towards darkness and a tendency towards light. The part that tends towards darkness takes root, goes down into the soil to reach water and the possibility of life and finds the necessary food. The other part moves towards the sun and light, pushing aside everything in its path. The plant cannot change its place, but it emerges from the soil and constantly improves. As long as the world exists, the possibility of this growth exists and the only limitation is the plant’s own talent.

Some plants, like grass, grow to a limited height; some grow trunks, some give flowers, fruit and shade. I saw that many of the definitions in religions are actually linked to trees and plants. They say that light nourishes man; a being whose food is light resembles a plant. It is about the genealogy and the tree, about the quality of man and about prophets who, like gardeners, help man grow.

The emergence of civilization is also related to the tree, because the tree presents the meaning of residence to us. Perhaps we learned about settlement and urbanization from the tree. When man was a herder and constantly moved with his herd, he would choose a place in the middle of the path that had a tree and shade. They would leave the elderly there. When winter arrived, the tent was no longer enough and the need for shelter arose. The elderly who stayed at that point knew the routes and problems of transportation, and others used their experience.

Gradually, it became clear that it was possible to build a permanent residence there. In a sense, the city began with a tree, but as cities expanded, the trees became fewer. From that same residence, agriculture, fire, stability, reading and writing, and trade emerged. These led me to create collections about plants.

Architecture; A Context for Culture

Next came architecture. Every question came out of the painting I wanted to paint: What is a staircase? What is a wall? What do roofs, doors, windows, and light mean? What is the climate, and in what context does this architecture take place? What is meant by the work must have a specific place.

During the same period, I also worked on dualities. In Shahnameh, good and bad, good and evil, demon and angel, hero and antihero all exist side by side. Darkness only makes sense when there is light and these two complete each other. The best artistic image for me is where light and darkness are in the most perfect relationship; because if there is only light or only darkness, nothing can be seen.

I created a series where the images could be read from both sides. On one side, the demon was seen, and by turning the work over, the angel was formed; the woman turned into a man, or Rostam into a fighting demon. These games made me abandon definitive judgments about good and bad; both have meaning together and have no place without the other.

I continued this path with the theme of dance, rhythmic movements, and games; including a series about games like Snakes and Ladders. However, I felt that even these were not enough.

In the years I worked with the Beautification Organization, I realized that many of the images that were executed on the walls of the city had a fundamental flaw. They looked like large postcards stuck to the building without understanding the architecture. A painting can be good, but it has no connection to the building on which it is placed. Why don’t we use the plan and structure of the city? Why do we still only see the work in the form of a square or rectangle with a certain length, width, and height, while the city goes beyond this frame?

I thought of platforms in which one could work over time. A point might be added today, another part three years later, and a new element six years later. In this view, time has no definite beginning or end and reaches a kind of infinity. The work only begins and continues in a long process. I brought this perspective into my paintings so that my different tendencies could be placed together on a common platform.

I also designed illustrations for music for years. I didn’t want to just put photos of musicians on the cover. If the subject was music, I would look for signs of southern life and culture; for example, nets and structures used on the coast and in the tides to catch fish. I wanted to translate the music into the language of images, not just show the face of the performer.

Dissonance in Contemporary Culture

Gradually, I saw that there was a problem with clothing, music, education, and many other things; the problem was that the components were not working properly. Everyone studied, but that lesson was not used in life. Paintings and sculptures were produced, but they did not leave an impact on our living space. Carpets, furniture, dishes, clothing, the way we spoke, our joy, our sadness, and even our wedding ceremonies were not in harmony with each other.

I asked myself if there was a time when these components did not have such a problem? For example, I saw that during the Qajar period, Qajar architecture, Qajar clothing, Qajar paintings, food, dishes, and music of the same period existed side by side. Architecture shapes culture and harmonizes other components within itself.

If our contemporary culture had an architecture that had some kind of agreement, many other components would have emerged from it: what to teach, what music to hear in that space, what size, color, and subject matter of a painting would be appropriate for it, and even what utensils and clothing would be used in that life.

When you enter a Gothic church, the height of the architecture, the resonance and tension of the music, and even the shape of the clothing are all related. In Islamic culture, too, a set of ideas reaches the architecture and then other components emerge from it. In the Achaemenid and Sasanian periods, architecture also connects utensils, fabrics, chariots, and other elements of culture.

Today, we do not have a common architecture. Everyone does whatever they want, without there being a place to measure and adapt it. That is why every film, music, concert, and play we make remains in a transitional period. In contrast, when Ta’ziyeh enters the tekke, it acquires its costume, mise-en-scène, duration, audience position, and manner of impact from the same structure.

Our acquaintance with the modern world has been largely an era of translation. We have translated architecture, music, and other achievements of the world for decades. Now these translations need to reach our own civilization and formulation. Until then, we must constantly examine what to teach in architecture and art, what workshops and factories we need, and how to connect the scattered components.

Map, Transparency, and Situational Awareness

To explain today’s situation, I am reminded of Rumi’s story about the elephant in the dark. Everyone touched a part of the elephant and based on that part, created a picture of the whole. We are also largely in the same darkness. The situation will not change until we know where we are standing and where we want to go. First, we must bring in light and illuminate the space. To illuminate, we need information; We must know the longitude, latitude, and altitude of our location and have an accurate map of where we are.

One of the factors in the progress of contemporary civilizations has been that they quickly produced maps and determined where the smallest thing in the world is and how far it is from the origin. The British produced maps of different parts of the world and the Americans made maps of the sky. Initially, preparing a map can even be a military and defensive task, but it is also essential for cultural growth.

We must know what facilities we have and where we are going. Everyone must provide their information in producing this map. Such a system prevents parallel work and repetition of mistakes and makes the space transparent. In transparency, we can understand who really has knowledge and competence and who is just making a claim and entering a position that does not belong to them.

With a map, we can see the place of paintings, articles, music, culture, economy, and education and measure what has grown compared to the previous year, what we have achieved, and what we have lost. This awareness is essential for the growth of a person, culture or country.

Even in planning a simple trip, we need to know where the destination is, what facilities it has and how much time we have. Much of this information is not transparent about ourselves. When I searched for Iran on Google Earth, there was very little information, while about some other countries, I could see a lot of details and even walk the streets. This transparency helps us find what we are looking for.

Works of art, books, research, natural resources, water and ancient monuments should be properly recorded and their information should be available to everyone. When information is public, security also increases. I remember years when parks had fences and people used them less. When the fences were removed and public presence increased, park security also increased. When everyone knows what is where and who is using it, abuse loses its meaning.

Much of the secrecy is the result of a lack of security and transparency. Maps and public information help us to accelerate, to improve, to have something to offer, and to avoid becoming outdated; to produce something today that has expired years ago.

Transparency inevitably brings with it laws to prevent abuse. These components are interrelated. I have always wondered how Tehran could be made more beautiful. My wife once made an interesting suggestion: What would happen if the courtyard walls were removed? In some architecture, the courtyard wall in our usual form does not exist. In the Netherlands, I saw houses that were located one behind the other, and from the window of one house you could see several houses next to it.

At first glance it may seem scary, but when everything is seen, the pathological sensitivity to seeing disappears. In Tehran, because all the windows have curtains, the slightest change in the curtains attracts everyone’s attention. If there are no curtains, that endless curiosity ends and people learn to spend their time on other things.

The solution to some problems is to define the problem and question correctly, to tear down unnecessary walls and to accept that we cannot do everything. For a person to die before doing something useful is a tragedy that afflicts many and leads to depression. Most people want to do something, make a film, paint a picture and be useful to themselves and others. They should be given the opportunity to experience. Like a child who is never allowed to approach the heat of a fire, how will he know that fire will burn his hand?

Cultural Management and Restoring Meaning

Wherever I was invited to help manage or consult, my first task was to return the conditions, place, and subject to their original point and meaning. The first time I was invited to the cultural center, I saw that the space was in disarray; partitions and things had been added that were not necessary, parts had been damaged, and things that should have been there had not been added. The uses had changed.

I tried to return the space to the original vision of the architect, the ideator, and the builder, as well as the needs of the person who was going to use it. If I added something, I tried to think like the original designer: What would he or she do if he or she were here?

I followed this path during my years of working at the Artists’ House, the Beautification Organization, and other projects. If I were invited to a festival, I would start with its name and theme and try to restore it to a meaning and essence that had changed or lost its value over the years. Destroying is quick; you move something or you mess up. But repairing is difficult and takes a long time, because people get used to the status quo and forget what the original form was.

In a festival, it is not enough to simply convey the overall meaning. The walls and the space of the festival should speak to the artists. When an artist thinks individually, he creates his own work, but the collection of works in a festival should also have meaning together. We needed to talk to the artists about the work and the best way to present it.

At a festival I worked at many years ago, we came to the conclusion that separating disciplines did not help to improve the event. We put aside disciplines and based on “art” and “project”. The artist himself proposed a project, and from the projects a more accurate picture of the artist, his works, and the atmosphere of the festival was created.

One of the problems is that the artist does not know the client, and the client does not understand the artist’s language. The student does not always do what the teacher wants, and the client does not necessarily create what the client wants. The stubbornness and inconsistency between the two has caused a lot of damage. If we have a unique work, brilliant architecture, or a great symphony, part of its success goes back to the client or the knowledgeable client.

I once gave a practice class. I asked about twenty students to each draw whatever they wanted in ten minutes. Then I told them to give their drawing to the person next to them and they would work on it. This exchange continued until everyone had worked on all the drawings. In the end, instead of twenty masterpieces, we ended up with twenty disasters! Everyone did whatever they wanted to the previous person’s work, and no one asked what the original designer intended and how I could help; or if I didn’t help, why not give the work intact to the next person?

If twenty people work consciously on a work, the result should be something brilliant and unique, not a collection of unrelated interventions. In our culture, religion, science, culture, and education are often treated in the same way: everyone does whatever they want, without asking what the previous person wanted to make, what I can help do, and how the next person should continue my work.

I have seen this problem in art groups too. Someone comes up with an idea, but instead of helping the idea grow, others want to make it their own. In management, I have always tried to help an existing process, not just leave my mark on it.

I have said many times that every street needs someone to take care of it. It is not necessary for one person to take care of the whole city. At home, one person can take care of food, another of the economy, and another of another part of life. Everyone should take care of it to the extent of their ability, but everyone should do it in the area they know and can really improve. Sometimes, in the name of helping, we do something that makes the situation worse, and then, without examining the source of the problem, we continue on the same path again. In various cultural fields, we need people who can read, translate, and explain experiences.

Art Consumption and the Necessity of the Market

What makes art progress and directly or indirectly creates culture and achievement is the consumption of art. If you create the greatest works but they are not consumed, they do nothing in culture. One of the most complete forms of consumption is buying; receiving gifts is not consumption in the same sense.

If there is a real need for the product that the artist produces and that need is matched by the work, the possibility of a masterpiece is greater. Wherever this connection does not occur, there is a defect. If a work has no commissioner and audience and is produced only for the artist’s personal need, a mass of useless things may arise.

In a culture, art and industry are related. Art achieves achievements and those achievements are consumed in industry; just as technology is the industrial form of using science. We have the artist and the work of art, but until the work enters the process of consumption and application and does not go through the necessary requirements to find its audience and owner, the cycle is not complete.

Art needs a real market; a market with different ranges, from weaker works to good works. Sometimes a person has to experience an unsuitable car or television before he thinks of choosing a better example. In art, too, one may first buy an ordinary work and gradually recognize who creates a masterpiece and move on to better works. As culture and people gradually improve, their choice and perception of a work of art also grows.

In my management activities, I have always tried to establish this transaction and connection between the artist, the work, and the audience. Until this connection is formed, many activities will not bear fruit and have real results.