“The Street at the Foot of the Green Hill”

We walk among the trees until we reach the lone streetlamp by the road. I turn on the flashlight to find the last tree of the forest. The circle of light frames the branches. Would these branches still be beautiful if it weren’t night?

We’ll come back tomorrow night, and the nights after. Each time, we pass by a familiar tree. Green Hillside Street 1, Green Hillside Street 2, Green Hillside Street 3, Green Hillside Street 4, and Green Hillside Street 5. I say, “This must have once been a green foothill.” He says, “It seems someone is still in mourning.”

“The Tale of the Night”

“The Tale of the Night” is the story of a light shining in the heart of darkness; a place where a small flame warms our hearts and becomes a glimmer of hope to continue the journey. In this absolute darkness that has engulfed the world, my eyes cannot see, yet I keep moving forward. The desire to see the light blazes within me more fiercely than ever, even as I feel the cold seeping deep into my bones. And this question keeps echoing in my mind: Will I ever see the light?

 “I saw nothing but beauty.”

In this series, I have revisited landscapes with an abstract perspective—places where I once ran, experienced a different image of nature and the interplay of light and shadow, spent time, or walked. These works, in a personal way, seek to reveal the underlying layers of a landscape frame alongside its outer surfaces. It is as if a painterly encounter, reminiscent of the “double exposure” technique in photography or the sensibility Cézanne brought to his landscapes, has taken place.

Water, flowers, trees, wind, the ocean, the sea, boats, stars, and the sky are elements of nature that I am particularly drawn to, and they are densely rendered with line and color throughout these landscapes. The color palette, the texture of the lines, and the compositions result from the fusion of miniature imagery, abstract expressionist painting, Van Gogh’s philosophical approach, and the layered visual worlds seen in the works of filmmakers such as Nolan, where the viewer is, in a sense, left to wander through a multilayered realm.

“Have you flown, or has a stone escaped from the summit?”

There is a boundary between reality and imagination—a current of doubt flowing through the mysterious, unknown moments of life, giving rise to questions: What am I doing in this situation? The human act of flight offers a broadened vision: to see life from above, to witness the human being as part of an endless expanse. What am I within this vastness? Nature and life are concepts that transform into one another and ultimately become one. From that point onward, imagination takes flight.

“The Return”

I watch the coming and going of my paintings in the wind and think about their resemblance to doves: “an eternal flight and return.” They have always been present in my images, but this time, more than ever, my paintings themselves resemble birds—free, weightless, in motion. I reflect on this and on the connection it has with my hands—hands that, time and again, take on new forms to paint the open or folded wings of doves.

“The Island of the Body”

In a cyclical, ever-repeating journey, the human being’s fall from heaven, takes root in the embrace of nature, and merges with the tides of time. “The Island of the Body” tells the story of union and separation—a tale of bodies that, in a curious yet fearful encounter with nature, redefine their boundaries, nourish one another, and at times inflict wounds upon each other. In “The Island of the Body,” the boundary between the self and the surrounding world quietly dissolves into a mist of fear, doubt, and timelessness, and the unfinished tale continues.

“The Air of the Earth”

In this series, I have sought to focus on the distance between human beings and the earth, and how this distance affects one’s perception of the self. All the photographs were taken over the course of three years, during my many travels to different cities across Iran, captured from two distinct perspectives: either from a very great distance or in extreme closeness to the ground. This distance from the earth led me to experience a form of “biostasis”—I simultaneously belonged to the earth and did not; I was both alive and dead at once.
I felt a deep intimacy and connection with myself—and, perhaps more importantly, a strange sense of detachment from my surroundings and from the earth itself. Growing up in a religious family had instilled in me the belief that the higher you ascend, the closer you are to God. Whether far from the ground or close to it, I was suspended in between, and I wanted to convey this suspension, this spirituality, through photography. Ultimately, my intention in this project has been to give form to the geography of my inner world and to discover a path for reconnecting with myself.