Epilogue: You can sit here forever

 

 

Day 13: You can sit here forever

Last day orientation trip 2016, an epilogue

 

By Zippora Elders

 

It’s Saturday morning 10 AM. Tehran. I worked late and now I almost miss breakfast. It takes me 15 minutes to dress. Headscarf, long vest. I run down to the restaurant. On my way I meet Jaap, James, Nathanja. They’re heading to the Film Museum. The rest of the group left this morning, to the Grand Bazaar. It’s the last day of our trip. I have breakfast alone. Bland electronic tunes in the Novotel. Decorations in purple, black and white. It’s been almost a month since I arrived in this warm country. I feel sentimental.

Only half of the breakfast buffet is left. The waiters apologize and ask what I want. I ask for goat cheese, water melon, cardamom tea and pistachio pastries. The waiter kindly asks if I’m from Thailand. Questions like these are asked to me at least twice a day. I say I’m from Amsterdam. He doesn’t believe me, my parents live in Asia? No they live in the East of the Netherlands. He concludes: “That’s why your English is so good. You’re smart. You’re from Europe.”

Europe…

The past weeks I travelled through Iran and Armenia with a group of selected artists, curators, directors from Belgium, Denmark, the Netherlands and Switzerland. It felt like time travel. Not because any of our visits felt like going back or forth in time, but because many different cultures, histories and languages were together at the same time. It was as if we were constantly moving around the edges of our respective worlds. Nazareth, Lilith, Jacob, Balthazar, Samuel, Nathanja, James, Zippora… A group of Biblical pilgrims roaming the desert.

With the Armenians we spoke French. Very old world, very old Europe. Going through their history it’s clear that the Armenians were and are everywhere, although they often weren’t allowed to be. Not so much is left of a realm that once was expansive, and there is a gap between the relative smallness of the cities we visited and the rich history of cultural exchange that we encountered. We saw amazing vintage photographs from Soviet times that reminded us of Moholy-Nagy and Outerbridge; we saw beautiful paintings of well to do ladies that travelled the world and made their own Beckmanss, Gauguins, Van Dongens; we watched an intriguing performance of a lady obsessively brushing her hairs, shot on 16mm film… Open and curious to everything that was presented to us, it was remarkable (and slightly annoying) how our European frame of reference lead us back to the canon of Western art a bit too often.

Sergei Parajanov’s museum in Yerevan was a treat. The film director’s imagination is unbelievable. So was his drive to create. With the culture and history of the region always in the back of his mind, a fine eye for tension and suspense and a very crafty hand, he created his own, intriguing world. The museum almost bursted of his unique visual language, sense of time and place: signs and symbols that we can only half understand – but feel the more. He worked always and everywhere, to the point that he was in Soviet prison, making figures in metal coins with his nails.

In Tehran we encountered an artist with the same prolific creativity. Ali Akhbar Sadeghi works with assemblage, animation and painting. In his works a sense of decoration and abstraction comes forth that one might call characteristically Iranian, yet at the same time he combines his skills and knowledge to make striking, humorous and slightly absurd works that are very much his own. Precisely the works that I found a bit kitschy at first linger on in my mind one week later. I vividly remember Paulien telling me that his works made her hopeful, and I felt the same kind of thrill. It’s a joy to stumble onto art that simply jumps over the conventions you know and then takes you by surprise: those artists that blow us away with their otherworldly perspective on life and whose imagination is so strong that their works somehow transcend the borders and categories we’re used to – to such an extent that a group of trained curators can’t easily put in words why they find an oeuvre exciting.

Painfully ironic, during a trip that is organized to introduce us to emerging networks of art in non-Western regions, one of the questions that bugged me most was: why is white male supremacy again on top of its game? It was in Yerevan where we followed the US elections. Watching Clinton’s defeat was depressing. In the morning I encountered Toke in front of the hotel with tears in his eyes, while Dirk, Eelco, Haco and Louise were sitting shocked in the lobby watching BBC.

That afternoon we all went to the Armenian Genocide Museum.

After this even more upsetting experience I stayed in my hotel room, despaired about the power of politics, the will to dominate, the history of terror, and wondered what Trump’s election will do for the regions we’re visiting. With (second) neighbors like Turkey, Iraq, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan et cetera “a whole lot depends on Trump,” an Iranian told me when I asked about the political prognosis. That’s just way unsettling.

When you think Armenia and Iran, you might think: Christianity and Islam. But what’s really everywhere is: capital and consumption. Also everywhere: environmental issues and scarcity. So much smog in Tehran that I feel trapped. To the north: dystopian clusters of huge apartment buildings where no one lives. In the middle of Gyumri: a post-apocalyptic village of containers with hundreds of families that can’t afford new homes after the big earthquake. In Yerevan: one after another newly constructed alienating, postmodern building design to house big companies. Running through the centre of Isfahan: a gorgeous, far-reaching river without a drop of water.

On visit from these small countries in Europe, I feel neither smart nor significant, rather: oblivious and overprivileged. Previously mentioned persisting focus in the arts on the West feels paradoxical – understandable, but paradoxical. And awkward, to say the least; Europe’s legacy has been a nasty thing, too. The overwhelming hospitality of the Armenians and Iranians as opposed to our semi-closed borders: it’s a far-fetched comparison, but living in a rather frugal country, I feel this tension all the time. What keeps me upright (in relation to our professional field) is the hope for art that has the power to surprise, to reflect on the status quo, to open our eyes to new perspectives, to close the gaps – to finally create awareness and a sense of responsibility.

Back to breakfast in Tehran. By now the enormous room is empty. Only the waiter and me, the synthesizer tunes, pastries and laptop. Breakfast is over, but I need more time. I’m overwhelmed – by the news reaching and not reaching me from all over the world; by obscured histories and possible futures; by parallel experiences from colleagues in neighbouring European countries; by the feeling that I perhaps can’t change a thing, and at the same time that I should; by the uncomfortable realization that I, as opposed to billions of other people in the world, can travel almost anywhere I want (except, unfortunately, through time).

“Can I sit here?” I ask the waiter of the Novotel Tehran. “Yes, of course,” he smiles. “You can sit here forever.”

 

Thank you.

 

– ZE

Day 6 – Tehran

Stop 1: Pejman Foundation

In a typical English brickhouse, probably dating from the 1910’s, Pejman Foundation is going to open its doors in the very near future. The foundation has been funded in 2015 by Hamid Reza Pejman as a non- profit organization willing to introduce and connect international artists to the Iranian art scene. Main idea is to open a recidency program and an exhibition space in which – on invitation only – ‘international artists’ and sometimes curators can work on their projects. According to the founder Hamid Reza Pejman, the organization don’t want to be involved in any commercial aspect.

As we are started to be used to – but still appreciate a lot – we were welcomed by a bunch of very nice and welcoming Iranian collaborators, artists, friends and Pejman himself. Among them Newsha Tavakolian a well known Iranian documentary photographer and visual artist who is one of the first female photojournalists in Iran, and a laureate of the Prince Claus Fund in 2015, and Thomas Erdbrink ‘our man from Teheran’; one of the few western journalists in Iran writing for newspapers as The New York Times, NRC Handelsblad, De Standaard and other media.

Recently the Pejman Foundation bought an old brewery nearby her residency which is still under renovation. This brewery produced the second best – according to Pejman – beer in Iran until the Revolution in 1979. The owners ‘escaped’ the country and since then the building has been abandoned. An amazing ‘untouched’ building as we have seen many in Tehran and elsewhere in a ‘limbo zone’ of property. The brewery is currently under construction and will have about  five exhibition spaces up to 800 square meters.

First artist that has been invited by the Pejman Foundation is Neil Beloufa, an Algerian- French artists who is going to make a new film work in Tehran with the support – financially as well – of the Foundation. Other artists that had been invited so far are Mona Hatoum and William Kentridge. The last for giving some lectures and workshops. The brewery will partially open in 2017. According to our knowledge, this foundation seems to become one of the most internationally orientated art spaces in Iran.

Stop 2: Studio of Ali Akbar Sadeghi

A proto- modernist residential house of the 1950s (?) in the North of Iran houses the studio, the home and a private viewing space of Ali Akbar Sadeghi. This almost 80 years old Iranian artist is still very much alive. Working already for decades, he is considered a very important figure in the Iranian art scene since the 1960s. Working in a broad range of styles and techniques, his works are always ‘based’ on old Persian literature, legends and the old tradition of miniature painting.

 In the 1960s Sadeghi was one of the founders of the Film Animation department of the Center for the Intellectual Development of Children and the Youth. In these years he made a number of brilliant, imaginative and witty animation films that won a huge number of  prizes at important Film Festivals all over the world. In the seventies these animation films were also shown on Iranian television and therefore became part of the ‘cultural heritage’ of Iran. Apart from this, Sadeghi is also active in making the most beautifully artists books and illustrations. Right now his animation films are on show at the LACMA in Los Angeles.

Stop 3: Ag Gallery

Simondokht Dehgani is the owner of Ag Gallery. This privately owned space has two floors with multiple rooms: a shop, garden with sculptures, office, storage and lab. The program focuses on photography and aims to create a dialogue between established Iranian artists and international artists.

The gallery has an in-house digital lab and archive, and a bookshop with an impressive selection of (local) publications. Refreshingly, Ag Gallery doesn’t work with self published catalogues, but instead offered us the artist portfolios on flash drive. Every show is accompanied with a selected outtake in an edition of 60 for the gallery’s patrons. The gallery is represented at a.o. Art Dubai and Unseen Photo Fair.

Stop 4: KAAF

In the evening, Simondokht Dehgani took us to KAAF, a residency and exhibition space with a slight focus on urbanisation and nature. ‘KAAF is determined to bridge the gap between Iranian sociocultural trends and those happening in the outside world,’ according the mission statement. The amazing building was designed by the owners for the past 20(!) years.

As always, the day ended with a beautiful table full of local treats.

We want to thank all the artists, gallerists, curators, organizations, assistants, other contacts and of course Haco de Ridder for again an amazing day full of interesting encounters, refreshing insights and great hospitality.

By Jaap Guldemond and Zippora Elders

 

 

First introduction to Tehran, from a girl’s perspective

Tehran is an enormous city. And we’ve only been here for a short week. So I’m not sure what I can say already. But as a prequel to the orientation trip next week, it might be interesting to share my first experiences, which are still quite personal and undoubtedly biased by my Dutch perspective.

Eelco van der Lingen, director at Nest in The Hague (NL), and I were invited to lead a workshop at the Tehran Art Management Program organized by ‘dars platform’, an initiative that aims to stimulate the local art world. We discussed the topics with the organizers of the program, and together with them we decided to dedicate our workshop to the topic of Self Development. It was the last day before their final presentations and it would be nice to go back to the origins of our motivation to work as art professionals, and thus inspire and refresh the participants with the question: why are we working in the arts?

Personal backgrounds were the starting point. For example, I talked about my family of dancers, singers and musicians and my childhood fascinations for female historical leaders, European political revolutions, sci-fi tv series and American pop culture (which all somehow comes back now I’m a director at a 19th century fortress / art space). I also talked about my friends in Amsterdam, a colourful crew openly living their non-conformist lives: street life entrepeneurs, diy cinematographers, experimental musicians and extravagant stage performers. I talked about my love for exploring cities and networks on my own, and for dancing as much as I can, how the passions of ex-boyfriends influenced me too, and I praised my dear friends actively taking part in LGBTQ communities (which I couldn’t show on pictures because of Google censorship).

I realized that my life in Amsterdam is free and rich, in many senses. The day before my flight, I decided to go to the opening night of Amsterdam Dance Event. One of the venues was the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, where I bumped into a couple of friends. We danced and laughed and drank beers, we ran into a guy I dated some time ago and we had nightly fries at the snackbar. There my friend Sofie talked about her time in Iran, where she studied for a while, and casually started to check my coat. ‘What’s wrong with my coat?’ ‘It’s not long enough.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have to cover yourself until your knees. Just bring a long coat and don’t take it off inside. And do you have a headscarf?’ ‘Yeah I have a pretty scarf that an artist designed for me awhile ago.’ ‘So that’s silk I guess. Won’t work, you need cotton so that it won’t come off easily.’ Slightly confused I went to the last show at alternative music space OT 301, alone. But left earlier to reconsider my luggage. At home it turned out I didn’t have coats or tunics that cover my knees, nor long scarfs made of cotton, and the following day I went to Schiphol with a weird and nervous feeling.

Now I’m here, I’m wearing this cotton scarf, have to cover my arms, legs and bottom, not supposed to look men into the eyes, no dance, not so much music. The first days, it struck me how consumed I was by all this. It was a distraction from my work schedule and at the same I was ashamed that I seemed to make a fuzz out of it. In the mornings Eelco was ready way before I was. I realized that Amsterdam is so unrestricted that I didn’t have any standard to relate to and I honestly couldn’t calculate what is possible here and what isn’t. You don’t want to be ignorant or offensive and Tehran’s society is vibrant as well: everyone knows that parties indoors involve fashionable dress and haircuts, alcohol and dancing too, and in the streets, men and women seem to operate more or less equally. At a certain point I got it and chose my own way to dress: loose scarfs, I bought some nice vests, and pushed the edges somewhat with wearing a short parka and cap. But what was left is discomfort: the scarf is bothering my sight, my dinner, my outfit, my hairdo, my temperature, my head– it is as if something is literally holding me down, all the time.

Most of all, I can’t get used to the fact that men are allowed to wear whatever they want, except for short pants. Sexual attraction goes both ways but that’s rarely acknowledged. Here I find myself sitting in a subway train full of men, listening to hiphop music while hiding the album covers popping up on my phone’s screen, constantly correcting myself when I start to move to the rhytm of the music, or when I feel the urge to look back when a handsome guy is staring at me, or when I feel my scarf sliding from my hair. The first days I got nervous of the idea of not being able to dance and experience local parties for one month, and anxiously started to think about how to meet people who could introduce me to underground places. Most of all I feel the oblivious Western tourist, which is rather new for me because I’m quite used to feeling an outsider, not looking originally Dutch myself.

The young women in the workshop were so fascinated by my life. Afterwards they enthusiastically told me how they listened to the same music and watched the same movies, had boyfriends and liked parties too, but always in secret. At home they were told to never talk about their indoor lives with anyone unfamiliar, until they knew for certain if they could trust someone. ‘Our identities are hidden. We all live two-sided lives.’ The girls experienced many troubles in developing themselves, especially during adolescense, with so much restrictions. And as grown up single women it is difficult to make your own money, live unmarried on your own, find a partner after divorce. At the same time, they are proud of their culture, and don’t want me to feel sorry for them or think about Tehran’s society as conservative; which is evident because it isn’t – the city has a warm, open-minded atmosphere with people visibly enjoying life and friendships.

But there’s an uncanny tension between what’s happening in the public and what’s happening behind closed doors. It’s full of paradoxes that I’ll probably never really get, and it makes me wonder what it does to the development of your own identity and your personal relations to pursue a double life.

Conversely, I started to reflect on what it means to be able to do and be whatever you want to be, to pursue your individual, pragmatic goals in secular society, to consume whatever – and perhaps even whomever – you want, and to make your choices in a capitalist context ruled by images and media. Because what is freedom, anyway? I often think about the fact that Iran is literally surrounded by regions in war and that my peers experience a constant gap between the pre-revolution generation of their parents and their own: it’s all quite overwhelming and hard to grasp.

Artists are able to push boundaries, shed their refreshing light on current situations, crictically observe or reflect on society. That’s why I feel priviliged to work with art, always and everywhere. But thinking out-of-the-box becomes even more a challenge when that box is forced upon you. I feel it is a valuable experience for us, visitors from Western Europe, to get in touch with other realities and be confronted with other possibilities and limitations, other systems of society, other frames of reference. When this relates to your physical appearance and gender identity, it becomes even more interesting – albeit annoying sometimes. But really, who am I to complain. Being here makes me modest and I truly admire the people working in the arts and in other ways pushing boundaries, women and others not being the norm, especially. All together I am very thankful for the confidence and generosity of the people here inviting me to their professional and private lives. And I am much looking forward to the upcoming weeks.

Zippora Elders