This is a collection of different stories which i have written and published.... in French , English and Italian
1) I believe in You ! In French
( A story which taught me that we should appreciate each other while we are with our loved ones)
2)A Mish Mash Immigrant's Family History in English
3) Atelier in Via Fiesolana 34
4) "A Time For Dreamers" Book in revision in English
5)Parigi 2015 in Italiano
i Believe In You
C'est une histoire pour les gens qui ne croient pas en l'après-vie, je veux dire, qui sait où nous allons après notre mort? «Je crois en toi»
L'histoire que je racontais avec moi depuis 2010
J'ai vraiment besoin d'une chose de mon sac et c'est l'histoire sur laquelle je travaillais. C'est en prenant mon petit-déjeuner que j'ai compris que les papiers n'étaient pas là. C'était décembre et je n'avais pas de chaussettes, mais je ne ressentais pas le froid. Tout le monde me regardait avec mes chaussons de bain roses et tous mes sacs (hé je voyage!) Et ils pensaient peut-être que j'étais fou parce que je n'étais pas habillé correctement ..... Seule Sarina savait que je travaillais sur mes histoires depuis 2010 quand je lui en lis un. Ces papiers étaient dans mon sac en décembre 2018 et ils avaient bien voyagé… ils étaient très importants pour moi. Je portais même une copie de l'acte pour mon ancienne maison en Espagne afin de la montrer à un avocat et je la transportais partout dans les lieux où je voyageais. Je corrigeais mon histoire et j'essayais de la réécrire sur papier. C'était le 15 décembre quand mon sac a été pris par quelqu'un devant un appartement où je séjournais.
Je dormais sur le canapé de Silvana à Florence en Italie; J'avais voyagé de Paris et j'étais arrivé à Florence afin de passer Noël et le nouvel an ici ... Je restais généralement dans une auberge de jeunesse, mais comme toujours à Noël, toutes les auberges étaient réservées et de toute façon, je n'avais pas beaucoup d'argent. Silvia, mon amie de Viareggio qui me loge habituellement chez elle, n’a pas pu le faire cette fois-ci et elle a demandé à son amie Monica de me garder chez elle, près du vieux bâtiment de la commune. Après quelques semaines, je devais partir à cause des travaux de rénovation de la maison. Ensuite, j'avais dormi dans une tente par une nuit glaciale et cela signifiait qu'une chambre chaude où que ce soit était la bienvenue ..... La dernière fois que j'avais eu de la chance, Silvia pouvait m'offrir l'hospitalité, mais cette fois je n'avais pas de logement et Silvana, la galeriste que je connaissais depuis 1998 et qui présentait mon livre "A Time For Dreamers" à la mairie m'a gentiment hébergée pendant un jour ou deux ... Je me suis réveillé le samedi matin à six heures dans son appartement . Il était prévu d'aller à la mairie avec elle et de recevoir une reconnaissance pour mon livre "A Time For Dreamers" à 10 heures. Je voulais juste me précipiter hors de l'appartement afin de prendre un café sans réveiller les gens.
J'avais mis mes sacs à la porte, y compris mon manteau ... un homme avec un sourire étrange nettoyait les escaliers ... je pense que c'est lui qui a pris mon manteau et mon sac. Comment pourrais-je l'accuser? "Le nettoyeur" était le seul qui aurait pu faire l'acte. Donc, je devais laisser tomber, je ne voulais pas faire une scène et un gros problème. Après tout, Silvana m'avait dit que je n'aurais pas dû dire bonjour à l'homme et elle avait mentionné qu'elle avait des problèmes avec cette même personne souriante qui nettoie. Grâce au cœur de quelqu'un, j'ai récupéré mon manteau (il a été pris avec le sac) car il faisait très froid en ce mois de décembre et grâce aux dix euros que je ne retrouvais plus dans la poche de mon manteau. Comme mon histoire portait sur les Émirats arabes unis et plus particulièrement sur Abu Dahbi, j'ai été surprise de lire les nouvelles dans les journaux en février. Plus tard le 5 février, j'ai lu dans les journaux italiens que le pape était allé rendre visite à Abu Dahbi! et c'était une coïncidence très étrange ... simplement parce que c'était la première fois que l'honorable pape accordait de l'attention aux EAU. Quoi avec le Venezuela en train de s'effondrer et toute la situation mexicaine et M. Trumps "mur" et d'autres questions et tous les autres pays dont il a à s'inquiéter ces jours-ci.
Quelqu'un parmi les connaisseurs avait probablement entendu dire que l'histoire concernait Abou Dhabi. Je l'avais lue à Sarina dans un café au coin de la rue où elle habitait. C'est une amie sicilienne austalienne que j'avais rencontrée en 92. Steve, mon ami anglais, l'avait emmenée avec d'autres à une soirée chez moi. De nos jours, elle a chanté dans la communauté, mais elle était professeur d’anglais depuis de nombreuses années avant de devenir soprano. Je lui avais lu l'histoire parce qu'elle pouvait me donner des conseils et me dire ce qu'elle en pensait. L'histoire a été écrite en anglais et elle a dirigé des cours d'écriture. C'est mon manque de confiance en moi et la confusion dans mon esprit qui m'ont donné envie de le partager avec elle. J'étais incapable de m'attacher à cette histoire très personnelle et à l'écriture que j'avais emportée avec moi, tapée dans des pages à la hâte. Depuis de nombreuses années, j'essayais désespérément de le mettre dans un ordre acceptable. Sarina était au courant de ma situation, c’est-à-dire que je n’avais pas de lit où dormir, mais elle ne m’a permis de dormir chez elle que pour une nuit, même si elle n’avait pas eu d’autres invités, c’était peut-être ses surveillants qui lui avaient conseillé de garde-moi dehors. Maintenant, tous les jours ont des conseillers qui leur disent quoi faire. Suis-je en train de me plaindre?
C'est ok pour certains! De cette façon, ils continuent à grimper pendant que des gens comme moi sont tenus à l'écart des choses pour lesquelles nous travaillons. Enfait, elle déclare que son appartement est l’endroit le plus sûr de la ville et que je devrais laisser mon travail d’art avec elle chez elle, mais elle ne me laissera pas rester? bizarre! Je ne vais pas réécrire l'histoire, mais j'écrirai ce qui s'est passé. Je vivais dans mon ancienne maison à Téhéran. Ma mère venait de décéder. Je l'ai trouvée dans son lit ... elle avait pris une couleur étrange. J'ai appelé ma tante Tahmeen qui était la sœur de mon père et ma cousine Roudabeh. Elles sont toutes les deux venues et nous l'avons enterrée au cimetière sans appeler toutes les personnes qui la connaissaient (comme l'exige la tradition). Mon amie Shirin que j'avais connue au lycée. m'a donné un peu de soutien dans ces jours. C'était pendant l'un des jours qui ont suivi son décès, quand j'ai eu une vision ou un rêve que je ne sais pas lequel ..... parce que je dormais après le déjeuner et que c'était un sommeil très léger. Mon ami Guido m’est apparu et c’était comme s’il était réel, je n’étais pas resté en contact avec lui depuis quelques années, mais nous avions été très proches et il me manquait vraiment et il avait besoin de lui car il semblait savoir ce qu’il fallait faire. dans chaque situation .... ou c'est ce que je pensais. Il m'a dit "Va chez Hamdanstreet"! Je ne peux toujours pas classer ce message ... il a ensuite été éteint.
Il me manquait parce qu'il aurait dû être à côté de moi maintenant que ma mère était partie et que notre problème avait toujours été de l'argent, il aurait été temps pour nous de pouvoir commencer une vie ensemble. Il avait été le seul à me soutenir pendant mes années à l'université. Nous avions eu tellement de rires lorsque nous étions en train d'étudier des livres que je devais préparer pour mes premiers examens ... il avait "cru en moi" et m'avait dit que même si je n'avais pas réussi l'examen, il viendrait ramasser les morceaux. Il a promis qu'il viendrait me chercher après et que nous irions boire un verre dans l'un de ses cafés préférés, sur la piazza della Republica. c’était son passe-temps favori quand il est venu vivre à Florence. En fait, il vivait à Rome et travaillait en tant que pigiste car il avait une société de doublage et travaillait pour la télévision. Sa mère était séparée de son mari de Bergame qui était un homme très blond aux yeux bleus et sérieux et Guido lui ressemblait. Je l'avais rencontré une fois et il m'avait dit que tous les problèmes du monde venaient du canal de Suez! Guido m'a dit qu'il était profondément déprimé et qu'il prenait des médicaments. Son père avait pratiqué le droit pendant de nombreuses années, alors que Guido avait étudié le droit mais avait quitté ses études pour travailler. Ils vivaient dans une immense maison.
Guido pensait que je pouvais quitter Florence et il m'avait demandé d'aller vivre avec lui et sa mère ... mais c'était impossible car ma famille n'était pas du tout d'accord avec cela. Sa mère était une dame qui parlait un napoletano incompréhensible dans un souffle et je comprenais mal ce qu'elle avait dit, mais elle a dit qu'elle n'était pas contente que je retire son fils de la famille! J'ai été stupéfait! Cette plainte me faisait penser à Sonia, mon amie américaine originaire de l’Ohio, qui m’avait raconté que l’un des invités de son mariage (à Franco) lui avait demandé "Comment sa mère va-t-elle s’en sortir sans lui?" ton sacastique "Elle survivra et ...... vivra"! J'étais très attaché à Guido parce que j'avais trop pleuré à cause de maux de cœur et de problèmes et je pensais avoir enfin trouvé une âme soeur, l'autre moitié de moi, car nous pouvions parler et discuter pendant des heures et qu'il se sentait bien pareil comme je l’ai fait, cependant nos familles étaient un probleme.
Guido avait eu deux soeurs plus jeunes ... Federica avait 23 ans comme moi mais elle avait une longueur d'avance sur moi en ce qui concerne sa personnalité. Enfait, elle a réussi à bâtir une carrière réussie à la télévision, mais elle a laissé son frère aîné derrière elle. Je pensais que c'était une honte. De toute façon, cette vision me disait d'aller dans un endroit inconnu à la recherche de Dieu sait quoi. Dans le passé, j'avais voyagé aux EAU parce que c'était très différent de l'Iran. Après avoir vécu à l'étranger pendant deux décennies, l'Iran, le pays dans lequel je suis né, n'était pas seulement un État policier, il était maintenant contrôlé par une sorte de système paramilitaire très uni. Ces personnes étaient convaincues d'avoir un rôle positif à jouer. C'était très fatigant de voir des couples marchant vers moi et essayant de vanter la supériorité, parce qu'ils étaient mariés, ce qui signifie que je devrais m'installer. C'était du populisme et très aimé des gens qui y étaient habitués et qui en bénéficiaient ..... je dois admettre qu'une fois dans une situation où j'avais besoin d'aide, l'un de ces "observateurs" était utile. Cet homme veillait sur moi et est venu à mon secours.
Je donnais de la monnaie à une étrangère qui mendiait et qui avait un bébé dans ses bras. Il s'est avéré qu'elle n'était pas du tout aussi innocente qu'elle en avait l'air ... elle était un dragon déguisé et quand elle a commencé à devenir agressive, cet homme est venu vers moi et il était aussi incrédule que moi à cause de son comportement. et il a pris mon côté, et cela l'a fait reculer. Je suis éternellement reconnaissant à cet étranger. Je savais que Dubaï était une sorte de refuge pour tous ceux qui avaient un passeport et qui avaient l’argent pour s’échapper quelques semaines. J'ai même emmené ma mère plusieurs fois. Une fois, nous avons fait une excursion d’une journée à Abou Dhabi. C'était bien avant mon rêve. Je pensais que ma mère aimait être dehors au lieu de rester au lit toute la journée. Enfait, elle avait l'air bien pour un homme de 84 ans et elle a accepté ce que j'avais décidé de faire. Il y avait de bons hôtels et des endroits où manger et je l'y emmenais. J'étais désolée d'avoir dû vendre son bien-aimé appartement pour faire cela, mais elle aurait dû le faire elle-même il y a longtemps et elle aurait dû faire des voyages avec mon père. Mais ils avaient préféré rester à la maison et regarder la télévision, et les programmes télévisés étaient très minces et ennuyeux pour le moins.
Par exemple; il y avait un programme sur les jumeaux siamois séparés par une équipe médicale à Singapour ... des absurdités qui faisaient fureur à ce moment-là et toutes les personnes ennuyeuses espéraient un miracle. C’était tellement décevant pour tout le monde quand ils sont décédés… c’était assez clair pour moi depuis le début. C'était le genre de télévision qu'ils regardaient toute la journée. À Dubaï, j’ai regardé la télévision et découvert pour la première fois "White Suprematists", c’était un film britannique produit en anglais. Nous étions dans le vieux centre-ville et la nourriture était fabuleuse et à mon goût. J'ai adoré la plage et l'ambiance ... les gens avaient l'air de s'amuser. J'avais écrit une carte postale de l'hôtel en pensant à Guido, j'étais sûr qu'il serait intéressé et qu'il comprendrait. Il m'avait dit que Dubaï était trop axé sur le consumérisme à son goût et je savais qu'il n'aimait pas du tout faire du shopping et qu'il ne pouvait pas profiter des magnifiques centres commerciaux.
Après avoir pris deux semaines de vacances et être rentrée chez moi, je m'étais installée dans la corvée de la vie quotidienne et des soins pour ma mère. Je savais que mon visa italien expirerait bientôt. En revenant, je jetterais ma carte d'identité italienne par la fenêtre après 23 ans de résidence légale. Elle ne savait pas que je sacrifiais cette chose importante pour elle. Elle avait déjà atteint la sénilité et certains de ses amis, qui avaient pitié de moi, m'avaient conseillé de la mettre dans une maison et de "partir le plus rapidement possible". Cela aurait probablement été la meilleure solution raisonnable pour moi. Peu de temps après notre retour de voyage, j'ai reçu un appel d'une femme qui pleurait et qui parlait italien, elle s'est présentée et a dit qu'elle était la sœur de Marina Guido et qu'elle m'appelait pour m'annoncer qu'il était décédé! J'étais incrédule. Il n'avait que 50 ans. Plus tard, quand je suis allé à Rome pour rencontrer sa mère ... personne ne me dira pourquoi il est passé. C'est toujours un mystère.
Ce n'était pas facile de savoir qu'il n'était pas au monde pour moi. Même s'il avait une nouvelle femme dans sa vie.J'ai pu penser qu'il serait là pour moi quand j'en aurais besoin. et maintenant tout avait changé. Le monde semblait être un lieu hostile sans lui et toutes les bonnes personnes de ma famille. J'étais très déprimé. Je pensais aux bons moments passés ensemble. Après avoir passé ces brillants moments ensemble ... je me suis senti très chanceux parce que l'amour est toujours un atout pour la vie. C’est peut-être ce qu’il pensait quand nous sommes allés à Naples en voiture et avons visité Pompéi et Ercolano d’où venait sa mère. C’était moi qui aimais les couleurs de Sorrente et d’Amalfi ... ces magnifiques endroits où les yeux étaient saturés d’une nature d’une beauté incomparable. Après le décès de ma mère, je suis allée à Dubaï et y ai loué une place. J'ai trouvé la galerie Mondo del Arte à Kempinskij Mall. Anna Maria qui était de la Ligurie était très sympathique et accueillant. Roberto était sa jeune assistante milanaise. C'était rafraîchissant de parler italien à nouveau. J'ai vendu diverses œuvres d'art dans cette galerie. Plus tard, AnnaMaria faisait partie d'une autre galerie appelée Vindemia Art Gallery et elle m'a fait vendre mes peintures. Je pensais à mon rêve et au message de Guido.
J'avais dû aller à Abu Dhabhi parce que toutes les ambassades étaient là. Je prévoyais de voyager à nouveau en Europe. J'étais allé marcher dans la rue Hamda parce que je cherchais l'ambassade d'Espagne. J'avais l'intention d'acheter une place en Espagne et de vivre une vie tranquille tout seul. Pour une raison quelconque, je pensais que ce serait plus facile car il y avait une communauté anglophone là-bas. Les espagnols étaient près de Hamda Street et j'y étais allé plusieurs fois. C’était une très longue rue qui allait du centre-ville à l’autre côté de la ville en passant par la Corniche, sorte de grand espace et de parc. J'avais découvert qu'Abou Dhabi avait une industrie de la perle jusque dans les années soixante-dix et qu'elle était devenue une grande ville beaucoup plus tard que Dubaï. Un dimanche de vent maussade, j’ai finalement réussi à préparer une visite à pied et à partir à la recherche d’un indice sur le rêve. J'ai pris le message au sérieux parce que j'avais lu dans des livres que si une personne décédée vous parle dans un rêve, c'est un vrai message. Swedenborg avait écrit sur ses expériences de rêve mystiques. Hewas était un théologien et mystique qui vivait il y a quelques siècles.
Je marchais paresseusement le long des gratte-ciel et des grands immeubles et j'avais atteint le vieux centre-ville et j'avais acheté des épices dans un magasin. Il y avait un jeune homme assis là, je lui ai parlé des épices et j'ai senti qu'il était très épargné par ce qui se passait réellement dans le monde. Peut-être était-il le fils du propriétaire. On se demandait comment les indigènes considéraient les étrangers ici. Je n'avais encore rien trouvé d'inhabituel et j'ai commencé à rentrer vers la corniche qui se trouvait de l'autre côté de la ville. Le vent soufflait fort maintenant et j'étais heureux de constater que ce n'était pas une journée chaude comme celle que j'avais connue pendant l'été. Je me demandais ce que ce serait de vivre et de travailler ici. J'aurais bien aimé trouver un emploi et m'installer, mais je ne pouvais pas me prendre la tête dans la pratique. Même après avoir pu rester dans un appartement loué n’avait pas été facile car je ne savais pas comment payer les factures de services publics.
Je me promenais en pensant au message de Guido… qu'est-ce que ça pourrait être? Je ne savais pas quoi chercher et c'était un jour de pluie. J'en avais marre de tout faire par moi-même. J'avais dû m'occuper moi-même de ma mère, mais grâce à l'ami américain de mon frère, Hameed, qui avait vendu des voitures aux États-Unis, j'avais retrouvé Ashraf Khanum. Ashraf était une jeune femme qui a eu un bébé et l’a apportée quand elle est venue à la maison pour aider aux tâches ménagères. Hameed la louait aux stars en lui disant qu'elle avait été merveilleuse lorsqu'elle avait soigné sa propre mère. Il lui avait dit qu'il voulait lui offrir le monde entier afin de la remercier pour ses services, c'est-à-dire aider sa mère pendant ses derniers jours. C’était tout un tas de sentiments et j’aimais beaucoup Ashraf aussi. C'est pourquoi je l'ai présentée à ma tante Tahmin et à d'autres femmes que je connaissais, pensant qu'elles la traiteraient bien. Ashraf portait beaucoup de maquillage lorsqu'elle est arrivée au travail et elle était une jolie jeune femme. Je pensais souvent à elle parce que je pensais à toutes les femmes que je connaissais et au fait que cette femme avait des problèmes similaires. qui étaient liés comme toujours à l'argent et au travail. Malheureusement, le "travail" n'a pas été considéré avec respect par la société iranienne car il existait encore une "attitude féodale" à son égard et les gens ne pouvaient pas et ne pouvaient pas être fiers de ce qu'ils faisaient pour gagner leur vie. Par conséquent, Ashraf s'est plainte de ce qu'elle n'avait pas été bien traitée par les femmes à qui je l'avais présentée et pour qui elle travaillait.
J'avais aussi fait travailler des filles pour moi. Ils étaient étudiants en art à l'université de Téhéran et sont venus pour me tenir compagnie et m'aider dans mon travail d'artiste. Ils avaient un diplôme mais étaient très inquiets pour leur avenir. L'une d'elles avait été assez intelligente pour se trouver mari par le biais d'une discussion en ligne sur Internet. C'était une grande réussite de sa part. Mon souffle de conscience m’amène maintenant à Elham qui travaille pour moi en tant que peintre ...... elle vient de la banlieue de la ville et est une femme mariée d’un village situé à cinq heures de voiture en voiture mais qui vivait dans la métropole. Les citadins avaient organisé un autobus quotidien pour se rendre dans leur village (car le gouvernement n’envisageait pas de le faire pour eux) qui se trouvait dans la banlieue d’un lieu appelé Irak. Elle aurait toujours dit que leur village avait donné beaucoup de marteaux à la guerre entre l'Iran et l'Irak et que les choses devraient aller mieux pour les personnes qui ont perdu leurs hommes pour leur pays. (Cela m'a fait penser aux merveilleux bus que l'on trouve en Italie et qui relient les villages aux villes ... ce genre de service est génial aussi)
Je l'avais trouvée par le biais d'un de ses cousins qui m'était sympathique dans un point Internet. Elle a dit que "ma cousine peut peindre des tableaux" de toute évidence, elle était au courant, probablement dans les paramilitaires et savait tout sur moi parce que j'étais étrangère dans le pays où je suis née. Ses couleurs étaient terriblement sombres et je devais le dire. elle à plusieurs reprises quelles couleurs je voulais. J'essayais d'aider ces femmes en leur donnant du travail. "Synergy" comme l'avait appelé Fletcher ..... mais il m'était pratiquement impossible d'avoir une emprise. Je n'étais pas marié et je n'avais pas d'enfants non plus, ce qui me plaçait dans la catégorie des "femmes non performantes et donc pas respectables". Parfois, elles parlaient de leur vie et ce serait intéressant pour moi. Une façon de connaître "le nouveau pays" après la révolution. La synergie ne s'est pas produite avec ces étudiants. Ce jour-là, j'ai eu beaucoup de temps pour réfléchir aux personnes que je connaissais dans le passé, principalement à des femmes que j'avais connues alors que je vivais et travaillais à Florence. Je pensais à Donatella pour qui j'avais travaillé quand le magasin Antica Baccani était toujours là dans les années 90 et beaucoup à Laura qui était la galeriste qui me connaissait depuis 98 et avait exposé mon travail dans "The Babele Gallery", Ensuite il Francesca et sa fille Elena, qui dirigeaient la boutique de cadeaux "Solo A Firenze", que je connaissais aussi depuis de nombreuses années.
J'avais rencontré Donatella par l'intermédiaire de Wilma avec qui j'avais commencé à fabriquer des boîtes. Donatella était de Grosseto. J'étais allé dans cette région avec Robin à la fin des années quatre-vingt. Robin était un ami américain qui avait acheté une voiture de sport rouge et voulait l'utiliser. Nous étions allés au "Parco del Uccellino" qui a une plage. Donatella était une personne chat qui, selon Wilma, s'est occupée de tous les égarés qu'elle a trouvés dans sa région et en avait une maison pleine dans sa ville natale! Un peu comme moi, parce que j'avais aussi une maison remplie de chats et que je pourrais écrire un livre à leur sujet. Je les trouvais dans les rues de Téhéran et les ramenais à la maison. Une fois, j’avais trouvé un chiot, je l’avais rapporté à la maison et il était devenu un bon chien. Je devais alors trouver un entraîneur de chien pour le soigner. Donatella partageait sa boutique avec des gens qui fabriquaient du papier florentin traditionnel. Wilma m'a dit qu'elle cherchait des artistes qui vendraient leurs peintures dans sa boutique afin d'avoir une source de revenus indépendante pour sa famille de chats. J'avais rencontré Wilma lors d'une froide nuit d'hiver en décembre, car nous avions tous les deux participé à un marché d'art de Noël sur la piazza del Cestello. Nous avions fait un effort énorme pour y aller et mon assistant d'Equadore Wendy m'avait aidé à transporter toutes mes photos et mes cartes. Faire la connaissance de Wilma a beaucoup changé pour moi parce qu’elle était une femme très positive. Elle m'a dit que sa fille travaillait dans la mode à Paris et était une vraie designer.
Mon effort pour participer à ce marché de Noël avait porté ses fruits et j'avais trouvé un bon ami. La nuit avait été très froide et Wendy avait eu un rêve aussi dans Art et elle était passionnée. Elle était célibataire et l'avait vendue. appartement et investi dans ce voyage en Italie. Elle m'a dit que sa grand-mère avait réussi à s'instruire par pure volonté parce qu'elle travaillait dans une maison où elle pourrait lire en secret les livres pour enfants une fois son travail terminé. Les femmes qui veulent faire leur propre chose et c'est ce que Guido était à propos. Il me rappelait le film "My Fair Lady", il avait été mon mentor pendant mes années universitaires et avait été heureux pour moi d'obtenir un baccalauréat italien. Curieusement, la première fois que nous nous sommes rencontrés, nous avons commencé à parler de George Bernard. Shaw. Il savait qu'il avait participé à mon projet et il était tout aussi fier de m'avoir aidé que d'avoir aidé sa sœur Federica à se rendre au travail dans les hauteurs. Les femmes devaient généralement réussir par leur belle apparence ou par leur relation avec un homme puissant et c’était ce que le monde était. Peut-être pensait-il à un monde où les femmes pourraient gouverner en utilisant le "pouvoir" avec un sens de la justice et une attitude plus généreuse. Il était l’un des idéalistes ayant vécu la révolution culturelle de 1968.
Je passais maintenant devant le Cornische et entrais dans un endroit avec des bâtiments qui n'étaient pas les gratte-ciel habituels, mais des types de villas normaux. Alors que je cherchais toujours un indice, j’ai vu tomber les mots "" Pasticceria Firenze ". C’était le signe que je recherchais parce que Guido et moi avions partagé de nombreux moments ensemble dans les beaux cafés de la ville, Il connaissait aussi les meilleurs endroits de Rome: de l'autre côté de la rue, il y avait une sorte de café du même nom et j'étais heureux d'arriver à la porte car le vent était impitoyable et froid et maintenant que j'avais trouvé ce que je cherchais, je pouvais enfin m'asseoir dans un endroit chaud. Heureusement, il a commencé à pleuvoir après avoir été à l'intérieur. Mon café préféré à Abu Dhabi était celui qui s'appelait "La boulangerie française" J'étais fasciné par la vue du géant Les fenêtres du gratte-ciel et j'ai adoré m'asseoir dans un fauteuil confortable pendant des heures.Je pouvais le faire quand l'endroit n'était pas occupé, car il était bondé de monde pendant les heures de travail.
Ici, au café de Florence, j’ai trouvé un réconfort dans le café et les pâtisseries italiens typiques, mais j’étais très heureux de trouver une portion supplémentaire de joie en voyant un paquet de nouvelles éditions de mon magazine préféré, le New Yorker. C'était un jour parfait maintenant! Je me suis assis sur une confortable chaise de canapé et ai glissé dans mes pâtisseries tout en parcourant un magazine avec la photo du président Poutine en couverture. Guido aurait passé son dimanche à lire les journaux. Il était très politisé et aurait probablement voulu lire le même magazine car le président Poutine semblait se faire élire à nouveau. Il y avait une interview avec lui et un article qui semblait intéressant. D'une certaine manière, je ne savais pas trop comment mon ami avait envisagé le recours à la surveillance. Depuis la chute du mur de Berlin en 1989, la surveillance avait pénétré dans tous les bâtiments et dans certains pays, dans des maisons… J'avais souffert de la surveillance à Téhéran et le président Poutine en parlait. Il semblait déterminé à contrôler la civilisation mondiale et à créer un système qui changerait à jamais les relations et les personnes. Comme un ami allemand appelé Suzanne le disait dans les années suivantes, le cœur (et la spontanéité du sentiment devrait disparaître); "Seul" le temps "est spontané". Ces jours-ci, notre vie humaine sur terre semblait être dirigée par une sorte de Stasi.
Quels jours heureux nous avons passé ignorants de ce développement. Certes, cet article était très intéressant, mais le suivant que j'ai lu concernait un homme politique américain d'origine polonaise qui parlait de la nouvelle politique de White Race Rescue en Europe de l'Est, affirmant clairement que l'avenir dépendrait de ces pays de l'ex-Union soviétique. Tout ce dont j'avais besoin et que je voulais savoir sur la politique en place après 2001 ... J'étais perplexe et déconcerté par tous ces changements depuis de nombreuses années. Est-ce que cela venait de la gauche ou de la droite politique? Certaines personnes ont dit qu'elles avaient toutes les deux mélangé leurs valeurs. Peut-être que la surveillance qui veut maintenant unir la race blanche n'aurait jamais permis à Guido et à nous-mêmes de nous réunir en premier lieu ..... puisqu'il était lui aussi confronté à des difficultés. Son esprit indiquait les sujets qui nous intéressaient tous les deux.
Plus tard, j'ai lu une courte histoire à propos d'une femme qui rencontrait un homme ... ils sortaient ensemble pour la première fois ... pour une raison quelconque, la fille, qui est probablement après son argent, va pour son portefeuille alors qu'il est endormi et au lieu de l'argent qu'elle cherche, elle trouve un morceau de papier blanc, et en l'ouvrant elle trouve les mots; "Je crois en Vous"
Je dormais sur le canapé de Silvana à Florence en Italie; J'avais voyagé de Paris et j'étais arrivé à Florence afin de passer Noël et le nouvel an ici ... Je restais généralement dans une auberge de jeunesse, mais comme toujours à Noël, toutes les auberges étaient réservées et de toute façon, je n'avais pas beaucoup d'argent. Silvia, mon amie de Viareggio qui me loge habituellement chez elle, n’a pas pu le faire cette fois-ci et elle a demandé à son amie Monica de me garder chez elle, près du vieux bâtiment de la commune. Après quelques semaines, je devais partir à cause des travaux de rénovation de la maison. Ensuite, j'avais dormi dans une tente par une nuit glaciale et cela signifiait qu'une chambre chaude où que ce soit était la bienvenue ..... La dernière fois que j'avais eu de la chance, Silvia pouvait m'offrir l'hospitalité, mais cette fois je n'avais pas de logement et Silvana, la galeriste que je connaissais depuis 1998 et qui présentait mon livre "A Time For Dreamers" à la mairie m'a gentiment hébergée pendant un jour ou deux ... Je me suis réveillé le samedi matin à six heures dans son appartement . Il était prévu d'aller à la mairie avec elle et de recevoir une reconnaissance pour mon livre "A Time For Dreamers" à 10 heures. Je voulais juste me précipiter hors de l'appartement afin de prendre un café sans réveiller les gens.
J'avais mis mes sacs à la porte, y compris mon manteau ... un homme avec un sourire étrange nettoyait les escaliers ... je pense que c'est lui qui a pris mon manteau et mon sac. Comment pourrais-je l'accuser? "Le nettoyeur" était le seul qui aurait pu faire l'acte. Donc, je devais laisser tomber, je ne voulais pas faire une scène et un gros problème. Après tout, Silvana m'avait dit que je n'aurais pas dû dire bonjour à l'homme et elle avait mentionné qu'elle avait des problèmes avec cette même personne souriante qui nettoie. Grâce au cœur de quelqu'un, j'ai récupéré mon manteau (il a été pris avec le sac) car il faisait très froid en ce mois de décembre et grâce aux dix euros que je ne retrouvais plus dans la poche de mon manteau. Comme mon histoire portait sur les Émirats arabes unis et plus particulièrement sur Abu Dahbi, j'ai été surprise de lire les nouvelles dans les journaux en février. Plus tard le 5 février, j'ai lu dans les journaux italiens que le pape était allé rendre visite à Abu Dahbi! et c'était une coïncidence très étrange ... simplement parce que c'était la première fois que l'honorable pape accordait de l'attention aux EAU. Quoi avec le Venezuela en train de s'effondrer et toute la situation mexicaine et M. Trumps "mur" et d'autres questions et tous les autres pays dont il a à s'inquiéter ces jours-ci.
Quelqu'un parmi les connaisseurs avait probablement entendu dire que l'histoire concernait Abou Dhabi. Je l'avais lue à Sarina dans un café au coin de la rue où elle habitait. C'est une amie sicilienne austalienne que j'avais rencontrée en 92. Steve, mon ami anglais, l'avait emmenée avec d'autres à une soirée chez moi. De nos jours, elle a chanté dans la communauté, mais elle était professeur d’anglais depuis de nombreuses années avant de devenir soprano. Je lui avais lu l'histoire parce qu'elle pouvait me donner des conseils et me dire ce qu'elle en pensait. L'histoire a été écrite en anglais et elle a dirigé des cours d'écriture. C'est mon manque de confiance en moi et la confusion dans mon esprit qui m'ont donné envie de le partager avec elle. J'étais incapable de m'attacher à cette histoire très personnelle et à l'écriture que j'avais emportée avec moi, tapée dans des pages à la hâte. Depuis de nombreuses années, j'essayais désespérément de le mettre dans un ordre acceptable. Sarina était au courant de ma situation, c’est-à-dire que je n’avais pas de lit où dormir, mais elle ne m’a permis de dormir chez elle que pour une nuit, même si elle n’avait pas eu d’autres invités, c’était peut-être ses surveillants qui lui avaient conseillé de garde-moi dehors. Maintenant, tous les jours ont des conseillers qui leur disent quoi faire. Suis-je en train de me plaindre?
C'est ok pour certains! De cette façon, ils continuent à grimper pendant que des gens comme moi sont tenus à l'écart des choses pour lesquelles nous travaillons. Enfait, elle déclare que son appartement est l’endroit le plus sûr de la ville et que je devrais laisser mon travail d’art avec elle chez elle, mais elle ne me laissera pas rester? bizarre! Je ne vais pas réécrire l'histoire, mais j'écrirai ce qui s'est passé. Je vivais dans mon ancienne maison à Téhéran. Ma mère venait de décéder. Je l'ai trouvée dans son lit ... elle avait pris une couleur étrange. J'ai appelé ma tante Tahmeen qui était la sœur de mon père et ma cousine Roudabeh. Elles sont toutes les deux venues et nous l'avons enterrée au cimetière sans appeler toutes les personnes qui la connaissaient (comme l'exige la tradition). Mon amie Shirin que j'avais connue au lycée. m'a donné un peu de soutien dans ces jours. C'était pendant l'un des jours qui ont suivi son décès, quand j'ai eu une vision ou un rêve que je ne sais pas lequel ..... parce que je dormais après le déjeuner et que c'était un sommeil très léger. Mon ami Guido m’est apparu et c’était comme s’il était réel, je n’étais pas resté en contact avec lui depuis quelques années, mais nous avions été très proches et il me manquait vraiment et il avait besoin de lui car il semblait savoir ce qu’il fallait faire. dans chaque situation .... ou c'est ce que je pensais. Il m'a dit "Va chez Hamdanstreet"! Je ne peux toujours pas classer ce message ... il a ensuite été éteint.
Il me manquait parce qu'il aurait dû être à côté de moi maintenant que ma mère était partie et que notre problème avait toujours été de l'argent, il aurait été temps pour nous de pouvoir commencer une vie ensemble. Il avait été le seul à me soutenir pendant mes années à l'université. Nous avions eu tellement de rires lorsque nous étions en train d'étudier des livres que je devais préparer pour mes premiers examens ... il avait "cru en moi" et m'avait dit que même si je n'avais pas réussi l'examen, il viendrait ramasser les morceaux. Il a promis qu'il viendrait me chercher après et que nous irions boire un verre dans l'un de ses cafés préférés, sur la piazza della Republica. c’était son passe-temps favori quand il est venu vivre à Florence. En fait, il vivait à Rome et travaillait en tant que pigiste car il avait une société de doublage et travaillait pour la télévision. Sa mère était séparée de son mari de Bergame qui était un homme très blond aux yeux bleus et sérieux et Guido lui ressemblait. Je l'avais rencontré une fois et il m'avait dit que tous les problèmes du monde venaient du canal de Suez! Guido m'a dit qu'il était profondément déprimé et qu'il prenait des médicaments. Son père avait pratiqué le droit pendant de nombreuses années, alors que Guido avait étudié le droit mais avait quitté ses études pour travailler. Ils vivaient dans une immense maison.
Guido pensait que je pouvais quitter Florence et il m'avait demandé d'aller vivre avec lui et sa mère ... mais c'était impossible car ma famille n'était pas du tout d'accord avec cela. Sa mère était une dame qui parlait un napoletano incompréhensible dans un souffle et je comprenais mal ce qu'elle avait dit, mais elle a dit qu'elle n'était pas contente que je retire son fils de la famille! J'ai été stupéfait! Cette plainte me faisait penser à Sonia, mon amie américaine originaire de l’Ohio, qui m’avait raconté que l’un des invités de son mariage (à Franco) lui avait demandé "Comment sa mère va-t-elle s’en sortir sans lui?" ton sacastique "Elle survivra et ...... vivra"! J'étais très attaché à Guido parce que j'avais trop pleuré à cause de maux de cœur et de problèmes et je pensais avoir enfin trouvé une âme soeur, l'autre moitié de moi, car nous pouvions parler et discuter pendant des heures et qu'il se sentait bien pareil comme je l’ai fait, cependant nos familles étaient un probleme.
Guido avait eu deux soeurs plus jeunes ... Federica avait 23 ans comme moi mais elle avait une longueur d'avance sur moi en ce qui concerne sa personnalité. Enfait, elle a réussi à bâtir une carrière réussie à la télévision, mais elle a laissé son frère aîné derrière elle. Je pensais que c'était une honte. De toute façon, cette vision me disait d'aller dans un endroit inconnu à la recherche de Dieu sait quoi. Dans le passé, j'avais voyagé aux EAU parce que c'était très différent de l'Iran. Après avoir vécu à l'étranger pendant deux décennies, l'Iran, le pays dans lequel je suis né, n'était pas seulement un État policier, il était maintenant contrôlé par une sorte de système paramilitaire très uni. Ces personnes étaient convaincues d'avoir un rôle positif à jouer. C'était très fatigant de voir des couples marchant vers moi et essayant de vanter la supériorité, parce qu'ils étaient mariés, ce qui signifie que je devrais m'installer. C'était du populisme et très aimé des gens qui y étaient habitués et qui en bénéficiaient ..... je dois admettre qu'une fois dans une situation où j'avais besoin d'aide, l'un de ces "observateurs" était utile. Cet homme veillait sur moi et est venu à mon secours.
Je donnais de la monnaie à une étrangère qui mendiait et qui avait un bébé dans ses bras. Il s'est avéré qu'elle n'était pas du tout aussi innocente qu'elle en avait l'air ... elle était un dragon déguisé et quand elle a commencé à devenir agressive, cet homme est venu vers moi et il était aussi incrédule que moi à cause de son comportement. et il a pris mon côté, et cela l'a fait reculer. Je suis éternellement reconnaissant à cet étranger. Je savais que Dubaï était une sorte de refuge pour tous ceux qui avaient un passeport et qui avaient l’argent pour s’échapper quelques semaines. J'ai même emmené ma mère plusieurs fois. Une fois, nous avons fait une excursion d’une journée à Abou Dhabi. C'était bien avant mon rêve. Je pensais que ma mère aimait être dehors au lieu de rester au lit toute la journée. Enfait, elle avait l'air bien pour un homme de 84 ans et elle a accepté ce que j'avais décidé de faire. Il y avait de bons hôtels et des endroits où manger et je l'y emmenais. J'étais désolée d'avoir dû vendre son bien-aimé appartement pour faire cela, mais elle aurait dû le faire elle-même il y a longtemps et elle aurait dû faire des voyages avec mon père. Mais ils avaient préféré rester à la maison et regarder la télévision, et les programmes télévisés étaient très minces et ennuyeux pour le moins.
Par exemple; il y avait un programme sur les jumeaux siamois séparés par une équipe médicale à Singapour ... des absurdités qui faisaient fureur à ce moment-là et toutes les personnes ennuyeuses espéraient un miracle. C’était tellement décevant pour tout le monde quand ils sont décédés… c’était assez clair pour moi depuis le début. C'était le genre de télévision qu'ils regardaient toute la journée. À Dubaï, j’ai regardé la télévision et découvert pour la première fois "White Suprematists", c’était un film britannique produit en anglais. Nous étions dans le vieux centre-ville et la nourriture était fabuleuse et à mon goût. J'ai adoré la plage et l'ambiance ... les gens avaient l'air de s'amuser. J'avais écrit une carte postale de l'hôtel en pensant à Guido, j'étais sûr qu'il serait intéressé et qu'il comprendrait. Il m'avait dit que Dubaï était trop axé sur le consumérisme à son goût et je savais qu'il n'aimait pas du tout faire du shopping et qu'il ne pouvait pas profiter des magnifiques centres commerciaux.
Après avoir pris deux semaines de vacances et être rentrée chez moi, je m'étais installée dans la corvée de la vie quotidienne et des soins pour ma mère. Je savais que mon visa italien expirerait bientôt. En revenant, je jetterais ma carte d'identité italienne par la fenêtre après 23 ans de résidence légale. Elle ne savait pas que je sacrifiais cette chose importante pour elle. Elle avait déjà atteint la sénilité et certains de ses amis, qui avaient pitié de moi, m'avaient conseillé de la mettre dans une maison et de "partir le plus rapidement possible". Cela aurait probablement été la meilleure solution raisonnable pour moi. Peu de temps après notre retour de voyage, j'ai reçu un appel d'une femme qui pleurait et qui parlait italien, elle s'est présentée et a dit qu'elle était la sœur de Marina Guido et qu'elle m'appelait pour m'annoncer qu'il était décédé! J'étais incrédule. Il n'avait que 50 ans. Plus tard, quand je suis allé à Rome pour rencontrer sa mère ... personne ne me dira pourquoi il est passé. C'est toujours un mystère.
Ce n'était pas facile de savoir qu'il n'était pas au monde pour moi. Même s'il avait une nouvelle femme dans sa vie.J'ai pu penser qu'il serait là pour moi quand j'en aurais besoin. et maintenant tout avait changé. Le monde semblait être un lieu hostile sans lui et toutes les bonnes personnes de ma famille. J'étais très déprimé. Je pensais aux bons moments passés ensemble. Après avoir passé ces brillants moments ensemble ... je me suis senti très chanceux parce que l'amour est toujours un atout pour la vie. C’est peut-être ce qu’il pensait quand nous sommes allés à Naples en voiture et avons visité Pompéi et Ercolano d’où venait sa mère. C’était moi qui aimais les couleurs de Sorrente et d’Amalfi ... ces magnifiques endroits où les yeux étaient saturés d’une nature d’une beauté incomparable. Après le décès de ma mère, je suis allée à Dubaï et y ai loué une place. J'ai trouvé la galerie Mondo del Arte à Kempinskij Mall. Anna Maria qui était de la Ligurie était très sympathique et accueillant. Roberto était sa jeune assistante milanaise. C'était rafraîchissant de parler italien à nouveau. J'ai vendu diverses œuvres d'art dans cette galerie. Plus tard, AnnaMaria faisait partie d'une autre galerie appelée Vindemia Art Gallery et elle m'a fait vendre mes peintures. Je pensais à mon rêve et au message de Guido.
J'avais dû aller à Abu Dhabhi parce que toutes les ambassades étaient là. Je prévoyais de voyager à nouveau en Europe. J'étais allé marcher dans la rue Hamda parce que je cherchais l'ambassade d'Espagne. J'avais l'intention d'acheter une place en Espagne et de vivre une vie tranquille tout seul. Pour une raison quelconque, je pensais que ce serait plus facile car il y avait une communauté anglophone là-bas. Les espagnols étaient près de Hamda Street et j'y étais allé plusieurs fois. C’était une très longue rue qui allait du centre-ville à l’autre côté de la ville en passant par la Corniche, sorte de grand espace et de parc. J'avais découvert qu'Abou Dhabi avait une industrie de la perle jusque dans les années soixante-dix et qu'elle était devenue une grande ville beaucoup plus tard que Dubaï. Un dimanche de vent maussade, j’ai finalement réussi à préparer une visite à pied et à partir à la recherche d’un indice sur le rêve. J'ai pris le message au sérieux parce que j'avais lu dans des livres que si une personne décédée vous parle dans un rêve, c'est un vrai message. Swedenborg avait écrit sur ses expériences de rêve mystiques. Hewas était un théologien et mystique qui vivait il y a quelques siècles.
Je marchais paresseusement le long des gratte-ciel et des grands immeubles et j'avais atteint le vieux centre-ville et j'avais acheté des épices dans un magasin. Il y avait un jeune homme assis là, je lui ai parlé des épices et j'ai senti qu'il était très épargné par ce qui se passait réellement dans le monde. Peut-être était-il le fils du propriétaire. On se demandait comment les indigènes considéraient les étrangers ici. Je n'avais encore rien trouvé d'inhabituel et j'ai commencé à rentrer vers la corniche qui se trouvait de l'autre côté de la ville. Le vent soufflait fort maintenant et j'étais heureux de constater que ce n'était pas une journée chaude comme celle que j'avais connue pendant l'été. Je me demandais ce que ce serait de vivre et de travailler ici. J'aurais bien aimé trouver un emploi et m'installer, mais je ne pouvais pas me prendre la tête dans la pratique. Même après avoir pu rester dans un appartement loué n’avait pas été facile car je ne savais pas comment payer les factures de services publics.
Je me promenais en pensant au message de Guido… qu'est-ce que ça pourrait être? Je ne savais pas quoi chercher et c'était un jour de pluie. J'en avais marre de tout faire par moi-même. J'avais dû m'occuper moi-même de ma mère, mais grâce à l'ami américain de mon frère, Hameed, qui avait vendu des voitures aux États-Unis, j'avais retrouvé Ashraf Khanum. Ashraf était une jeune femme qui a eu un bébé et l’a apportée quand elle est venue à la maison pour aider aux tâches ménagères. Hameed la louait aux stars en lui disant qu'elle avait été merveilleuse lorsqu'elle avait soigné sa propre mère. Il lui avait dit qu'il voulait lui offrir le monde entier afin de la remercier pour ses services, c'est-à-dire aider sa mère pendant ses derniers jours. C’était tout un tas de sentiments et j’aimais beaucoup Ashraf aussi. C'est pourquoi je l'ai présentée à ma tante Tahmin et à d'autres femmes que je connaissais, pensant qu'elles la traiteraient bien. Ashraf portait beaucoup de maquillage lorsqu'elle est arrivée au travail et elle était une jolie jeune femme. Je pensais souvent à elle parce que je pensais à toutes les femmes que je connaissais et au fait que cette femme avait des problèmes similaires. qui étaient liés comme toujours à l'argent et au travail. Malheureusement, le "travail" n'a pas été considéré avec respect par la société iranienne car il existait encore une "attitude féodale" à son égard et les gens ne pouvaient pas et ne pouvaient pas être fiers de ce qu'ils faisaient pour gagner leur vie. Par conséquent, Ashraf s'est plainte de ce qu'elle n'avait pas été bien traitée par les femmes à qui je l'avais présentée et pour qui elle travaillait.
J'avais aussi fait travailler des filles pour moi. Ils étaient étudiants en art à l'université de Téhéran et sont venus pour me tenir compagnie et m'aider dans mon travail d'artiste. Ils avaient un diplôme mais étaient très inquiets pour leur avenir. L'une d'elles avait été assez intelligente pour se trouver mari par le biais d'une discussion en ligne sur Internet. C'était une grande réussite de sa part. Mon souffle de conscience m’amène maintenant à Elham qui travaille pour moi en tant que peintre ...... elle vient de la banlieue de la ville et est une femme mariée d’un village situé à cinq heures de voiture en voiture mais qui vivait dans la métropole. Les citadins avaient organisé un autobus quotidien pour se rendre dans leur village (car le gouvernement n’envisageait pas de le faire pour eux) qui se trouvait dans la banlieue d’un lieu appelé Irak. Elle aurait toujours dit que leur village avait donné beaucoup de marteaux à la guerre entre l'Iran et l'Irak et que les choses devraient aller mieux pour les personnes qui ont perdu leurs hommes pour leur pays. (Cela m'a fait penser aux merveilleux bus que l'on trouve en Italie et qui relient les villages aux villes ... ce genre de service est génial aussi)
Je l'avais trouvée par le biais d'un de ses cousins qui m'était sympathique dans un point Internet. Elle a dit que "ma cousine peut peindre des tableaux" de toute évidence, elle était au courant, probablement dans les paramilitaires et savait tout sur moi parce que j'étais étrangère dans le pays où je suis née. Ses couleurs étaient terriblement sombres et je devais le dire. elle à plusieurs reprises quelles couleurs je voulais. J'essayais d'aider ces femmes en leur donnant du travail. "Synergy" comme l'avait appelé Fletcher ..... mais il m'était pratiquement impossible d'avoir une emprise. Je n'étais pas marié et je n'avais pas d'enfants non plus, ce qui me plaçait dans la catégorie des "femmes non performantes et donc pas respectables". Parfois, elles parlaient de leur vie et ce serait intéressant pour moi. Une façon de connaître "le nouveau pays" après la révolution. La synergie ne s'est pas produite avec ces étudiants. Ce jour-là, j'ai eu beaucoup de temps pour réfléchir aux personnes que je connaissais dans le passé, principalement à des femmes que j'avais connues alors que je vivais et travaillais à Florence. Je pensais à Donatella pour qui j'avais travaillé quand le magasin Antica Baccani était toujours là dans les années 90 et beaucoup à Laura qui était la galeriste qui me connaissait depuis 98 et avait exposé mon travail dans "The Babele Gallery", Ensuite il Francesca et sa fille Elena, qui dirigeaient la boutique de cadeaux "Solo A Firenze", que je connaissais aussi depuis de nombreuses années.
J'avais rencontré Donatella par l'intermédiaire de Wilma avec qui j'avais commencé à fabriquer des boîtes. Donatella était de Grosseto. J'étais allé dans cette région avec Robin à la fin des années quatre-vingt. Robin était un ami américain qui avait acheté une voiture de sport rouge et voulait l'utiliser. Nous étions allés au "Parco del Uccellino" qui a une plage. Donatella était une personne chat qui, selon Wilma, s'est occupée de tous les égarés qu'elle a trouvés dans sa région et en avait une maison pleine dans sa ville natale! Un peu comme moi, parce que j'avais aussi une maison remplie de chats et que je pourrais écrire un livre à leur sujet. Je les trouvais dans les rues de Téhéran et les ramenais à la maison. Une fois, j’avais trouvé un chiot, je l’avais rapporté à la maison et il était devenu un bon chien. Je devais alors trouver un entraîneur de chien pour le soigner. Donatella partageait sa boutique avec des gens qui fabriquaient du papier florentin traditionnel. Wilma m'a dit qu'elle cherchait des artistes qui vendraient leurs peintures dans sa boutique afin d'avoir une source de revenus indépendante pour sa famille de chats. J'avais rencontré Wilma lors d'une froide nuit d'hiver en décembre, car nous avions tous les deux participé à un marché d'art de Noël sur la piazza del Cestello. Nous avions fait un effort énorme pour y aller et mon assistant d'Equadore Wendy m'avait aidé à transporter toutes mes photos et mes cartes. Faire la connaissance de Wilma a beaucoup changé pour moi parce qu’elle était une femme très positive. Elle m'a dit que sa fille travaillait dans la mode à Paris et était une vraie designer.
Mon effort pour participer à ce marché de Noël avait porté ses fruits et j'avais trouvé un bon ami. La nuit avait été très froide et Wendy avait eu un rêve aussi dans Art et elle était passionnée. Elle était célibataire et l'avait vendue. appartement et investi dans ce voyage en Italie. Elle m'a dit que sa grand-mère avait réussi à s'instruire par pure volonté parce qu'elle travaillait dans une maison où elle pourrait lire en secret les livres pour enfants une fois son travail terminé. Les femmes qui veulent faire leur propre chose et c'est ce que Guido était à propos. Il me rappelait le film "My Fair Lady", il avait été mon mentor pendant mes années universitaires et avait été heureux pour moi d'obtenir un baccalauréat italien. Curieusement, la première fois que nous nous sommes rencontrés, nous avons commencé à parler de George Bernard. Shaw. Il savait qu'il avait participé à mon projet et il était tout aussi fier de m'avoir aidé que d'avoir aidé sa sœur Federica à se rendre au travail dans les hauteurs. Les femmes devaient généralement réussir par leur belle apparence ou par leur relation avec un homme puissant et c’était ce que le monde était. Peut-être pensait-il à un monde où les femmes pourraient gouverner en utilisant le "pouvoir" avec un sens de la justice et une attitude plus généreuse. Il était l’un des idéalistes ayant vécu la révolution culturelle de 1968.
Je passais maintenant devant le Cornische et entrais dans un endroit avec des bâtiments qui n'étaient pas les gratte-ciel habituels, mais des types de villas normaux. Alors que je cherchais toujours un indice, j’ai vu tomber les mots "" Pasticceria Firenze ". C’était le signe que je recherchais parce que Guido et moi avions partagé de nombreux moments ensemble dans les beaux cafés de la ville, Il connaissait aussi les meilleurs endroits de Rome: de l'autre côté de la rue, il y avait une sorte de café du même nom et j'étais heureux d'arriver à la porte car le vent était impitoyable et froid et maintenant que j'avais trouvé ce que je cherchais, je pouvais enfin m'asseoir dans un endroit chaud. Heureusement, il a commencé à pleuvoir après avoir été à l'intérieur. Mon café préféré à Abu Dhabi était celui qui s'appelait "La boulangerie française" J'étais fasciné par la vue du géant Les fenêtres du gratte-ciel et j'ai adoré m'asseoir dans un fauteuil confortable pendant des heures.Je pouvais le faire quand l'endroit n'était pas occupé, car il était bondé de monde pendant les heures de travail.
Ici, au café de Florence, j’ai trouvé un réconfort dans le café et les pâtisseries italiens typiques, mais j’étais très heureux de trouver une portion supplémentaire de joie en voyant un paquet de nouvelles éditions de mon magazine préféré, le New Yorker. C'était un jour parfait maintenant! Je me suis assis sur une confortable chaise de canapé et ai glissé dans mes pâtisseries tout en parcourant un magazine avec la photo du président Poutine en couverture. Guido aurait passé son dimanche à lire les journaux. Il était très politisé et aurait probablement voulu lire le même magazine car le président Poutine semblait se faire élire à nouveau. Il y avait une interview avec lui et un article qui semblait intéressant. D'une certaine manière, je ne savais pas trop comment mon ami avait envisagé le recours à la surveillance. Depuis la chute du mur de Berlin en 1989, la surveillance avait pénétré dans tous les bâtiments et dans certains pays, dans des maisons… J'avais souffert de la surveillance à Téhéran et le président Poutine en parlait. Il semblait déterminé à contrôler la civilisation mondiale et à créer un système qui changerait à jamais les relations et les personnes. Comme un ami allemand appelé Suzanne le disait dans les années suivantes, le cœur (et la spontanéité du sentiment devrait disparaître); "Seul" le temps "est spontané". Ces jours-ci, notre vie humaine sur terre semblait être dirigée par une sorte de Stasi.
Quels jours heureux nous avons passé ignorants de ce développement. Certes, cet article était très intéressant, mais le suivant que j'ai lu concernait un homme politique américain d'origine polonaise qui parlait de la nouvelle politique de White Race Rescue en Europe de l'Est, affirmant clairement que l'avenir dépendrait de ces pays de l'ex-Union soviétique. Tout ce dont j'avais besoin et que je voulais savoir sur la politique en place après 2001 ... J'étais perplexe et déconcerté par tous ces changements depuis de nombreuses années. Est-ce que cela venait de la gauche ou de la droite politique? Certaines personnes ont dit qu'elles avaient toutes les deux mélangé leurs valeurs. Peut-être que la surveillance qui veut maintenant unir la race blanche n'aurait jamais permis à Guido et à nous-mêmes de nous réunir en premier lieu ..... puisqu'il était lui aussi confronté à des difficultés. Son esprit indiquait les sujets qui nous intéressaient tous les deux.
Plus tard, j'ai lu une courte histoire à propos d'une femme qui rencontrait un homme ... ils sortaient ensemble pour la première fois ... pour une raison quelconque, la fille, qui est probablement après son argent, va pour son portefeuille alors qu'il est endormi et au lieu de l'argent qu'elle cherche, elle trouve un morceau de papier blanc, et en l'ouvrant elle trouve les mots; "Je crois en Vous"
A Mish Mash Immigrent's
Family History
I was born to my mother who was an amazingly beautiful woman who had married for "attraction", to my father who was her first cousin. They had grown up in the same community in South India. My mother was the main personality of our family mainly because she was energetic and ambitious and rather aggressive. My father (even tho full of testosterone looks and behavior) was dominated by my mother who was probably much more energetic than him. They did have traumatizing arguments about money partly because he was living by the philosophy that each man or woman should act according to his or her talents (and not roles). She made more money and didn't want to spend it. While he loved to stay at home after office hours, in peace, and wasn't social, she was the opposite. He liked to cook and cultivate plants and practice his Yoga exercises and read books. She wanted to go out to parties and mingle with society.
In the fifties a married woman had to follow rather than lead, but he had decided to give my mother the power she needed and to keep supporting her publicly. In a male dominated Persia a man in the house was a necessary presence.
I always remember the sunny apartment where we used to live in Tehran and i was born in the Russian hospital. The garden full of rose bushes happened to be right next to the building were my family lived. My mother had just walked round the corner. At the time a lot of people who didn't have money went there because they gave a proper and reliable service without charging people.
My parents had been born and were brought up in the Persian community in Banglore and Mysore. That is why my mothers wedding picture is of her wearing a Sari. She was the first woman in the family who had a university education and had a degree in literature from the university of Mysore.
My Parents in the house my mother bought with a loan from the NIOC in the 70's . It was in Mehraban Street off Eskandari . and it had lovely cherry trees. It was curtsy to the Mohammad Reza Pahlavi who was king at the time and the country was doing very well economically speaking.
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My Father's father Abbas was my mother's uncle from her mother's side and he was teaching Persian literature and history at Mysore university. He decided to move to Iran after the "Partition".
My grandfather sits among his students , while my mother sits at his feet on the left. (about 1940)
After several generations of living in India Abbas emigrated to Persia which had taken on the modern name of Iran in the 30's when the Qajar Dynasty had finished with the last king Ahmad Shah and the new king Reza Shah Pahlavi was a soldier in the army who had was trying to modernize the country. Ataturk had already started to make changes in Turkey and the new king was following some of his ideas.
My great grandfather Mr Shushtari/Mehrin and his children in India
Mr Shushtari came from the ancient town of Shushtar in the province of Khusestan where people were a mixed race of Persian and Arab, this was because of its geographic position . Even today there is a controversy about the Persian Gulf because some call it the Shatta al Arab. Sadam Husein thought that this traditionally Arabic feeling and rich with petroleum region would be a ready morsel for him. For a long time it had been neglected and that was why a lot of people went to India to do business, since the British Raj had established stability and prosperity in the neighboring country.
One of the cartoons i I appreciate "The Simpsons" reminds me of my own family . The cartoon series which is all about The American "working class" family (some would say middle class because he works in an important industry ie a nuclear energy producing plant) .... and i can see how everyone of us from the five continents on this earth could in some way relate to this version of the family ..... i want to write the story of my family which was functional (but I never realized this until many decades later) like many others and had people in it who believed in themselves and tried to create a better life for themselves and for others .
In the fifties a married woman had to follow rather than lead, but he had decided to give my mother the power she needed and to keep supporting her publicly. In a male dominated Persia a man in the house was a necessary presence.
I always remember the sunny apartment where we used to live in Tehran and i was born in the Russian hospital. The garden full of rose bushes happened to be right next to the building were my family lived. My mother had just walked round the corner. At the time a lot of people who didn't have money went there because they gave a proper and reliable service without charging people.
My Parents in the house my mother bought with a loan from the NIOC in the 70's . It was in Mehraban Street off Eskandari . and it had lovely cherry trees. It was curtsy to the Mohammad Reza Pahlavi who was king at the time and the country was doing very well economically speaking.
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My Father's father Abbas was my mother's uncle from her mother's side and he was teaching Persian literature and history at Mysore university. He decided to move to Iran after the "Partition".
After several generations of living in India Abbas emigrated to Persia which had taken on the modern name of Iran in the 30's when the Qajar Dynasty had finished with the last king Ahmad Shah and the new king Reza Shah Pahlavi was a soldier in the army who had was trying to modernize the country. Ataturk had already started to make changes in Turkey and the new king was following some of his ideas.
My great grandfather Mr Shushtari/Mehrin and his children in India
Mr Shushtari came from the ancient town of Shushtar in the province of Khusestan where people were a mixed race of Persian and Arab, this was because of its geographic position . Even today there is a controversy about the Persian Gulf because some call it the Shatta al Arab. Sadam Husein thought that this traditionally Arabic feeling and rich with petroleum region would be a ready morsel for him. For a long time it had been neglected and that was why a lot of people went to India to do business, since the British Raj had established stability and prosperity in the neighboring country.
One of the cartoons i I appreciate "The Simpsons" reminds me of my own family . The cartoon series which is all about The American "working class" family (some would say middle class because he works in an important industry ie a nuclear energy producing plant) .... and i can see how everyone of us from the five continents on this earth could in some way relate to this version of the family ..... i want to write the story of my family which was functional (but I never realized this until many decades later) like many others and had people in it who believed in themselves and tried to create a better life for themselves and for others .
Another programe on Tv i follow is Joel Osteen's sermons. Joel who is an Evangelist preacher i listen to and Mrs Joyce Meyer who is one of the women preachers in his team talk about their life experience with God ..... both tell us that God can change people and their life for the better. I think they speak about "The Force" of the creator of the Universe which helps people to move upwards and forwards !
At eighteen he decided to start to work on a merchant ship. Some relatives had a trade in tea and he was employed by them. They were exporting tea to various countries. He had been living in the turbulent times before the indipendace of India and his strong political opinions about the liberation of India had gotten him into trouble. He had been considered to be politically active..... and that was why he chose to stay on the ship and to go to the United States. He studied there and came back to marry his first cousin. Later on he had settled in India and was a professor teaching History and languages at the university of Mysore. He didn’t travel because he suffered from being in a disadvantaged situation, it was an open world and people could travel and he took his opportunity to see the world...
In various sermons Joel Osteen the well known evangelist tells us about how his father left his family home in Paris Texas when he was eighteen to go out into the world and search for a better future. Joel talks about his family which seems to be and is, an "Every Man's" family (considering Every man/ every woman). Something which we can all relate to.
It was curious to see the similarity of his story to that of my Muslim grandfather Mr Abbas Shushtari / Mehrin who left his home at the same age and changed the game for himself and the family. He was the first person of his tribe to reach and live in the US in the begining of the century. Even though his father ie my great grandfather was a preacher and doing reasonably well in India ...... as a young man his son, ie Abbas had not wanted to follow the relatively safe profession. He would often tell his grandchildren about his miraculous survival of the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco.
Like Joel's father, my grandfather too changed his life by choosing to leave his comfort zone and to travel far from his homeland. My Muslim grandfather Abbas, was born to Persian parents in northern India. Even tho my great grandfather Mr Shustari was a preacher himself and doing reasonably well in the community.
In various sermons i heard, Mr Joel Osteen talk about his father Mr John H. Osteen who was an eighteen year old with a dream in his heart ….. and how he left his family home which was on a farm in Texas. He went off on his own even if there was not much hope of him finding a better life since it was during the years of the great depression in 1939. During the years of economic depression, even the most humble paying jobs were few and far between. He adventured out into the world risking to loose the comfort of what he had left behind in order to look for a better future .
Like Joel's father, my grandfather too changed his life by choosing to leave his comfort zone and to travel far from his homeland. My Muslim grandfather Abbas, was born to Persian parents in northern India. Even tho my great grandfather Mr Shustari was a preacher himself and doing reasonably well in the community.
At eighteen he decided to start to work on a merchant ship. Some relatives had a trade in tea and he was employed by them. They were exporting tea to various countries. He had been living in the turbulent times before the indipendace of India and his strong political opinions about the liberation of India had gotten him into trouble. He had been considered to be politically active..... and that was why he chose to stay on the ship and to go to the United States. He studied there and came back to marry his first cousin. Later on he had settled in India and was a professor teaching History and languages at the university of Mysore. He didn’t travel because he suffered from being in a disadvantaged situation, it was an open world and people could travel and he took his opportunity to see the world...
Perhaps today a lot of the “first world” population does not realize how much the rest of the world is occupied with the idea of "class" and being from a certain background and how much people want to live in a country where they can get a better future for their children and move out of their "fixed cast limitations" . The US still symbolizes and promises a fairly classless meritocracy for many people and i think this idea is what makes it one of the most attractive places on earth today ....
Which class you belong to has always been an issue for people living in Asia and in Europe and the only way anyone could try to overcome this feudal class obstacle was by moving to the new continents. The US or Australia promised people a life without the hindrance of class ..... Even in communist countries where ideally there was only the working class .... there were other forms of hierarchy which didn't depend on competence.
I was overjoyed in 2009 when i heard that the elected president of the US was an African American and i celebrated this "event" in my book called a "Time For Dreamers" . i thought it was a brilliant moment in world history ..... it was not only a question of overcoming the taboo of color and race, but it gave us hope that the election of "merit and intelligence" had won the day. It seemed not to be the money and other strategies of winning power that were at work but a Democratic political career that mattered most.
Today i am writing about this in, a lovely day of peace in spring of 2019 (even though a lot of us were hoping that Ms Hillary Clinton would be a second Democratic president elected for her education and her capabilities, she surprised us all by not making it through)
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I have some idea about immigration because my family immigrated several times after the “Patition” of India and Pakistan. That was in 1947 and perhaps i can relate to the immigration that is happening now in 2019. I myself chose to leave my country before the Iranian Revolution and lived in Italy for many years as a student and then as a freelance artist. In recent years i have followed what is happening in France. Everyone seems to be aware that immigration is the most important issue in Europe, and in the world as a whole. A subject we hear about on the news all the time.
For several years now there have been ship loads of people arriving on the coasts of Europe. They are full of people who have left and are leaving Africa. A lot of my Italian friends are wary of what is going on because Italians receive a lot of the boat people at Lampedusa in Sicily.. I met and talked to some of the lucky young people who had survived the trip on the unsafe boats. They were studying the language. These were young men, who had arrived some years ago, they had survived the journey across the seas telling me about the frightning experience of the wobbly boat and the hysteric people he travelled with. , Having lived through dire conditions they had arrived on the contenant and had started their new life. What is most tragic in our times is that many boats carrying the refugees are not able to make it through and capsize and a lot of people and families have lost their lives by trying to cross the waters of the Mediteranian.
I was told by the young African people i met in Italy that a lot of the refugee camps are in Libya and many more people living in these camps are waiting to come away. That the boats they were travelling on were overloaded with nervous and anxious passengers. Other people i met and spoke to are from Asian countries and the Middle East and they travel on foot and go through the land route in order to reach industrialized countries. However the most controversial of all is the flow of refugees from south America into the US..
For several years now there have been ship loads of people arriving on the coasts of Europe. They are full of people who have left and are leaving Africa. A lot of my Italian friends are wary of what is going on because Italians receive a lot of the boat people at Lampedusa in Sicily.. I met and talked to some of the lucky young people who had survived the trip on the unsafe boats. They were studying the language. These were young men, who had arrived some years ago, they had survived the journey across the seas telling me about the frightning experience of the wobbly boat and the hysteric people he travelled with. , Having lived through dire conditions they had arrived on the contenant and had started their new life. What is most tragic in our times is that many boats carrying the refugees are not able to make it through and capsize and a lot of people and families have lost their lives by trying to cross the waters of the Mediteranian.
I was told by the young African people i met in Italy that a lot of the refugee camps are in Libya and many more people living in these camps are waiting to come away. That the boats they were travelling on were overloaded with nervous and anxious passengers. Other people i met and spoke to are from Asian countries and the Middle East and they travel on foot and go through the land route in order to reach industrialized countries. However the most controversial of all is the flow of refugees from south America into the US..
South Americans leaving their homes to reach the US have been the reason for the creation of the controversial " Wall" and the border control between the US and Mexico, There has been an incomprehensible policy of separating children from their families which received a lot of protests from American citizens.
There have been other famous walls already known in history; Hadrian’s wall for example or the wall of Berlin. These were perhaps an inspiration for the one built in Israel to keep the Palestinian people away from where they used to live a hundred years ago.
There have been other famous walls already known in history; Hadrian’s wall for example or the wall of Berlin. These were perhaps an inspiration for the one built in Israel to keep the Palestinian people away from where they used to live a hundred years ago.
. My grandfather Abbas led the family back to Iran in 1948, and some of his eight children found work in the National Oil Company (NIOC) because coming from India, they spoke english and had a colonial education.
The oil company was initially a consortium run by the British in the 50s and it was called the Anglo Iranian Oil company.. This company had then been Nationalized through the efforts of Mr Mosadeq (who became a national hero)
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The US had been in the Middle East together with the British. They were a very important source of inspiration for the educated middle class and for the young, mainly because unlike the "feudal system" (which was the norm in the old world and very strong in Asia), it didnt have a class system like the one we were used to. Here is an interesting bit of history about the discovery of oil which was also one of the reasons for the Shah's politically incorrect pronouncement; I remember it was on the news that he had said that crude oil was being sold under its real price because it had taken billions of years for the earth to produce such a product (which is scientifically true).
The D'Arcy oil concession
Exploration and discovery
D'Arcy hired geologist George Bernard Reynolds to do the prospecting in the Iranian desert. Conditions were extremely harsh: "small pox raged, bandits and warlords ruled, water was all but unavailable, and temperatures often soared past 50°C".[5] After several years of prospecting, D'Arcy's fortune dwindled away and he was forced to sell most of his rights to a Glasgow-based syndicate, the Burmah Oil Company.
By 1908, having sunk more than £500,000 into their Persian venture and found no oil, D'Arcy and Burmah decided to abandon exploration in Iran. In early May 1908 they sent Reynolds a telegram telling him that they had run out of money and ordering him to "cease work, dismiss the staff, dismantle anything worth the cost of transporting to the coast for re-shipment, and come home." Reynolds delayed following these orders and in a stroke of luck, struck oil shortly after on May 26, 1908.[5]
My family had immigrated to Persia (Iran). I was told about interesting films about Persians in Indian History one of which is about Akbar Shah ( Mogul e Azam and his courtisan dancer Anarkali are subjucts of a film by the same name). Grandfather Abbas had become a professor at the university of Mysore where he taught Persian literature and culture and the languages of antiquity. Abbas had come back from his travels and had lived in Bangalore close to his sisters. Even if the family had enjoyed generations of prosperity here, he decided to leave for Persia. The "Separation" of India and Pakistan had brought on turbulent times. He went on to settle in Iran taking his wife and children with him because it was fairly safe there, (even if they didnt know the language or the customs of the new country). The king in Iran was Reza Shah Pahlavi who was soon to give way to his young son Mohammad Reza a man who had little experience in politics and had just come back from studying in Switzerland.
As a child i had lived in London with my aunts family and had had the opportunity to go to school with my cousins. The stability of life there was very reassuring. Later on in Iran when i was going to high school i knew of people who were communists fighting against the government. A lot of skirmishes would happen in the universities. Even if there was stability people were not happy with the new western trends which seemed to go against traditional and nationalistic ideas of how people should live. Women's liberation and the way they dressed was a main issue. Since my brother went to university and my mother taught English there .... one of our neighbors had told my mother in a very civilized way that he was working for the Savak (the feared security people). Now when i look back i see the irony of it all. Actually we were very "a political" and didn't want to change anything, life was good and my mother was very enthusiastic and encouraging relatives from India to come and settle down in the country as we had done. You couldnt talk about anything serious if you were in a public place. Every one was aware that you had to zip it when you were in a Taxi because criticizing or commenting politics was not allowed (these days it does not matter where you are .... you have to watch it anyway since the ears are everywhere). It seemed to be unbelievable that the secret police couldn't hold back the revolution.
In those years you heard about two countries very often on the news and one of them was Vietnam, the other was the Palestinian People and Israel and that was what continued to be on the news all through the seventies, eighties and is a question which has not found it's solution. In the Middle East things changed drastically. Iran which was a safe haven for some years, went to be on the news in the late seventies with the event of the "revolution" which brought the Ayatollah Khomeini to replace the King Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. A war with Saddam Hussein's Iraq ensued and lasted for eight years. It swept away all the prosperity and the oil revenue brought to the people of both countries.
I ask myself if politiians come from a Simpson type family like the rest of us ? I wonder what would happen if President Trump opened the borders to Mexicans and all of the third world people ..... instead of shutting the door on them. Some people say even today that America is about making good things happen in the lives of those who seek to have their children in a better future than themselves.
A lot of the people we knew went to live in the US before, during and after the revolution. My brother had had a dream of taking our family to the US, but he only managed to go there himself . He lived in LA for seven years and loved to have made his dream come true. Many Iranians of our generation, had left the country before the revolution in 1979 shook the nation. My parents didn't want to leave because they had already moved twice and they felt they could stay and adapt. Everyone was seduced by the enthusiasm of creating a new democratic system, but my parents didn't partake in this because they were anglophones and not "trusted natives". They had left India because of the Partition and then they left Pakistan because of my grandfather's belief that Iran would be the best place for us (that was his dream.)
Reading the story of a family is fascinating ..... I am thinking of a book by Thomas Mann called "The Buddenbrooks" about fairly modern times, and even in the biblical times; "Joseph and his Brothers " . Will "families" be different from now on ? What with surveillance penetrating privacy in every home and every way it can, people like myself seem to have lived a life of luxury when there was freedom from CCTV's and microphones .... and i have had the experience of what surveillance can do in my own home in Tehran and also in Dubai .... and how in these recent years everything will change for the future generations. Will living with our Smart Phones (that listen to us and interfere in our choices) make life better for the poor and underprivileded ? The birth of the smart phone and other such gadgets seems to have a grip on the world population and humanity ....
The internet is "a tool" which everyone can use and .. it cannot yet "create" it's own creatures !t is useful as a source of info and entertainment and it fills up the "voids" in our minds. A lot of people like it better than going to church or pursuing a religion. It is unbelievable how we are making another Golden Calf out of this tool ! Even the poorest of the poor now a days have a phone ..... Perhaps a genius is about to rise up from among us "little people" to find solutions for keeping the environment from floundering ? Alas the animals and plants living with us on this earth for centuries are at risk !
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
In my imagination i see the seas rising and people having to go further inland to build the new " Nuclear cities" . I am thinking about a film about the future, a science fiction movie called "Down Stream" where everyone who is fortunate lives in the "walled in" cities called Nuclear cities where life is "easy". All the people living outside of the city walls are the unfortunate .... does this ring a bell ? The wall being built by president Trump is to keep out the unfortunate travelers.
Another similar walled in city in art is Springfield, and the episode about the Simpsons in Springfield is about the glass protective Dome being put there by the government because the city itself is polluted with nuclear waste ..... just imagine another sort of Nuclear city ..... where the glass Dome was a protection for the whole territory of the USA from the outside world. It would facilitate the manipulation of all the resources in it and to keep the peace there would be a huge Mall atmosphere were every one living inside the Dome would be living in a luxurious glass case or a "bubble".
Another similar walled in city in art is Springfield, and the episode about the Simpsons in Springfield is about the glass protective Dome being put there by the government because the city itself is polluted with nuclear waste ..... just imagine another sort of Nuclear city ..... where the glass Dome was a protection for the whole territory of the USA from the outside world. It would facilitate the manipulation of all the resources in it and to keep the peace there would be a huge Mall atmosphere were every one living inside the Dome would be living in a luxurious glass case or a "bubble".
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A bit of info about The Springfield film for anyone who does not know it .....
The Simpsons Movie is a 2007 American animated comedy film based on the Fox television series The Simpsons. The film was directed by David Silverman, The film follows Homer Simpson, whose irresponsibility gets the best of him when he pollutes the lake in Springfield after the town has cleaned it up following receipt of a warning from the Environmental Protection Agency. Homer works to redeem his folly by stopping Russ Cargill, the head of the EPA, who intends to destroy Springfield.
The beautiful solution to the drama of being kept under the glass dome comes from the baby ..... Maggy is playing at digging and finds herself busy digging on the other side of the glass Dome.
Perhaps this sort of thing predicts the future .... since building walls is thought to be "the" solution ...
The idea of building a wall is really the same idea of the Medieval city walls and is today the building is a modern version of the wall erected between Mexico and the United States; " Nuclear city" America is the island of luxury juxtaposed to the human realities of poverty everywhere else out side of the wall. Another similar point as "when art becomes life" in the science fiction film "Down Stream" mentioned is the use of telepathy and mind reading which in our years is being used by the powers that be .... ESP is used officially to controle the unruly ! Who knows how long this know how has been in use.
For the future i suggest building "cities" right in the middle of the deserted lands where there are no built areas . In this way there is no necessity for the destroying of forests and green areas as is happening now in the Amazon where large areas of what used to be jungle is now being used to pasture cows . Saving the animals and plants in the wild is the biggest issue of the new century ..... another would be finding a solution for sweet water ...
....
I am writing the story of my relatives because i feel that the future is going to be very impersonal. The story of the family which makes it ours to create, since we are "the People".
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A song by van Morrison
Foreign Window
I saw you from a foreign window
Bearing down the sufferin' road
You were carryin' your burden
To the palace of the Lord
To the palace of the Lord
I spied you from a foreign window
When the lilacs were in bloom
And the sun shone through your window pane
To the place you kept your books
You were reading on your sofa
You were singin' every prayer
That the masters had instilled in you
Since Lord Byron loved despair
In the palace of the Lord
In the palace of the Lord
And if you get it right this time
You don't have to come back again
And if you get it right this time
There's no need to explain
I saw you from a foreign
Bearing down the sufferin' road
You were carryin' your burden
You were singing about Rimbaud
I was going down to Geneva
When the Kingdom had been found
Listening to music while you work is probably normal but some of the music you listen to is
for life .... it is expressing something and and talking to you at the same time .....
Ponte alle Grazie on top of via Maggio
My story in Florence began in 1982 .... i had just arrived in Florence from Perugia where i had had a great time getting to know new people and living in the countryside.( Here i had lived with an american student who was studying to be vet) I loved the feeling of this medieval city, Living on Beverly's farm i had the wonderful experience of living in the huge fire place like they used to do on farm houses. I was eating lots of Bruschetta which is toasted bread with garlic rubbed on it and olive oil on top of the garlic .... it was incredibly healthy for a cold winter , I was also getting to know the animals on the farm , i loved the animals all except the rooster because it was not at all friendly . He used to sing a lot and then there were two dogs which Bev called Cipolla e Carota (onion and carrot) and i could have stayed there for the rest of my days.
However i was thinking of going to an art school or perhaps to study at university, and when some friends decided to go to Florence to look at the works of art in the Uffizi i went along with them .... i had been living in London were i had studied for three years and then in Karachi were i had gone to visit my relatives . When i turned 22, i had some ideas about Art and creativity and wanted to take that direction. I knew Florence because of the sculptures of Michelangelo and the paintings of Boticelli because an art historian called Agdashloo had programes on TV about western art.
Me working in my studio in 1998 …..
it was full time Art until 2005
I had arrived in Florence before xmas and was saving money by sleeping in a camping place and a hostel in viale Africo and i was there for a month. I was going to Art school and learning about engravings. The school was in Via San Gallo. I met some people who were art students .... i was very surprised to hear that young people there only knew about western art and thought that Greece was the cradle of "world" (Western civilization perhaps would be right) civilization. They didnt consider Egyption or Chinese or even South American history.
Some students had no idea about art from other countries and only for this reason would think Greece was superior to the rest , and i was glad that i had some notion that Art and creativity had happened all over the world. Infact one of the positive things one learns in school in Italy is that many civilizations have existed side by side. Rome itself had infact been built on a multitude of cultures.
my studio atelier in 1998
I guess i got lucky because one of the students from an American University studying there, hearing that i was sleeping in a tent, was very kind and told me that a friend of hers was leaving and would i like to share the apartment with another student. That is how i met Emily Miller who was part of an American university program in Florence. The apartment on via Maggio was gorgeous and very sophisticated . I was simply overjoyed to be in a warm place that winter and Emily told me about her friend working as a shop assistant in a shop selling leather goods.... She said that i could work there as well that way i could pay the rent and when Emily left for New York i was in the apartment by myself.
I enrolled in the University of Florence ( 1984 ) for a degree in English and German literature . Even though i had done a foundation course in Saint Martin's art school , i wasn't sure if following up on that path was the best idea because by the time i reached Italy i knew that i couldnt get my parents to pay for my education . The revolution and the war between Iran and Iraq had changed my situation.
I thought it was safer to follow in my mother's foot steps and study literature and languages. I was painting all through university years and only after finishing university in 1992 i made up my mind; i could only try being a creative and had to work towards that as a profession. Some people have it so easy, because they already know that creativity is a profession (in later years when i met the Artist Mario Mariotti who was teaching at the accademia ... I was told that Art was "Work" (and there was no romantic "Art for Arts sake" attached to it) . I had to learn a lot before being convinced that i had any talent, and that i could make money through creativity. A lot of people dont know that every individual is endowed (as a child) with some talent and the seed of ideas and "Genius" is some times allowed to grow in some shape or form, but that it has to be trained. It is a seed that will grow but has to be watered, live in good soil and conditions….
I thought it was safer to follow in my mother's foot steps and study literature and languages. I was painting all through university years and only after finishing university in 1992 i made up my mind; i could only try being a creative and had to work towards that as a profession. Some people have it so easy, because they already know that creativity is a profession (in later years when i met the Artist Mario Mariotti who was teaching at the accademia ... I was told that Art was "Work" (and there was no romantic "Art for Arts sake" attached to it) . I had to learn a lot before being convinced that i had any talent, and that i could make money through creativity. A lot of people dont know that every individual is endowed (as a child) with some talent and the seed of ideas and "Genius" is some times allowed to grow in some shape or form, but that it has to be trained. It is a seed that will grow but has to be watered, live in good soil and conditions….
Decorated door to the Studio Atelier in via Fiesolana
Now it is a private place and totally redone
I think of Bob Dylan 's Genius and i love this songwriter mainly for this one rebellious song. I wonder how he found the words, and even tho i like all of his music, this one song resonates in a special way. Why do i feel it so close to my heart ? As a Muslim born in the Middle East and with an Asian heart , these words are unbelievably expressive. Perhaps even in the US , a first world country with the strongest economy in the sixties , admired for and professing Democracy, there was some thing similar to what we had. The song is about repression of creativity , and of playing the game by the rules. Also about people not being encouraged in this direction (of creativity) even now …. it is talking about a political agenda. Just recently a friend told me that only people from military backgrounds could be successful in the Arts ! which was an unexpected thing to hear …. but i consider the fact that she is a communist.
Subterranean Homesick Blues
Bob Dylan
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Johnny's in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off
Look out kid
It's somethin' you did
God knows when
But you're doing it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin' for a new friend
A man in the coonskin cap, in the pig pen
Wants eleven dollar bills, you only got ten
Maggie comes fleet foot
Face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put
Plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway
Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May
Orders from the D.A. Look out kid
Don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes
Don't tie no bows
Better stay away from those
That carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man
To know which way the wind blows
Oh, get sick, get well
Hang around a ink well
Hang bail, hard to tell
If anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred
Get back, write braille
Get jailed, jump bail
Join the army, if you fail
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But losers, cheaters
Six-time users
Hang around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool
Lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders, watch the parkin' meters
Oh, get born, keep warm
Short pants, romance
Learn to dance, get dressed, get blessed
Try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts
Don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin'
And they put you on the day shift
Look out kid
They keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole
Light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals
Try to avoid the scandals
Don't want to be a bum
You better chew gum
The pump don't work
'Cause the vandals took the handles
1998
"living by my production of art"
"A Dream Come True"
I had been living comfortably in Via Delle Cinque Giornate ( The street was called after the five days of revolt in Milan 1848. this was the first struggle towards independance in Italy to break away from the Austrian empire). The apartment was in the Fortezza area in Florence . I lived here for many years, but all through the fifteen years i had stayed there, i had never been able to travel to other countries in europe as i wanted to. I had met Guido while i was living in via Maggio and he had written a formal letter of proposal to my parents and seemed to be serious about getting married. I had made a big move from via Maggio where i lived during 1983 and 1984 while i worked as a shop assistant in the center of Florence . We had met when i was sharing the flat with Emily Miller the 23 year old photographer from New York . Emily told me that her previous flatmate who was from the US had left her position as a shop assistant. She told me that i could try working for the family in their shop in Borgo ss Apostoli. Thanks to Emily who introduced me to Anna Maria and Renzo i took the job.
Later on i was working on the Ponte Vecchio for Mr Ricci. He was a pianist but had inherited the buisness and his son was running it when i went to work there. There were some English and Scottish girls who were working as sales people in this Jewellry store. Kathy , who was English was a striking twenty year old with a friendly attitude and piles of glorious thick blond hair . Lina who was from Glasgow was very down to earth and had a heavy accent kate who was Scottish as well , had a boyfriend from a noble florentine family. Later on she married an Persian Russian from Baku ....
( this was an intriguing story for me )
There were other women i met through work whose names i dont remember but whose life stories were interesting, we some times talked about episodes of our life while waiting for clients to walk in and buy gold jewels . I loved these shiny objects and ornaments but once i started to study i lost an interest in adorning myself with the gold and wanted to make beautiful things myself.
Mr Ricci came to visit some times and talked about when the river Arno (which runs through the center of town) , flooded everything in the old shops on the Bridge.
For him the "alluvione"was a recent experience even if it had happened two decades ago on the 4rth of nov 1966. An international effort was made to restore the city center.
( this was an intriguing story for me )
There were other women i met through work whose names i dont remember but whose life stories were interesting, we some times talked about episodes of our life while waiting for clients to walk in and buy gold jewels . I loved these shiny objects and ornaments but once i started to study i lost an interest in adorning myself with the gold and wanted to make beautiful things myself.
Mr Ricci came to visit some times and talked about when the river Arno (which runs through the center of town) , flooded everything in the old shops on the Bridge.
For him the "alluvione"was a recent experience even if it had happened two decades ago on the 4rth of nov 1966. An international effort was made to restore the city center.
This was the time when i finally left via Maggio and moved to via Bolognese , to live in a students appartment with Jurgen who had a very friendly girlfriend from Naples, Andrew (his friend who was a PHD student, he was leaving his room to me ) , A woman of my age Sonia (who was from Ohio) with her beloved cat Arthurro. She was soon to be married to Franco in the town hall and every one was looking forward to being invited because the ceremony was in the Palazzo Vecchio.
She was marrying a respected accountant and last but not least, Silvia who was from Sardinia a hard working waitress who had a room but didn't live there . Sonia was working as a sales person just like myself and we became friends, right until she moved away and went to live far from the center in a modern district called Scandicci.
I could confirm what my brother (who lived in LA in the 90's ) would say later on .... "when you live abroad .... People you meet become your family ...."
Part of the door sculpture i made in 1998
In 1984 jurgen and Silvana moved to an appartment in Via deele Cinque Giornate but since he had found a job in the United Nations he soon went to live in the Congo. Since i had started to study at university i stayed in the new apartment, which had a huge terrace and a fig tree leaning in from the neighbor's garden.
There was a organized trip to Paris while i was in the Art History class , but i only saw the city of lights in the ninties after having finished writing my Thesis.
I had been to a foundation course at Saint Martin's in 1980. The revolution had broken out and i didnt know if my family could support me in the UK. I had gone to Karachi to meet them that year and i had stayed in my aunts house for a year .... Why was i having to pay for a revolution i didnt even agree with ? It was as if all of a sudden i had to be part of a people who were doing all sorts of things which involved me . That is the sad thing about being born on this planet .... i didnt even like the Iranian traditions and was glad to be away from them but every one else saw me as being part of that picture. It was a joy for me to see how my brother had taken "the female role" of serving tea to visiters when he was back from living in the US , i had always disliked to have to perform the tea ceremony. He had finally learnt to do things on his own and he would say ... "dont worry i know how to do this"!
It was partly because of my mother's attitude towards me that i left home. A lot of girls dont know how lucky they are when they have a mother who is on their side .... i thought i would be less trouble for my parents if i created what seemed to be a new chapter in my life .
That is why i decided to continue my studies in Italy. My mother had taken me with her to London as a seven year old and during this trip we had stopped over in Rome and stayed there for a week, i had always remembered this experience in Rome. Even though i had had a good experience there, i liked the smaller cities and wanted to find a place to study in Florence seemed a good choice at the time.
Sonia had found a cat and i adopted it even though the creature was already pregnant, I called her Mooshie and she was to be my companion for the next fifteen years in this appartment. I wrote a book about my artistic path which had started in London in 1979, It became a real life mission . I published "A Time For dreamers" in London in 2013 (Arthur Macauley Publishers) and it has some pictures of my paintings in it …
Sonia had found a cat and i adopted it even though the creature was already pregnant, I called her Mooshie and she was to be my companion for the next fifteen years in this appartment. I wrote a book about my artistic path which had started in London in 1979, It became a real life mission . I published "A Time For dreamers" in London in 2013 (Arthur Macauley Publishers) and it has some pictures of my paintings in it …
Life before the internet and PCs.the 80s meant a lovely Olivetti typewriter ...The PC came to the university in 1990. Only the wealthy had PCs in their homes . I had been introduced to Patrizia who kindly allowed me to use her machine and invited me to go to her home when i needed to write . She had studied with an Australian Prof called Mrs Hubert and we had both an interest in Feminist themes (she had followed the Australian literature seminars)
One of the things i remember from these is the story of one of the first Australian woman writers who wrote her books and diaries after a hard days work and in secret, under bed covers ..... which proves that Genius does not need computers .... other examples of this; i can think of a lot of songs and inspirational music i have loved and listened to .... produced in the sixties … seventies and eighties and right upto now.
After The Beatles there had been a lot of great song writers who had poetry which spoke to everyone who knew British culture. I had discovered David Bowie and his Space Oddity; it was amazingly expressing a feeling that the future of the planet belonged to all of us (People living on the planet) and not only to the countries which had achieved the moon walk.
Here am I floating round my tin can
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do
Far above the moon
Many years later in 2019 i was talking to a very well read and well travelled girl friend in Italy ..... about how i'd been told by a Russian Mormon minister i had met in Paris, that the Mormons were involved in a project concerning the construction of Space stations which were for the future homes for the human race.
These were perhaps "science fiction" dreams of creating cities in space, Something reminded me of the film Avatar ...... i imagined people would be actually living their life in Outer space and sadly the planet earth and its resources would be consumed by this effort. and i didnt want that to happen.
In the crazy enthusiasm to go and live in outer space they would destroy the planet and all the creatures on it .... that didn't sound good to me . Space travel had always been a positive idea and this was romanticized in Bowie's "Space Oddity" , but here we are , even in this minute .... loosing the birds and the bees which are determining factors in agriculture and the bigger mammals and some people , who are (higly educated but insensitive to the planets well being) , couldn't and wouldn't do anything about what the industries were doing to the environment. For some people, the issue was about who got to live in space stations and who didn't ....
I was very surprised by my friends attitude especially when she turned round and said that "they" ie the ones who had the power ie the movers and the shakers of the world were only constructing these Space Stations for "their own people" ie "the privileged few" ! On the contrary to what she said about it being exclusive , i had heard from the priest that all of the religious world (ie the ones who didn't believe in birth control) would be encouraged to create more babies because everyone could have a home in space !
. The idea was that there was always going to be the possibility of creating "cities in space" and China, and Africa and India and all those people who don't like birth control , can eventually send their people "out there" to populate space ! ....
Could there be people who really had this attitude ?
I didnt tell her my opinion about the subject .... but i am sure that i am not the only one to want to solve earthly issues first and keep the world population contained so as to save the animals and plants and the equilibrium in the natural world we live in ...
.
The song "Space Oddity" meant a lot to us "star gazing people" , but in a naiive way .... we were the innocent ones , thinking that "Profit" would not be entering the picture sooner or later and munching up all the resources the earth has in order to make a sad unnatural world without trees and animals.
The music which influenced my days and the mood was different when i started to make the hanging sculptures.
,Much later on my friend Steven introduced me to the music of Aphex Twins and this contributed to my making the wire sculptures in the 90's.I was very pleasantly surprised when a galerist in Florence was so enthused about one of them that he got up the ladder to hang them up, .... it was a lot of effort for him and Piero's attitude made me feel that i was communicating something important, he believed in them just as much as i did ....
After The Beatles there had been a lot of great song writers who had poetry which spoke to everyone who knew British culture. I had discovered David Bowie and his Space Oddity; it was amazingly expressing a feeling that the future of the planet belonged to all of us (People living on the planet) and not only to the countries which had achieved the moon walk.
Space Oddity
Ground Control to Major Tom
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on
Ground Control to Major Tom
Commencing countdown, engines on
Check ignition and may God's love be with you
Commencing countdown, engines on
Check ignition and may God's love be with you
Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Lift off
This is Ground Control to Major Tom
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare
This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today
I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today
For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do
Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles
I'm feeling very still
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Tell my wife I love her very much she knows
I'm feeling very still
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Tell my wife I love her very much she knows
Ground Control to Major Tom
Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Here am I floating round my tin can
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do
Far above the moon
Many years later in 2019 i was talking to a very well read and well travelled girl friend in Italy ..... about how i'd been told by a Russian Mormon minister i had met in Paris, that the Mormons were involved in a project concerning the construction of Space stations which were for the future homes for the human race.
These were perhaps "science fiction" dreams of creating cities in space, Something reminded me of the film Avatar ...... i imagined people would be actually living their life in Outer space and sadly the planet earth and its resources would be consumed by this effort. and i didnt want that to happen.
In the crazy enthusiasm to go and live in outer space they would destroy the planet and all the creatures on it .... that didn't sound good to me . Space travel had always been a positive idea and this was romanticized in Bowie's "Space Oddity" , but here we are , even in this minute .... loosing the birds and the bees which are determining factors in agriculture and the bigger mammals and some people , who are (higly educated but insensitive to the planets well being) , couldn't and wouldn't do anything about what the industries were doing to the environment. For some people, the issue was about who got to live in space stations and who didn't ....
I was very surprised by my friends attitude especially when she turned round and said that "they" ie the ones who had the power ie the movers and the shakers of the world were only constructing these Space Stations for "their own people" ie "the privileged few" ! On the contrary to what she said about it being exclusive , i had heard from the priest that all of the religious world (ie the ones who didn't believe in birth control) would be encouraged to create more babies because everyone could have a home in space !
. The idea was that there was always going to be the possibility of creating "cities in space" and China, and Africa and India and all those people who don't like birth control , can eventually send their people "out there" to populate space ! ....
Could there be people who really had this attitude ?
I didnt tell her my opinion about the subject .... but i am sure that i am not the only one to want to solve earthly issues first and keep the world population contained so as to save the animals and plants and the equilibrium in the natural world we live in ...
.
The song "Space Oddity" meant a lot to us "star gazing people" , but in a naiive way .... we were the innocent ones , thinking that "Profit" would not be entering the picture sooner or later and munching up all the resources the earth has in order to make a sad unnatural world without trees and animals.
The music which influenced my days and the mood was different when i started to make the hanging sculptures.
,Much later on my friend Steven introduced me to the music of Aphex Twins and this contributed to my making the wire sculptures in the 90's.I was very pleasantly surprised when a galerist in Florence was so enthused about one of them that he got up the ladder to hang them up, .... it was a lot of effort for him and Piero's attitude made me feel that i was communicating something important, he believed in them just as much as i did ....
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The Via Fiesolana Studio was a small space but i had the wire sculptures hanging in the studio. It was September 1998 after i had achieved my degree and had had an exhibition in the DEA Gallery . Finding this studio was partly due to my prayers and partly because of Sarina 's boyfriend Eric who was from Arizona and a Mormon. We ie Sarina and Eric and myself were in our early 30's and he was one of the rare people who talked about space projects and he claimed to be a sculptor. A lot of the young people i had met were pressured by their history .... Italy being a museum and the creations of the artists there, were certainly humbling and one was even careful about introducing youself as an artist.
Eric had had a studio in the Santo Spirito area and would talk about his experience as an artist in Pietra Santa which is the town were all self respecting sculptors visit. Eric inspired me ... i had made a series of hanging objects with metal wire, i had some big ones hanging in the via Fiesolana studio and i wished i could sell them as chandeliers. I had started to make them in Via Delle Cinque Giornate. Later on when i went to Paris for a short visit i saw a Gallery in saint Germain full of objects made from twisted metal wires … it was amazing ! Some one was doing the same thing and even tho theirs was much more polished and professional , I thought mine where much better and pretty cool as well. In such cases you have a critic who writes about your work and does publicity for the art work and i never had a chance to get next to an Art critic !
Eric had had a studio in the Santo Spirito area and would talk about his experience as an artist in Pietra Santa which is the town were all self respecting sculptors visit. Eric inspired me ... i had made a series of hanging objects with metal wire, i had some big ones hanging in the via Fiesolana studio and i wished i could sell them as chandeliers. I had started to make them in Via Delle Cinque Giornate. Later on when i went to Paris for a short visit i saw a Gallery in saint Germain full of objects made from twisted metal wires … it was amazing ! Some one was doing the same thing and even tho theirs was much more polished and professional , I thought mine where much better and pretty cool as well. In such cases you have a critic who writes about your work and does publicity for the art work and i never had a chance to get next to an Art critic !
Eventually i found my idea in a up market trendy restraunt near the camp site where i stayed for a month. It was next to the Bagatelle park in Paris. I was not the one to make the dream come true. Mainly because when my brother came to visit in the year 2000.... even tho he worked on this piece s, but we couldnot be inspired to put bulbs in it like i imagined .... basically he couldnt believe that we would be successful . Such is the irony of life .... in later years , when i was wondering around in Paris , i found just such a chandelier hanging in a restraunt entrance , it was very similar to what i had made but i thought my object was even more fascinating and beautiful ....! There was a big gallery space in San Germain which was selling a lot of objects in the same style using wires ..... i had had the intuition and i had to be happy with seeing others working on this idea.
(these sculptures disappeared as always"mysteriously!.... one was in my garden in Spain .... in a house i had bought in 2010 on the Costa Blanca) .
(A lot of my art would disappear.) even in later years in a Dubai gallery called Mondo Arte situated in the prestigious fabulous Kempinskij Mall a painting i loved very much was stolen, Later on the man who was managing the gallery told me ; "there is a war going on (probably meaning that because i was Iranian i was having to pay a price for actions for which i wasn't responsible) and this painting disappearing is the result of it" ..... i still dont know who's done it or is doing it)
cosmopolitan time
Two hand written books were taken from a deposit in Paris where i paid monthly for the Box. Yet another example of important (for me) but worthless things which was taken from me recently in Dic 2018 from a "friends" home was a short story called " Hamdan Street" this story was about a dream i had had about Abu Dhabi where i was going to frequently in order to get a visa for travelling to Europe. Even tho i dont understand what is going on i guess i have to be expressing my humility because i have grown to be sixty and i havent achieved what i saw other people produce and place in galleries as Objects of Design. I still dont feel like an adult and i tried hard to be devoted to creativity in a good sense. Celebrating what was important to me, and i still havent understood how to live in the world.
The Studio Atelier was a full time job and a risk i was taking since i tried to make money without asking anything from my parents.
The Girls Who Lived Upstairs
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There were these pretty girls living upstairs , The studio space looked onto the court yard . The whole building was full of appartments but it looked as if there was no one living in it .
Muriel and her boyfiend used to have shouting sessions often .She lived upstairs with the other girls as they were architecture students sharing a flat . Once one of the girls invited me upstairs and i really liked the view from the window . Downstairs i only saw the garage and the men working in it.
I knew one of them who was called Antonio .... he had come to a party once with his scandinavian girlfriend . The party was at a young man's country house; He had become very successful recently because an Irish actor had decided to go to his workshop to learn how to make hand made shoes. Daniel Day Lewis had just won some prize for his film "My Left Foot" and had for some reason adopted this shop and had made him a very sought after shoe maker. He looked at the foreign people at his party with a sort of superior expression, and i thought it was as if we weren't really stable and respectable people like he was perhaps because his young wife was expecting. His traditional life style was certainly different to that of a lot of artists. Perhaps i would say today "That connection with the famous actor made his carreer and if i had had some one like Mr D.D. Lewis among my friends my artistic carrer too would have taken off . The nice thing about the party was that people like Antonio who were from the outbacks of some southern Italian village could come to this party full of northern artists and intellectuals. This was only possible because of his good looks. This factor was of the utmost importance here . "Poveri Ma Belli" era un film di Dino Risi del 56 whi,ch translates literally as "poor and yet beautiful", but i think this expression is so "alive" in Italy, since personal beauty can mean a lot. Some one said this about me when i was 25 meaning that i was a young pretty thing who didnt have money .....
That party in the farm house on the hills somewhere outside of the city of Florence was full of art students from a private art school run by Charles Cecil and Daniel Graves. I had known about the party through Verena who was a model and a student there. Verena had rented a room in the apartment where i lived. She was 23 when i first met her and had come down from Dusseldorf ..... after some weeks she started to work at the art school.
Even tho she was a very pretty young woman she had a deep side to her and in our first conversation she had told me about a friend of hers at high school who had a small coloured spot on his skin which became bigger every day and they discovered that it was malignant . He had died within a month or so .... this story came out of the blue and it made an impression on me as if it meant to say that even if you are young and everything is going Ok in your life .... things happen which change everthing. I dont know if she had come away from her home town because of this, but it was not a revolution in the country or a war that she was running from.
In her case she had certainly started a new chapter in her life. I had found out later that she had gone back to Germany and was now teaching art in Leipzig.
Even tho she was a very pretty young woman she had a deep side to her and in our first conversation she had told me about a friend of hers at high school who had a small coloured spot on his skin which became bigger every day and they discovered that it was malignant . He had died within a month or so .... this story came out of the blue and it made an impression on me as if it meant to say that even if you are young and everything is going Ok in your life .... things happen which change everthing. I dont know if she had come away from her home town because of this, but it was not a revolution in the country or a war that she was running from.
In her case she had certainly started a new chapter in her life. I had found out later that she had gone back to Germany and was now teaching art in Leipzig.
Even if the students and girls living upstairs in via Fiesolana were more grounded and were working and studying they were all single except for Muriel who was from Puglia and since i already had a good friend from that region , i had found out that we shared the same wavelenth . The people from that region are special and it was probably an emotional thing. Muriel would sometimes complain that her boyfriend was too "middle class" in his attitude. They couldnt get it together because he had those "being proper" ideas !
They were living in their own movie and the battle was going on .... and it was a real one because everyone could hear them shouting at each other in the neighborhood. Finally they split and she went on to open a sandwich place next to an open air cinema and got together with a working man who delivered drinks , and peaceful cooperation reigned in the new relationship. But Muriel now started wearing very short skirts and perhaps that was a new version of her ..... One hopefully learns through experience!
Another very pretty girl found an African boyfriend and that was exceptionally daring of her because even if women were looking for partners , they had to be really open minded to get together with some one from that continent. Even if the French were used to mixed marriages and couples , here it was a new thing. I knew of women who had decided
to get out there and go against the social rules. One of these women had married a Cuban Musician who wasn't white and her child who was very charming and loved to sing and dance was also 2not white". This was a conversation piece for the older ladies some of which couldnt understand the choice of marrying a "coloured" man who wasnt rich!
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1 The Art As A Work in Progress
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a, I have been thinking about Tracy Emin and Damien Hirst’s art, because they represent my generation. I want to talk about who I am by talking about their work, the ones that are important to me. Two pieces, the ‘Unmade Bed’ and the ‘Camping Tent’ are both on my list, and these two made me reflect on the personal dimension we associate with them. I identify with the human warmth and vulnerability of these.
Perhaps the ideal is the intimate heart feelings which are expressed in poetry and art, but one wonders if these have anything to do with the more materialistic dimension; is it the dichotomy between body and soul? I remember reading a quote from Heine, the German poet, where he said that he had pleasure looking at a person’s face without wanting to possess them. However, he knew that he was an exception to the rule, and that generally people are interested in copulating and reproducing themselves, and some call that “love”.
Personal feelings sometimes do express themselves in acts of copulation. It seems to me that from the 90s onwards, the “genital” has been the “only” interesting event in an individual’s life. Inexplicably, people’s sexuality has come out of prudish attitudes and has become a public domain. In society many are seen to be clutching, scratching , touching or indicating their private parts in a trendy, “must do” style.
On the other hand, there is another artist who I am interested in and who became successful in these decades. Damien Hirst is best known for his animal sections suspended in formaldehyde. His work made art and science seem one and the same thing. The cold scientific dimension is detached and formal. Awe inspiring nature was put in a show case, and humbled the spectator by putting him in his place as a mammal, which demonstrated that humans have the same machine parts inside of them as the other species. Being a religious minded person, I identify with these works of art and see them as a celebration of the hand of God; the supreme intelligence.
I first thought about writing when I read my grandfather’s books. He was a historian, an expert in antiquity and Persia, and although he had had an adventurous life travelling the
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world over, his books were very difficult to read. I saw a lot of him when I was a child and he would talk about the things that had happened in his life. I always wondered why he didn’t write about them, because those were the things which I was most interested in. I wanted to know about the feelings involved, the whys and the wherefores, rather than listen to his lessons in history.
Like Tracy Emin’s ‘Tent’, in my writing and in my art2 – however humble it may be – I want to say that I shared moments of my life with many people. Feelings for friends and relatives filled my days and my decisions. The times I lived in included a common history, shared with a lot of other individuals who were walking the earth at the same time as myself. As in the past centuries, when the world was not yet a “village”, I would presume to think of Madame de Stael and other women writers who travelled and wrote about the times they lived in. Mine is not a testimony to the things which I have seen and felt – it is more a looking back on the events.
I would certainly not have bought a ticket to go to Italy if there hadn’t been the Iran/Iraq3 war in the 80s, or had I been born in my aunts’ generation. Being Asian and from a Muslim family, I was born in Iran during the Shah’s time, when women were wearing Western clothes. Even then, being a woman meant family ties and duties were utmost on the list of priorities. As role models, my father’s sisters, my aunts Homa – who worked as a nurse – and Tahmeen – who was an office worker – had travelled to Europe after the Second World War, they were from a generation which was still oppressed by womanhood and the duties it entailed.
The older generation in my father’s family had been brought up in India by their Iraqi mother who lived in Purdah,
2 My view of sentiments expressed is certainly traditional and prudish but I realise Tracy Emin is expressing a general mood in her art which belongs to the Western experience. 3 In my opinion The Iran/Iraq war in the beginning of the eighties made the arms trade very happy and also some nationalists who wrongly believed in establishing an age old belief in the Aryan racial superiority. It was tailor made in order to destroy both countries.
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and later had moved to Iran. They had arrived in Tehran in the 1950s, and even though they worked, they were looking after their ailing father, and Parveen their sister, who perhaps suffered from autism, an ailment which had not been discovered yet.
With a lot of luck, I was born in times when I could afford to have time to myself for some years. Both my mother and her sister and their families were living in relative comfort, and as modern women. They managed to have a life which belonged to them, even if they had a family and were raising children. My mother had had a journalistic career and had written for the Tehran English Daily papers. She had an MA in English, having studied in India. She and my father had both been translators, and were intellectually alive. The younger generation too had had a university education; my cousins Ameneh and Sadieh who were born in Pakistan had degrees, and were women who were working. They were positive role models.
In Iranian society, having time to yourself for a woman was never considered to be a positive thing. That was the difference with my relatives in the subcontinent. The ideal Iranian woman had to be serving the children and everyone else in the family, and had to always be there for other people. Even now, ‘most women’ have no time to dwell on ideas and want to get on with their day-to-day lives, and they thrive as consumers. As a born Iranian, I was destined to be influenced by the history and culture of my country in the 60s, and the seventies during the reign of the Shah. One of the main productions of this time was a weekly periodical called Ketabe Hafteh (‘The Book of the Week’), in which one could read translations of literary pieces from various countries and times. There were also articles about world art and culture.
Even though Iranians are very involved in their own literature, back then, the times were allowing many Western and Eastern ideas in. Like many other Asians, Iranians, both men and women, are brought up “trained” to have to shoulder much responsibility in the home, especially with the sick and the elderly. Even the middle classes work hard in the house,
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and are not like the middle classes elsewhere, who usually can afford to have help in the house and therefore have time to spend on their interests.
The home I was brought up in was totally strange according to the usual Iranian mentality, because at home the men, usually my father, cooked the meals. It would be unheard of for an Iranian husband to cook and prepare the meals, but my parents lived this way and my father would often tell me not to tell anyone about it, as he knew it would be an issue with everybody outside our home. My mother was a capable business woman. She was good at negotiating and pulling off deals. This was mostly because she was allowed to have self- confidence, and due to necessity she used her talents. Her sister, who had married a Pakistani and went to live in the UK, was very much the same type.
This was the background which made my case a special one, and I would describe my art to be a mixture of various cultures which have influenced me. I was born and bought up in Iran/Tehran, where I lived from 1959 to 1977. In 1978 I discovered London, staying with my mother’s brother Ismile and his Swedish wife Ylva. Even as a child I spent some years in London with them. I went to the local primary and secondary schools along with my cousins. Some holidays were spent with my family in Karachi. These were different influences, and my family has given me a varied cultural background.
I have always been interested in expressing my own ideas. Even as a child, I would insist on not copying reality but saying something new which was on my mind. Sometimes I would produce bigger pieces, which were totally from my own imagination – I mean, not having copied from any source. This made one point of discord, with a lot of people who thought that copying reality was necessary.
One person at the foundation course4 in London which I went to in 1980, who was a photographer, told me that the Persian miniatures themselves were the artworks of people
4 Saint Martin’s School of Art Foundation course
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who had looked at reality closely and studied plants, objects, buildings and people in order to produce their own pictures. In other words, art was a language and one needed to know the words – i.e. arts and words were images from reality, and you had to learn them in order to then put them together to express an idea.
Fortunately, my own tutor Janet, who was a painter, was not hung up on such ideas. She said that she started to paint one day by simply putting all sorts of objects on the kitchen table and painting them because she had the urge to do it. I thought it a much more liberating and fun point of view. There was heart and emotion in the idea of doing things the way she did. It was a personal research, with her interest in life as the motivation and the engine. It meant that one could pick out the objects and things that one loved, put them on a table, and paint them. The important thing for her was that one should work, work, work, and the more you did this, the better. Working seriously for yourself was good, and if you were honest with yourself, you were going in the right direction.
In fact, Janet’s pictures were so much of herself and very intimate. I thought it was kind of her to tell the young people who she taught that they should work hard at what interested them. After the foundation course, I was going to study further, but then the times had changed, and even though I had a chance to study in an art polytechnic, I couldn’t pay for it. This was because of the revolution in Iran and then the Iraq/Iran war, which had begun in 1981-82.
When the revolution broke out, I had gone to Pakistan to visit my parents. I had not been able to return to England because when I returned to attend my course in Cambridge, I was held at the airport and sent back with the excuse that in my diary I had expressed the wish to stay on in London, where I had already spent three years. It just happened that people like me, totally out of the reality of events in Tehran, were now victims of what Iranian “revolutionaries” – mostly have nots – decided to do back home. They had decided to get into the American Embassy grounds, which I thought seemed pretty
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unnecessary for them to do. I had to go back to my parents who were visiting family in Pakistan and Karachi. I spent and stayed a year in Karachi, living with my mother and her sister.
My Aunt Jahan’s house in Karachi was very much a social hub, and was lots of fun and alive. My aunt and her daughter, my cousin Ameneh, were very socially active and great cooks. They would have lunches and dinners, and went to parties which made life lively and full of different interesting people. Through one of my aunt’s friends there, I was introduced to an employment and worked at a graphic agency as an assistant. I was twenty one, and even though my parents wanted to see me settled down, my own dream was to get an education in Europe.
My mother had studied and was teaching English, and I thought that perhaps a degree in art wasn’t really good enough for getting a practical paying job. She herself hadn’t wanted me to go to an art school.
My parents had been born and brought up in India, in the Persian community which had lived there for several generations. They were brought up in Bangalore and Mysore, whereas my grandfather from my father’s side had been born and brought up in Hyderabad by his Irani parents, and my mother’s father had been a Shirazi, but had a history in Egypt and Iraq.
It seems that in their days, people could get on a horse or carriage and travel all over Asia without having to have specific papers5. I have this idea because of my grandfather’s stories about how he had travelled from India to Iraq and back many times. He had actually started out from Hyderabad and worked on a ship taking tea to Japan when he was eighteen. From there, he had travelled to Europe and then to the United States. He then became a student in a university in the US, and lived there for a while. He even survived the earthquake in 1906 in California, and came back to Iraq to marry his first
5 Perhaps as President Putin suggested (I read in the papers) an Asian Union of countries, following the example of the European Union, could be our dream for a future peaceful Middle East and a source of prosperity for all Asian countries. Amen!
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cousin, who was a girl brought up in Purdah and from a wealthy family. He took her and the children to India, where he was teaching Persian History and Literature at the University in Mysore.
Now, at twenty-two in Karachi, I had decided that I wanted to go back to Europe. My mother thought that I would get married to someone or the other in the family. She wasn’t really in control and my father wasn’t that interested in controlling my life. I had spent days in London where I was not sure about my future. I thought that I would have to change too much in order to be “a modern woman” if I integrated with the English way of life. It seemed to be too complicated, and I had always the idea that Italy was closer to my heart emotionally speaking. Even the language seemed to open doors of a different kind of modernity, as it were.
The summer of 1982, I was on a plane to Perugia and heading for the Universita per Straineri, where I stayed and studied Italian for three months. Then, since Florence seemed to be a smaller place than Rome – I couldn’t handle living in a metropolis like London without family – and it was famous for art. I packed my bags again and went to a printing studio to see how etchings were made. I had seen these beautiful etchings in and around Russell Square where I went to school in London, and I wanted to make some myself, but the technique stood in my way of immediate expression.
In 1983, I got a job and started living with Dona, a girl who studied at an American university and was a photographer. I shared a flat with her in Via Maggio, and started working as a salesperson.
In 1984 I put my name down for a course at the university in order to study English Language and Literature. I didn’t know Italian well enough, but I was living and learning.
Later in 1984, I had moved to Via Bolognese and was living with a group of young students. In 1985, I moved to Via delle Cinque Giornate with Peter, who was a German friend, then a PHD student, and his girlfriend Caterina.
I had gotten to know my fiancé Guido in Rome in 1983 and wanted to get married. My twenties were flying by and I
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was aspiring to art, as always, but not getting much done, since I had to make a living as a salesperson.
From 1984 to 1989, I was beginning to paint big pictures in Via delle Cinque Giornate. Peter had gone back to Germany and now I sub-rented the rooms to other students and worked as a salesperson in the summer. The apartments I had lived in had always meant so much to me, and in this last one I lived for fifteen years, renting out the extra rooms to other students.
At university I was getting along, slowly learning the Italian language. It was very hard. Guido had been a great help after I failed to get through the first exam at university. He made it a point to help me get through the first exams. He had become my personal trainer, but I found it very hard to study, because when I studied books, I would want to paint as well, and I was very much distracted by the different directions that these two interests took me. On one hand, I had to have a fixed timetable in order to study, and on the other hand, I needed to get the ideas out on paper or canvas and give them a structure.
My cousin Ameneh, who was a journalist and working for a newspaper, came to visit me from Pakistan and asked, “why didn’t you continue going to an art School and study art?” Why was I studying literature when I loved to make pictures? The answer was that I was not confident of being an artist, but I had these ideas that would push me to spend money on canvas and paint. I would collect a lot of art material for the times when I had the moments of high energy, and I would paint when I was emotionally stressed out. It was a sort of discipline. I even refused to get angry and fight for a relationship, and I would take my energies to the canvas.
It seemed that the people I had in my life never listened to me. I mean, I hadn’t a voice and I found that was a problem in almost every sphere of my life. I suppose women only find a voice and people listen to them only if they have a tough man on their side like my mother had, or if they have children or a tough personality. I kept on asking the men in my life to get married and they would only come round to doing it after several years had passed.
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My mother had had a strong voice of authority because she was a first child, and being very bright, everyone gave her a lot of attention. Even Ameneh was like her. Everyone listened to them. I hadn’t managed to learn to have a similar voice. Perhaps I wasn’t a fighter, and she was more aggressive and competitive. I was most of the time struggling with myself, trying to get myself under control. I think that it had something to do with being very physical. I mean, I felt that I had an athletic constitution.
I was really vigorous, and yet I wanted to have a brain and to be an intellectual like my parents. I hated being in a woman’s body. A female, whose God given role in life was to reproduce. I thought it was really humiliating to be a woman because women always seemed to be second class, like myself. They never achieved a voice until they had children, but I wanted to have respect effortlessly. I wanted people to listen to what I had to say, but they didn’t.
I suppose it’s normal to ask for things and not get them when you want them. I have come to think that the world is pretty much like that – unless you are lucky or you put a gun to people’s head, you get to be second class. Even when I had been living in England and I asked my cousin if he wanted to get married, he said he wasn’t ready because he was a student. I thought, I wish I could save him from being so far from his own culture. I wanted to save myself too. I thought that he was missing out on his Iranian and Pakistani cultural roots, but he didn’t see it that way and, of course, I was wrong in my traditional mentality. It was like a story from a Jane Austen novel. Later on in life I saw the film ‘West is West’6 and it made me realise the emotional distances and the work that has to be done before it would have all worked out according to how I saw things.
I was stupid enough to ask him if he wanted to get married
6 The British comedy directed by Andy De Emmony, 2010 is a film about a Pakistani who has two families, one in Punjab and one in Britain. This film is about the cultural misunderstandings and the solutions which eventually evolve out of the interactions between the people involved. It is very much relevant to my own background.
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and later on, my aunt – his mother – told me that women are not supposed to ask and that they are supposed to wait until they are asked. And much later, about thirty years later, she told me that he had had many Indian and Pakistani families who were after him for their daughters.
I was only a woman who wanted to express all the things I couldn’t handle like other women: like Emin’s bed and tent, I was finding my way through relationships and I also needed to be an artist rather than want to get a marriage. Practical visa and stay permit concerns plus my own traditional upbringing made me have to propose to people myself! As an educated and modern woman, my mother’s solution was surprising; she suggested that I could throw myself at the feet of one of her rich relatives and plead to him to marry me because all I really owned was my virginity.
I still think it couldn’t have been her saying such a thing to her twenty-one year old daughter. She was probably worried about what people would say!
However, later on when I met Guido in Italy, I was crying for ages about what had happened to me and the humiliation that I had put myself through by asking my cousin that stupid question. And that is why in Islam, parents have to take responsibility to marry off their children. No one can twist your arm and make you do the right thing – most of the time, one has to make decisions oneself. It is the negotiation part that I find so difficult. My mother and my aunt were both good at negotiating, whereas I’ve always been totally at loss for words. Guido was the eldest son of a lawyer, and he was very articulate. He would want to talk relentlessly at times. Once I had learnt the language, we would get into these conversations which were very funny and exhilarating, and that is when I realised that it is the spiritual thing of wanting to communicate. I never dreamed of meeting a man who would want to talk to me! But I suppose most men, even the ones that want to talk, usually have difficulty in listening to women.
Which brings me back to the subject of art and expression. I suppose art for me was all those things that I wanted to say,
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and I was making an effort to make myself listened to. But I think the first thing that I would tell people is that if you use art as a message to mankind, then use it wisely. I know that if you are a black person or a woman or gay, you have always been at a disadvantage because, only the man with “the gun” or “the power of words” has been able to put his foot down and has had the last word. It seems that is what this world is all about. But art too is a powerful instrument. I read an interview with the German film director Fassbinder some years ago. In this, he stated that even though he was from the same angry generation as the Bader-Meinhoff and he knew them, he had chosen a different path in order to express his opinions through the films he made. I thought that was very intelligent.
Most of my life I’ve seen that only “power” has a voice. Perhaps having a voice, is powerful too. You can say something and be heard in art. That’s the beauty of the thing. And your message has to be a good one...
I started to make the Inshallah cards in 1989 and1990. Then, in 1992, I managed to get my degree in English Language and Literature from Florence University. I was having shows and exhibits in and around Florence. I loved to go to Venice and the carnival there, and later on I did some watercolours on Venice, which is a beautiful city and a constant source of inspiration.
In 1998, I had to leave the apartment7 where I had lived for fifteen years. With help from friends and well-wishers I managed to get a studio in the centre of Florence, and I started to sell my watercolours to the public. My watercolours were about the city were I had lived for the past twenty years, and the sitting rooms and interiors I painted were a dream of finding a stable home.
I was trying to live on my art, producing a lot of watercolours, cards and boxes. My clients were mostly tourists. I lived in the same place upstairs. My studio was in a back street in the centre and I was living like a hermit with lots
7 The via delle cinque giornate street (which translates to The Five days of Milan), was the apartment belonging to Mr. Quercioli, which me and my friends rented in 1984, it is where I lived for 15 years.
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of cats, who I loved. I couldn’t make money and pay the rent after 2001, but I paid my assistants to come and help me produce in quantity. I really had no business sense at all, so in a frustrating way I helped a competitor who had been watching me to take over my sphere of sales, i.e. the shop I was selling in. This person who does admirable etchings became very successful in selling his art because, out of feelings of solidarity with artists, I had shared my own distributor with him. Finding that his machine produced work took over my hand made one and out of naivety I lost a very important source of income.
In 2001 shops closed down and I had to leave the studio. In 2004, I spent some time in Viareggio and in 2005 in the spring, I went back to Iran, to my mother, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s. I decided to buy property in Dubai, and in 2007 I rented a house in Dubai for one year. I continued to paint in Tehran, and had the help of young students and assistants who worked for me in my home studio.
My story is far from a success story – if anything I am probably the anti-heroine in the novel who did everything wrong. However, I think it is a story which shows a generation who aspired to create a new voice; one which is neither Eastern nor Western, but in the middle of the crossroads. According to President Angela Merkel, the multicultural society hasn’t worked out in Germany – and probably she meant Europe – but people like me believe that it is a new project and it has to be given time. The painting ‘Existence’ or ‘The Contact’ is about reaching out to get to know the other.
Perhaps in Asia, where many different tribes live together, you can see this voice; it is there in many Indian and Pakistani films. The Middle East is something different and more complex. Israel and its creation marks all the Muslims; it is a nation born out of European mistakes, and brings suffering to the rest of the Middle Eastern people. Will it ever be able to integrate – i.e. make friends with – its neighbours, or will it take over all of the Middle East through Zionistic pressure groups? My painting ‘Energies and Tendencies’ is talking about a mutation in geographical terms.
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In 2008, I fell victim to anonymous security people who didn’t allow me to buy property and move to Dubai. All through the new century, the new world order has wanted to take our voice away from us. This sense of being made into “puppets on a string” is in the painting ‘J’aillais me donner’.
I associate my science fiction planetary paintings with the more detached and scientific part of my imagination. Planetary science can be a refuge from our imperfect lives on earth. We have to live in the shelter of our buildings and sitting rooms and bedrooms, and even though there are now six billion of us on the planet, our emotional lives hinder us from finding solutions to problems. Today we are worried about resources.
While spirituality teaches us that resources are infinite if we aspire to higher values, the materialistic view limits our potential to find new solutions. It is the difference between Chairman Mao and Churchill’s way of dealing with the food problem. While the latter called for an increase in positive individual participation to cultivate and grow food, the former took for granted that some were going to be victims of the famine anyway. Just as today, some believe that nature is bound to get destroyed anyway. Here I would like to mention and pay tribute to the millions of people – some say 45, but I imagine the number to be higher – who died in the famine during the recent years in China, due to a lack of interest and energy in trying to save them. The melting down of the glaciers will happen, polar bears and other animals will die of starvation and climate change will inevitably change our planet and our life for the worse.
One aspires towards higher things, but will we ever manage to pull ourselves up and do the right thing? None of us is finding a solution to the problems, and the reason is that we lack the imagination to find and implement new ideas to the vital issues which are decisive for the future of the planet. Meanwhile, we will be scratching our genitals, and hiding our heads in the sand, being totally irresponsible and decadent. Like puppets on a string, we leave our destiny to God, and to the powers that be.
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Dialogue Watercolour, 1988
My Uncle Ismile had been living in the UK in London ever since he was eighteen, until he died in 1999 or thereabouts when he was sixty-three. He was born in Bangalore like my mother, but he considered himself a Pakistani rather than Persian.
He was important in my life because I stayed with him and his wife Ylva for three years when I went to study in England in 1979. I was just out of high school, having taken my last exam for my diploma. Having finished high school at eighteen,
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Staying with my Uncle and Aunt in London
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I looked forward to going to England and staying with them in London.
My mother was his elder sister of about 10 years, and as her family had accepted to keep me at school in London with them even when I had been a child. Now she asked him to help her get me into university in Britain. I was always a very dull, uniformed young thing with no one to guide me. I was more than happy to escape the university entrance exams in Tehran as they seemed a barrier which seemed impossible for me to overcome.
The Persian carpet Oil on canvas, 2008
I had been an absolutely useless student, mediocre by all definitions at high school. The only subject that I was good at was English because as a child, I had been sent to stay with my Auntie Jahan and her three children. My Uncle Ismile and his wife Ylva lived together with my Auntie Jahan in the southeast of London, in a semi-detached house. Later they moved to a house which they renovated themselves. They were very different from us Iranians as they did a lot of DIY and enjoyed it.
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The highlight of my high school in Iran, was when I once did a synopsis of the book 1984, introducing George Orwell to my seventeen year old class mates. I suppose I am still happy about that, because a lot of other students were proud of their maths and science exams, and I usually never excelled in anything. However, having gone to primary school in the UK as a kid, my English was pretty good and then it is true, that my mother, God bless her soul, tried to get me interested in the subject of books and novels by telling me the stories of these, and that is how I was introduced to the stories of Shakespeare and other authors.
She was an English Literature MA from Bangalore University and she loved books herself. Her efforts – whatever little effort she put in teaching me – were fruitful and even later on in life, I followed her on that path, being too afraid of risking a useless degree in art. That is what my Mother thought because we were ignorant of the fact that art was an important subject. Here I want to tell everybody that a degree in art can be as useful as any other. My Uncle Ismile had heard his fair share of stories too, because he was my mother’s youngest brother and she tried to get him to study with the same methods.
The sitting room looking on to the river Arno Watercolour, 2007
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I had always been a plain girl, whereas my Pakistani cousins Ameneh and Atefeh, with whom I stayed with in London, were much more interesting and brilliant girls. Everyone was always talking about them. What they did and said, was of the utmost importance. They were special perhaps because their father had died and also because Auntie Jahan and her Brother and his wife genuinely liked to communicate with children and judged them to be above average.
My aunt and uncle and Ylva, my uncle’s Swedish wife, thought the world of Ameneh, the eldest child. She was truly the star on top of the Christmas tree. People would have thought that she was some sort of a genius in the making. My uncle, they say, was pretty much obsessed with her when she had been a teenager, and he hadn’t allowed my aunt to bring up her children in the Islamic Pakistani tradition. The girls had pretty much a British type of education and upbringing.
In 1979, when I arrived at their home with my mother when I was eighteen, my cousins weren’t living there. Ameneh was at Brighton University studying science, and Farid was at Swansea. Sadly, Atefeh had passed away in Pak/Karachi at the age of sixteen from an unidentified illness. She had fallen into a coma and died. Atefeh had gone to Karachi to live with her mother and go to school there.
Atefeh had been my childhood friend. We were very different; she was seemingly shy and retiring and looked very feminine, and liked all the girly things. She loved to dress up and to look pretty, she liked to write and had lots of friends. When in Karachi we would all go to the bazaar in the old part of town to buy glass bangles and nice materials to give to the tailor. It was very exciting to be with my cousins because they knew so many people and were always involved. We visited jewellery stores with our mothers. We weren’t really that interested in the gold ourselves, but the older generation bought it with the idea that gold would always come in handy one day.
Once I was invited with her to a school friend’s house and we went to this party where all the girls and boys were sixteen
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like us, and we had to stay the night because it got very late. I woke up early with the call for prayer and even though I didn’t pray regularly, I felt I had to pray. I couldn’t think of something to cover up with so I used a bed sheet, putting it over my head and as I was praying. Naturally someone in the house woke up to go to the loo and in the dark they saw this sheet moving on its own. There was a low frightened scream because they thought I was a ghost.
That happened some months before Atefeh went into a coma. It was probably some kind of sign. We had had such good times together when some months earlier she and her family had come to Tehran. They had driven from London, travelling across Eastern Europe and Turkey all the way in an old green Peugeot. My aunt had bought it second hand in London.
It was the summer of 1976, and when they arrived at our old house, everything seemed just perfect...
Just some months before she passed away, we had spent some memorable evenings on the rooftop of my old house in Tehran. In those years, people still slept in the open air, on the rooftops in the summer. The beds would be laid out in the cool evenings and by nighttime they were deliciously cool and fresh to sleep in. We were both sixteen and slept close to each other. We watched the stars and talked and giggled until we fell asleep. Even then we had noticed the red planet and we didn’t know it was the planet Mars, which would soon descend upon the country.
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The night of the Angels Oil on canvas, 1988
Uncle Ismile and Auntie Ylva were a nice middle aged couple, who were dreaming of their pension years when I went to stay with them. It was because of Ylva’s Swedish influence that they lived a very methodic and organised kind of life. Ylva was generous enough to see her husband go back to university at forty.
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Al Noor Oil on canvas, 1987
He got his degree in economics and was then able to teach at high school. They were both teachers, going to work every day. They would come home, cook the evening meal and we would eat together at the table, where my uncle talked politics and me and my aunt kept quiet, only because we didn’t really care one way or the other.
I had been enrolled in a crash course, studying three A- levels in order to pass them in one year. No one told me that it was an impossible task for someone who wasn’t a real studying maniac.
However, I plodded along to Great Russell Street every day to the University Tutorial College and would spend the
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lunch hour at the British Museum. Of course I didn’t get through the exams as I should have.
My Time Mixed media, 1989
Whereas the Iranian students and the other Indian and Pakistani students who had taken languages or Maths for their subjects passed and were accepted into university by the end of two years study, I only managed to get a pass for English and Biology in my A levels, and I had spent a lot of time painting.
I am grateful to my uncle for allowing me to try going to art school. It was my own choice, and that’s what I really
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wanted to do in the first place but hadn’t had the courage in that direction. So I came home to my uncle one day and said I had enrolled at Saint Martin’s on a foundation course and I was going to try to get a degree in art.
I suppose people knew that I liked drawing and painting, as I had always done those things when I should have been studying for my exams. That year at Saint Martin’s was a good year. I had finally found my place and was happy to go on studying art.
Going to Italy was the result of my wanting to study and to get a degree. I hadn’t managed to do it in England. Mrs Thatcher and the Conservative Government in 1981 brought about the rise in costs to attend university, and the revolution in Iran meant that I didn’t have the money.
The last time I met my uncle and aunt in Florence, they were both older, in their sixties and enjoying their pensions. Now they had all the time in the world to travel in Europe as they had always wanted to do. The first thing that we did when they got off the train that came from Milan airport, La Malpensa, was naturally to go to a coffee shop and get a cappuccino.
My Uncle still had a lot of his thick white hair, with the exception of a bald patch that he was getting at the back of his head. Auntie Ylva was looking very old and tired.
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Joseph’s Dream Oil on canvas, 1988
Not working hadn’t made their life more pleasant for them. I had always been very grateful to them both for their support and friendship, and so I was sad to see them unhappy even as pensioners.
My aunt wore a hard expression because of the problems that she had had to face in her life. Now my uncle wasn’t well, and she had to look after him and nurse him. He also had a girlfriend that he had introduced to the family; it was none of my business in the first place, but his choice rocked my conservative view of life. It hadn’t happened in our family that anyone should take a 2nd wife, but I know it happens all the time... I mean divorces and other relationships happen all the
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time and are in the normal way of life for everyone. There was something wrong or right with families who remained the same all through. My parents pulled through fifty years of marriage and were an exception to the rule.
This ‘other woman’ happened to be an eighteen year old, one of his students and from East Germany. This story reminded me of a film called Icelandic Wedding, where a young girl marries the teacher and accepts the fact that each one has a life of their own. She does not expect too much of the institution called marriage. Whereas the 1st wife chooses to die because she finds that he is never there for her and that she has lost him somewhere along the years.
My grandmother as a child (Saheb Soltan) and her sister
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These two people were now sitting in front of me in the coffee shop in the Piazza della Stazione. I could feel that they were really lonely and lost, and as if they were both in need of an adult person to look after them.
My uncle had always been a sort of leftist-secular liberal who didn’t believe in religion and he never talked about God. In fact, God didn’t come into his vocabulary at all.
Whereas his father, Mr Namazie, who was a Shirazi, was a very religious minded Shia, and he was brought up in the Holy city of Kazemain. He used to spend most of his time praying and reading the Holy Koran, and not much time at his business making money in Bangalore where he lived with his wife Mrs Saheb-Soltan Shustari, daughter of a Mullah. Their three sons had all taken a dislike to religion and wanted to be modern and practical, and they were secular.
My uncle, being the youngest of the five children, was very down to earth and wanted to get things done. Getting organised and living in the world’s reality meant everything to him. All he talked about were political subjects. One of his favorite topics at the dinner table was what the German Nazis did during the war in Europe. He would repeat that the Holocaust of the Jewish people included, aside from the six million Jews, other people as well. He would go on and on, saying that we all must be responsible people, doing our bit for society, contributing to society and so forth.
I learnt a lot of Communist jargon from his dinner time monologues. He wasn’t Islamic at all; only once did he mention God, and that was when one summer I was going out a lot without telling him where I was going. I only went to museums in London, but once I ventured out to France, to Paris, to see a high school friend who was staying there. That time he said that God had created the planets according to a plan so that they went round their orbits with regular precision, and that’s why the worlds that God had created were all interconnected and worked according to these precise and reliable movements, which were eternal and relied upon each other, moving in orbits destined by him. As in Sureh Al Rahman no 5.
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Pulsar Watercolour, 1990
His wife Ylva humoured his political sermons. Nobody, excepting Aunt Jahan and myself and her daughter Ameneh, remembers what he said in his repetitions of the same concepts. My aunt remembered them because she was mischievously making fun of him when he wasn’t around. It was such a relief to see that someone didn’t take him seriously! Auntie Ylva and myself, who were intimidated by him, used to listen patiently at lunch and dinner. His voice of male authority didn’t encourage anyone else to get a word in. Sometimes my aunt use to try and get a bourgeois table discussion off the ground. She would say, “wasn’t it true that this happened in history?” Just something to liven up the monologue. When she did speak, she highlighted his words by her wavering and indecisive manner. He was the one in charge, and his words were somehow unique and nothing could be said to match their importance.
I used to wonder at him, since my father and brother never tried to prove anything to anyone. In fact, nobody I knew was
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so self-absorbed as he was. Especially his standing up for the Jewish people in our Palestinian suffering region.
The Germans had always been morally beaten down after the Second World War. They were portrayed as terrible humans; people who heartlessly helped the Fuhrer to be the dictator that he was. Hollywood and all English productions on the subject of the war have always been full of propaganda which we all know well. However, in Iran and the Arab countries, Germans had always been looked up to because they were known to be so efficient, unlike ourselves, they were disciplined, capable and neutral.
For other reasons we liked the Germans and thought that they were more tolerant towards us in the Middle East than most of the ‘white men’ and their civilisations. They were involved in other issues with other nations, and that was reassuring for a lot of people. Being reliable, clear minded and straightforward and sincere and not very friendly, made these people seem more acceptable.
The Israeli war on the Palestinians, the plight of the Arabs and their homelessness, was what he should have been talking about and what he did say about the subject was unrealistic. He said that if all the Arabs got united, there wouldn’t be room for “the state of apartheid” in the Middle East. But we all knew that this was not a solution and that it would never happen. The future would probably allow the state of Israel to survive and flourish – the injustice to the Palestinians was obvious and inevitable and nobody could do anything about it. Only a miracle could save the Palestinians and the Middle East from this, and a miracle was nowhere in sight.
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The Blue Apartment in 1997
Having said that, accepting this reality also made people in the Middle East look at Israel as a creation of Europeans who had always been intolerant and had kept the hatred against the Jewish nation fueled for centuries. The Muslims had to pay the price for European crimes and history. Whilst the Western countries had created their oasis in the dessert, Israel was now their ‘darling’ and everything that nation did was right and good. I traveled to Iran in the early 1990s, when I was thirty-two. My best friends in Florence were Sharon who was American, and Sara who was Australian. Sharon was Jewish from her mother’s side, but she denied being Jewish because she said that her father was a Christian white American. She was blondish and blue eyed, and no one could actually tell from her appearance that she was a New York Jewess and possibly a Zionist.
I liked her, even though my heart told me that she was probably not on my side. I was grateful for her leftist political conversations because she was informed. Ordinary people in Europe were really not that interested in world politics, unless they were students or intellectual of some kind. Those were the 1980s and 1990s, when 9/11 hadn’t been ‘created’ to brainwash the world.
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‘Da Sein’ (which translates to ‘Being There’ from Heidegger Acrylic on canvas, 1991
During the spring of 1992, I had had a court case against the shop where I use to work for some years, during the summer months. My lawyer was a young, handsome Florentine.
The picture below was a homage to those white people in the corridors of power, who have controlled the world events after World War Two with the utmost nonchalance. ‘Entente Cordial’ is the name.
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That summer, I had been painting my apartment blue.
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‘Entente cordial, (or Goodbye to Palestine)’ Watercolour, 1988
Sharon would say things which I had heard my uncle say, the same leftist arguments. It was so reassuring! I was happy to be friends with her because she was intellectually alive and sensitive, where other people really couldn’t be bothered. For example, she was interested in the Bosnian War, and she was moved by the events happening in central Eastern Europe as much as I was.
It was now 1994 and my uncle hadn’t liked me staying on in Florence after getting my degree in 1992. I suppose he thought that I should have left Italy, and that my staying on in Europe after my BA was really unnecessary. After they arrived at the train station, I had taken them back to my apartment.
When they came to the house, I was showing Auntie Ylva my paintings; she had bought some paintings from me in the past. I had done this huge one of the sea-barrier reef. It was two or three metres big and it was a lovely peaceful picture. I called it ‘Underwater Scene’. Of course I showed it to her with
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an interest in selling it, as I was penniless and I don’t deny that slimy money intention underneath the exposure of my work.
‘Panorama Subacquea’ or ‘Underwater Scene’ Oil on canvas, 1989
She did admire the picture, and I was happy to show it to someone who appreciated it. Little did I know that my uncle was seething! I suppose it was as if he had been a child who had lost his mother’s attention for one minute, and he didn’t like me having done something which wasn’t under his control. I can imagine the reason and the psychology that lay behind his anger. He started to say some very unpleasant things then, and I just stood there and took those words silently, thinking, oh my God! Why do I deserve this being shouted at and called names? Later on, when he’d cooled down, he confessed that he had always wanted to be an artist himself but couldn’t afford to approach art.
He had to earn his living and had had to concentrate on the practicalities and other paths.
However, he didn’t say he was sorry. I had learnt in another similar experience to take what was dished out from the elders with some philosophy, so we made an appointment
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for the next day, as if nothing had happened. Just as if no offensive words had been spoken. I suppose I only tolerated that scene because I was helpless and poor. Plus, I didn’t want to fight with him in front of his wife. Later on, my brother said, “beggars can’t be choosers” and that was me being a beggar. He was right in saying that I had received too much from my uncle. It is true that my uncle had been a real friend and had always helped me during the years at university. He had been a rock.
They stayed for a few days in a hotel in Via Nazionale because my uncle refused to stay in the blue apartment. I took them to Viareggio for the day. We went to a place right by the seaside and had lunch. Ylva and I were quiet, very subdued and a heavy air of dark unresolved feelings was around us and in my heart. I was glad to see them go back to the UK.
My uncle did give me some money as an atonement for his misbehavior and kind words before we parted, and I was grateful for that. He had always helped me out.
Some years later, I was left some money by my Aunt Ylva in her spoken will. She had suffered a stomach ailment and had come through the critical period, only to get a hospital infection. On her deathbed, she remembered me and asked her husband to give me £8,000. My Uncle was good enough to send me £3,000 of this sum, and I managed to go to Paris after years of hardship. The astonishing thing was that he had asked me to buy a small apartment for myself with this money! Then, when I told him that I had been to Paris, he didn’t like that at all and was angry again.
He said that he would send me the rest of the inheritance left by my aunt, his wife, if I obeyed his one wish – i.e. he wanted me to promise that I would give up my ambition of becoming a painter.
I couldn’t give up painting and art like he’d asked me to, since I was in the studio in Via Fiesolana since 1998 and had worked so much towards that goal. I told him that I wouldn’t promise anything of the sort. It was ridiculous of him to ask me such a thing and he was going against all his leftist ideas.
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He decided to keep the money, since he said that he had spent about £5,000 on me when I stayed with him in England.
It was very out of character. He wasn’t the man he used to be some years ago and by saying such things, I was very confused about what I should do. His coming between me and my life’s ambition seemed a bit too much, but I felt that it wasn’t really him who was doing this. It was probably grief, as other out of character things did happen after Auntie Ylva passed away.
My uncle, who had never talked about any dark event in his childhood, started to say that the servants at home in India – he was a child of Bangalore – had mistreated him. It was totally unbelievable, especially since he hadn’t given the minimum sign of such events all through the years in which we knew him. It was very embarrassing for us to hear him speak of such things now. However, now I understand that it was the psychological breakdown that was upon us and through this suffering, other venues – ‘the dark forces’ – had come to create mischief in our family relationships. Relationships which had been very peaceful until then.
His last year was spent in isolation, with his girlfriend who got married to him; who became his partner and looked after him. He was separated mentally from his loved ones, and none of us could do anything to make it better for him. He was lucky in that he could rely on his beloved second wife – ironically, she was German.
As usual, I was penniless all the while and couldn’t even go to the UK to make up with him. Even when my Irish friend Michaela offered to go to his house and talk to him for my sake, as an ambassador of peace, I didn’t accept it. I really didn’t know how to interpret his behaviour; perhaps I should have accepted her offer, but then I didn’t think that he would die in such a short time.
I am grateful to him, because he didn’t hinder me to go to the art school that year in 1981.
Life is funny because we think that we have so much time ahead of us – but then we really don’t. Every decision we make could be the most important one. 1981 was the year of
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the Iranian revolution, and from being well off, we were about to become very poor and discriminated against. Like many others of my countrymen, I had had a proposal from the Foreign Office visa section; if I didn’t leave the country for three years, I would be given a British passport.
Even though this was a huge opportunity, I couldn’t accept it because I felt that I was too confused in England and that I needed my family. So I left London to go to Karachi that summer and then regretted that decision very much. However, it was the best decision, the healthiest one and I feel good to have taken that step, even though it was hard for me later.
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Studying and working in Florence, Italy, 1984 – 2005
I was twenty-four when I moved from Via Maggio to the students apartment in Via Bolognese. I had been living and working in the centre of Florence for nearly a year now. I had a job in the leather store in Borgo Santissima Apostali, right next to the fascinating old bridge the Ponte Vecchio. I had left the apartment in Via Maggio, where I had lived with Dona. This was in 1984, when Italy won the World Cup, and everyone went celebrating and didn’t allow any peace and quiet until late.
Via Bolognese
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I had left the Via Maggio apartment in 1984 because of the noise which only stopped from 3am to 5am in the morning. Later on, it became a traffic-controlled area, but I was happy to leave it for Via Bolognese. I loved the apartment in Via Bolognese because it was close to the countryside. Linda, who was English but married to an Italian, moved into the apartment in Via Maggio. She was younger than I was and later on got together with Daniele, the owner of the jewellery store I was working in. She seemed to follow me in my life.
Via Bolognese was an upper middle class sort of area; very quiet and conservative. In the apartment there were mostly people in their twenties, and they tended to be the student types. Peter had rented it, having found the place through his university where he was a PHD student. This, plus the fact that he was German, were good enough credentials for the landlord.
View from the bridge Pencil on Paper, 1982
It wasn’t the apartment itself but the views, the sights and sounds offered from the windows. You could see olive groves
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and fields from the windows. While other houses were far away, you heard the birds and the breeze in the trees rather than the noise of human activity. It was totally different from Via Maggio. We didn’t bother much about the neighbours because we hardly ever saw them, except for the people who lived downstairs, for they were often in their garden.
It was a very big change from Via Maggio, which was a decadent type of deluxe apartment with parquet flooring and special lights. However, it did have some positive points. It was well furnished and central. It was very good for going to work in the centre. I used to walk to work in order to get a feel for the city as I went past cafes and the shops in the mornings. The buzz of the city, especially in the mornings, was very exciting.
People shouting friendly buongiornos to each other as their working day began. You felt the freshness of the new day. Then there was the Ponte, my favourite place to cross and go over to reach the commercial side of the town. I went along Via Gucciardini, looking at the shop windows before going on to the bridge, and then on to the Por Santa Maria.
Via Maggio area Watercolour, 1999
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The centre around Borgo SS. Apostoli was a little claustrophobic; a closed in sort of life. One didn’t get away from the work routine and reality at all. Whereas, in Via Bolognese, you felt that you could finally hear yourself think. I was very grateful for the peace. The tranquillity of the place was true luxury.
In Via Maggio I had entertained people who I got to know through my flatmate Dona.
Her friend Sally was working in the same Por Santa Maria Road, in a shop selling textiles and materials. I had become friends with her even though we didn’t have anything in common.
Borgo SS Apostoli Watercolour, 2003
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She was of a wealthy Californian family and had come to Florence for a holiday. Then she had decided to stay. She met a man who was working in the central market. A family man – Emilio. He was a tall man with orange coloured hair and lots of freckles.
We used to go out together at times and invite them over. They were a little older than I was. She was thirty two years old and wanted very much to get married to her boyfriend. However, when she did get married, she was bored out of her mind, living in the suburbs of Montecatini, without working or having much money to spend.
“The Thing In The Jar” (An idea from a science fiction book) Watercolour, 1983
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Sally had married Emilio because she was getting on. She was already thirty two years old and by the time they got married and when she had a child, she was in her mid-thirties. She had probably got married for social reasons, because marriage is still a respectable thing to do and people accept that all over the world.
It didn’t surprise me when later on she left Italy, going to visit her parents that Christmas. She was asking for a divorce when she got to the States. She had taken their daughter with her. Her husband, who was very much a family man, felt depressed about her flight and especially about her having taken their child. Perhaps it was for the best. They went to the States because Sally realised the standard of living that she had to settle down to in Italy was much lower than what she was used to. Her husband was crying over the daughter being taken to California by Sally.
He followed them to the States to see if he could convince her to return and live with him once again. So much for money not being able to buy happiness! Sally probably did the right thing. For some people, it was such a dream to be able to go to the States, to learn a new language and try to live in Los Angeles. I couldn’t understand anyone who didn’t want a better life.
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The Metropolis Watercolour Collage, 2008
Gabriele, Dona’s boyfriend from Florence, was smart, I thought because he had managed to get married and go to live with Dona in New York. But it took him quite a few years to do it. Emilio was told by the American judge to keep away from his wife and child if he didn’t wish to live in the United States. And so he was packed off to Italy to live his bachelor type of lifestyle all over again. But this time around, he chose to hang around with Filipino girls, who were flexible and cheerful.
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Gabriele and Dona had met in a bar on the Lungarno. Dona was a young American student, studying with a program at Stanford University. I had met her through an American girl who was at the print school at Santa Reparata.
The Kitchen Watercolour, 2004
I was telling someone that I lived at the campsite because I couldn’t find an apartment. This kind girl knew Dona was looking for a flatmate, so she introduced me to her. Dona wasn’t bothered that I was Iranian and Muslim, and I was happy that we could have a respectful relationship.
One day, she met Gabriele, who didn’t speak English, and her Italian was pretty basic. Since working, I was speaking Italian quite well by now.
They were getting along quite well, even though they couldn’t understand each other very well. Gabriele would make pasta tricolore for us.
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Cosmopolitan Time, 1990 Oil on canvas
Then one day, Gabriele was banging on the door downstairs on the street and Dona wasn’t opening it. He was banging and shouting and I was wondering what had happened... It was getting embarrassing. She sent me downstairs to talk to him and tell him to go away. Later on, we found out that it had been a cultural misunderstanding.
Gabriele was really very nice and gentle. He had been banging on the door vehemently because he wanted to explain things which he had said and done.
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I was to translate, since I could understand both sides. I found that Dona was much more structured and law abiding, while Gabriele was a heart person, moved by his emotions. It took him quite a few years to persuade her that they could be good together.
“The Cathedral And My Friends” 1999
He went to the States several times, and Dona came to Florence several times, and they eventually became a family in the late 1980s. Dona had done some wonderful photographs of the Venice carnival in the early 1980s when we lived together, and later on she came to visit me when I had moved to Via delle Cinque Giornate.
Our life in the heart of the city was really mingling with other people. The apartment next door was very close. It had been one large apartment and now very elegantly separated with the installation of two separate entrance doors. I got to know William and Antonio, the two men living next door, through Dona’s friendship with them.
Dona, who had introduced me to Sally, was a twenty three
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year old photographer from New York. She had also been a ballet dancer, but told me that due to a mistake she had made, she had hurt her knee and had lost the opportunity of becoming a professional dancer.
William was English, and very charming in manner and looks. He also had a posh accent. We didn’t know what he did for a living, and he didn’t seem to do much.
It was absurd to think that he was supporting Antonio who was a simple Neapolitan young man, but Antonio went to an expensive art school in town. I used to envy Antonio so much for his going to that art school, as it was something I could only dream of doing.
The Old City Watercolour, 2003
Dona, my flatmate, was fond of William, and they were the closest of friends. She got angry with me when I once suggested that the two men might be married to each other. One heard of all sorts of relationships other than the strictly orthodox ones. That was new for my sheltered mind and I
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didn’t much like getting involved. I suppose I wished I had had a friend like Antonio seemed to have – he had found a true heart; a friend who believed in his art, and he was doing something that I hadn’t the guts and the courage to invest in at the time.
I had gone to Italy with art being my priority, but I had come to lose all confidence in myself by having to earn a living and having to settle for a life of drudgery as a saleswoman – a life I wasn’t happy with at all.
The Musician Watercolour, 2002
My own fiancé, called Guido, was being difficult and didn’t want to settle down. He said he wanted to buy a house or apartment first. He was following me to Via Bolognese and I didn’t want him around and I told him so, but I couldn’t do anything about him persisting to come along.
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The Via Bolognese Apartment
I found Peter through some notes left in the language school. He was sub-renting the rooms in the flat in Via Bolognese. He was a student at the university, and was trying to finish his doctorate. After having lived in Berlin, he had got stuck living in Florence and couldn’t leave the place. The same thing happened to me later on.
Peter had rented the Via Bolognese apartment from a woman who was a countess and a painter. The apartment had a wonderful view because it overlooked olive groves, and there were hardly any other buildings in sight. I liked the place and the people I lived with in this new place. Later on when we had to move, I continued to share a flat with Peter and Caterina, his girlfriend. We moved to Via delle Cinque Giornate (translates into: the five days of Milan str) in 1984.
Peter was sharing the flat in Via Bolognese with other young people; Janet, for example, was a Greek American girl from the Midwest, and she was engaged to be married to Paolo. She had a cat called Arturo and that is the reason we became fast friends almost immediately. Arturo had the use of all the rooms, and he used to use the long corridor for running sessions.
We could hear him at times when he was energetic and frisky, because during his race from one end of the corridor to the other he inexplicably jumped off the walls leaving paw prints there. It was one of those mysterious cat behaviourisms. It must have been fun for him to jump off the wall. He used to genuinely enjoy the thrill, as if he were a boy riding a skateboard! We used to comment on him doing this thinking that he did this as a compensation for his need to climb trees! God only knows what he was thinking.
Then there was the English boy called James, who had
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managed to get his doctorate degree and he was looking for someone to replace him in the apartment. I was one of the people who turned up, asking to take the room which was free. James was going back to London. This room was the closest to the front door near the small room – i.e. “the maid’s room” – which people used as a deposit for suitcases.
This small maid’s room set off my imagination. It seemed that before the Second World War, people still worked as maids here in Europe, whereas now it was only the very wealthy who had live-in maids. In Asia people were still using such rooms, as the class of a maid and her social status still existed. I had seen it in Karachi, where it was usual to have help in the house. Even in Iran, women from villages found employment in private houses. I doubt that in Asian countries they would get a room all to themselves, however small it may have been.
The other girl staying there was a girl from Sardinia, and she was hardly ever in. She wasn’t a student and was working in a bar and was very busy. The one time I met her, she told me without any preliminaries, “You are suffering from “culture shock”. I was speechless when she said this, because we were meeting for the first – and the last – time and it seemed unnecessary for her to psychoanalyse my situation in five minutes and say it to my face as well.
This made me think that she was a witch and a bitch at the same time, but perhaps she was being kind and wanted to help me understand. It was a very alien attitude, and I wanted to tell her, “if you mind your own business a bit more, darling, you wouldn’t have to work 10 hours a day!”. However, I didn’t open my mouth because I couldn’t be bothered. Later on, I found out that what I had been subjected to was the “radiografia” – i.e. X-ray.
James was still staying in the apartment when I moved in. He was waiting for some time before he actually left Florence. I was really elated to be in the company of university students who were so far up in the ranks. They had a different attitude; it was as if the world belonged to them and they could demand for things to be given them. They only had to go out there and
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do things to get a good life. They were not into personal comments at all, even though once in a while some visitor would ask me what we produced in the country where I came from, which of course meant that I had to admit that I was from a country which was not yet industrialised.
Sometimes a political discussion would get off the ground, like one I had with James about Sabra and Shatila. It was 1983 or 1984 when this happened. I was very touched by what was happening there and I couldn’t believe how Europeans were so much in favour of sitting at a table to discuss things, which only meant that no fighting was allowed and people were simply supposed to accept being defeated by the more powerful forces who were all for Israel, no matter what happened to the Palestinians.
Later on, James met my mother, and more discussions followed. He was then telling Peter about my mother being a very well informed person. It was a surprise to them that women from our part of the world should be able to talk about the politics of the region we came from, i.e. the Middle East with passion. Later on I came to think that perhaps in Europe passion was only allowed in small doses in normal life; people here usually didn’t take things as seriously as we did, and perhaps that was a good thing.
Perhaps people would have strong feelings for football and other sports matches, or for music, and of course it was cute to have it in your relationships, but politics? I suppose that was why the Spanish were considered to be a passionate people in Europe because they could have political opinions, and that was why they had the Civil War, for better or worse.
At this time Caterina, Peter’s girlfriend from Naples, was telling me that James had been living on fried eggs for months and that was why he had got through his degree. He had to save because he had very little money, and he had put all his energies and resources into his project.
Peter and Caterina were good together. Once we were preparing food in the kitchen and talking about our lives. Caterina was a very sociable, fun type of person to be with. I was twenty-five and thinking about getting a degree, whereas
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Caterina, who was thirty-two, was asking me in a confidential way in her “napoletano” dialect, which I was capable of understanding, earnestly and in a very expressive manner, “ma io questi figli quando li devo fare?” which translates as, “at this rate, when am I supposed to have children?” She was thinking about creating a family; however, she knew well that it was difficult for her partner to settle into the Italian way of life. The Italian way of life meant that if you didn’t have money already, you were never going to make any in Italy unless you were a genius. Even to buy a small modest apartment was an achievement, and I admired people who managed to do this using their own capabilities. Later on I met Matthew, who was teaching English at university, and got his apartment by taking out a loan from the UK. I thought how lucky my parents had been to move to Iran in the fifties when, along with a lot of other people from various countries, they managed to get a loan and buy their own family home.
Sometimes when everything comes together with the right ingredients and at the right time, a miracle happens. My parents had left India due to the separation of India and Pakistan, and had then left Pakistan after a few years and had started a new life in Iran. They could barely speak the Farsi language. However, thanks to the Shah8 – during his regime people could get mortgages – and the demand for Middle Eastern oil at the time, and thanks to their education and good, well-wishing Iranian friends – the population of the country was 30 million and not the 70 million it is today – they eventually found a steady occupation in the ministry and managed to put their education to some use.
The work situation was not promising in Italy in the 1980s, and you had to get in with the right circles in order to find suitable jobs. I could see it in Guido’s family, where it was through connections that people got ‘real paying’ jobs. I suppose that was why Peter decided upon a career in Africa,
8 The Shah of Persia was the last king of Iran ousted by the religious leader Ayatollah Khomeini, who spent many years as a refugee in France.
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rather than getting married and settling down in Italy. I thought that was adventurous, but later on I found out that a lot of people left Europe in order to find work in less developed countries because the fact was that in Europe the job market was saturated.
One person who did get married was Janet. She and her fiancé Paolo got married in the red room in the town hall, and later on we all went to a house in the country to celebrate. In a typical silly way some people would whine and ask Janet, “but what is his mother going to do now without Paolo?”, and she would reply dryly, “she’ll live!” Janet was tough in a way, because she would be good at putting people in their place if they annoyed her – something I always admired, because I always thought about an answer years later!
My aunt and my cousin Farid came to visit me in 1984, when I was living in Via Bolognese. Janet really liked Farid and she told me I should leave Italy and return to my own family. I suppose, she had seen something of the truth of how difficult it was for me, as she was a down to earth American from Ohio.
I really liked the young people who, like myself, were trying to find a way to build their future, and I was happy to have left the life I had led in the centre. It had been the right thing to do. These people and their sense of solidarity and friendship meant a lot to me; however at times, there were some unnecessary frictions. Janet was always criticising Peter. In a way, all the Americans I met at that time had something to say about the Germans.
I didn’t think that was fair at all. I could imagine how stressful it must have been to carry the burden of a country because I was experiencing it myself, having to put up with being categorised as an Iranian, which was not a good feeling after the revolution and the Iran/Iraq war. As if I had to answer for what was happening in my country. For instance, once at the hairdressers near work, I was getting a haircut and the man who was doing the work was saying, “Oh Iran! It is one of those countries on the news all the time! There is lots of trouble over there, while we live here in peace like good
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children!” Of course, it was my fault for not knowing what to say, and I continued to be sat upon in many occasions.
My cousin Ameneh, Peter and Guido
It was natural that I felt a sense of loyalty, because I had found this wonderful apartment and was living in it because of Peter’s initiative. Actually, I respected Peter even though he had decided against my renting the room and joining them. How and why he changed his mind and later allowed me to stay, I don’t know. Perhaps it was because Janet and James had said something in my favour.
Via Bolognese was a really enjoyable experience, except for my aunt’s visit, which was sad.
I had told my aunt that I had proposed to my cousin during my last months in the UK. I had finally had the courage of speaking out because I saw she couldn’t understand why me and my mother were hanging around in Karachi for months in her house. I realised that the time was not appropriate. Then I had left for Italy, seeing that I had created a lot of confusion and it was not getting cleared up in any way. Why hadn’t I realised that many families were looking at my cousin as
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God’s gift to their girls?
She and my cousin were not happy to see me in the position I was in – I mean working as a saleswoman and living with total strangers. It could have all gone differently. Had the time been right, and if I had been lucky, I would have settled down to a regular life among my own people. But in Iran, a revolution burst out of nowhere and then a war with the neighbouring Iraq. The equilibrium was gone, and my confusion had bought me to bitter tears many times. How lucky you are to know the situation and the people you are dealing with. Today, I can see my cousin’s point of view; I was a nice Iranian girl, but I wasn’t really attractive or sexy or interesting. Some girls I have met are all that, without even having had an education. It was probably a cultural difference and attitude. In Iran and other Islamic countries, it is enough for a girl to be nice and from a good family. But in the West, it is more complex.
My cousin was much sought after by people in the family, and I was probably the last one on his list; contrary to his ideal of himself, I thought that I could save him from going away from his roots, but he probably didn’t need my help!
The River Watercolour Print, 2000
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Today, my cousin is married to one of his ex-students, from a normal down to earth English family. They have a beautiful son and I am happy for them. I am sure that if I had had my way, I would never have been happy with them. More tears – and I am glad we didn’t get together because we are simply very different – would be the consequence of that choice.
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Moving To Via delle Cinque Giornate
My move to Via delle Cinque Giornate to the apartment of Mr Quercioli with Peter, was accompanied by Guido, Janet and Paolo, who had become my best friends. Paolo was a nice serious family man, an accountant, and he was solid and reliable. He was of our generation. Guido from Rome was of the 1968 generation, who went through the hippy type fashions. The Cultural Revolution that took place in Europe during 1968 turned out to be very positive – i.e. men really started to take women seriously. However, many people were confused in their ideas about life and about who they were and what they wanted.
The Bridge Watercolour, 2001
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My Uncle Ismile, who was similar to Guido had seen the 1960s turmoil and they were both similar in their ideas. My uncle had met Guido in the Via Maggio apartment. He wasn’t worried about Guido, but he was disgusted with the nice bourgeois place I had rented. He thought that I should be living in a students’ pad. He didn’t mind Guido, because he thought that they could understand each other. At some point in life, you realise that most people really do not care for other people that much, and when you have experienced lots of life, you realise that there is a limit to your family and friends caring about you.
You think that your family care for you deeply. But it isn’t that way at all. Most of mankind is quite incapable of feelings. It is religion, philosophy and art that bring out the best in humans and even these fail horribly most of the time.
I realised this when I came back from Karachi to London in 1981, in order to get back to studying in Cambridge at the course which I had paid for. I was given a very hard time at Heathrow by an officer who said that they had read my private diary, which was in my purse. I was accused of wanting to stay in England and wanting to find a job. It was the year of the Iranian Revolution and before leaving the UK, I had been told that if I stayed in the UK for three years I would receive a British passport, but if I left, the conditions would be different.
I had needed to see my family more than anything else, and I had let the opportunity of a lifetime pass by. The right wing government was doing its duty and sifting out the people it didn’t want.
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The Sitting Room with Photographs Watercolour, 2005
My uncle didn’t care about me staying on, and so he let me go back to Karachi without any resistance to this new development. One nice English woman came to me and said that we could appeal against the decision. She was at least sympathetic, but I was feeling that I would probably burden my uncle with my presence.
Anyway, I liked Karachi and all the new people that I had met there. In Iran, there was the revolution and the war with Iraq, so staying in Pakistan with my aunt seemed to be the only solution. Later, I left Pakistan and the prospects of getting married and settling down there to return to Europe in order to go to university in Italy. That was my decision.
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Sitting Room Watercolour, 2007
Having lived in Via Maggio and then the Via Bolognese apartments, I now moved to the Via delle Cinque Giornate apartment. I was happy to move back to the centre, because I felt that was sort of a protection. I knew that Peter would soon sort out his doctorate and go to work somewhere in Africa. I thought it was an okay solution to find a place to live for my project of going back to university. I was really adamant about getting a degree, because I had been slighted by people for not having one. I thought that if I had a degree, I could defend myself the way my mother used to defend herself in society.
She had an MA in English Literature and started working when she was twenty three. She taught me that a woman had to fight in order to get somewhere in society, and education was very helpful for this. Though many believed this to be true, however being respectably married was the easiest way to social respectability for single woman.
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I had four aunts, my father’s sisters, who didn’t get married. Homa was a nurse who had studied in the UK after the Second World War, Maheen was a librarian who lived away from the family in Shiraz, and the youngest of the eight children, Tahmeen, was a secretary who was living with her father. She drove a cream coloured Volkswagen around town and travelled abroad on her own. She tried to keep high standards and compensate for the problem child of the family who was Aunty Parveen. Parveen was the madwoman in the attic; she roamed the streets of Tehran with a very focused expression as if she knew exactly what she was doing, but she was perhaps autistic9, or schizophrenic. Nobody really knew for sure. She was not lucky enough to be born when people knew a bit more about such ailments.
Her father had not wanted to put her in an asylum and had made his other daughters look after their sister. My aunts managed to survive by having a strong personality, and they looked after their sister in their newly adopted country. They had been brought up in India and now were in a new country, where getting respect in male dominated culture was a struggle as it ever was.
I still see family and friends in my dreams. These people, Janet, James, Guido and Peter too. Peter found a job with the United Nations Organisation and went off to Africa; I think to the Congo. I thought it was brave to make a move and do something new, rather than settle down to an unsatisfying situation. He left the Via delle Cinque Gironate apartment to me and said, “Why don’t you rent the rooms if you need the money?” He was being practical. I had just enrolled in the university for a degree course in English and German Language and Literature. I could work and study at the same time.
9 Temple Grandin is a wonderful film about autism and it made me take an interest in this Aunt who nobody wanted to remember. She had a sensitive expression and it was as if she was sorry to be a burden on her sisters. She got into tempers which we heard were terrifying for people who didn't know her. Her situation seemed hopeless at the time.
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Working on the Old Bridge
It was 1984 and 1985. I was twenty-five years old and working at Ricci’s Jewellery store on the Ponte Vecchio. I really wanted to be a student at the university, otherwise I was just another foreign shop assistant looking to settle down in Florence. I had left my job as a sales assistant in Maria Grazia’s exclusive leather store because I felt very oppressed in that exclusively “business environment”. Maria Grazia, the owner, was a very charming woman.
She would ask me, “Why do you buy a newspaper in Italian if you can’t read it?”
I used to buy La Republica every day and look at the pictures and read the titles. I yearned for the day when I could master the language enough to be able to understand Italian like I understood English.
The Confused Couple Oil on canvas, 2006
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In Maria Grazia’s opinion, my buying the newspaper daily was a waste of money because I couldn’t read Italian. She was the store’s owner, a petite attractive woman with a huge voice and lots of sentiment. She had a very tall husband called Lorenzo. They were very clever in their business, and I learnt a great deal of her attitude towards selling things. I was keen to learn from her, because she was full of vitality, good fun and very creative in her attitude towards life. However her son, who was my age, had some small issues with his parents, which was a sore point and made her compare me with her son. The poor guy had a lot of pressure on him because he was an only child, and I could understand why he was trying to do everything in order to please his parents.
The Soprano Watercolour, 2007
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Families are sometimes suffocating, especially when parents demand that their children be successful, like other people they know, without considering all angles of the picture. I could see how the conservative attitude of this couple was getting a bit too much. They reminded me of my own parents.
My parents too had always been looking towards other people’s children and their achievements. Being an Iranian and non-European worked against me as far as finding another job was concerned. People’s attitudes were so different here, and an education10 didn’t seem to count for much. When I told them that I would like to go to university, they said that no one ever made money by studying, and that degrees are all well and fine but are useless in life.
My friend Janet, too, had said, “Oh Boy!” – i.e. that university at twenty-five meant a huge amount of work, and for what?
I felt there was a repressive air which overlooked all youthful spontaneous joyous impulses towards the open sky. Some people wanted you to look down at your plate and never look up from it. Was it because if you looked up, you might get ideas of going after a better life? They seemed to want to keep you in your place. They seemed to want to fix you like a butterfly by pinning you down in the situation you find yourself in. That was how it felt for me and sometimes people didn’t even want you to buy an intelligent and ambitious looking magazine. I found I was getting too stressed out and I had started to look for a new place and finally found a job where I was less involved with the managers.
I had found a place on the old bridge, which seemed very professional. However, after a while they let me go, saying that they were looking for a European.
Through a Dutch friend’s contact, I had started working in a new shop selling jewellery on the Ponte Vecchio.
10“ An Education" a coming of age drama, a film directed by Lone Scherfig in 2010 talks about the importance of a sentimental education as well as a "higher education". You wonder what would have happened if she hadn't recovered from that experience.
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Casa A Serpiolle Watercolour, 1999
Mr Ricci11 Senior was never in the shop. He was a sixty year old with a sensitive expression. He liked women and was rather tuned in to the female mind. He had been a pianist in the past and so that was why the whole establishment had an air of old money and refinement. It was Daniele, his very tall son, who ran the place each day. He was a giant, one of those people who genetically are huge, but he was well proportioned. Daniele used to put a nickname to all the people he knew. One guy who came into the shop to sell things, was called ‘Piombo’ (which translates into heavy metal) because he was very depressing. I was nicknamed ‘Fenomeno’ – i.e. not normal – which I thought was very flattering. But, I don’t know if it was meant well, because sometimes his snootiness
11 He had two lovely daughters in their twenties, who were kind and friendly. One of them who was in her early twenties and a gorgeous blonde shared the same girly issues with the rest of us, (Anna ) she became a friend in later years.
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came out at the most unexpected situations. Rosanna was the manager of the girls. She was about fortyish and was always knitting beautiful jumpers. I was grateful for not being directly under the owners like in the other shop.
The view from the window at Ponte Vecchio was gorgeous, but the shop didn’t have a bathroom so people had to go to the cafes in order to use the loo. There were many rowing boats belonging to the boat club on the Arno. It was as if the people in the boat club were sitting on the beach in the middle of the town centre, very much like what they have in Paris today. In contrast to this, during the early 1980’s, artisan and hippy type people used to sell their things on the bridge.
The Bridge watercolour, 2002
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There were lots of artisans on the old bridge. But in later years, all these people were removed. There was a lot of drugs going around as well, I think. I never really saw the drug culture, but later on in 2005 I was to know Michelangelo, Sandra and Marina’s story, who was affected by drugs. For many years, I wasn’t aware of it being such a threat to a lot of young people. For me, I would finish work and get back home by bus, always seeing the same faces of the people who lived in Via Bolognese. I would wonder who they were and how they used to live their lives. That area, the old bridge, had an air of old families, country people and good wholesome energies, just like the families I had known. I was so happy that the Ricci’s were nice people, not controlling and not the types to put you down.
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Energies and Tendencies Oil on canvas, 1993-94
Energies and Tendencies is a painting that was sold in Dubai by a person who worked in Mondo Art Gallery.
I loved living in the spring 14 area of Dubai. It was a very special place, with lots of families with young children. It used to be fun to go out and see everyone who lived there doing their thing. This was a very nice area where people seemed to
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Paintings belonging to this period
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be well off. I had hoped to move here with my mother, but she wasn’t destined to see this place.
Dubai has many different faces to it, after I left the villa, I had taken on rent in the Spring area. I still visited Dubai often and stayed in hotels.
I had to leave my house in Tehran often because of the pressures from the anonymous people. Perhaps some property developers had a plan to get rid of all the people who were living alone in big houses like myself. I had seen people sitting in the streets just watching, who came in and out of such houses. If you were not in the house then it was inevitable that your belongings would not be protected, because these people seemed to be able to get in one way or the other. Once I had gone to the police, and the man in charge had told me blatantly that I had to employ someone to watch the place when I wasn’t there. The same sort of thing had happened to me in Via Fiesolana in Florence. That is why I had my assistants there all day, and I was working hard to pay the bills. But I could never understand what was going on and why this was happening. I was very surprised to find the same thing happening in Tehran. Once when my mother was alive and we were living in the Tehransar apartment, I had left her on her own and gone out shopping, and when I came back she said that there had been a young man dressed in military clothes who had come in on his own accord and sat there with her for a while. He had then gone away without saying a word.
Now after my mother passed away I was on my own and I didn’t want to live in Tehran. I had seen a group of nervous people waiting in a car. It seemed they were paid to do a job, and I was appalled by what was going on. They were waiting for their turn to enter an apartment, and who knows do what. It was the new world order at work; what they call the survival of the fittest. A woman I had met in Berlin, Suzanne, had asked me with a mischievous smile, “How is it in your area, and do you get on with the people?” Now I realised what she had meant. Whatever the plan was, it was probably European.
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Dubai was, to say the least, a liberation. Someone had told me in Tehran that if you prayed three hours a day things would change for you. Three hours! It was an expression meaning a long time... Why I was putting myself through this type of life was because I simply wanted to sell my place and go away, but I had been tricked by a man who had said he would buy my house, and had then not paid me. It took me two years to take him to court, after which I realised that it had all been planned to a T and that he was only part of a huge machine all geared and heading towards some people’s plan on making a big profit on the sale of my property.
Even the lawyers knew about it. One young thirty year old lawyer had told me that my case really didn’t look good, because I had to pay very high court fees. Another less experienced lawyer had told me that he would pay the court fees himself, and this made me decide to stay on and fight the case. It was a losing battle, since his generosity and goodwill didn’t have any results. I had waited two years to get my house back from a buyer who refused to pay me, and my lawyer had disappeared and gone on a trip to the US, and had no intention of fighting the case in court because he himself knew it was a game that was going to result in me having to pay the man – who was supposed to pay me – and a lot of other useless middle people. After all, it was the survival of the fittest and I was not strong enough to protect what I had rightfully inherited from my parents.
On the day we went to court, the judge, who was a surprisingly young man, stuck out his tongue; it was obvious that I was wasting my time, dreaming of having justice done.
I don’t blame it on the women’s condition in Iran. This was an international plan. Later on I heard about other people who had had to go through the same pressures. The buyer, had told me himself in one of our arguments that even God himself could not rescue me now. His partner, who said his Islamic prayers but was duping people as well, said to me that all the words I uttered would be used against me.
He even said that to my first lawyer, who quit after several attempts of talking to them. They had told him that they would
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peruse him and reveal things about him which were personal, which would certainly put him to shame. He gave up fighting for my case after I had had to put up with him for several months. The poor man seemed to have to scratch his balls every time he was introduced to people. He embarrassed me, but he had a heart of gold and I know that it was the times we were living in that made people misbehave. After all, what had anyone to lose when I was a person on her own?
So why was it that Sharon had come to Via Fiesolana to visit me in 2003, and telling me that such a thing would happen to me in 2008? Was it because she was a Zionist and a Communist? I wonder. This type of prophecy was to become a sort of constant element in my life from then on. Some people simply knew what was going to happen next. That Communists had a part in all this was clear. It seemed to me that Iran was a satellite, or was on the way to becoming one, of its powerful neighbour, who was installing nuclear energy. Was it them who were doing this?
I had read in the English papers of a bizarre happening in London, where an old man who was living in a big house in an expensive location was harassed by a man from an ex- Communist state, who later claimed to have inherited the place. It seemed that some people wanted to get money effortlessly; another lawyer told me that “they simply were plucking the fruit from the tree”, and didn’t intend to do any harm to the tree itself.
A lot of people had to feel happy with that explanation. That is why my trips to Dubai took me to a country which was a sort of holiday haven. I wish I had discovered Dubai before going to Italy, because it was a much better place in the eighties, and people I met who had settled there in those years were now well off and lived a relaxed lifestyle. I had met Linda, who was English, in Florence, and she had told me that she’d lived in Dubai in those years. Now I realised that she had been so much more experienced than many of the people I met in Italy.
I had found the Mondo Art Gallery in the mall of the Emirates whilst I was living in the Spring 14 area in a villa I
80 80 PARIGI 2015
Ero seduta in una caffetteria e stavo ascoltando la mia canzone preferita di The Style Council. Sembrava un'ossessione perché
l'avevo ascoltata molto durante i miei anni universitari a Firenze e poi a Teheran mentre mi occupavo di mia madre. Era così
romantica e ispirava nostalgia. Guardavo fuori della vetrina mentre sorseggiavo il caffè, compiaciuta di poter osservare la strada
affollata da una confortevole poltroncina.... In quel giorno così piovoso, non solo ero a Parigi, ma il sogno era diventato
realtà......
"Ore vuote trascorse a perlustrare sotto acquazzoni diurni strade che sono diventate il mio territorio. Mentre passo da un caffè a un
bar mi chiedo dove sei,perché mi hai annebbiato la mente e ora ho perso la nozione del tempo. I cieli vuoti mi dicono che è
meglio dimenticare, che il miglior consiglio è non aver rimpianti. Ti vedrò ancora mentre passeggio per i boulevard? Perché mi
hai annebbiato la mente. Aspetterò fino ad allora. Sono triste, ma in modo naturale. Qualche volta mi fa perfino piacere sentirmi
così. Il dono che mi hai dato è il desiderio. È stato il fiammifero che ha incendiato il mio cuore. Notti in bianco con niente da fare
che sedere e pensare a te. Ogni pensiero è solo per te. Mi inquieto e mi annoio, quindi esco di nuovo. Odio sentirmi così
limitato, mi sembra di perdere il mio tempo."
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Ero seduta in una comoda caffetteria situata lungo gli Champ Élysées dove servivano grandi tazze di caffè e pensavo alla gente che avevo conosciuto da Margaret al Muse'e Adzak. Tra le molte persone che avevo conosciuto la sera precedente c'era Monsieur Remi di Avignone che organizzava serate in cui leggeva poesie di vari poeti e testi teatrali. In quell'occasione aveva fatto un performance con una donna chiamata Daisy. Era un evento informale ma interessante che era stato organizzato qualche giorno prima al Caffe Moretti, giusto davanti la porta di. Margaret. Lei era la diretrice del Muse'e Adzak e anche l'organizzatrice di queste serate. Oggi si lamentava che Daisy aveva esagerato quando aveva anche fatto girare il capello per raccimolare qualche soldo in più.
Monsieur Remi era molto entusiata di partecipare a queste serate culturali. Era un pensionato delle ferrovie, o almeno cosi diceva Margaret , ma per me era la prima persona che aveva capito cosa dire a una straniera che non conosce la Francia.
Mentre Margaret parlava sempre di De Gualle, il Sig. Remi mi aveva invece subito raccontato del suo scrittore preferito, ossia Boris Vian, parlandomi del suo famoso romanzo dal titolo antipatico, ossia "Sputerò sulle vostre tombe". Il titolo del romanzo mi aveva un po' intimorito, ma al tempo stesso ero curiosa di sapere di cosa si trattasse.
La serata di poesia era stata organizzata proprio nella Caffetteria Moretti, il cui proprietario era un algerino (familiarmente chiamato Momo dai clienti) che aveva acconsentito ad ospitare la mostra di pittura.
La mostra di pittura era stata organizzata da Margaret ed era una mostra collettiva con opere di alcuni membri dell'associazione del Muse'e Adzak.
Tra le persone piu vicine a Margaret c'era John Strafor, un canadese che si era trasferito a Parigi e che viveva nell'appartamento di suo nonno vicino alla stazione Invalides della metropolitana. John veniva dal Québec e viveva a Parigi già da qualche anno. Dipingeva in stile giapponese, in bianco e nero, utilizzando una penna e dell'inchiostro, tecnica che in francese si chiama Chinoiserie.
Baya Luce era un'amica di Margaret. Si conoscevano da tanti anni. Era parigina ed era sposata con uno scultore. Tutti e due erano degli artisti. Lei era esperta in litografie e incisioni, e insegnava da anni l'arte dell'incisione all'Universita della Sorbona .
C'era poi il nipote del artista che aveva lasciato il Muse'e Adzak. Lui era un ceramista. Il nipote di Roy viveva a Bristol ma creava i suoi oggetti e le sue sculture, che amava chiamare "chickens", durante i mesi che trascorreva a Parigi. La sua grande collezione comprendeva volatili, ma anche altri animali e altri soggetti quasi teatrali. Nicholas Wright veniva a Parigi ogni tanto e si fermava per qualche mese perché doveva occuparsi di una causa per l'eredità del patrimonio di suo zio.
Françoise la Fonte era una donna del sud della Francia e si occupava di fotografia. C'era poi anche Arnold Printet, un pittore ed ingegnere informatico che faceva autoritratti. In effetti io ero l'ultima che si era aggiunta al gruppo ed ero ospite nella residenza dietro al museo.
Ero stata presentata da un'iraniana il cui nome d'arte era Patricia che si era trasferita a Parigi un anno dopo la rivoluzione iraniana. Si presentava come una comunista. Io ero diversa da lei. Il mio nome d'arte era Nilo (che era più facile da pronunciare rispetto al mio vero nome), ero venuta in Europa già ai tempi dello Shah Pahlavi e appartenevo alla generazione di figli borghesi che avevano avuto il privilegio di aver vissuto e studiato a Londra. Avevo frequentato la Saint Martin's School of Art per un anno negli anni '80 ed ero reduce dai miei anni di vissuti in Italia. Patricia risiedeva a Parigi da anni e conosceva Margaret molto bene.
Queste erano le persone che esponevano le loro opere nella caffetteria dove ogni mattina Margaret prendeva regolarmente il caffè.
I residenti di rue Jonquoy sono stati i primi a visitare la nostra mostra di pittura. Monsieur Mallen è arrivato insieme a Monsieur George, seguiti da Monsieur Clemente Thompson insieme alla sua amica Nathalie Diss, che avevano il compito di filmare gli eventi culturali legati al Muse'e Adzak. Si sono poi aggiunti al gruppo uno scrittore americano-irlandese di nome Brian (Margaret diceva che era un rifugiato politico) e l'avvocato Brad Bartholemew, un australiano che aveva appena pubblicato il suo libro " The Spiritual Genome" di cui parlava con chiunque volesse sapere di cosa si trattasse.
Tra tutti Monsieur Mallen ha particolarmente apprezzato i miei quadri perché avevo utilizzato la tecnica della foglia d'oro. Lui aveva fatto dei lavori artigianali in legno e conosceva bene la sensazione di calore che ispirava questa tecnica che faceva sempre venire in mente i mosaici bizantini e le icone russe. Ci ha parlato del suo lavoro come insegnante di francese e aveva portato con sé un libro che aveva pubblicato sulla città di Casablanca e sul quartiere antico della città. Aveva anche lavorato come agente immobiliare in Marocco. Non sapeva l'arabo, ma aveva provato a impararlo e aveva cercato di praticare il digiuno durante il mese del Ramadan.
Monsieur Mallen parlava un inglese perfetto e abbiamo parlato a lungo con lui e Monsieur George, che era un vecchio amico di Margaret e giocava a scacchi con tutti quelli che ne avevano voglia di giocare. Era anche un vicino di casa e abitava in un appartamento molto moderno proprio accanto alla caffetteria. Nei mesi successivi ho scoperto che Monsieur Mallen aiutava i suoi studenti con i documenti e le pratiche amministrative, perché insegnava francese in una scuola. Spesso aiutava altre persone per gli stessi motivi, ossia perché pensava che l'aiuto di una persona francofona fosse sempre necessaria per varie pratiche burocratiche. La scuola in cui insegnava si trovava nell'area della chiesa di Saint-Germain-des-Pre's.
Avevo incontrato tutte queste persone quella sera alla mostra organizzata da Margaret nella caffetteria.
La Caffetteria Moretti si trovava proprio davanti al Musée Adzak in Rue Jonquoy. Era il bar preferito di Margaret perché doveva semplicemente attraversare la strada per sedersi ad un tavolo e incontrare vecchi e nuovi amici: Era un'irlandese che conosceva quasi tutti i residenti della strada e della zona perché viveva nel quartiere da più di 30 anni.
Viveva nella residenza del Musée Adzak in qualità di direttrice multitasking perché era stata una dei molti amici di Roy Wright, l'artista e scultore inglese che aveva lasciato al mondo questo "museo-contenitore" a Parigi con all'interno tutte le sue sculture e altre opere d’arte dopo essere morto di tumore nel 1984. Lui e Margaret erano stati amici stretti perché Roy parlava a mala pena il francese e Margaret, che era una giornalista e lavorava per la BBC, lo aveva aiutato in svariate occasioni ed gli era stata vicina fino ai suoi ultimi giorni. Conosceva bene il francese, era sempre al corrente di tutto e sapeva come funzionavano le cose a Parigi. Nicolas e la famiglia di Roy avevano bisogno di qualcuno che parlasse la lingua e che potesse aiutare a gestire quello che aveva lasciato Roy a Parigi.
Era il quinto anno che ero a Parigi. Ero arrivata in Francia nel 2013 come artista (nata in Iran) con un permesso di rifugiata politica. A dire il vero, dopo aver vissuto per 26 in Europa mi sembrava veramente assurdo che mi considerassero iraniana. Avevano ragione le persone che si consideravano ancora persiane per il semplice fatto di non aver preso parte alla rivoluzione del 1979. Avevo vissuto per 23 anni in Italia ma il permesso di soggiorno che mi era stato concesso in quegli anni non era più valido ora perché mi dicevano che, per legge, il permesso di soggiorno viene revocato se non viene rinnovato per due anni. Credo che con un po' di savoir-faire il problema si sarebbe potuto risolvere..
Quando ho incontrato Pascal Mallen ero nella caffetteria Momo e stavo ammirando la collezione di dipinti esposti nella caffetteria. Lui era uno dei pochi che erano venuti a visitare la mostra. Quel giorno indossava una giacca viola e un paio di pantaloni variopinti e sembrava un artista. Solo più tardi abbiamo scoperto che stava organizzando una sfilata di moda per uno dei suoi studenti. Vignesh veniva dal sud dell'India ed aveva fatto infuriare Margaret quando le aveva mostrato una delle sue opere che aveva fatto stampare su una T-shirt. Si trattava di un pilota della RAF con tanto di bandiera britannica, ma il ritratto era tutt'altro che positivo. Ovviamente aveva connotazioni politiche pesanti. Vignesh era un esperto informatico ed era riuscito a organizzare tutto grazie all'aiuto di Monsieur Mallen che si era rivolto alle autorità comunali del 14° arrondissement per fare la sfilata. Era l'estate del 2016. Monsieur Mallen aveva una grande apertura mentale, aveva molto talento, era molto interessato agli eventi culturali ed era riuscito a portare a termine il progetto.
Io pensavo però che fosse un peccato che non avesse così tanto talento per trarre qualche guadagno da così tanti sforzi.Viveva in un monolocale al sesto piano di un edificio vicino al museo. Anche il suo vicino, Monsieur Coffin, era amico di Margaret. Erano originari della zona di Valence nella Francia orientale. Il Sig. Coffin era un esperto giardiniere, nonché l'orgoglioso proprietario di un bellissimo appartamento arredato con eleganza al quinto piano. Monsieur Mallen mi ha poi aiutato quando ho avuto problemi amministrativi e burocratici.
Qualche anno prima di tutto questo, avevo ereditato una casa dai miei genitori ed avevo dei soldi che avevo ricavato dalla vendita della casa. Avevo tentato di comprare una casa a Parigi, ma non conoscevo nessuno e non parlavo la lingua. All'epoca, avevo soggiornato in un hotel a Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Poi mi sono dovuta trasferire in Spagna e comprare lì della proprietà. Conoscevo qualcuno che viveva lungo la Costa Blanca che avrebbe potuto aiutarmi a portare a termine il mio progetto. Soldi, soldi, soldi...era un chiodo fisso, anche perché non avevo trovato lavoro nonostante vivessi da anni a Parigi. Trovare lavoro era
la mia massima preoccupazione ma finora era vissuta bene nonostante la mia scarsità di mezzi.
Se ho trovato gradevole vivere a Parigi anche senza soldi da spendere in hotel e ristoranti lo devo in parte ai servizi sociali della città e, a dire il vero, la città mi piaceva per il modo in cui era organizzata. Ora conoscevo Parigi un po' meglio ed era tutto meno romantico. Questa canzone vuole comunque essere un omaggio a una città molto amata da persone come Margaret e i suoi amici che avevano vissuto qui gli anni più belli.
"Ore vuote trascorse a perlustrare sotto acquazzoni diurni strade che sono diventate la mia zona. Mentre passo da un caffè a un bar mi chiedo dove sei,perché mi hai annebbiato la mente e ora ho perso la nozione del tempo. I cieli vuoti mi dicono che è meglio dimenticare, che il miglior consiglio è non aver rimpianti. Ti vedrò ancora mentre passeggio per i boulevard? Perché mi hai annebbiato la mente. Aspetterò fino ad allora. Sono triste, ma in modo naturale. Qualche volta mi fa perfino piacere sentirmi così. Il dono che mi hai dato è il desiderio. È stato il fiammifero che ha incendiato il mio cuore. Notti in bianco con niente da fare che sedere e pensare a te. Ogni pensiero è solo per
te. Mi inquieto e mi annoio, quindi esco di nuovo. Odio sentirmi così limitato, mi sembra di perdere il mio tempo".
Dalla Spagna alla Francia - 2013
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Mi chiamo Nilofar Mehrin e oggi sono una rifugiata politica in Francia, ma ho vissuto legalmente a Firenze Italia regolare permesso di soggiorno dal 1982 al 2005.
Ero una studentessa dell’Università di Firenze e nel 1998 ho aperto un atelier con l’aiuto della galleria d’arte DEA nella zona universitaria.
Lo studio in Via Fiesolana
1998 2005
Ho tenuto l’atelier fino al 2004, poi mi sono trasferita a Viareggio per lavorare come au pair, da dove sono poi dovuta tornare in Iran dopo 26 anni di vita in Europa.
Mia madre stava male e mio fratello, che l’assistiva, aveva bisogno di aiuto. Era tornato dagli Stati Uniti dopo sette anni. Sfortunatamente, mio fratello è morto per un infarto uno o due mesi dopo il mio arrivo e mi sono dovuta occupare da sola di mia madre. Mia madre è morta qualche anno dopo ed io ho tentato di ottenere la residenza in Spagna acquistando della proprietà. Non mi è servito.
Mentre ero in viaggio per l’Italia (un amico italiano mi aveva suggerito di viaggiare in autobus) sono stata fermata alla frontiera tra la Spagna e la Francia perché il mio visto di turismo era scaduto. In Francia sono stata portata in un centro di accoglienza dove ho dovuto stare per tre mesi in attesa che il giudice decidesse se potessi rimanere o meno. Ho dovuto richiedere asilo perché era l’unico mezzo che mi consentisse di rimanere in Europa.
Nel centro di accoglienza, che era vicino a Tolosa, ho incontrato molte persone nelle mie condizioni, con visti e documenti scaduti, che aspettavano che il tribunale decidesse se concedere o meno l’asilo.
C’era perfino una signora cinese che viveva a Parigi con la famiglia e un’americana con i documenti scaduti. Michelle, la mia assistente sociale, che mi è stata di grande aiuto, mi ha spiegato che la polizia di frontiera era molto severa in materia. Michelle e il suo team appartenevano a un’associazione che si occupava di aiutare i richiedenti asilo e fornire loro consigli su come difendere i propri diritti. Michelle era una studentessa di legge ed è stata colei che mi aiutato durante le varie fasi. Sono rimasta nel centro di accoglienza per tre mesi e sono stata ascoltata due volte dal giudice. Alcuni, i più fortunati, sono riusciti a uscire prima perché avevano amici o familiari che li hanno aiutati.
Nel libro che avevo pubblicato nel 2013 nel Regno Unito sul mio percorso artistico nel 2013, avevo accennato al fatto che avevo avuto problemi a vendere la mia proprietà a Teheran, alcuni dei quali connessi al sistema di sorveglianza che mi sembrava mi impedisse di vendere ciò che avevo ereditato come meglio credevo. Ci sono voluti tre anni per risolvere le complicazioni che erano invisibili e che non avrebbero nemmeno dovuto esserci. A Teheran ho scoperto che c’erano molte famiglie nella mia stessa situazione. C’erano assurdi problemi legali che non erano altro che scuse per costringere i proprietari ad aspettare e ad andare conseguentemente incontro alla povertà.
Le motivazioni erano ovviamente politiche. Qualcuno voleva che i proprietari pagassero una percentuale sulle vendite (a chiunque stesse pianificando il tutto dietro le quinte). Io ho dovuto vedermela con un uomo dell’Iran meridionale. Era stato tutto ovviamente pianificato e mi sono ritrovata a portarlo in tribunale perché non sapevo che bastava pagarlo per uscire dal loro gioco. Come molti altri iraniani, ero innocente e non capivo cosa stesse succedendo. Avevo scritto il mio libro, "A Time For Dreamers", in cui raccontavo delle mie esperienze a Teheran e in Italia. Forse per questo sono stata l’unica persona de centro di accoglienza ad ottenere un permesso di soggiorno.
Una delle ragazze che ho incontrato nel centro veniva dalla Nigeria e si chiamava Beauty. Era una bella ragazza che era appena arrivata al centro. Era molto ingenua. All’arrivo si è messa subito a spazzare la stanza come se fosse casa sua e si divertiva come se avesse finalmente trovato una casa da pulire. Mi ha chiesto se c’era del detergente per pulire il bagno, come se fossimo in una sorta di residenza. Alloggiavamo in un edificio moderno, pulito e ben riscaldato che Michelle definiva “la prigione degli illegali”.
Beauty mi ha raccontato che suo padre aveva venduto tutti i suoi averi perché potesse venire in Europa. Le aveva detto di fare qualunque cosa per sopravvivere perché dove vivevano non era il luogo adatto a una bella ragazza come lei. Non aveva alcuna idea di cosa l’aspettasse. Avevo incontrato un’altra bellissima ragazza africana chiamata Naomi che mi aveva raccontato che quando era in Spagna, aveva incontrato degli uomini spagnoli che volevano sposarla per proteggerla. Parlava uno spagnolo perfetto e sapeva di poter scegliere perché aveva solo venticinque anni ed era molto bella. Aveva amici, sapeva come attrarre gli uomini e come cavarsela per strada.
Successivamente, quando mi sono trasferita a Parigi, ho incontrato un’altra donna di un altro paese africano che era scappata da casa perché suo cognato, che odiava, voleva sposarla dopo la morte di suo marito. Aveva due figli che aveva lasciato con sua sorella e lavorava a Parigi come babysitter e il datore di lavoro le tratteneva il passaporto. A Parigi ho trovato molte associazioni che aiutavano le donne e le collocavano in hotel per un mese o due.
Nel centro di accoglienza avevo incontrato altre donne che erano incinta. Alcune di loro pensavano che il fatto di aspettare un bambino desse loro qualche vantaggio in più. Non avevo visto bambini, ma la mia simpatica assistente sociale mi disse poi che c’erano intere famiglie con bambini nel centro che attendevano l’esito della sentenza del giudice. Quando ho lasciato il centro dopo tre mesi per iniziare la mia nuova vita a Tolosa ero contenta. È stata un’esperienza spaventosa perché nel centro sembravano esserci persone che volevano approfittarsi di persone come me che avevano uno stipendio mensile. A dire il vero, per molti mesi non ho percepito alcuno stipendio perché non sapevo che ci fossero molti moduli da compilare prima di poter far vantare i propri diritti di rifugiato. Ho dovuto trovare un altro assistente sociale che mi mostrasse come compilare i moduli in francese. Ero contenta di sapere l’italia$no perché era una lingua gradita dagli abitanti del sud della Francia. I populisti volevano aiutare i loro amici anche a costo di violare le leggi francesi sui rifugiati.
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