There was my favorite song by The Style Council  on at the caffe,  it was haunting because i had listened to it a lot during my years at university, in Florence, and i listened to it in Tehran while i was looking after my mother.  It was so romantic and expressed  nostalgic  feelings.   I looked out of the window while sipping at my coffee and indulged in looking out onto the busy street from the comfort of my armchair .... on this rainy day i was in Paris and a dream i had, had come true...... 

"Empty hours Spent combing the street In daytime showers They've become my beat; As I walk from cafe to bar I wish I knew where you are; Because you've clouded my mind And now I'm all out of time

 Empty skies say try to forget Better advice is to have no regrets; As I tread the boulevard floor Will I see once more; Because you've clouded my mind 'Till then I'm biding my time I'm only sad in a natural way And I enjoy sometimes feeling this way The gift you gave is desire The match that started my fire Empty nights with nothing to do I sit and think, every thought is for you; I get so restless and bored So I go out once more; I hate to feel so confined I feel like I'm wasting my time"

 I  was sitting at a nice comfortable coffee shop where they served  large cups of coffee. It was on the Champ de Lise and  i was thinking about  Mr Mallen and how he had helped me several times with my documents and  administrative issues. Mr Mallen was teaching French at a school in the Saint Germain area.   I had met him through an exhibition i did chez Margaret organized in Momo's coffee shop round the corner .   Momo's  was infront of the Adzak Museum on Rue Jon quoy .....  and Margaret was an Irish woman who knew nearly everybody in the area because she had lived here for the last 30 years. 

 She stayed at Adzak  museum's  residency as a sort of multitasking directer because Margaret had been one of the many friends of Roy Wright the English artist and sculpter who had left the world  this Container Museum in Paris with his Sculptures and other works in it.  He had died of Cancer in 1984.  He and Margaret had been close friends because Roy  spoke very little french and Margaret who was a journalist and worked for the BBC helped him in various moments and had been the only one to stick by him in his last days  ....  she  knew the French language very well and was aware of what was going on and how things were done in Paris.    It was now my  fifth year here .... i had arrived in 2013 as an artist (born in Iran) with a  refugee stay permit from France.  I had lived in Italy for 23 years and  my Italian residency  permit which i had acquired during those years werent valid now . The law said that if one stayed two years without renewing the permit ....  it wouldnt be renewable. I suggest here that after a period of ten years of legal  residency in a country , there should be an automatic long term residency or even citizenship. 

When i met  Mr Mallen Barett, i was in Momo' s caffee and looking at the exhibit of paintings there, he too  had been one of the few people to visit the exhibition .... for the occasion he was wearing a bright purple  jacket and a multicoulered pair of pants and looked like an arty sort of person ..... later on we found out that he was organizing a fashion show for one of his students and he managed to organize it all with some help from the town hall in the 14th area and he got it on the cat walk that summer .....  Mr Mallen  was always open to new ideas and was very talented , and he got things done but i thought it was a pity that he didnt seem to have talent in making money for himself .after all his efforts.  He lived in a chambre de bon on the sixth floor of a building close to the museum and his neighbour  was Mr Coffin who was a friend of Margaret's as well.

  They both were frenchmen  from the same Grenoble area in eastern France.  Mr Coffin was an expert in gardening and plants and he was the proud owner of a beautifully decorated appartment on the fifth floor.  Mr Mallen was always involved with his many students and went off on missions as an NGO to Nepal and India ....  he kindly allowed me to stay in his appartment while he was away in India.

 Some years before this i had inherited a house from my parents and had  money  from selling the house .  I had tried to buy a property in Paris  without knowing anyone or  even speaking  the language.  I was staying in a hotel in Saint Germain de Pres . I had then had to go to Spain and buy the property there because i knew some one on the Costa Blanca who could help me with my project.  Money, Money  Money was now a constant issue on my mind, because i hadnt found any work after all these years of living in Paris.  I worried a lot about finding work but i had lived quite well despite my poverty.

  It was partly  because of all the social services in Paris , i found life quite agreeable even without having money to spend on hotels and restraunts and infact i liked the city because i was familiar with the way it worked . Now i had spent some years at the Muse'e Adzak and had met many of the people who were friends of the museum.....

and i thought about how i had been brought to Adzak Museìe because an American friend called Barbara had told me to go to a poetry reading afternoon.  I had gone to the book shop Shakespear and Co. near the Notre Dame church and there having met an Iranian woman who was an old timer in Paris , i had been invited to go with her and a group of people to Adzak Muse'e on a Sunday afternoon  .....  

  

One of the best songs by "The Style Council "

 ."  Empty hours Spent combing the street

 In daytime showers They've become my beat

; As I walk from cafe to bar I wish I knew where you are

 Because you've clouded my mind And now I'm all out of time

 Empty skies say try to forget

 Better advice is to have no regrets;  ......................

As I tread the boulevard floor

 Will I see once more;

 Because you've clouded my mind

 'Till then I'm biding my time

 I'm only sad in a natural way And I enjoy sometimes feeling this way

 The gift you gave is desire 

The match that started my fire

 Empty nights with nothing to do 

I sit and think, every thought is for you; 

I get so restless and bored So I go out once more;

 I hate to feel so confined I feel like I'm wasting my time  "

Living Art As A Work in Progress

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….

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

by Bob Dylan

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 )

 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 …

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. 

Space Oddity

David Bowie

Ground Control to Major Tom

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

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

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

For here

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

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?

Can you hear me, Major Tom?

Can you...

Here am I floating round my tin can

Far above the Moon

Planet Earth is blue

And there's nothing I can do

 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 ....

.

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 !

 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

The Higgeldy Piggeldy Bag 2016 Paris

(The Higgeldy piggeldy bag disappeared in Paris where i had made it in my apartment in the 18th district and had had it on view at the ADZAK Museum for some months)

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 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 someone 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 but wasn’t 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!  

But a very wise Florentine I worked for married to a Russian lady would say that he loved his daughter and was grateful because she was a healthy beautiful child and even if he had desired a son (because he  had daughters from another marriage, he was grateful to have a sunny cheerful child no matter what colour. ) 

My beloved, much loved Pets 

Zoubi and Sibs

the six in francese

nilofar mehrin			Sat, Jul 7, 2018, 10:29 PM

J'adore la série de dessins animés de Simpson qui traite de la famille américaine de la «classe ouvrière» (certains diraient de la classe moyenne parce qu'il travaille dans un endroit important, par exemple une centrale nucléaire) ... et je peux voir comment chacun de nous parmi les cinq les continents sur cette terre pourraient en quelque sorte se rapporter au sujet de la famille ..... je voulais écrire l'histoire de ma famille qui était dysfonctionnelle comme tous les autres mais avait des gens qui croyaient en eux-mêmes et essayaient d'avoir une vie meilleure . J'aime aussi Joel Osteen qui est le prédicateur évangéliste que j'écoute et Joyce Meyer qui est l'une des prêcheuses de l'équipe qui parle de ses expériences de vie ... nous disant que Dieu peut changer les gens. "The Force" peut aider les gens à se déplacer vers le haut! Je disais que, comme les deux évangélistes, mon grand-père a aussi changé sa vie en choisissant de voyager.  Dans divers sermons, Joel Osteen nous raconte comment son père a quitté sa famille à dix-huit ans pour aller au monde et chercher un meilleur avenir. Tout comme mon grand-père musulman, M. Mehrin. Même mon arrière-grand-père, M. Shustari, était lui-même un prédicateur qui se comportait bien ... En tant que jeune homme, Mehrin (il a changé de nom dans la soixantaine) ne voulait pas suivre le métier de prédicateur relativement sûr.  À dix-huit ans, il a décidé de commencer à travailler sur un navire marchand aidant des parents avec le travail qu'ils ont exporté du thé vers divers pays. Il n'a pas commencé parce qu'il souffrait d'être d'une «classe inférieure» ... Peut-être qu'aujourd'hui beaucoup de la première population mondiale ne réalise pas combien le reste du monde est occupé par l'idée de «classe» et d'être d'un certain contexte et combien les gens veulent vivre dans un pays où ils peuvent obtenir un meilleur avenir pour leurs enfants et sortir de leurs «limitations de classe fixe». Les Etats-Unis symbolisent encore et promettent une méritocratie assez sans classe pour beaucoup de gens et je pense que cette idée est ce qui fait des Etats-Unis l'un des endroits les plus attrayants de la terre aujourd'hui ... mais peut-être n'est-ce qu'une illusion!  M. Shushtari Mehrin était une sorte de patriarche et je l'appelais un self made man mais maintenant je me rends compte qu'il était "un homme fait par Dieu" ((Victoria Osteen) faisait partie d'un groupe de courtisans privilégiés. Son style de vie et beaucoup de choses, mais il atteindrait son propre rêve personnel de retourner dans la patrie que ses ancêtres avaient laissée.Il avait toujours pensé à la redécouvrir et peut-être vous pourriez voir qu'il avait choisi le bon moment même si la tâche de déménager était très difficile, la famille aurait à baisser son niveau de vie et à faire des efforts pour s'adapter à de nouvelles façons.Il y a un film intitulé «Train to Pakistan» qui brosse un tableau crédible de ce qui se passait à l'époque. ... cela m'a fait réaliser que parfois vous devez prendre une grande décision! Mon grand-père avait eu une vie très aventureuse dans sa jeunesse ... le navire marchand l'avait emmené au Japon et en Europe, puis aux États-Unis où il était resté quelques années, étudiant à l'université. Il était retourné en Inde pour épouser son cousin germain.  Monireh était née en Irak dans une riche famille de commerçants et elle avait vu son mari dans la cour de leur résidence de la ville de Bassorah, un après-midi d'été chaud. Elle avait regardé l'étrangère derrière les rideaux de ses fenêtres. Elle a vécu une vie très protégée et a rarement rencontré quelqu'un qui n'était pas de leur famille ou acquiert des connaissances. Le jeune homme venait d'arriver à leur porte et de se présenter comme un parent. et un cousin Personne ne l'avait cru au début parce qu'il avait ressemblé à un pauvre homme échevelé sans personne pour prouver qui il était  e avait. revenant de ses voyages qui l'avaient conduit aux États-Unis et arrivé en Inde, il avait voyagé en Irak en voiture, mais avait dû traverser le désert où leur voiture était tombée en panne. Il avait seulement réussi à se sauver de diverses situations difficiles et était arrivé à sa place d'oncles. Il avait finalement convaincu ses proches qu'il était vraiment ce qu'il disait être.  The Simpsons Cartoon Family .  M. Trump qui est président depuis le 20 janvier 2017 a probablement eu la même idée des murs de la ville médiévale et construit aujourd'hui sa version du mur entre le Mexique et les États-Unis! "La ville nucléaire" L'Amérique est l'île du luxe juxtaposée aux réalités humaines de la pauvreté partout ailleurs. à l'extérieur des murs. Un autre point similaire à «quand l'art devient vie» dans le premier film mentionné est l'utilisation de la télépathie et de la lecture d'esprit qui, dans nos années, est utilisée par les pouvoirs en place ... ESP est utilisé officiellement pour contrôler les indisciplinés!  Pour l'avenir, je suggère de construire des villes au beau milieu des terres désertes où il n'y a pas de zones bâties. De cette manière, il n'est pas nécessaire de détruire les forêts et les espaces verts comme c'est le cas actuellement en Amazonie, où de vastes zones de jungle sont maintenant utilisées pour le pâturage des vaches. Donc, sauver les animaux et les plantes dans la nature ... la question serait alors de trouver une solution pour l'eau ...  La classe à laquelle vous appartenez a toujours été un problème pour les personnes vivant en Asie et en Europe et la seule façon de surmonter cet obstacle était de déménager sur les nouveaux continents principalement aux États-Unis ou en Australie où vous pourriez enfin espérer une vie sans l'entrave des classes ... Même dans les pays communistes où, idéalement, il n'y avait que la classe ouvrière ... il y avait d'autres formes de problèmes de classe fixe. J'ai été ravi en 2009 quand j'ai entendu que le président élu des États-Unis était un Afro-américain ... et j'ai célébré cet «événement» dans mon livre intitulé «Time For Dreamers». Je pensais que c'était un moment brillant dans l'histoire du monde ..... et pas seulement une question de couleur mais vraiment l'élection du "mérite et de l'intelligence" plutôt que de l'argent et d'autres formes d'entrer dans la carrière politique. Maintenant nous sommes en 2018 et nous vivons dans un moment conservateur et M. Trump a été élu président (même si beaucoup d'entre nous espéraient que Mme Hillary Clinton serait un deuxième président élu pour ses études et ses capacités, mais elle nous a tous surpris par ne pas y arriver (et ce n'était pas à cause de sa faute, mais à cause de conspirations patriarcales)!  Le nouveau président des Etats-Unis est un WASP (un protestant anglosaxon blanc) qui a promis de rendre l'Amérique encore plus belle! Je me demande si les présidents et les politiciens viennent d'une famille de type Simpson comme le reste d'entre nous? Je me demande ce qui se passerait si le président Trump ouvrait les frontières aux Mexicains et à tous les peuples du tiers monde ... au lieu de leur fermer la porte. Certaines personnes disent même aujourd'hui que l'Amérique consiste à faire de bonnes choses dans la vie de ceux qui cherchent à avoir leurs enfants dans un avenir meilleur qu'eux-mêmes.  Mon frère avait rêvé d'emmener notre famille aux États-Unis, mais il n'a réussi à y aller que lui-même. Il a vécu à Los Angeles pendant sept ans et aimait avoir réalisé son rêve. Beaucoup d'Iraniens de notre génération avaient quitté le pays avant la révolution de 1979 qui secoua la nation. Mes parents ne voulaient pas partir parce que ... d'avoir déjà déménagé deux fois. Ils avaient quitté l'Inde à cause de la partition et ils ont ensuite quitté le Pakistan à cause de ma croyance grand-père que l'Iran serait le meilleur endroit pour nous (mais c'était son rêve et pas le nôtre!)  Lire l'histoire d'une famille est fascinant ... Je pense à un livre de Thomas Mann intitulé "The Buddenbrooks" sur les temps modernes ou sur les temps bibliques: "Joseph et ses frères". Est-ce que les «familles» seront différentes à partir de maintenant? Avec la surveillance pénétrant la vie privée de toutes les façons possibles ... et j'ai expérimenté ce que la surveillance peut faire dans ma propre maison à Téhéran et aussi à Dubaï ... et comment ces dernières années tout va changer pour les générations futures. Vivre avec nos téléphones intelligents (qui nous écoutent et interfèrent dans nos choix) rendra la vie meilleure pour les pauvres et les défavorisés? En attendant la naissance du téléphone intelligent et d'autres gadgets de ce genre semble avoir séduit la population mondiale et l'humanité  Internet est «un outil» que tout le monde peut utiliser et ce n'est pas Dieu ... il ne peut pas encore «créer ses propres merveilles!» Agit également comme une source d'information et de divertissement qui comble les «vides» dans nos esprits. J'aime mieux que d'aller à l'église ou la religion! Il est incroyable comment nous faisons un autre veau d'or de cet outil! Même les plus pauvres des pauvres maintenant un jour ont un téléphone ..... Peut-être un génie est sur le point de se lever parmi nous "petits gens" pour trouver des solutions pour empêcher l'environnement de patauger? Hélas les animaux et les plantes qui vivent avec nous sur cette terre depuis des siècles sont en danger!  Alors que des millions de personnes profitent des bienfaits du confort civilisé, de l'eau et de l'électricité, ce changement positif crée le changement climatique et nous allons devoir faire face à cela très bientôt. Dans mon imagination, je vois les mers monter et les gens doivent aller plus loin à l'intérieur des terres pour construire les nouvelles «villes nucléaires». Un film sur l'avenir est un film de science-fiction appelé «Down Stream» où tous ceux qui ont de la chance vivent dans les villes appelées «villes nucléaires» où la vie est «facile». Toutes les personnes vivant à l'extérieur des murs de la ville sont les malheureux .... un autre mur semblable dans la ville est Springfield, mais cet épisode est à propos du Dôme étant mis là parce qu'il est poluté avec des déchets nucléaires ..... imaginez une autre sorte de la ville nucléaire si le Dôme était une protection pour l'ensemble du territoire des États-Unis du monde extérieur. Cela faciliterait la manipulation de toutes les ressources qui s'y trouvent et, pour garder la paix, il y aurait une immense atmosphère de centre commercial où tous ceux qui vivent à l'intérieur du Dôme vivent dans un luxueux verre ou une "bulle" illusoire Les Six Sœurs Comme Wilma dans "Les Simpsons" et ses deux soeurs ... mon père en avait six ...             Seules deux des six soeurs s'étaient entourées de leur père et avaient réussi à se marier. C'était probablement à cause de la «partition» de l'Inde et du Pakistan. Cet événement historique a changé tout ce qu'ils savaient. Ils ont réussi à survivre aux changements et ils sont devenus indépendants grâce à leur «sororité». Heureusement, ils ont trouvé du travail dans le nouveau pays comme anglophones et l'ont fait dans l'ancienne patrie, c'est-à-dire en Perse.  Ils avaient quitté l'Inde pendant le Partitien, parce que mon grand-père craignait pour la vie et la sécurité de ses filles. Les changements ont pris beaucoup de la famille au Pakistan. Mon père avait été dans l'armée indienne et s'était retiré et avait rejoint la partie pakistanaise. Lui et quelques autres membres de la famille avaient servi l'armée britannique et il y avait eu des collègues qui avaient passé du temps en Europe pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale. Il avait dit à la famille vivant dans des villes indiennes endormies, à propos de ce qui se passait en Europe. Il semblait incroyable que quelque chose de semblable à la seconde guerre mondiale puisse se produire en Inde ... personne ne le croyait à peine quand il leur disait que les changements sur le point de se produire ...   Pendant de nombreuses années, je ne pouvais pas comprendre pourquoi mon grand-père avait laissé une si bonne position au travail et son style de vie et de respectabilité dans la communauté perse à Mysore et Banglore. Il avait perturbé la vie de ses jeunes filles. Maintenant, je comprends ... Quitter l'Inde et faire l'effort était un risque énorme et il était suffisamment entreprenant pour faire le grand saut. Alors que d'autres personnes dans la communauté perse sont restés et adaptés ..... certains d'entre eux avaient déjà atteint des positions très élevées en tant que Sir Mirza qui était devan au Maharajah et qui avait l'amitié et l'affection pour les gens de la famille qui ont exposé le talent. Son propre arrière petit-enfant deviendrait un diplomate et un ambassadeur pour l'Inde. Maharaja Jayachamarajendra Wadiyar, était le vingt-cinquième maharaja du Royaume de Mysore de 1940 à 1950. Il était un philosophe, un musicologue, un penseur politique et un philanthrope. Il était également le fondateur-président de Vishva Hindu Parishad

Gran Papa

Il y avait vécu et étudié pendant plusieurs années et était-il resté ... il aurait été Américain! En fait, c'est à cause des conseils de son professeur à l'université où il étudiait qu'il est parti et est revenu au Moyen-Orient. On lui avait dit de "suivre son coeur". Il m'a dit qu'il était allé à l'université pour demander comment s'inscrire et dire à l'homme qu'il rencontrait qu'il n'avait pas beaucoup d'argent à payer pour les frais, cette personne qui était le professeur et l'enseignant lui avait donné le balai qu'il avait balayer avec et avait dit; "Nous pouvons échanger le travail pour les frais de scolarité" ... Après un certain temps passé à l'école, il a été invité à la maison des enseignants pour le déjeuner du dimanche et pendant les conversations qu'il avait dites à la famille d'accueil à la table, il aimait le roi de Perse qui était et qu'il aimait l'histoire de son pays plus que toute autre chose. C'était une sorte de mariage pré arrangé et sa femme avait été une femme qui portait le voile et aimait rester dans la maison. Il lui était difficile de s'adapter à la vie de ses maris et elle avait dû aller vivre en Inde et le suivre là où sa carrière le menait. Elle n'avait jamais été intéressée par la vie sociale de son mari à l'université ou à la cour. C'est pourquoi Sharbanoo, leur deuxième fille aînée, accompagnait son père à des occasions sociales et agissait comme secrétaire.

Shar Banoo

Quand elle était mariée, Sharbanoo se tenait toujours à côté de son mari indien et de son père dans les photos de famille annuelles. Elle s'était mariée à une trentaine d'années. Elle m'a dit qu'elle avait eu une vie glamour à la cour parce qu'elle avait été la compagne des filles Maharajas. Cependant, même si elle avait une vie sociale complète à la cour et jouait même du piano et jouait au tennis, son père ne lui permettrait pas de se marier avec des gens qu'il ne considérait pas comme étant de droite. Contexte . Il était catégorique sur le fait que ses filles devraient se marier dans des familles chiites. C'était la raison pour laquelle elle avait dû l'attendre pour décider qui elle allait épouser Mes soeurs de père avaient eu un style de vie privilégié depuis que M. Shushtari travaillait comme professeur à l'université de Mysore. Il avait une grande maison et une voiture à sa disposition Mes soeurs de père avaient eu un style de vie privilégié depuis que M. Shushtari travaillait comme professeur à l'université de Mysore. Il avait une grande maison et une voiture à sa disposition Sharbanoo avait grandi dans une école occidentale parce qu'elle était une amie et une compagne des filles de Maharajas ... "une dame dans l'attente" et elle est allée à une école missionnaire anglaise et portait des vêtements modernes.  La sœur aînée de Sharbanoos, Mahbajee, avait eu de la chance parce qu'elle était la première enfant à avoir eu l'opportunité de choisir son propre partenaire. Elle s'appelait Mahrokh (visage semblable à la Lune) très aimé par leur père parce qu'elle bénéficiait d'une disposition communicative et

Universite'

			Sun, Jul 15, 2018, 12:09 PM

Est-ce que quelqu'un a lu ce livre de Maxim Gorky? Je suis sûr que beaucoup de gens le savent et je l'ai lu il y a longtemps quand j'étais adolescent. Je pensais que c'était très excitant et c'était peut-être l'une des raisons pour lesquelles je voulais aller à l'université plutôt que d'accepter de travailler dans un bon travail. Certaines personnes pensaient que j'étais en concurrence avec ma mère qui était la première fille de la famille à aller à l'université et à obtenir une maîtrise. Même si son père était démodé et pensait que les filles n'avaient pas besoin d'étudier autant, sa mère insistait pour que ses enfants aient une chance égale dans leur éducation.

uni

>			Sun, Jul 15, 2018, 12:10 PM

Has anyone  read this book by Maxim Gorky ? I read it a long time ago when i was in my teens and i thought it was very exciting and perhaps that was one of the reasons why i wanted to go to university rather than accept to work in a proper job .  Some people thought I was in competition with my mother who was the fir st girl in the family to have a BA.  She went on to study and achieved  a Masters in english lit. and she was very proud of her intellectual abilities. I didnt want to be like her at all because i believed in "intuitive intelligence"  rather than a degree.  All i wanted was to go through a student's life and perhaps a proper job later on.  Some people said that you really didnt need to get a degree and that they "had been to the university of Life" ! Even my uncle who had worked for many years and had then gone back to get his degree as an accountant had told me that i didnt need to study further. I dont know if he said this because he thought i wasn t good enough to get through the studies or perhaps because i was a traditional girl and i fell into what he called the "pram pushing" type category.  He had something against people having too many children and the world being overpopulated! My cousins had started to go to university and i felt i needed structure, because i was interested in too many things at the same time.  I loved to fish into my subconscious for designs and unexpected creativity , but i liked theater and literature as well . A lot of feelings and opinions were on my chest and weighing me down and i needed to put them somewhere safe, because they belonged to a certain period in time.  Infact i started to write diaries when i was about eighteen.  I go back to read some of them and i cant believe the person who wrote is me .... there are different voices , some of them are not recognized by who i am now !  At times i cant believe it was me who wrote  some of those things.  I am even grateful for having lost some of my diaries. One or two books were taken out of my bag when i was visiting Marina's appartment in via Cernaia in Florence.  why would any one want those books written in english? Marina and Angela were the two Italian girl friends i found in 1984 when we started the  university year in September.  Marina was from Puglia and had just come back from living in Germany where she had a good job situation.  She had come back to her homeland  but wanted to get a degree in German literature and Angela had lived in Quebeque but she was from Sardinia and was studying to get a degree in education.  I was living in a flat in via delle Cinque Giornate in Florence.  I was sharing the flat with Jurgen who was finishing his PHD . Previously Jurgen had taken an appartment on rent in via Bolognese and i had gone there and shared with a group of young people.  I was working as a sales woman at the time and there were two other women there who were working like myself.  Sonia was a greek american girl who was about to get married and we became fast friends, It wasn t only because we were the same age, but probably  because we were both in love with her cat Arthuro.  Sonia had a generous mentality but she couldnt understand my decision to put myself through the BA in Literature  which was a five year course and infact when i told her about it she said "Oh boy ! five years! "  I can still remember the expression of futility in those words ....  what she was really saying was "why don't you get a life like every other 25 year old woman?".  Infact when she got married she was entering a universe of family birthday parties for all the kids of her relatives and her days of having  free time were over.  Even when she went for a walk on her own, her husband would ask her :" should i be worrying about you ? Are you Ok?"  I liked Marina because she was a very mature 25 year old and had given up a good life in Koln , and come back to Italy to live with her family.  Her younger brother too who was working as a police officer was accompanying her in this new phase in her life.  Marina and Angela were sharing an appartment on the top floor in the street next to via delle Cinque Giornate, where Jurgen and i had found an appartment on the ground floor .  They had a terrace which looked over all the roofs of the neigbourhood .  They used to sunbade outside when the weather was good.  This was one of the reasons Carlo and his friends contacted these girls.  Carlo and his family had an appartment a few streets away and in his roof top he had a tower which was a sign of distinction which only some of the old buildings in the area possessed. I had rented a room in the via Bolognese appartment. Andrew an English boy who was leaving had  put up the notice. I found via Bolognese a paradise comparing to where i had spent all of 1984. I had been very Lucky to find this appartment on via Maggio, but  it was a very busy street full of traffic and i was happy to go somewhere which i could live with students because that was what i planed to do for the next few years.  Jurgen and Andrew had the same attitude as my cousin who was trying to achieve a PHD .  They seemed to have the world open up to them, while other people who weren t on their level ie people like me, we were missing out on all of  the panoramic view (which they were enjoying).  I noticed that people who made it to the top level of education had a certain "attitude".   Marina and Angela didnt know about my ideas of "grandeur", Marina did study for the joy of the knowlege and not for getting the degree. She had found a job at the automobil service club and was working full time.  It was awsome!  How  could she concentrate and study while she was working? Another Italian girlfriend was Francesca. I met her at the english lit classes. She was only eighteen when i was almost 28 and i felt a lot of sympathy for herbecause she was living on her own in an appartment in via della Pergola infront of the theater (of the same name).  In the summer Francesca and i used to go gallivanting about town and until late at night.   Her parents were living in Terni so she had that accent which was different and closer to Romanesco ....  and gave the impression of the down to earth "peoples language".  I had met Guido who was from Rome and he had supported my idea of going to university.  At times when francesca and Guido met through me they would exchange a very knowing look and i would be thinking "what is this all about ?  I just introduced these two people and they already share some secret between them !"  Later on when i asked Guido ; hesaid " Italiani si capiscano al volo" meaning Italians have a special connection with each other .... but he didnt have the same reaction with my other friends from other parts of Italy. Francesca  and i used to go to an Arty film  Cinema called Spazio Uno (via del Sole). This was the place where i spent many hours watching three or four films at a time.  It was like reading books and i loved it.  this cinema was like my second home.  When i had my first exhibition here another friends American mother Mrs Mascherini  bought the first watercolour from me and i was overjoyed.  Alessia was another friend studying English lit. She was American from her mothers side and Florentine on her fathers. Francesca took me to a friends house one evening for dinner.  This was to be a destiny calling .... Gigi was a university prof teaching politics and he had his appartment on number 34 in via Fiesolana.  We were invited for a dinner which was very much appreciated by the locals, because Gigi had prepared Baccala al Livornese which was fish in tomatoe sauce.  A very memorable dinner, perhaps because i didnt feel Gigi to be on the other side and judging me because i was from the middle east.  Funnily enough some years later,in the summer of 1998  i found a shop front which was for rent right next door to this place where we had had dinner .  I always think about Gigi when i see his door.  As a pensioner he went off to live in a boat in Livorno . My friendship with Francesca was a real God send in those years.  She was very creative and i had met a lot of people through her.  Once i met Philippe and Faramarz who were her acquaintances. We met in the Spazio Uno . Faramarz was a 25 year old Iranian who accompanied Philippe who was 32 and said he was from Provence.  It was love at first sight.  I had just left Guido because i had discovered he had a girlfriend  and he was kindly sparing me from telling me truth.  He had probably gotten bored with me being at my books and having to study all the time.   And he was living in Rome, he had wanted me to go and live with him and his mother in their lovely appartment off corso Francia ...; but i prefered to continue living in Florence. Francesca used to invite people to stay at her place ... she had two rooms and a hall.  It was a luxury to have a place in the center and she wasn t aware of this. She told me once that she felt lonely and that she hadnt spoken to any one for two days.  I suppose we were good for each other, until she found people who were younger and closer to her own age.  I had been to her family home in Terni and had met her parents. I felt as if i was her elder sister and had to look after her.  That was why i couldnt keep what we had.  On one of our walk abouts around the city center she had met a group of theatrical artists and had invited them home . They were a jolly group of people but they smoked a lot of dope and once when i was visiting i saw that they had the shutters down on a lovely sunny day and the air was thick with  smoke. They had started the dope early. I guess Francesca's brother was right to tell her that he recognized my voice when i called her parents.  They were grateful about me telling them about what was going on ....  i hoped i was being a good friend and doing my job, because i didnt want her to get distracted from our exams .... after all i used to study together with her and on her books . I needed her.  I did one of the paintings that i loved in this period and got the poem from her book. The poem says ; "jallais me donner ....  ( I was going to say that i loved you but then i realized that i couldnt because i didnt belong to myself) !  This was T.S.Eliott  She had read a poem by him when we had gone on a walk  in the countryside around Carreggi : "the women went to and fro , quoting from Michelangelo". What is poetry for ?  If it is good it takes you to a higher level and you feel you are flying as high as a kite in the sky.  Many years later i read somewhere that chairman Mao read and consumed huge amounts of Poetry .... why on earth would he do that ?  That year we were finishing off the classes at uni .  I was going to the History of Art LIbrary in via della Pergola and dreaming of Philippe night and day. Infact my cat Mooshie got fed up of me because she could read my mind and she was telling me off! Had she been my mother she would say : "cut the crap and get on with real life! "  .....  She was right because i totally lost my grip on reality and couldnt fend for myself after i finished University.   I was surviving thanks to friends like Patrizia  who offered to help me by allowing me to go to her house to write my thesis on her computer.  She had an appartment on via San Gallo.  This street brought me luck since right in the begining when i arrived in Florence i was going to a school doing engravings and sleeping in a tent in a camping area off viale Africo. Today this camping is closed.  I was doing some engravings in this school when an american girl who looked like Lisa Simpson , all blond with curly hair asked me where i lived because one of her friends was leaving and was looking for some one to fill up her place. Thats how i got to know Emily Miller who was doing photographs. emily was from New york and she met Mario and i was the translator when they had their arguments and misunderstandings ....  But Italian girls like Patrizia where very different from the Americans i had known during the first years of my stay.  Patrizia was only 23 and she was living on her own but she believed in family and caring for her home.  She had a collection of blue bottles and glasses and she kept her place spik and span.  she had already finished her dissitation /book on the feminist writer Angela Carter and i was doing the same writer but from another angle. I met less of Francesca now and more of Patrizia .... i missed Francesca, she was some one i could play with like a child  but the only way i could finish university was by using dicipline on myself and  the private PC which was available at Patrizia's place.  Pcs were expensive items in 92 and the universitiy had a few of them and a lot of people were after them.  Through Francesca i learnt about a magazine called "internationale" which would speak to my heart .... and i got to know Marco Panella and Emma Bonino  even tho i had heard about them through Guido because his parents got seperated thanks to the new laws .

le mie universita 1

Avevo conosciuto Silvana per la speranza che i giovani parlassero di lei come "The Gallerist". Era il 1996 e avevo sentito parlare dell'associazione DEA da molte persone perché era associata all'Università. Infatti, Silvana lavorava nell'amministrazione universitaria, ma per alcuni anni stava lavorando al suo centro sociale. Metto su e fuori Silvana. Utopia in via degli Alfani, gestita da donne. Silvana ha dato a tutti una possibilità. Esponeva spesso Art Brut o Art Outsider Art. Aveva un sacco di gente di altri paesi che esponeva nelle sue gallerie, ma cercava di dare a tutti uno spazio di esposisione anche per brevi periodi. Silvana e Fabio erano molto coinvolti nel fornire un centro sociale per la comunità.  Nel 1998 avevo avuto una mostra nel suo nuovo spazio a Borgo Pinti nei mesi di agosto e settembre .... questi erano i mesi in cui un sacco di persone andavano in vacanza. Qui ho avuto modo di conoscere gli ospiti di Silvana che erano artisti Turchi. Un caricaturista turco e un fumettista BD e Gonul, una donna artista anch'essa dalla Turchia che ha fatto piccole statue di bronzo. Mi chiedevo perché Silvana avesse queste convinzioni. I genitori venivano al centro una volta ogni tanto. Ella ha ripreso molto bene suo padre perché entrambi avevano gli occhi azzurri sorridenti. Aveva lavorato per le ferrovie .... che, spiegava molto della sua dedizione al lavoro sociale che ha fatto gratuitamente.  Ho avuto la mia prima mostra nel cinema Spazio Uno. A quel punto i miei amici erano tutte le persone che studiavano nella Biblioteca di Storia dell'Arte in via della Pergola. Avevo conosciuto Lucilla e Laura che erano nate e cresciute a Firenze ... erano entrambi nella loro metà degli anni venti. Mentre non c'era stato nessun ragazzo nel corso di lingua e letteratura qui c'era Marco Testa che voleva essere un pittore e parlava molto dei suoi dipinti perché aveva tutta la storia dell'Arte per sostenerlo. Un altro giovane era siciliano ed era sempre pronto con una buona osservazione umoristica. Le persone che studiano la storia dell'arte dovevano conoscere tutte le chiese e tutte le opere d'arte in esse, oltre ai vari strati della storia ... era un'enorme quantità di lavoro e di informazioni. Dovevano essere seri e dedicati. Mi sentivo come se avessi colpito una miniera d'oro di intelletti reali e Lucilla era una grande sostenitrice dei miei sforzi artistici. Alcuni di come in questa scuola tradizionale persino essere creativi sembra passare sotto il dominio maschile. E io ero felice di avere un sostenitore. Stavo andando in questa biblioteca a causa di due esami che dovevo preparare ... ma l'amicizia di questi giovani mi aveva fatto sperare di poter finalmente realizzare qualcosa dal mio vero interesse che era Creatività e Pittura. Lucilla ha invitato l'intero gruppo a cena, una sera, nella sua casetta  dei genitori, appena fuori Firenze. Qui abbiamo incontrato i suoi , lei era figlia unica e abbiamo scoperto sua madre che era una sarta esperta e che aveva lavorato nel mondo della moda e ora cuciva i vestiti per la sua unica figlia. Infatti, Lucilla sembrava sempre valesse un milione di dollari perché aveva dei vestiti molto carini ... era "l'Amore" che indossava.  All'epoca mi ero rasato i capelli perché perdevo un sacco di capelli a causa della vita stressante che stavo conducendo e grazie a Dio potevo passare per una tipa artistica strano. La madre di Lucilla è stata gentile con lui e ha detto che sembravo alla moda! Il padre di Lucilla era un insegnante ... a quel tempo c'era stato un terremoto in Iran e i suoi genitori me lo hanno chiesto. I terremoti sembrano essere una cosa che "umilia" le persone nel loro atteggiamento nei confronti degli altri, quel quoziente di "l'imprevisto che incombe sulla vita" diventa una saggezza che porti con te ... Forse avrei dovuto dire che mi sono rasato via tutto capelli come segno di lutto per le persone in quei villaggi ... altrimenti alcune persone penserebbero che io ero una specie di donna Butch che ostentava la sua mascolinità. Infatti uno degli amici di Lucilla che era un giovanotto molto bello è uscito dicendo: "devi essere gay altrimenti non lo farei ai tuoi capelli!" È vero che non avrei mai osato radermi i capelli nel mio paese  Marco Testa aveva una ragazza che ne aveva 32 (mentre aveva 26 anni) tutti si chiedevano a riguardo. Aveva una voce tonante e usciva con le sue teorie sull'arte e su tutto il resto e sentivo "hey, qualcosa di buono può accadere qui! Perché abbiamo alcune persone che credono!" Nel '98 avevo incontrato un altro credente che si chiamava Eric ed era il ragazzo di Sarina dell'Arizona. Un giovane americano dal gusto costoso, aveva un atelier vicino a piazza Santo Spirito. Erano tutti gli artisti che volevano uscire. C'era la scuola d'arte Cecil Graves che si trovava in via Santo Spirito e molti studenti della scuola vivevano nella zona. Questo era anche il luogo dove vivevano e lavoravano molti artigiani. Sarina viveva in una stanza in un appartamento affittato da Marco Pardini che era un fotografo professionista. Ha vissuto con lui per molti anni fino a quando ha comprato il suo appartamento  nella stessa zona. Eric era un mormone che si era trasferito a La e San Francisco alla ricerca della vita di un artista. aveva sedotto Sarina con discorsi sulle navi spaziali e visioni interplanetarie. Eric avrebbe questa visione del futuro ... era come se sapesse cosa sarebbe successo dopo. Avevo seguito la sua visione quando nell'estate del 98 sono andato a cercare un atelier proprio come quello che aveva trovato. Stavo facendo una mostra alla galleria Silvana di Borgo Pinti e camminando nella zona, avevo trovato un posto che mi piaceva vicino a Piazza dei Ciompi ma era stato troppo costoso (e non avevo soldi comunque!). Ho trovato un avviso sulla porta al numero 34 di via Fiesolana. Era lo stesso posto in cui avevo cenato con Gigi e Francesca qualche anno fa!  Le porte del paradiso mi avevano aperto e adesso potevo dire che avevo un atelier a Firenze proprio come Eric. Per fortuna avevo venduto alcuni quadri alla galleria di Borgo Pinti e Patrizia mi aveva aiutato prestandomi un po 'di soldi in modo da poter pagare il primo affitto per il negozio.  Avevo passato un po 'di tempo in tenda nel campeggio e un po' di tempo a Sarina e Marco in Piazza Santo Spirito. Aveva una finestra di fronte alla facciata della chiesa. Alcuni mesi fa vivevo a Sesto, dove Lorenzo mi aveva lasciato l'uso dell'appartamento perché viaggiava e non c'era. Ora potrei trasferirmi nel mio posto in via Fiesolana. Il proprietario era un avvocato ed era stato generoso nelle sue condizioni di affitto. Eventho il posto non aveva acqua, ero felicissimo trovando proprio quello di cui avevo bisogno. nilofar mehrin <whiteonwhite100@gmail.com>  Fri, Aug 3, 2018, 3:03 PM to mehringnilo  Quando la mostra alla galleria Silvana di Borgo Pinti era finita, avevo incontrato molte persone. Paola Antichi era una delle persone che aveva commissionato una foto del suo cane Rocco. Come Francesca, anche Paola viveva in via della Pergola. Abbiamo passato Natale al suo appartamento festeggiando con la sua amica. È uno dei primi collezionisti a comprare i miei acquerelli di Ponte Vecchio. Per i sei anni trascorsi nel mio Atelier, ho continuato a produrre molte di queste "variazioni sul tema del Ponte Vecchio". probabilmente alcune centinaia che ho venduto anche se altri negozi e il mio fronte negozio. Nel negozio di lavoro avevo altre donne principalmente arabe che indossavano una sciarpa e con i bambini che venivano e mi aiutavano durante il giorno. Il mio più grande successo in questo periodo fu quando Vaheeba, che era una giovane madre, avrebbe portato al lavoro il suo bimbo di dieci mesi e mi avrebbe detto che era stata in grado di mettere del cibo sul tavolo (da questo lavoro) per la famiglia mentre suo marito aveva cercavo lavoro Anche Rula era un'assistente che è venuta a stare nell'officina con i suoi figli. uni4 nilofar mehrin <whiteonwhite100@gmail.com>  Sun, Jul 15, 2018, 6:04 PM to mehringnilo  Certains de mes premiers souvenirs sont de cet appartement confortable .... l'un d'eux est comment mon père me portait dans un panier tissé en marchant dans la rue .... plus tard, ce panier a été utilisé pour contenir des oignons et des pommes de terre! Il me mettait au-dessus d'une armoire pendant qu'il travaillait dans la cuisine et préparait la nourriture ... pour que je sois dans un endroit sûr! et il parlerait à ma mère pendant qu'il travaillait ... c'était la chose habituelle ... ils avaient une bonne relation de conversation au cours des années, mais ma mère serait beaucoup plus agressive car elle a eu plus de succès! C'était embarrassant d'être avec elle à certains moments. Il y avait eu un moment où il y avait une balançoire installée entre la cuisine et le hall et j'avais l'habitude d'y pendre fréquemment.  Je ne me souviens pas d'autre chose que du chat Tom de couleur orange qui était l'animal de compagnie et le compagnon de mon père. Les animaux semblaient le comprendre et le respecter. Plusieurs années plus tard, à Paris, j'ai rencontré Margaret Crowther qui m'a raconté comment elle se souvenait des chansons chantées par sa mère alors qu'elle était enceinte d'elle et qu'elle se promenait avec ce bébé dans son ventre! Incroyable! Jusqu'où pouvez-vous vous souvenir? Elle a dit qu'elle pouvait se souvenir d'entendre de la musique et des chansons comme un fœtus ....  Comme mes parents étaient au travail toute la journée et que mon frère passait beaucoup de temps à l'école et avec ses amis, j'ai passé beaucoup de temps à jouer avec d'autres enfants dans notre rue. La rue principale était pleine de grands vieux arbres de Toot qui avaient des baies qui étaient vert clair et douces. En été, beaucoup d'enfants aimaient manger ces cueillir les frais sur les arbres et le sol. On a passé beaucoup de temps à explorer les jardins et à construire des barrages dans les cours d'eau et les caniveaux qui longent les rues. Mes parents n'avaient pas confiance pour me laisser avec des baby-sitters embauchés et des gens qu'ils ne connaissaient pas, et comme ils n'étaient pas là, j'irais à la maison voisine où un jeune adolescent s'était lié d'amitié avec moi.  Soheila et son père vivaient dans plusieurs pièces dans un terrain voisin. Je me suis toujours demandé pourquoi ils vivaient dans des chambres qui ressemblaient à ce que vous avez vu dans les villages et donnaient l'impression qu'ils étaient très pauvres. Ils ne vivaient pas dans un vrai appartement comme celui dans lequel nous vivions. Comme moi-même, Soheila était aussi seule. elle avait environ 12 ans et elle s'occupait de moi comme si j'étais sa petite soeur et elle m'a montré comment manger des feuilles de vin fraîches et jeunes, et m'a raconté comment les gens cuisinaient des dolmehs en utilisant des feuilles de vin plus grandes pour enrober un mélange de riz. moi à . Même si elle et son père étaient gentils, ma mère avait commencé à se sentir mal à l'aise lorsque les voisins me recueillaient avec leurs propres enfants et me donnaient l'hospitalité dans leurs propres maisons. Les gens du quartier n'avaient pas l'habitude que les mères doivent aller travailler et gagner de l'argent était surtout un travail d'homme. Ma mère pouvait se permettre d'ignorer ces jolies idées démodées, car en un sens elle était étrangère et n'avait pas grandi selon ces coutumes. C'était Téhéran dans les années 60. Vous pouviez sentir le parfum d'une délicieuse cuisine faite maison quand vous marchiez dans les zones résidentielles, et vous pouviez toujours avoir du yaourt et du lait frais livrés à votre porte par le laitier qui venait avec son âne ... et il y en avait beaucoup animaux autour.  Aujourd'hui, les gens doivent s'habituer aux femmes qui travaillent à l'extérieur de la maison ... certaines femmes sont chauffeurs de taxi, beaucoup de jeunes filles vont à l'université et certaines d'entre elles cherchent et trouvent leur futur mari sur Internet ... Mais surtout, vous avez une idée de Caos et Téhéran est embouteillages et la frustration de sortir dans une grande ville surpeuplée et désagréable était tout ce que vous pouvez faire est de faire du shopping. La bonne chose que j'ai trouvé là-bas était les chats ... je les ai aimés et ramené beaucoup à ma maison.

Un temps pour les rêveurs 

 1990 Je parlais à un ami qui a peint et qui a enseigné dans une université américaine à Florence. Il était un concepteur de sites Web et avait créé de nombreux sites Web pour des artistes qu’il connaissait. Il avait vu mon studio et mes cartes1 et avait dit: «Pourquoi n'écrivez-vous pas une histoire pour aller avec vos cartes?» J'ai toujours voulu écrire une telle histoire, mais je ne pensais pas que la vraie vie me permettrait de voler. de l'imagination. C'est pourquoi j'ai pensé écrire sur l'époque où je vivais. Je me suis toujours demandé si l'art signifiait différentes choses dans différents pays. En tant qu'exemple d'artistes à succès récents, j'ai pensé à l'art de Tracy Emin et Damien Hirst, car ils représentent ma génération. Je veux parler de qui je suis en parlant de leur travail, de ceux qui sont importants pour moi. Deux pièces, le «lit défait» et la «tente de camping» sont toutes les deux sur ma liste et elles m'ont fait réfléchir sur la dimension personnelle que nous leur associons. Je m'identifie à la chaleur humaine et à la vulnérabilité de ceux-ci. L’idéal est peut-être les sentiments intimes de cœur exprimés dans la poésie et l’art, mais on peut se demander s’ils ont un rapport avec la dimension plus matérialiste; est-ce la dichotomie entre corps et âme? Je me souviens d'avoir lu une citation de Heine, le poète allemand, dans laquelle il disait avoir le plaisir de regarder le visage d'une personne sans vouloir la posséder. Cependant, il savait qu'il était une exception à la règle et que, de manière générale, les gens souhaitaient s'accoupler et se reproduire, et certains appellent cela de "l'amour". Les sentiments personnels s'expriment parfois par des actes de copulation. Il me semble qu'à partir des années 90, le «génital» a été le «seul» événement intéressant de la vie d'un individu. De manière inexplicable, la sexualité des personnes est issue d'attitudes prudes et est devenue un domaine public. Dans la société, beaucoup de gens s'embrassent, se grattent, se touchent ou indiquent leurs parties intimes dans un style branché et incontournable.

D'autre part, il y a un autre artiste qui m'intéresse et qui a connu le succès au cours de ces décennies. Damien Hirst est surtout connu pour ses sections animales suspendues dans du formaldéhyde. Son travail fait de l'art et de la science une seule et même chose. La froide dimension scientifique est détachée et formelle. Une nature impressionnante a été présentée dans une vitrine et a humilié le spectateur en le plaçant à sa place en tant que mammifère, ce qui a démontré que les humains possèdent les mêmes parties de la machine que les autres espèces. Étant une personne d'esprit religieux, je m'identifie à ces œuvres d'art et les vois comme une célébration de la main de Dieu. l'intelligence suprême. J'ai d'abord pensé à écrire en lisant les livres de mon grand-père. C’était un historien, un expert de l’antiquité et de la Perse, et, même s’il avait eu une vie aventureuse à travers le monde, ses livres étaient très difficiles à lire. Je l'ai beaucoup vu quand j'étais enfant et il parlait de ce qui s'était passé dans sa vie. Je me suis toujours demandé pourquoi il n'écrivait pas à leur sujet, car ce sont les choses qui m'intéressaient le plus. Je voulais connaître les sentiments, les tenants et les aboutissants, plutôt que d'écouter ses leçons d'histoire. Comme «La tente» de Tracy Emin, dans mon écriture et dans mon art2 - aussi humble soit-il -, je tiens à dire que j'ai partagé des moments de ma vie avec de nombreuses personnes. Les sentiments pour les amis et la famille ont rempli mes journées et mes décisions. Les périodes dans lesquelles je vivais comprenaient une histoire commune, partagée avec beaucoup d'autres personnes qui marchaient sur la terre en même temps que moi. Comme au cours des siècles passés, alors que le monde n'était pas encore un «village», je penserais probablement à Mme de Stael et à d'autres écrivaines qui ont voyagé et écrit sur leur époque. Le mien n'est pas un témoignage de ce que J'ai vu et ressenti - c'est plus un retour sur les événements. Je n'aurais certainement pas acheté un billet pour aller en Italie s'il n'y avait pas eu la guerre Iran / Irak3 dans les années 80, ou si j'étais née dans la génération de mes tantes. D'origine asiatique et issue d'une famille musulmane, je suis née en Iran à l'époque du Shah, lorsque les femmes portaient des vêtements occidentaux. Même à ce moment-là, être une femme signifiait que les priorités et les liens familiaux étaient au centre de nos préoccupations. En tant que modèles, les sœurs de mon père, mes tantes Homa - qui travaillaient comme infirmière - et Tahmeen - qui était employée de bureau - s'étaient rendues en Europe après la Seconde Guerre mondiale. Elles appartenaient à une génération encore opprimée par la femme et les devoirs que cela impliquait.

L'ancienne génération de la famille de mon père avait été élevée en Inde par leur mère irakienne, qui vivait à Purdah, puis s'était installée en Iran. Ils étaient arrivés à Téhéran dans les années 50 et, même s'ils travaillaient, ils s'occupaient de leur père malade et de leur soeur Parveen, qui souffrait peut-être d'autisme, maladie qui n'avait pas encore été découverte. Avec beaucoup de chance, je suis né à une époque où je pouvais me permettre d'avoir du temps pour moi pendant quelques années. Ma mère et ma sœur et leurs familles vivaient dans un confort relatif et en tant que femmes modernes. Ils ont réussi à avoir une vie qui leur appartenait, même s'ils avaient une famille et élevaient des enfants. Ma mère avait eu une carrière journalistique et avait écrit pour le journal anglais de Téhéran. Elle avait une maîtrise en anglais et avait étudié en Inde. Elle et mon père avaient tous deux été traducteurs et intellectuellement en vie. La jeune génération aussi avait eu une éducation universitaire; mes cousins Ameneh et Sadieh, qui sont nés au Pakistan, étaient diplômés et étaient des femmes qui travaillaient. Ils étaient des modèles positifs. Dans la société iranienne, avoir du temps pour soi pour une femme n’a jamais été considéré comme une chose positive. C'était la différence avec mes parents dans le sous-continent. La femme iranienne idéale devait servir les enfants et tous les autres membres de la famille, et devait toujours être présente pour les autres. Même maintenant, «la plupart des femmes» n'ont pas le temps de s'attarder sur leurs idées et veulent continuer à vivre au quotidien, et elles prospèrent en tant que consommatrices. En tant qu’Iranien de naissance, j’étais destiné à être influencé par l’histoire et la culture de mon pays dans les années 60 et les années 70 lors du règne du Shah. L'une des principales productions de cette époque était un périodique hebdomadaire intitulé Ketabe Hafteh (Le livre de la semaine), dans lequel on pouvait lire des traductions d'œuvres littéraires de divers pays et époques. Il y avait aussi des articles sur l'art et la culture du monde.

Bien que les Iraniens soient très impliqués dans leur propre littérature, à l'époque, de nombreuses idées occidentales et orientales étaient admises. Comme de nombreux autres Asiatiques, les Iraniens, hommes et femmes, ont été formés pour pouvoir assumer de nombreuses responsabilités. la maison, surtout avec les malades et les personnes âgées. Même les classes moyennes travaillent durement à la maison et ne sont pas comme les classes moyennes ailleurs, qui ont généralement les moyens de se faire aider et ont donc du temps à consacrer à leurs intérêts. La maison dans laquelle je grandissais était totalement étrange selon la mentalité iranienne habituelle, car à la maison, les hommes, généralement mon père, préparaient les repas. Il serait inouï pour un mari iranien de cuisiner et de préparer les repas, mais mes parents vivaient ainsi et mon père me disait souvent de ne le dire à personne, car il savait que ce serait un problème pour tout le monde en dehors de chez nous. Ma mère était une femme d'affaires capable. Elle était douée pour négocier et conclure des accords. C'était principalement parce qu'elle était autorisée à avoir confiance en elle et qu'elle utilisait ses talents par nécessité. Sa sœur, qui avait épousé un pakistanais et était allée vivre au Royaume-Uni, était du même genre. C’est le contexte qui a fait de mon cas un cas à part et je décrirais mon art comme un mélange de diverses cultures qui m’ont influencé. Je suis né et ai été acheté en Iran / Téhéran, où j'ai vécu de 1959 à 1977. En 1978, j'ai découvert Londres en séjournant chez le frère de ma mère, Ismile, et son épouse suédoise, Ylva. Même enfant, j'ai passé quelques années à Londres avec eux. Je suis allé dans les écoles primaires et secondaires locales avec mes cousins. Quelques vacances ont été passées avec ma famille à Karachi. Celles-ci étaient d'influences différentes et ma famille m'a apporté un bagage culturel varié. Je me suis toujours intéressé à exprimer mes propres idées. Même quand j'étais enfant, j'insisterais pour ne pas copier la réalité mais pour dire quelque chose de nouveau qui me préoccupait. Parfois, je produisais de plus gros morceaux, qui étaient totalement de mon imagination - je veux dire, n'ayant pas été copiés de n'importe quelle source. Cela a été un sujet de discorde, avec beaucoup de gens qui pensaient que copier la réalité était nécessaire.

Un photographe de la formation de base4 à Londres, à laquelle je suis allé en 1980, m'a confié que les miniatures persanes étaient elles-mêmes les œuvres d'art de personnes qui avaient regardé la réalité de près et avaient étudié les plantes, les objets, les bâtiments et les hommes afin de produire leurs propres images. En d’autres termes, l’art était un langage et il fallait connaître les mots - c’est-à-dire que les arts et les mots étaient des images de la réalité et que vous deviez les apprendre pour pouvoir ensuite les rassembler pour exprimer une idée. Heureusement, ma propre tutrice, Janet, qui était peintre, n'était pas accro à de telles idées. Elle a dit avoir commencé à peindre un jour en mettant simplement toutes sortes d'objets sur la table de la cuisine et en les peignant, car elle en avait envie. Je pensais que ce serait un point de vue beaucoup plus libérateur et amusant. Il y avait du cœur et de l'émotion dans l'idée de faire les choses comme elle le faisait. C'était une recherche personnelle, avec son intérêt pour la vie en tant que motivation et moteur. Cela signifiait que l'on pouvait choisir les objets et les choses que l'on aimait, les mettre sur une table et les peindre. L'important pour elle était qu'il faille travailler, travailler, et plus on faisait ça, mieux c'était. Travailler sérieusement pour vous-même était une bonne chose et si vous étiez honnête avec vous-même, vous alliez dans la bonne direction.

En fait, les photos de Janet étaient tellement d'elle-même et très intimes. Je pensais que c'était gentil de sa part de dire aux jeunes gens à qui elle enseignait qu'ils devraient travailler dur pour ce qui les intéressait. Après le cours de base, j'allais étudier plus avant, mais les temps avaient changé et, même si j'avais la possibilité d'étudier dans une école polytechnique d'art, je ne pouvais pas payer pour cela. C'était à cause de la révolution en Iran puis de la guerre Irak / Iran qui avait commencé en 1981-1982. Lorsque la révolution a éclaté, j'étais allé au Pakistan rendre visite à mes parents. Je n'avais pas pu retourner en Angleterre car, à mon retour à Cambridge pour y suivre mes cours, j'ai été retenu à l'aéroport et renvoyé avec l'excuse que j'avais indiqué dans mon journal que je souhaitais rester à Londres, où j'avais déjà passé trois ans. Il est juste arrivé que des gens comme moi, totalement sortis de la réalité des événements à Téhéran, soient maintenant victimes de ce que des «révolutionnaires» iraniens - pour la plupart non nantis - ont décidé de faire chez eux. Ils avaient décidé de pénétrer dans les locaux de l’ambassade américaine, ce qui, à mon avis, leur semblait inutile. Je devais retourner chez mes parents qui rendaient visite à de la famille au Pakistan et à Karachi. J'ai passé et passé un an à Karachi, chez ma mère et sa sœur. La maison de ma tante Jahan à Karachi était vraiment un centre social et était très amusante et vivante. Ma tante et sa fille, ma cousine Ameneh, étaient des cuisinières très actives et socialement actives. Ils avaient des déjeuners et des dîners, et allaient à des fêtes qui rendaient la vie vivante et pleine de gens intéressants. Par l'intermédiaire d'un ami de ma tante, j'ai découvert un emploi et travaillé dans une agence graphique en tant qu'assistante. J'avais vingt et un ans et même si mes parents voulaient me voir m'installer, mon propre rêve était de faire des études en Europe. Ma mère avait étudié et enseignait l'anglais et je pensais qu'un diplôme en art n'était peut-être pas assez bon pour obtenir un travail rémunéré. Elle-même n'avait pas voulu que je fréquente une école d'art. Mes parents étaient nés et avaient grandi en Inde, dans la communauté persane qui vivait là depuis plusieurs générations. Ils ont été élevés à Bangalore et à Mysore, alors que mon grand-père paternel était né et avait été élevé à Hyderabad par ses parents iraniens et que le père de ma mère était un shirazi, mais avait une histoire en Égypte et en Irak.

Il semble que de leur temps, les gens pouvaient monter à cheval ou en calèche et voyager dans toute l'Asie sans devoir posséder de papiers spécifiques5. J'ai eu cette idée à cause des récits de mon grand-père sur la façon dont il avait voyagé d'Inde en Irak et vice-versa. Il avait en fait quitté Hyderabad et travaillait sur un navire transportant le thé au Japon à l'âge de dix-huit ans. De là, il s'était rendu en Europe puis aux États-Unis. Il est ensuite devenu étudiant dans une université américaine et y a vécu pendant un certain temps. Il a même survécu au séisme de 1906 en Californie et est rentré en Irak pour épouser son cousin germain, une jeune fille de Purdah, issue d'une famille aisée. Il l'emmena avec les enfants en Inde où il enseignait l'histoire et la littérature persanes à l'université de Mysore. Maintenant, à Karachi, à vingt-deux ans, j'avais décidé de retourner en Europe. Ma mère pensait que je me marierais avec l'un ou l'autre membre de la famille. Elle n'était pas vraiment en contrôle et mon père n'était pas intéressé à contrôler ma vie. J'avais passé des jours à Londres où je n'étais pas sûr de mon avenir. Je pensais que je devrais trop changer pour être «une femme moderne» si je m'intégrais au style de vie anglais. Cela semblait trop compliqué, et j'ai toujours eu l'idée que l'Italie était plus proche de mon cœur émotionnellement. Même la langue semblait ouvrir les portes d'un autre genre de modernité, pour ainsi dire. À l'été 1982, j'étais dans un avion pour Pérouse et me dirigeais vers l'Universita per Straineri, où je suis resté et ai étudié l'italien pendant trois mois. Puis, comme Florence semblait être un endroit plus petit que Rome - je ne pouvais pas vivre dans une métropole comme Londres sans famille - et c'était célèbre pour l'art. Je fis de nouveau mes valises et me rendis dans une imprimerie pour voir comment les eaux-fortes étaient fabriquées. J'avais vu ces belles eaux-fortes à Russell Square et aux alentours, où je suis allé à l'école à Londres, et je voulais en fabriquer moi-même, mais la technique m'a empêché de m'exprimer immédiatement.

En 1983, j'ai trouvé un travail et commencé à vivre avec Dona, une fille qui a étudié dans une université américaine et qui était photographe. J'ai partagé un appartement avec elle à Via Maggio et j'ai commencé à travailler comme vendeuse. En 1984, je me suis inscrit à un cours à l'université pour étudier la langue et la littérature anglaises. Je ne connaissais pas assez l'italien, mais je vivais et j'apprenais. Plus tard, en 1984, j'avais déménagé à Via Bolognese et vivais avec un groupe de jeunes étudiants. En 1985, j'ai déménagé à Via delle Cinque Giornate avec Peter, un ami allemand, alors étudiant en doctorat, et sa petite amie Caterina. Je connaissais mon fiancé Guido à Rome en 1983 et je voulais me marier. Mes vingt ans passaient et je aspirais à l'art, comme toujours, mais je ne fais pas grand chose, car je devais gagner ma vie en tant que vendeur. De 1984 à 1989, je commençais à peindre de grands tableaux dans la Via delle Cinque Giornate. Peter était rentré en Allemagne et maintenant je sous-louais les chambres à d'autres étudiants et travaillais comme vendeur l'été. Les appartements dans lesquels j'avais vécu avaient toujours eu une grande importance pour moi, et dans ce dernier, j'ai vécu pendant quinze ans, louant des chambres supplémentaires à d'autres étudiants. À l'université, je m'entendais, apprenant lentement la langue italienne. C'était très difficile. Guido avait été d'une grande aide après l'échec du premier examen à l'université. Il s'est fait un devoir de m'aider à passer les premiers examens. Il était devenu mon entraîneur personnel, mais j’ai eu beaucoup de mal à étudier car j’avais envie de peindre quand j’étudiais des livres, et j’étais très distrait par les différentes directions que ces deux intérêts me prenaient. D'une part, je devais avoir un emploi du temps fixe pour pouvoir étudier, et d'autre part, je devais formuler les idées sur papier ou sur toile et leur donner une structure.

Mon cousin Ameneh, qui était journaliste et travaillait pour un journal, est venu me rendre visite du Pakistan et m'a demandé: «Pourquoi n'es-tu pas allé dans une école d'art et étudie-t-il l'art?» Pourquoi étudiai-je la littérature alors que j'aimais faire des photos? La réponse était que je n’étais pas confiant d’être un artiste, mais j’avais ces idées qui me poussaient à dépenser de l’argent pour la toile et la peinture. Je collectionnais beaucoup de matériel artistique pour les moments où j'avais des moments de grande énergie et je peignais lorsque j'étais émotionnellement stressé. C'était une sorte de discipline. J'ai même refusé de me fâcher et de me battre pour une relation, et je mettrais mes énergies à la toile. Il semblait que les gens que j'avais dans ma vie ne m'écoutaient jamais. Je veux dire, je n'avais pas de voix et j'ai trouvé que c'était un problème dans presque tous les domaines de ma vie. Je suppose que les femmes ne peuvent se faire entendre et que les gens ne les écoutent que si elles ont un homme dur comme ma mère, ou si elles ont des enfants ou une personnalité dure. J'ai continué à demander aux hommes de ma vie de se marier et ils ne viendraient le faire qu'après plusieurs années.

merci Nathalie ca ete fait tres vite !

Ma mère avait une voix d'autorité forte parce qu'elle était son premier enfant et, étant très brillante, tout le monde lui accordait beaucoup d'attention. Même Ameneh était comme elle. Tout le monde les a écoutés. Je n'avais pas réussi à apprendre à avoir une voix similaire. Peut-être que je n'étais pas une battante et qu'elle était plus agressive et compétitive. La plupart du temps, je me débattais avec moi-même, essayant de me maîtriser. Je pense que cela a quelque chose à voir avec le fait d'être très physique. Je veux dire, je sentais que j'avais une constitution sportive. J'étais vraiment vigoureux et pourtant je voulais avoir un cerveau et être un intellectuel comme mes parents. Je détestais être dans le corps d'une femme. Une femme dont le rôle donné par Dieu dans la vie devait se reproduire. Je trouvais cela très humiliant d'être une femme parce que les femmes semblaient toujours être de deuxième classe, comme moi. Ils n'ont jamais réussi à se faire entendre avant d'avoir des enfants, mais je voulais avoir du respect sans effort. Je voulais que les gens écoutent ce que j'avais à dire, mais ils ne l'ont pas fait. Supposons qu'il soit normal de demander des choses et de ne pas les obtenir quand vous les voulez. J'en suis venu à penser que le monde est à peu près pareil - à moins que vous ne soyez chanceux ou que vous mettiez un flingue à la tête des gens, vous devenez de deuxième classe. Même quand je vivais en Angleterre et que je demandais à mon cousin s'il voulait se marier, il a dit qu'il n'était pas prêt parce qu'il était étudiant. J'ai pensé, j'aimerais pouvoir le sauver de son éloignement de sa propre culture. Je voulais aussi me sauver moi-même. Je pensais qu'il manquait ses racines culturelles iranienne et pakistanaise, mais il ne le voyait pas ainsi et, bien sûr, je me suis trompé dans ma mentalité traditionnelle. C'était comme une histoire tirée d'un roman de Jane Austen. Plus tard dans la vie, j'ai vu le film «West is West» 6, qui m'a fait prendre conscience des distances émotionnelles et du travail à faire avant que tout se passe comme prévu.

J'ai été assez stupide pour lui demander s'il voulait se marier et plus tard, ma tante - sa mère - m'a dit que les femmes n'étaient pas censées demander et qu'elles devaient attendre jusqu'à ce qu'on leur demande. Et beaucoup plus tard, environ trente ans plus tard, elle m'a dit qu'il avait eu beaucoup de familles indiennes et pakistanaises qui le recherchaient pour leurs filles. Je n'étais qu'une femme qui voulait exprimer tout ce que je ne pouvais pas gérer comme les autres femmes: comme le lit et la tente d'Emin, je me frayais un chemin dans les relations et j'avais aussi besoin d'être une artiste plutôt que de vouloir obtenir un mariage. Les problèmes pratiques de visa et de permis de séjour et mon éducation traditionnelle m'ont obligé à faire des propositions moi-même! En tant que femme instruite et moderne, la solution de ma mère était surprenante. elle a suggéré que je puisse me jeter aux pieds de l'un de ses riches parents et le supplier de m'épouser parce que tout ce que je possédais réellement était ma virginité. Je pense toujours que ça ne pouvait pas être elle qui a dit une chose pareille à sa fille de vingt et un ans. Elle était probablement inquiète de ce que les gens diraient! Cependant, plus tard, lorsque j'ai rencontré Guido en Italie, je pleurais depuis des lustres sur ce qui m'était arrivé et sur l'humiliation que j'avais subie en posant à mon cousin cette question stupide. Et c'est pourquoi dans l'Islam, les parents doivent prendre la responsabilité de marier leurs enfants. Personne ne peut vous tordre le bras et vous forcer à faire la bonne chose - la plupart du temps, il faut prendre des décisions soi-même. C'est la partie négociation que je trouve si difficile. Ma mère et ma tante étaient bonnes à la négociation, alors que j'ai toujours été totalement à court de mots. Guido était le fils aîné d'un avocat et il s'exprimait très bien. Il voudrait parfois parler sans relâche. Une fois que j’aurais appris la langue, nous entrerions dans ces conversations très amusantes et exaltantes, et c’est à ce moment-là que j’ai réalisé que c’était la chose spirituelle de vouloir communiquer. Je n'ai jamais rêvé de rencontrer un homme qui voudrait me parler! Mais je suppose que la plupart des hommes, même ceux qui veulent parler, ont généralement du mal à écouter les femmes.

Ce qui me ramène au sujet de l'art et de l'expression. Je suppose que l'art était pour moi tout ce que je voulais dire et je faisais un effort pour me faire écouter. Mais je pense que la première chose que je voudrais dire aux gens, c'est que si vous utilisez l'art comme un message à l'humanité, utilisez-le à bon escient. Je sais que si vous êtes un homme noir ou une femme ou un gay, vous avez toujours été désavantagé, car seul l'homme avec "l'arme" ou "le pouvoir des mots" a été capable de poser le pied et a eu le dernier mot. Il semble que ce soit la raison d'être de ce monde. Mais l'art aussi est un instrument puissant. J'ai lu une interview du réalisateur allemand Fassbinder il y a quelques années. En cela, il a déclaré que bien qu'il appartienne à la même génération en colère que le Bader-Meinhoff et qu'il le connaissait, il avait choisi une voie différente pour pouvoir exprimer ses opinions à travers les films qu'il a réalisés. Je pensais que c'était très intelligent. La plupart de ma vie, j'ai vu que seul le «pouvoir» avait une voix. Peut-être avoir une voix est-il puissant aussi. Vous pouvez dire quelque chose et être entendu dans l'art. C'est la beauté de la chose. Et votre message doit être bon ...

J'ai commencé à fabriquer les cartes Inshallah en 1989 et 1990. Puis, en 1992, j'ai réussi à obtenir mon diplôme en langue et littérature anglaises de l'Université de Florence. J'avais des expositions et des expositions dans et autour de Florence. J'ai adoré aller à Venise et assister au carnaval. Plus tard, j'ai fait quelques aquarelles sur Venise, une ville magnifique et une source d'inspiration constante. En 1998, je devais quitter l'appartement7 où j'avais vécu quinze ans. Avec l'aide d'amis et de sympathisants, j'ai réussi à trouver un studio dans le centre de Florence et j'ai commencé à vendre mes aquarelles au public. Mes aquarelles représentaient la ville dans laquelle je vivais depuis vingt ans et les salons et les intérieurs que je peignais étaient un rêve de trouver un foyer stable. J'essayais de vivre de mon art en produisant beaucoup d'aquarelles, de cartes et de boîtes. Mes clients étaient principalement des touristes. J'ai vécu au même endroit à l'étage. Mon studio était dans une rue du centre et je vivais comme un ermite avec beaucoup de chats que j'aimais. Je ne pouvais pas gagner d'argent et payer le loyer après 2001, mais j'ai payé mes assistants pour qu'ils m'aident à produire en quantité. Je n'avais vraiment aucun sens des affaires, alors j'ai aidé d'une manière frustrante un concurrent qui me surveillait à reprendre mon domaine de vente, à savoir le magasin où je vendais. Cette personne qui fait des eaux-fortes admirables a très bien réussi à vendre son art parce que, par solidarité avec les artistes, j’avais partagé mon distributeur avec lui. Constatant que son travail produit par machine a pris le dessus sur ma main et par naïveté, j'ai perdu une source de revenu très importante.

En 2001, les magasins ont fermé et j'ai dû quitter le studio. En 2004, j'ai séjourné à Viareggio et au printemps 2005, je suis retourné en Iran chez ma mère, atteinte de la maladie d'Alzheimer. J'ai décidé d'acheter une propriété à Dubaï et, en 2007, j'ai loué une maison à Dubaï pour un an. J'ai continué à peindre à Téhéran et j'ai eu l'aide de jeunes étudiants et d'assistants qui travaillaient pour moi dans mon home studio. Mon histoire est loin d'être une réussite - je suis probablement l'anti-héroïne du roman qui a tout fait de travers. Cependant, je pense que c'est une histoire qui montre une génération qui aspirait à créer une nouvelle voix; celui qui n’est ni oriental ni occidental, mais au milieu du carrefour. Selon la présidente Angela Merkel, la société multiculturelle n'a pas fonctionné en Allemagne - elle parlait probablement de l'Europe -, mais des gens comme moi estiment qu'il s'agit d'un nouveau projet et qu'il faut lui donner du temps. Le tableau 'Existence' ou 'The Contact' parle de tendre la main pour mieux connaître l'autre.

Peut-être qu'en Asie, où vivent de nombreuses tribus différentes, vous pouvez voir cette voix; il est là dans beaucoup de films indiens et pakistanais. Le Moyen-Orient est quelque chose de différent et de plus complexe. Israël et sa création marquent tous les musulmans; c'est une nation née des erreurs européennes et qui fait souffrir le reste du peuple du Moyen-Orient. Sera-t-il capable d'intégrer ses voisins, c'est-à-dire de se lier d'amitié avec lui, ou prendra-t-il le contrôle de tout le Moyen-Orient par le biais de groupes de pression sionistes? Ma peinture «Energies et tendances» parle d'une mutation en termes géographiques.

En 2008, j'ai été victime d'agents de sécurité anonymes qui ne m'ont pas permis d'acheter une propriété et de m'installer à Dubaï. Tout au long du nouveau siècle, le nouvel ordre mondial a voulu nous enlever notre voix. Ce sentiment d'être transformé en "marionnettes sur une ficelle" se trouve dans la peinture "J'aillais me donner". J'associe mes peintures planétaires de science-fiction à la partie la plus détachée et scientifique de mon imagination. La science planétaire peut être un refuge contre nos vies imparfaites sur terre. Nous devons vivre à l'abri de nos bâtiments, de nos salons et de nos chambres et, même si nous sommes actuellement six milliards sur la planète, notre vie émotionnelle nous empêche de trouver des solutions aux problèmes. Aujourd'hui, nous sommes préoccupés par les ressources. Alors que la spiritualité nous enseigne que les ressources sont infinies si nous aspirons à des valeurs plus élevées, la vision matérialiste limite notre potentiel à trouver de nouvelles solutions. C'est la différence entre le président Mao et Churchill face au problème de l'alimentation. Alors que ces derniers ont appelé à une augmentation de la participation individuelle positive pour cultiver et cultiver des aliments, les premiers ont pris pour acquis que certains allaient de toute façon être victimes de la famine. Tout comme aujourd'hui, certains pensent que la nature est vouée à être détruite de toute façon. Ici, je voudrais mentionner et rendre hommage aux millions de personnes - certaines disent 45, mais j'imagine que le nombre est plus élevé - qui sont décédées des suites de la famine au cours des dernières années en Chine, par manque d'intérêt et d'énergie à essayer pour les sauver. La fonte des glaciers va se produire, les ours polaires et d'autres animaux vont mourir de faim et le changement climatique va inévitablement changer notre planète et notre vie pour le pire.

On aspire à des choses plus élevées, mais parviendrons-nous jamais à nous relever et à faire la bonne chose? Aucun de nous ne trouve de solution aux problèmes, et la raison en est que nous manquons d’imagination pour trouver et appliquer de nouvelles idées aux problèmes vitaux qui sont déterminants pour l’avenir de la planète. En attendant, nous allons nous gratter les organes génitaux, et nous cacher la tête dans le sable, totalement irresponsables et décadents. Comme des marionnettes sur une ficelle, nous laissons notre destin à Dieu et aux pouvoirs en place.

Établie avec mon oncle et ma tante a Londres Mon oncle Ismile vivait au Royaume-Uni à Londres depuis l'âge de dix-huit ans, jusqu'à sa mort en 1999 ou vers l'âge de soixante-trois ans. Il est né à Bangalore comme ma mère, mais il se considérait plus comme un Pakistanais que comme un Persan. Il était important dans ma vie car je suis resté avec lui et sa femme Ylva pendant trois ans lorsque je suis allé étudier en Angleterre en 1979. Je venais de terminer mes études secondaires, après avoir passé mon dernier examen pour obtenir mon diplôme. Ayant terminé le lycée à dix-huit, 25 ans, 25 ans, j’avais hâte d’aller en Angleterre et de rester avec eux à Londres. Ma mère était sa sœur aînée d'environ 10 ans et, comme sa famille avait accepté de me garder à l'école à Londres avec eux, même lorsque j'étais enfant. Maintenant, elle lui a demandé de l'aider à m'inscrire à l'université en Grande-Bretagne. J'ai toujours été un jeune homme très ennuyeux et en uniforme, sans personne pour me guider. J'étais plus qu'heureux d'échapper aux examens d'entrée à l'université de Téhéran, car ils semblaient être une barrière impossible à surmonter.

J'étais un élève absolument inutile, médiocre selon toutes les définitions au lycée. Le seul sujet dans lequel j'étais bon était l'anglais, car j'étais enfant et j'avais été envoyé chez ma tante Jahan et ses trois enfants. Mon oncle Ismile et son épouse Ylva vivaient avec ma tante Jahan au sud-est de Londres dans une maison jumelée. Plus tard, ils ont déménagé dans une maison qu'ils ont eux-mêmes rénovée. Ils étaient très différents de nous, Iraniens, ils ont fait beaucoup de bricolage et l’ont apprécié. 26 26 Le point culminant de mon lycée en Iran a été la synthèse du livre 1984, par laquelle j'ai présenté George Orwell à mes camarades de classe âgés de 17 ans. Je suppose que je suis toujours heureux de cela, car beaucoup d’autres étudiants étaient fiers de leurs examens de mathématiques et de sciences, et je n’ai généralement jamais excellé dans quoi que ce soit. Cependant, ayant fréquenté l’école primaire britannique, mon anglais était plutôt bon et c’est vrai que ma mère, que Dieu bénisse son âme, a essayé de m’intéresser au sujet des livres et des romans en me racontant la histoires de ceux-ci, et c’est ainsi que j’ai été initié aux histoires de Shakespeare et d’autres auteurs.

Elle était titulaire d'une maîtrise en littérature anglaise de l'Université de Bangalore et elle-même adorait les livres. Ses efforts - quel que soit le peu d’efforts qu’elle m’enseignait - ont été fructueux et même plus tard dans la vie, je l’ai suivie sur cette voie, craignant trop de risquer un diplôme artistique inutile. C’est ce que ma mère pensait parce que nous ignorions que l’art était un sujet important. Ici, je veux dire à tout le monde qu’un diplôme en art peut être aussi utile qu’un autre. Mon oncle Ismile avait également entendu son lot d'histoires, car il était le plus jeune frère de ma mère et elle avait essayé de le faire étudier avec les mêmes méthodes.

J'ai toujours été une fille ordinaire, alors que mes cousines pakistanaises, Ameneh et Atefeh, avec qui je suis restée à Londres, étaient des filles beaucoup plus intéressantes et brillantes. Tout le monde parlait toujours d'eux. Ce qu'ils ont fait et dit est de la plus haute importance. Ils étaient spéciaux peut-être parce que leur père était décédé et aussi parce que tante Jahan, son frère et sa femme aimaient sincèrement communiquer avec les enfants et les jugeaient au-dessus de la moyenne. Ma tante et mon oncle et Ylva, la femme suédoise de mon oncle, ont pensé au monde d'Ameneh, l'aîné des enfants. Elle était vraiment la star au sommet de l'arbre de Noël. Les gens auraient pensé qu'elle était une sorte de génie en devenir. Mon oncle, disent-ils, était assez obsédé par elle quand elle était adolescente et il n'avait pas permis à ma tante d'élever ses enfants dans la tradition pakistanaise islamique. Les filles avaient à peu près un type d'éducation et d'éducation britannique. En 1979, lorsque je suis arrivé chez eux avec ma mère à l'âge de 18 ans, mes cousins n'y vivaient pas. Ameneh était à l'université de Brighton pour étudier les sciences et Farid à Swansea. Malheureusement, à l'âge de seize ans, Atefeh était décédé des suites d'une maladie non identifiée à Pak / Karachi. Elle était tombée dans le coma et était morte. Atefeh était allée à Karachi vivre chez sa mère et aller à l'école là-bas.

Atefeh avait été mon amie d'enfance. Nous étions très différents. elle était apparemment timide et à la retraite et avait l'air très féminine et aimait toutes les choses girly. Elle aimait s'habiller et être jolie, elle aimait écrire et avait beaucoup d'amis. Quand nous étions à Karachi, nous allions tous au bazar de la vieille ville pour acheter des bracelets de verre et de beaux matériaux à offrir au tailleur. C'était très excitant d'être avec mes cousins parce qu'ils connaissaient beaucoup de gens et étaient toujours impliqués. Nous avons visité des bijouteries avec nos mères. Nous n'étions pas vraiment intéressés par l'or nous-mêmes, mais l'ancienne génération l'a acheté avec l'idée que l'or serait toujours utile un jour. Une fois, j'ai été invité avec elle chez un ami d'école et nous sommes allés à cette fête où toutes les filles et tous les garçons avaient seize ans 28 ans, comme nous, et nous avons dû rester la nuit parce que c'était très tard. Je me suis réveillé tôt avec l'appel à la prière et, même si je ne priais pas régulièrement, je sentais que je devais prier. Je ne pouvais pas penser à quelque chose à couvrir alors j'ai utilisé un drap de lit, le mettant sur ma tête et pendant que je priais. Naturellement, quelqu'un dans la maison s'est réveillé pour aller aux toilettes et dans l'obscurité, ils ont vu cette feuille bouger toute seule. Il y a eu un cri effrayé parce qu'ils pensaient que j'étais un fantôme.

Cela s'est passé quelques mois avant qu'Atefeh ne tombe dans le coma. C'était probablement une sorte de signe. Nous avions passé de si bons moments ensemble quelques mois plus tôt, elle et sa famille étaient venues à Téhéran. Ils étaient venus de Londres pour parcourir l’Europe de l’Est et la Turquie dans une vieille Peugeot verte. Ma tante l'avait acheté à Londres. C'était l'été 1976 et quand ils sont arrivés dans notre ancienne maison, tout semblait parfait. Quelques mois seulement avant son décès, nous avions passé des soirées mémorables sur le toit de mon ancienne maison à Téhéran. Dans ces années-là, les gens dormaient encore en plein air, sur les toits en été. Les lits étaient disposés les soirées fraîches et la nuit, ils étaient délicieusement frais et frais pour dormir. Nous avions tous les deux seize ans et dormions à proximité les uns des autres. Nous avons regardé les étoiles et avons parlé et rigolé jusqu'à ce que nous nous sommes endormis. Même à ce moment-là, nous avions remarqué la planète rouge et nous ne savions pas que c’était la planète Mars, qui allait bientôt tomber sur le pays.

Oncle Ismile et Auntie Ylva formaient un beau couple d'âge moyen qui rêvait de leur retraite lorsque je serais chez eux. C'est grâce à l'influence suédoise d'Ylva qu'ils ont vécu une vie très méthodique et organisée. Ylva a eu la générosité de voir son mari rentrer à l'université à quarante ans.

Il a obtenu son diplôme en économie et a ensuite pu enseigner au lycée. Ils étaient tous deux enseignants et se rendaient au travail tous les jours. Ils rentraient à la maison, préparaient le repas du soir et nous mangions ensemble à la table, où mon oncle parlait de politique et où ma tante et moi restions silencieux, uniquement parce que nous ne nous préoccupions pas vraiment de l'un ou de l'autre. J'étais inscrit à un cours intensif et j'étudiais trois niveaux A afin de les réussir en un an. Personne ne m'a dit que c'était une tâche impossible pour quelqu'un qui n'était pas un vrai maniaque étudiant. Cependant, je marchais tous les jours sur Great Russell Street pour me rendre au University Tutorial College et passais l'heure du déjeuner à 31 31 au British Museum. Bien sûr, je n’ai pas passé les examens comme je le devrais.

Alors que les étudiants iraniens et les autres étudiants indiens et pakistanais qui avaient suivi un enseignement en langues ou en mathématiques avaient été acceptés et avaient été acceptés à l'université au bout de deux ans, je n'ai réussi à obtenir un laissez-passer que pour l'anglais et la biologie dans mon niveau A, et j'avais passé beaucoup de temps à peindre. Je suis reconnaissant à mon oncle de m'avoir permis d'essayer d'aller à l'école d'art. C’était mon propre choix, et c’est ce que je voulais vraiment faire, mais je n’avais pas eu le courage de le faire. Je suis donc rentré chez mon oncle un jour et j'ai dit que je m'étais inscrit à Saint Martin pour suivre un cours de base et que j'allais essayer d'obtenir un diplôme en art. Je suppose que les gens savaient que j'aimais dessiner et peindre, car j'avais toujours pratiqué cela alors que j'aurais dû étudier pour mes examens. Cette année à Saint Martin fut une bonne année. J'avais enfin trouvé ma place et étais heureuse d'aller étudier l'art.

Aller en Italie était le résultat de mon désir d'étudier et d'obtenir un diplôme. Je n'avais pas réussi à le faire en Angleterre. Mme Thatcher et le gouvernement conservateur de 1981 ont entraîné une augmentation des coûts liés aux études universitaires, et la révolution en Iran a eu pour conséquence que je n'avais pas d'argent. La dernière fois que j'ai rencontré mon oncle et ma tante à Florence, ils étaient tous deux plus âgés, dans la soixantaine et bénéficiaient de leur pension. Maintenant, ils avaient tout le temps du monde pour voyager en Europe comme ils avaient toujours voulu le faire. La première chose que nous avons faite quand ils sont descendus du train en provenance de l'aéroport de Milan, La Malpensa, a naturellement été de se rendre dans un café et d'obtenir un cappuccino. Mon oncle avait encore beaucoup de ses cheveux blancs et épais, à l’exception d’une tache chauve qu’il avait à l’arrière de la tête. Ma tante Ylva avait l'air très vieille et fatiguée.

Joseph's Dream Huile sur toile, 1988 Ne pas travailler ne leur avait pas rendu la vie plus agréable. Je leur ai toujours été très reconnaissant pour leur soutien et leur amitié, et j’étais triste de les voir malheureux même en tant que retraités. Ma tante avait une expression dure à cause des problèmes qu'elle avait dû affronter dans sa vie. Maintenant, mon oncle n’allait pas bien et elle devait le soigner et le soigner. Il avait également une petite amie qu'il avait présentée à la famille; cela ne me regardait pas du tout, mais son choix a ébranlé ma vision conservatrice de la vie. Dans notre famille, il n’était pas arrivé que quiconque prenne une deuxième femme, mais je sais que cela se produit tout le temps ... Je veux dire que les divorces et autres relations ont lieu tout le temps et sont dans le mode de vie normal de tout le monde. Il y avait quelque chose qui ne va pas ou qui va pas chez les familles qui sont restées les mêmes tout au long. Mes parents ont traversé cinquante ans de mariage et constituaient une exception à la règle. Cette «autre femme» avait 18 ans, était l'une de ses étudiantes et venait de l'Allemagne de l'Est. Cette histoire m'a rappelé un film intitulé Icelandic Wedding, dans lequel une jeune fille épouse le professeur et accepte le fait que chacune d'elles a sa propre vie. Elle n'attend pas trop de cette institution appelée mariage. Tandis que la 1ère épouse choisit de mourir parce qu'elle constate qu'il n'est jamais là pour elle et qu'elle l'a perdu quelque part au fil des ans.

Ces deux personnes étaient maintenant assises devant moi au café de la Piazza della Stazione. Je pouvais sentir qu'ils étaient vraiment seuls et perdus, et comme s'ils avaient tous les deux besoin d'un adulte pour s'occuper d'eux. Mon oncle a toujours été une sorte de libéral laïc-libéral qui ne croyait pas en la religion et qui ne parlait jamais de Dieu. En fait, Dieu n'est pas entré dans son vocabulaire du tout. Alors que son père, M. Namazie, qui était un shirazi, était un chiite très religieux, il a été élevé dans la ville sainte de Kazemain. Il passait la plupart de son temps à prier et à lire le Coran et à gagner de l'argent à Bangalore où il vivait avec son épouse, Mme Saheb-Soltan Shustari, fille d'un mollah. Leurs trois fils avaient tous une aversion pour la religion et voulaient être modernes et pratiques, et ils étaient laïcs. Mon oncle, le plus jeune des cinq enfants, était très terre à terre et voulait faire avancer les choses. S'organiser et vivre dans la réalité du monde signifiait tout pour lui. Il n'a parlé que de sujets politiques. Un des sujets qu'il a préférés à la table était ce que les nazis allemands avaient fait pendant la guerre en Europe. Il répète que l’Holocauste du peuple juif inclut, outre les six millions de Juifs, d’autres peuples. Il continuerait sans cesse en disant que nous devions tous être des personnes responsables, en faisant notre part pour la société, en contribuant à la société, etc. J'ai appris beaucoup de jargon communiste de ses monologues à l'heure du dîner. Il n'était pas du tout islamique. Une seule fois, il a mentionné Dieu. C'est alors qu'un été, je sortais souvent sans lui dire où j'allais. Je ne suis allé que dans des musées de Londres, mais une fois, je me suis aventuré en France, à Paris, pour voir un ami de lycée qui y séjournait. Cette fois, il a dit que Dieu avait créé les planètes selon un plan leur permettant de contourner leurs orbites avec une précision régulière. C'est pourquoi les mondes que Dieu avait créés étaient tous interconnectés et fonctionnaient selon ces mouvements précis et fiables, qui étaient éternels. et s'appuyaient les uns sur les autres, se déplaçant sur des orbites destinées à lui. Comme dans Sureh Al Rahman no 5.

Sa femme Ylva adorait ses sermons politiques. Personne, à l'exception de ma tante Jahan et de sa fille Ameneh, ne se souvient de ce qu'il a dit dans ses répétitions des mêmes concepts. Ma tante s'en souvenait parce qu'elle se moquait malicieusement de lui quand il n'était pas là. C'était un tel soulagement de voir que quelqu'un ne le prenait pas au sérieux! Tante Ylva et moi-même, qui étions intimidés par lui, nous écoutions patiemment au déjeuner et au dîner. Sa voix d'autorité masculine n'encourage personne à se faire dire un mot. Parfois, ma tante a l'habitude d'essayer de lancer une discussion sur une table bourgeoise. Elle dirait: «N’est-il pas vrai que cela s’est passé dans l’histoire?» Juste quelque chose pour animer le monologue. Quand elle a effectivement pris la parole, elle a souligné ses mots par sa manière hésitante et indécise. Il était le responsable, et ses mots étaient en quelque sorte uniques et rien ne pouvait être dit pour correspondre à leur importance. Je m'émerveillais devant lui, mon père et mon frère n’ayant jamais essayé de prouver quoi que ce soit à qui que ce soit. En fait, personne que je connaissais n'était 37 aussi 37 aussi absorbé qu'il ne l'était. En particulier, il défend les intérêts du peuple juif dans notre région de souffrance palestinienne.

Les Allemands ont toujours été battus moralement après la Seconde Guerre mondiale. Ils ont été décrits comme des humains terribles; des gens qui ont aidé sans coeur le Führer à être le dictateur qu'il était. Hollywood et toutes les productions anglaises sur le thème de la guerre ont toujours été remplies de propagande que nous connaissons tous bien. Cependant, en Iran et dans les pays arabes, les Allemands ont toujours été appréciés car ils étaient réputés pour leur efficacité, contrairement à nous-mêmes, ils étaient disciplinés, capables et neutres. Pour d'autres raisons, nous aimions les Allemands et pensions qu'ils étaient plus tolérants envers nous au Moyen-Orient que la plupart des «hommes blancs» et de leurs civilisations. Ils ont été impliqués dans d'autres problèmes avec d'autres pays, ce qui rassurait beaucoup de gens. Être fiable, clair d'esprit, direct et sincère et pas très amical, a fait en sorte que ces personnes semblent plus acceptables.

Il aurait dû parler de la guerre israélienne contre les Palestiniens, du sort des Arabes et de leur sans-abrisme. Ce qu'il a dit sur le sujet était irréaliste. Il a dit que si tous les Arabes étaient unis, il n'y aurait plus de place pour "l'état d'apartheid" au Moyen-Orient. Mais nous savions tous que ce n'était pas une solution et que cela n'arriverait jamais. L’avenir permettrait probablement à l’État d’Israël de survivre et de s’épanouir - l’injustice envers les Palestiniens était évidente et inévitable et personne ne pouvait rien y faire. Seul un miracle pourrait sauver les Palestiniens et le Moyen-Orient de cela, et un miracle n'était nulle part.

Cela dit, accepter cette réalité a également incité les peuples du Moyen-Orient à considérer Israël comme une création d'Européens qui avaient toujours été intolérants et qui entretenaient la haine contre la nation juive pendant des siècles. Les musulmans ont dû payer le prix des crimes et de l'histoire de l'Europe. Alors que les pays occidentaux avaient créé leur oasis au dessert, Israël était désormais leur "chéri" et tout ce que cette nation faisait était juste et bon. Je me suis rendu en Iran au début des années 90, à trente-deux ans. Mes meilleurs amis à Florence étaient Sharon, une Américaine, et Sara, une Australienne. Sharon était juive du côté de sa mère, mais elle a nié être juive parce qu'elle avait dit que son père était un chrétien américain. Elle était blonde et avait les yeux bleus, et personne ne pouvait vraiment dire de son apparence qu'elle était une Juive de New York et peut-être une sioniste.

J'aimais bien que mon cœur me dise qu'elle n'était probablement pas de mon côté. J'étais reconnaissant pour ses conversations politiques de gauche parce qu'elle était informée. Les gens ordinaires en Europe ne s'intéressaient vraiment pas à la politique mondiale, à moins d'être étudiants ou intellectuels. C'étaient les années 1980 et 1990, lorsque le 11 septembre n'avait pas été «créé» pour laver le cerveau du monde.

Au printemps de 1992, j'avais eu un procès contre le magasin où je travaillais pendant quelques années, pendant les mois d'été. Mon avocat était un jeune et beau Florentin. La photo ci-dessous est un hommage à ces Blancs dans les couloirs du pouvoir, qui ont contrôlé les événements mondiaux après la Seconde Guerre mondiale avec la plus grande nonchalance. "Entente Cordial" est le nom.

Sharon disait des choses que j'avais entendu mon oncle dire, les mêmes arguments de gauche. C'était tellement rassurant! J'étais heureuse d'être amie avec elle parce qu'elle était intellectuellement vivante et sensible, et que les autres ne pouvaient vraiment pas être dérangés. Par exemple, elle s’intéressait à la guerre de Bosnie et était émue par les événements survenus en Europe centrale et orientale autant que moi. C'était maintenant en 1994 et mon oncle n'avait pas aimé que je reste à Florence après l'obtention de mon diplôme en 1992. Je suppose qu'il pensait que j'aurais dû quitter l'Italie et que mon séjour en Europe après ma licence était vraiment inutile. Après leur arrivée à la gare, je les ai ramenées à mon appartement. Quand ils sont venus à la maison, je montrais mes peintures à tante Ylva; elle m'avait acheté des peintures par le passé. J'avais fait cet énorme de la barrière de corail. C'était deux ou trois mètres de haut et c'était une belle image paisible. Je l'ai appelé "Scène sous-marine". Bien sûr, je lui ai montré avec 41 41 un intérêt à le vendre, comme j'étais sans le sou et que je ne nie pas cette intention monstrueuse sous l'argent de mon travail.

Elle a admiré la photo et j'ai été heureuse de la montrer à quelqu'un qui l'a appréciée. Peu je savais que mon oncle était bouillant! Je suppose que c'était comme s'il avait été un enfant qui avait perdu l'attention de sa mère pendant une minute et qu'il n'aimait pas que je fasse quelque chose qui n'était pas sous son contrôle. Je peux imaginer la raison et la psychologie qui se cachent derrière sa colère. Il a alors commencé à dire des choses très désagréables, et je suis resté là et j'ai pris ces mots en silence, pensant, oh mon Dieu! Pourquoi est-ce que je mérite d'être crié et appelé des noms? Plus tard, après s'être calmé, il a avoué qu'il avait toujours voulu être un artiste mais qu'il ne pouvait pas se permettre d'approcher de l'art. Il devait gagner sa vie et devait se concentrer sur les aspects pratiques et autres. Cependant, il n'a pas dit qu'il était désolé. Dans une autre expérience similaire, j’avais appris à prendre ce que les aînés avaient offert avec philosophie, alors nous avons pris rendez-vous.

pour le lendemain, comme si rien ne s'était passé. Tout comme si aucun mot offensant n'avait été prononcé. Je suppose que je n'ai toléré cette scène que parce que j'étais pauvre et démuni. De plus, je ne voulais pas me battre avec lui devant sa femme. Plus tard, mon frère a dit: «Les mendiants ne peuvent pas choisir», et c’était pour moi un mendiant. Il avait raison de dire que j'avais trop reçu de mon oncle. Il est vrai que mon oncle avait été un véritable ami et m'avait toujours aidé pendant mes années à l'université. Il avait été un rocher. Ils sont restés quelques jours dans un hôtel de la Via Nazionale car mon oncle a refusé de rester dans l'appartement bleu. Je les ai emmenés à Viareggio pour la journée. Nous sommes allés dans un endroit au bord de la mer et avons déjeuné. Ylva et moi étions silencieux, très soumis et un lourd sentiment de sentiments sombres non résolus nous entourait et dans mon cœur. J'étais content de les voir rentrer au Royaume-Uni.

Mon oncle m'a donné de l'argent à titre d'expiation pour sa mauvaise conduite et ses paroles aimables avant la séparation, et j'en étais reconnaissant. Il m'a toujours aidé. Quelques années plus tard, ma tante Ylva m'a laissé de l'argent dans son testament. Elle avait souffert d'une maladie de l'estomac et avait traversé une période critique avant de contracter une infection à l'hôpital. Sur son lit de mort, elle s’est souvenue de moi et a demandé à son mari de me donner 8 000 £. Mon oncle a eu la bonté de m'envoyer 3 000 £ de cette somme et j'ai réussi à me rendre à Paris après des années de difficultés. Ce qui est étonnant, c'est qu'il m'ait demandé de m'acheter un petit appartement avec cet argent! Puis, quand je lui ai dit que j'étais allé à Paris, il n'a pas du tout aimé ça et était de nouveau en colère. Il m'a dit qu'il m'enverrait le reste de l'héritage laissé par ma tante, sa femme, si j'obéissais à l'un de ses souhaits - il voulait que je promette que je renonce à mon ambition de devenir peintre.

Je ne pouvais pas abandonner la peinture et l’art comme il me l’avait demandé, car je suis dans le studio Via Fiesolana depuis 1998 et j’ai tant travaillé pour atteindre cet objectif. Je lui ai dit que je ne promettrais rien de la sorte. C'était ridicule de sa part de me demander une telle chose et il allait à l'encontre de toutes ses idées de gauche. 43 43 Il décida de garder l'argent, puisqu'il disait avoir dépensé environ 5 000 £ pour moi quand je suis resté avec lui en Angleterre. C'était très hors de caractère. Il n'était pas l'homme qu'il était il y a quelques années et en disant de telles choses, j'étais très confus quant à ce que je devais faire. Son apparition entre moi et l'ambition de ma vie me semblait un peu trop, mais je sentais que ce n'était pas vraiment lui qui le faisait. C'était probablement du chagrin, car d'autres choses hors du personnage se sont produites après le décès de tante Ylva.

Mon oncle, qui n'avait jamais parlé d'un événement sombre dans son enfance, a commencé à dire que les domestiques à la maison en Inde - il était un enfant de Bangalore - l'avaient maltraité. C'était totalement incroyable, surtout qu'il n'avait pas donné le signe minimum de tels événements depuis des années que nous le connaissions. C'était très embarrassant pour nous de l'entendre parler de telles choses maintenant. Cependant, je comprends maintenant que c’était la dépression psychologique qui nous attendait et à travers cette souffrance, d’autres lieux - les «forces obscures» - étaient venus créer un préjudice dans nos relations familiales. Des relations qui avaient été très pacifiques jusque-là. Il a passé sa dernière année en isolation avec sa petite amie qui s’est mariée avec lui; qui est devenu son partenaire et s'est occupé de lui. Il était séparé mentalement de ses proches et aucun de nous ne pouvait rien faire pour l'améliorer. Il avait la chance de pouvoir compter sur sa deuxième épouse bien-aimée - elle était ironique, ironiquement.

Comme d'habitude, j'étais sans le sou pendant tout ce temps et ne pouvais même pas aller au Royaume-Uni pour se réconcilier avec lui. Même quand mon amie irlandaise Michaela a proposé d'aller chez lui et de lui parler pour moi, en tant qu'ambassadrice de la paix, je ne l'ai pas acceptée. Je ne savais vraiment pas comment interpréter son comportement; J'aurais peut-être dû accepter son offre, mais je ne pensais pas qu'il mourrait dans un délai aussi court. Je lui en suis reconnaissant, car il ne m'a pas empêché d'aller à l'école d'art cette année-là en 1981. La vie est drôle, nous pensons que nous avons beaucoup de temps devant nous, mais ce n'est vraiment pas le cas. Chaque décision que nous prenons pourrait être la plus importante. La révolution iranienne a eu lieu en 1981 44 44. Nous étions sur le point de devenir très pauvres et défavorisés. Comme beaucoup d’autres de mes compatriotes, j’avais reçu une proposition de la section des visas du Foreign Office; si je ne quittais pas le pays pendant trois ans, on me donnerait un passeport britannique.

Même si c'était une opportunité énorme, je ne pouvais pas l'accepter parce que je sentais que j'étais trop confus en Angleterre et que j'avais besoin de ma famille. J'ai donc quitté Londres pour aller à Karachi cet été, puis j'ai beaucoup regretté cette décision. Cependant, c’était la meilleure décision, la plus saine et je me sens bien d’avoir pris cette mesure, même si cela a été difficile pour moi plus tard.

Studying and working at Florence Des demain

Apr 4, 2019, 4:05 PM

–---------------------------- Etudiant et travaillant à Florence

J'avais vingt-quatre ans lorsque je suis passé de Via Maggio à l'appartement des étudiants de la Via Bolognese. Je vivais et travaillais dans le centre de Florence depuis presque un an maintenant. J'avais un emploi dans la maroquinerie de Borgo Santissima Apostali, juste à côté du fascinant vieux pont Ponte Vecchio. J'avais quitté l'appartement de la Via Maggio, où j'avais vécu avec Dona. C'était en 1984, lorsque l'Italie avait remporté la Coupe du monde. Tout le monde était en fête et ne permettait aucune tranquillité jusqu'à tard.

J'avais quitté l'appartement Via Maggio en 1984 à cause du bruit qui ne s'était arrêté que de 3h à 5h du matin. Plus tard, il est devenu une zone contrôlée par la circulation, mais j’ai été ravi de le laisser à Via Bolognese. J'ai adoré l'appartement de la Via Bolognese car il était proche de la campagne. Linda, qui était anglaise mais mariée à un italien, a emménagé dans l'appartement de la Via Maggio. Elle était plus jeune que moi et plus tard, elle a rencontré Daniele, la propriétaire de la bijouterie dans laquelle je travaillais. Elle a semblé me suivre dans ma vie. Via Bolognese était une sorte de quartier de la classe moyenne supérieure; très calme et conservateur. Dans l'appartement, il y avait surtout des gens dans la vingtaine et ils avaient tendance à être du type étudiant. Peter l'avait loué, ayant trouvé l'endroit par le biais de son université où il était étudiant en doctorat. Ceci, ajouté au fait qu'il était allemand, constituait une référence suffisante pour le propriétaire.

Ce n'était pas l'appartement lui-même mais les vues, les images et les sons offerts par les fenêtres. On pouvait voir des oliveraies 47 et des champs depuis les fenêtres. Tandis que les autres maisons étaient loin, vous avez entendu les oiseaux et la brise dans les arbres plutôt que le bruit des activités humaines. C'était totalement différent de Via Maggio. Nous ne nous sommes pas trop préoccupés des voisins car nous les avons rarement vus, à l'exception des personnes qui habitaient en bas, car ils étaient souvent dans leur jardin. C'était un très grand changement de Via Maggio, qui était un type décadent d'appartement de luxe avec parquet et lumières spéciales. Cependant, il avait quelques points positifs. C'était bien meublé et central. C'était très bien d'aller travailler au centre. Je me rendais au travail à pied à pied pour avoir une idée de la ville alors que je passais devant les cafés et les magasins le matin. Le brouhaha de la ville, surtout le matin, était très excitant.

Les gens se criant amicalement buongiornos au début de leur journée de travail. Vous avez senti la fraîcheur du nouveau jour. Ensuite, il y avait le Ponte, mon endroit préféré pour traverser et rejoindre le quartier commerçant de la ville. Je passais par la rue Gucciardini en regardant les vitrines des magasins avant d’aller sur le pont, puis au Por Santa Maria. Le centre autour de Borgo SS. Apostoli était un peu claustrophobe; un fermé dans une sorte de vie. On ne s'est pas échappé de la routine du travail et de la réalité. Alors que dans Via Bolognese, vous sentiez que vous pouviez enfin vous entendre penser. J'étais très reconnaissant pour la paix. La tranquillité de l'endroit était un vrai luxe. Dans Via Maggio, j'avais diverti des personnes que je connaissais par l'intermédiaire de ma colocataire Dona. Son amie Sally travaillait dans la même rue Por Santa Maria, dans un magasin vendant des textiles et des matériaux. Je suis devenue amie avec elle même si nous n'avions rien en commun.

Elle appartenait à une riche famille californienne et était venue passer des vacances à Florence. Puis elle avait décidé de rester. Elle a rencontré un homme qui travaillait sur le marché central. Un homme de famille - Emilio. C'était un homme de grande taille avec des cheveux orange et de nombreuses taches de rousseur. Nous sortions parfois ensemble et les invitions. Ils étaient un peu plus âgés que moi. Elle avait trente-deux ans et voulait vraiment se marier avec son petit ami. Cependant, quand elle s'est mariée, elle ne s'ennuyait plus, vivant dans la banlieue de Montecatini, sans travailler ni avoir beaucoup d'argent à dépenser.

Sally avait épousé Emilio parce qu'elle progressait. Elle avait déjà trente-deux ans et au moment où ils se sont mariés et quand elle a eu un enfant, elle était dans la trentaine. Elle s'était probablement mariée pour des raisons sociales, car le mariage est toujours une chose respectable à faire et que les gens l'acceptent partout dans le monde. Cela ne m'a pas surprise quand, plus tard, elle a quitté l'Italie pour aller rendre visite à ses parents ce Noël. Elle demandait le divorce quand elle est arrivée aux États-Unis. Elle avait emmené leur fille avec elle. Son mari, qui était un homme de famille, était déprimé par son vol et surtout par le fait qu’elle avait pris leur enfant. C'était peut-être pour le mieux. Ils sont allés aux États-Unis parce que Sally s'est rendu compte que le niveau de vie auquel elle devait s'installer en Italie était bien inférieur à ce à quoi elle était habituée. Son mari pleurait que sa fille soit emmenée en Californie par Sally. Il les a suivis aux États-Unis pour voir s'il pourrait la convaincre de revenir et de vivre à nouveau avec lui. Tant pour l'argent ne pas pouvoir acheter le bonheur! Sally a probablement fait la bonne chose. Pour certains, c'était un rêve de pouvoir aller aux États-Unis, d'apprendre une nouvelle langue et d'essayer de vivre à Los Angeles. Je ne pouvais comprendre personne qui ne veuille pas d'une vie meilleure.

Gabriele, le petit ami de Florence de Dona, était intelligent, pensais-je, car il avait réussi à se marier et à aller vivre avec Dona à New York. Mais il lui a fallu plusieurs années pour le faire. Le juge américain a dit à Emilio de se tenir à l'écart de sa femme et de son enfant s'il ne souhaitait pas vivre aux États-Unis. Il a donc été renvoyé en Italie pour y vivre à nouveau son style de vie de célibataire. Mais cette fois-ci, il a choisi de rester avec des filles philippines, qui étaient souples et gaies. 52 52 Gabriele et Dona s'étaient rencontrés dans un bar du Lungarno. Dona était une jeune étudiante américaine qui suivait un programme à l'université de Stanford. Je l'avais rencontrée par l'intermédiaire d'une Américaine qui fréquentait l'école de gravure à Santa Reparata.

Je disais à quelqu'un que j'habitais au camping parce que je ne pouvais pas trouver un appartement. Cette gentille fille savait que Dona était à la recherche d'un colocataire, alors elle m'a présentée à elle. Dona n'était pas gênée par le fait que j'étais iranienne et musulmane et j'étais heureuse de pouvoir entretenir une relation respectueuse. Un jour, elle a rencontré Gabriele, qui ne parlait pas anglais, et son italien était plutôt basique. Depuis que je travaille, je parle assez bien l’italien. Ils s'entendaient très bien, même s'ils ne se comprenaient pas très bien. Gabriele ferait des pâtes tricolore pour nous.

Puis un jour, Gabriele frappa à la porte en bas dans la rue et Dona ne l'ouvrit pas. Il frappait et criait et je me demandais ce qui s'était passé… Cela devenait embarrassant. Elle m'a envoyé en bas pour lui parler et lui dire de partir. Plus tard, nous avons découvert qu'il s'agissait d'un malentendu culturel. Gabriele était vraiment très gentille et douce. Il avait tapé à la porte avec véhémence parce qu'il voulait expliquer des choses qu'il avait dites et faites. 54 54 Je devais traduire, car je pouvais comprendre les deux côtés. J'ai découvert que Dona était beaucoup plus structurée et respectueuse des lois, alors que Gabriele était une personne de cœur émue par ses émotions. Il lui fallut plusieurs années pour la convaincre qu'ils pourraient être bons ensemble.

Il est allé aux États-Unis à plusieurs reprises et Dona est venue à Florence plusieurs fois. Ils sont finalement devenus une famille à la fin des années 1980. Dona avait fait de superbes photographies du carnaval de Venise au début des années 1980, lorsque nous vivions ensemble, et plus tard, elle est venue me rendre visite lorsque je suis déménagé à Via delle Cinque Giornate. Notre vie au cœur de la ville se mêlait vraiment à d'autres personnes. L'appartement d'à côté était très proche. C’était un grand appartement, maintenant séparé avec élégance grâce à l’installation de deux portes d’entrée séparées. J'ai connu William et Antonio, les deux hommes vivant à côté, grâce à l'amitié de Dona avec eux.

Dona, qui m'avait présenté Sally, était une photographe de New York âgée de 23 ans et de 55 ans. Elle avait également été danseuse de ballet, mais elle m'a dit qu'en raison d'une erreur qu'elle avait commise, elle s'était blessée au genou et avait perdu l'occasion de devenir une danseuse professionnelle. William était anglais et très charmant dans sa manière et son apparence. Il avait aussi un accent chic. Nous ne savions pas ce qu'il faisait dans la vie et il ne semblait pas faire grand chose. C'était absurde de penser qu'il soutenait Antonio, un simple jeune Napolitain, mais Antonio est allé dans une école d'art chère en ville. J'avais tellement envie qu'Antono se rende à cette école d'art, c'était une chose à laquelle je ne pouvais que rêver.

Dona, ma colocataire, aimait bien William et était l'amie la plus proche. Elle s’est fâchée contre moi quand j’ai suggéré un jour que les deux hommes pourraient être mariés. On a entendu parler de toutes sortes de relations autres que les relations strictement orthodoxes. C'était nouveau pour mon esprit protégé et je n'aimais pas beaucoup m'impliquer. Je suppose que j'aurais aimé avoir un ami comme Antonio semblait l'avoir eu - il avait trouvé un vrai cœur; un ami qui croyait en son art et il faisait quelque chose que je n'avais ni le courage ni le courage d'investir à l'époque. J'étais parti en Italie avec l'art comme priorité, mais j'avais perdu confiance en moi-même en raison de ma vie et de ma vie de vendeuse - une vie qui ne me plaisait pas du tout.

Mon propre fiancé, Guido, était difficile et ne voulait pas s'installer. Il a dit qu'il voulait d'abord acheter une maison ou un appartement. Il me suivait sur Via Bolognese et je ne voulais pas de lui et je le lui ai dit, mais je ne pouvais rien faire pour qu'il persiste.

L appartement De la rue Bolognese J'ai trouvé Peter à travers quelques notes laissées dans l'école de langue. Il sous-louait les chambres de l'appartement de la Via Bolognese. Il était étudiant à l'université et essayait de terminer son doctorat. Après avoir vécu à Berlin, il s'était retrouvé coincé à Florence et ne pouvait pas quitter les lieux. La même chose m'est arrivé plus tard. Peter avait loué l'appartement Via Bolognese à une femme qui était comtesse et peintre. L'appartement avait une vue magnifique parce qu'il donnait sur des oliveraies et il n'y avait pratiquement aucun autre bâtiment en vue. J'ai aimé l'endroit et les gens avec qui je vivais dans ce nouvel endroit. Plus tard, quand nous avons dû déménager, j'ai continué à partager un appartement avec Peter et Caterina, sa petite amie. Nous avons déménagé à Via delle Cinque Giornate (traduit par: les cinq jours de Milan str) en 1984.

Peter partageait l'appartement de la Via Bolognese avec d'autres jeunes. Janet, par exemple, était une Américaine d'origine grecque du Midwest qui s'était fiancée avec Paolo. Elle avait un chat appelé Arturo et c'est la raison pour laquelle nous sommes devenus amis rapidement presque immédiatement. Arturo avait accès à toutes les salles et utilisait le long couloir pour les séances de course à pied. Nous pouvions l'entendre parfois lorsqu'il était énergique et nerveux, car pendant sa course d'un bout à l'autre du couloir, il sautait inexplicablement des murs en y laissant des empreintes de pattes. C'était un de ces comportements mystérieux de chat. Cela a dû être amusant pour lui de sauter du mur. Il appréciait réellement les sensations fortes, comme s'il était un garçon sur une planche à roulettes! Nous avions l'habitude de le commenter en pensant qu'il le faisait pour compenser son besoin de grimper aux arbres! Dieu seul sait ce qu'il pensait.

Il y avait aussi le garçon anglais appelé James, qui avait 58 ans et réussi à obtenir son doctorat et qui cherchait quelqu'un pour le remplacer dans l'appartement. J'étais une des personnes qui se sont présentées et ont demandé à prendre la chambre qui était libre. James retournait à Londres. Cette pièce était la plus proche de la porte d'entrée près de la petite pièce - c'est-à-dire «la chambre de la bonne» - que les gens utilisaient comme dépôt pour les valises. La petite chambre de cette femme de ménage a déclenché mon imagination. Il semblait qu'avant la Seconde Guerre mondiale, les gens travaillaient encore comme domestiques ici en Europe, alors que seuls les très riches avaient à présent des domestiques. En Asie, les gens utilisaient encore de telles salles, tout comme la classe de femme de chambre et son statut social. Je l'avais vu à Karachi, où il était habituel d'avoir de l'aide à la maison. Même en Iran, les femmes des villages ont trouvé un emploi chez des particuliers. Je doute que dans les pays asiatiques, ils aient une chambre à eux seuls, aussi petite soit-elle.

L'autre fille qui restait là-bas était une fille de Sardaigne et elle n'y était presque jamais. Elle n'était pas étudiante. Elle travaillait dans un bar et était très occupée. La seule fois où je l'ai rencontrée, elle m'a dit sans aucun préalable: «Vous souffrez d'un« choc culturel ». J'étais bouche bée quand elle a dit cela, parce que nous nous réunissions pour la première et la dernière fois et qu'il lui semblait inutile de psychanalyser ma situation en cinq minutes et de me le dire aussi en face. Cela m'a fait penser qu'elle était à la fois une sorcière et une chienne, mais peut-être était-elle gentille et voulait-elle m'aider à comprendre. C'était une attitude très étrange et je voulais lui dire: «Si vous vous occupez un peu plus de vos affaires, mon chéri, vous n'auriez pas à travailler 10 heures par jour!». Cependant, je n'ai pas ouvert la bouche parce que je ne pouvais pas être dérangé. Plus tard, j'ai découvert que j'avais subi la «radiografia», c'est-à-dire la radiographie.

James était toujours dans l'appartement quand j'ai emménagé. Il attendait quelque temps avant de quitter Florence. J'étais vraiment ravi d'être en compagnie d'étudiants universitaires qui étaient si haut dans les rangs. Ils avaient une attitude différente. c'était comme si le monde leur appartenait et qu'ils pouvaient demander que des choses leur soient données. Ils devaient seulement y aller et 59 59 font des choses pour avoir une bonne vie. Ils n'aimaient pas du tout les commentaires personnels, même si de temps en temps un visiteur me demandait ce que nous produisions dans le pays d’où je venais, ce qui voulait évidemment dire que je devais admettre que je venais d’un pays qui n’était pas encore industrialisé.

Parfois, une discussion politique commençait, comme celle que j'avais avec James à propos de Sabra et Shatila. C'était en 1983 ou 1984 lorsque cela s'est produit. J'étais très touché par ce qui se passait là-bas et je ne pouvais pas croire à quel point les Européens étaient si favorables à l'idée de s'asseoir à une table pour discuter de choses, ce qui signifiait simplement qu'il était interdit de se battre et que les gens étaient simplement supposés accepter d'être vaincus par le des forces plus puissantes qui étaient toutes pour Israël, peu importe ce qui est arrivé aux Palestiniens. Plus tard, James a rencontré ma mère et d'autres discussions ont suivi. Il disait alors à Peter que ma mère était une personne très bien informée. C’est une surprise pour elles que les femmes de notre coin du monde puissent parler de la politique de la région d’où nous venons, c’est-à-dire du Moyen-Orient avec passion. Plus tard, j'ai fini par penser que, peut-être, en Europe, la passion n'était autorisée qu'à petite dose dans la vie normale; les gens ici ne prennent généralement pas les choses aussi sérieusement que nous, et c'était peut-être une bonne chose.

Peut-être que les gens auraient des sentiments forts pour le football et d'autres matchs sportifs, ou pour la musique, et bien sûr, c'était mignon de l'avoir dans vos relations, mais en politique? Je suppose que c’était la raison pour laquelle les Espagnols étaient considérés comme un peuple passionné en Europe, car ils pouvaient avoir des opinions politiques, et c’était la raison pour laquelle ils avaient connu la guerre civile, pour le meilleur ou pour le pire. À ce moment-là, Caterina, la petite amie de Peter à Naples, me disait que James vivait avec des œufs au plat depuis des mois et que c'était pour cela qu'il avait obtenu son diplôme. Il devait économiser car il avait très peu d’argent et il avait mis toute son énergie et toutes ses ressources dans son projet.

Peter et Caterina étaient bien ensemble. Une fois, nous préparions des plats dans la cuisine et parlions de nos vies. Caterina était un type de personne très sociable et amusant. J'avais vingt-cinq ans et songeais à obtenir un diplôme, alors que 60 60 Caterina, qui avait trente-deux ans, me le demandait de manière confidentielle dans son dialecte «napoletano», que j'étais capable de comprendre, sérieusement et de manière très expressive. manière, «ma question est-elle si difficile à comprendre?» qui se traduit par «à ce rythme, quand suis-je censé avoir des enfants?» Elle pensait créer une famille; Cependant, elle savait bien qu'il était difficile pour sa partenaire de s'installer dans le mode de vie italien.

Le mode de vie italien signifiait que si vous n'aviez pas déjà de l'argent, vous n'allez jamais en gagner en Italie sans être un génie. Même acheter un petit appartement modeste a été une réussite, et j’admirais les personnes qui avaient réussi à le faire en utilisant leurs propres capacités. Plus tard, j'ai rencontré Matthew, qui enseignait l'anglais à l'université, et a obtenu son appartement en contractant un emprunt auprès du Royaume-Uni. Je me suis dit que mes parents avaient eu la chance de déménager en Iran dans les années 50 lorsque, avec beaucoup d'autres personnes de divers pays, ils ont réussi à obtenir un prêt et à acheter leur propre maison familiale. Parfois, lorsque tout est réuni avec les bons ingrédients et au bon moment, un miracle se produit. Mes parents avaient quitté l'Inde en raison de la séparation de l'Inde et du Pakistan. Ils avaient ensuite quitté le Pakistan quelques années plus tard et avaient commencé une nouvelle vie en Iran. Ils pouvaient à peine parler le farsi. Cependant, grâce au Shah8 - pendant son régime, les gens pouvaient obtenir des hypothèques - et à la demande de pétrole du Moyen-Orient de l'époque, et grâce à leur éducation et à de bons amis iraniens bienveillants, la population du pays était de 30 millions les 70 millions qu’il représente aujourd’hui - ils ont finalement trouvé une occupation stable dans le ministère et ont réussi à utiliser leur éducation à bon escient.

La situation du travail n’était pas prometteuse en Italie dans les années 1980 et il fallait entrer dans les cercles appropriés pour trouver un emploi convenable. Je pouvais le voir dans la famille de Guido, où c'était grâce à des liens que les gens trouvaient des emplois «réellement rémunérés». Je suppose que c’est la raison pour laquelle Peter a décidé de faire carrière en Afrique8. Le Shah de Perse a été le dernier roi d’Iran à être renversé par le chef religieux, l’ayatollah Khomeiny, qui a passé de nombreuses années en tant que réfugié en France. 61 61 plutôt que de se marier et de s'installer en Italie. Je pensais que c'était aventureux, mais j'ai découvert par la suite que beaucoup de personnes avaient quitté l'Europe pour trouver du travail dans des pays moins développés, car le marché du travail était saturé en Europe.

Janet s'est mariée. Elle et son fiancé Paolo se sont mariés dans la chambre rouge de la mairie et, plus tard, nous sommes tous allés dans une maison à la campagne pour faire la fête. De façon idiote, certaines personnes se plaindraient en demandant à Janet: «Mais que va faire sa mère maintenant sans Paolo?», Et elle répondait sèchement: «Elle vivra!» Janet était dure, car elle a serait bien de mettre les gens à leur place s'ils l'ennuyaient - quelque chose que j'ai toujours admiré, parce que j'ai toujours pensé à une réponse des années plus tard! Ma tante et mon cousin Farid sont venus me rendre visite en 1984, alors que je vivais à Via Bolognese. Janet a vraiment aimé Farid et elle m'a dit que je devrais quitter l'Italie et retourner dans ma propre famille. Je suppose, elle avait vu à quel point c'était difficile pour moi, car elle était une Américaine terre-à-terre de l'Ohio.

J'ai beaucoup aimé les jeunes qui, comme moi, essayaient de trouver un moyen de bâtir leur avenir, et j'étais heureux d'avoir quitté la vie que j'avais menée au centre. Cela avait été la bonne chose à faire. Ces personnes et leur sens de la solidarité et de l'amitié comptaient beaucoup pour moi. mais parfois, il y avait des frictions inutiles. Janet a toujours critiqué Peter. D'une certaine manière, tous les Américains que j'ai rencontrés à cette époque avaient quelque chose à dire sur les Allemands. Je ne pensais pas que c'était juste du tout. J'imaginais à quel point le fardeau d'un pays avait dû être stressant, car je le subissais moi-même, je devais supporter d'être classé dans la catégorie des Iraniens, ce qui n'était pas un sentiment positif après la révolution et la guerre Iran / Irak. Comme si je devais répondre de ce qui se passait dans mon pays. Par exemple, une fois près du travail chez le coiffeur, je me faisais couper les cheveux et l'homme qui faisait le travail disait: «Oh, Iran! C'est l'un de ces pays qui fait l'actualité tout le temps! Il y a beaucoup de problèmes là-bas, alors que nous vivons ici en paix comme de bons 62 62 enfants! »Bien sûr, c'était de ma faute si je ne savais pas quoi dire et j'ai continué à m'asseoir à de nombreuses occasions.

Il était naturel que je ressente une certaine loyauté, car j'avais trouvé ce magnifique appartement et y vivais grâce à l'initiative de Peter. En fait, je respectais Peter même s’il avait décidé de ne pas louer la salle ni de les rejoindre. Comment et pourquoi il a changé d'avis et m'a ensuite permis de rester, je ne sais pas. Peut-être était-ce parce que Janet et James avaient dit quelque chose en ma faveur. Via Bolognese a été une expérience vraiment agréable, à l'exception de la visite de ma tante, qui était triste. J'avais dit à ma tante que j'avais proposé à ma cousine au cours de mes derniers mois au Royaume-Uni. J'avais enfin eu le courage de m'exprimer parce que je ne pouvais pas comprendre pourquoi ma mère et moi restions à Karachi pendant des mois chez elle. J'ai réalisé que le temps n'était pas approprié. Ensuite, je suis parti pour l'Italie, voyant que j'avais créé beaucoup de confusion et que rien ne s'était éclairci. Pourquoi n'avais-je pas réalisé que de nombreuses familles considéraient ma cousine comme un cadeau de Dieu à leurs filles?

Elle et ma cousine n'étaient pas contentes de me voir occuper le poste dans lequel je me trouvais - je veux dire travailler comme vendeuse et vivre avec des inconnus. Tout aurait pu aller différemment. Si le temps avait été propice et si j'avais eu de la chance, j'aurais retrouvé une vie normale au sein de mon peuple. Mais en Iran, une révolution a éclaté de nulle part, puis une guerre avec l'Irak voisin. L'équilibre avait disparu et ma confusion m'avait souvent amené à pleurer amèrement. Quelle chance tu as de connaître la situation et les gens avec qui tu as affaire. Aujourd'hui, je peux voir le point de vue de ma cousine. J'étais une gentille fille iranienne, mais je n'étais ni vraiment attirante ni sexy ni intéressante. Certaines filles que j'ai rencontrées sont tout cela, sans même avoir reçu d'éducation. C'était probablement une différence culturelle et une attitude. En Iran et dans d'autres pays islamiques, il suffit qu'une fille soit gentille et de bonne famille. Mais à l'ouest, c'est plus complexe. Mon cousin était très recherché par les membres de la famille et j'étais probablement le dernier sur sa liste. contrairement à son idéal de lui-même, je pensais que je pouvais le sauver de ses racines, mais il n'avait probablement pas besoin de mon aide!

Aujourd'hui, mon cousin est marié à l'un de ses anciens élèves, issu d'une famille anglaise ordinaire et réaliste. Ils ont un beau fils et je suis heureux pour eux. Je suis sûr que si j'avais eu mon chemin, je n'aurais jamais été heureux avec eux. Davantage de larmes - et je suis heureux que nous n'ayons pas été réunies parce que nous sommes simplement très différents - seraient la conséquence de ce choix.

Demenagant rue Del cinque giornate Mon déménagement à Via delle Cinque Giornate dans l'appartement de M. Quercioli avec Peter était accompagné de Guido, Janet et Paolo, qui étaient devenus mes meilleurs amis. Paolo était un homme de famille sérieux et sérieux, un comptable et il était solide et fiable. Il était de notre génération. Guido de Rome était de la génération de 1968, qui passait à la mode hippie. La révolution culturelle survenue en Europe en 1968 s'est avérée très positive - les hommes ont vraiment commencé à prendre les femmes au sérieux. Cependant, beaucoup de gens étaient confus dans leurs idées sur la vie, sur ce qu’ils étaient et ce qu’ils voulaient.

Mon oncle Ismile, qui ressemblait à Guido, avait été témoin de la tourmente des années 1960 et leurs idées étaient les mêmes. Mon oncle avait rencontré Guido dans l'appartement Via Maggio. Il n'était pas inquiet pour Guido, mais il était dégoûté du bel endroit bourgeois que j'avais loué. Il pensait que je devrais vivre dans un carnet d'étudiants. Guido ne le dérangeait pas, car il pensait qu'ils pourraient se comprendre. À un moment de la vie, vous réalisez que la plupart des gens ne se soucient guère des autres et que, lorsque vous avez vécu beaucoup de vie, vous réalisez qu'il y a une limite à ce que votre famille et vos amis se soucient de vous. Vous pensez que votre famille s’occupe de vous profondément. Mais ce n'est pas du tout comme ça. La plupart des hommes sont tout à fait incapables de ressentir. Ce sont la religion, la philosophie et l’art qui font ressortir le meilleur de l’être humain et même ceux-ci échouent horriblement la plupart du temps. Je m'en suis rendu compte lorsque je suis rentré de Karachi à Londres en 1981 afin de pouvoir reprendre mes études à Cambridge au cours que j'avais payé. Un officier m'a confié un moment très difficile à Heathrow qui m'a dit avoir lu mon journal intime, qui était dans mon sac à main. J'ai été accusé de vouloir rester en Angleterre et de chercher un emploi. C'était l'année de la révolution iranienne et avant de quitter le Royaume-Uni, on m'avait dit que si je restais au Royaume-Uni pendant trois ans, je recevrais un passeport britannique, mais que si je partais, les conditions seraient différentes. J'avais besoin de voir ma famille plus que toute autre chose et j'avais laissé passer l'occasion d'une vie. Le gouvernement de droite faisait son devoir en éliminant les personnes qu’il ne voulait pas.

Mon oncle se moquait bien de ma présence et m'a donc laissé retourner à Karachi sans aucune résistance face à ce nouveau développement. Une gentille anglaise est venue me voir et a déclaré que nous pouvions faire appel de la décision. Elle était au moins sympathique, mais j'avais le sentiment que je serais probablement un fardeau pour mon oncle. En tout cas, j'aimais Karachi et toutes les nouvelles personnes que j'avais rencontrées là-bas. En Iran, il y a eu la révolution et la guerre avec l'Irak. Rester au Pakistan avec ma tante semblait être la seule solution. Plus tard, j'ai quitté le Pakistan et les chances de me marier et de m'installer là-bas pour rentrer en Europe afin d'aller à l'université en Italie. C'était ma décision.

Ayant vécu dans la Via Maggio puis dans les appartements de la Via Bolognese, je me suis maintenant installé dans l'appartement de la Via delle Cinque Giornate. J'étais heureux de retourner au centre, car je sentais que c'était une sorte de protection. Je savais que Peter allait bientôt préparer son doctorat et aller travailler quelque part en Afrique. Je pensais que c'était une solution acceptable de trouver un logement dans mon projet de retour à l'université. J'étais vraiment inflexible sur l'obtention d'un diplôme, car les gens m'avaient reproché de ne pas en avoir. Je pensais que si j'avais un diplôme, je pourrais me défendre comme ma mère avait l'habitude de se défendre dans la société. Elle avait une maîtrise en littérature anglaise et a commencé à travailler à vingt-trois ans. Elle m'a appris qu'une femme devait se battre pour arriver à quelque chose dans la société, et l'éducation était très utile pour cela. Bien que beaucoup aient cru que cela était vrai, le respect des personnes mariées était le moyen le plus simple d’assurer la respectabilité sociale des femmes célibataires.

J'avait quatre tantes, les sœurs de mon père, qui ne se sont pas mariées. Homa était une infirmière qui avait étudié au Royaume-Uni après la Seconde Guerre mondiale, Maheen était une bibliothécaire qui vivait loin de la famille à Chiraz et la plus jeune des huit enfants, Tahmeen, était une secrétaire qui vivait avec son père. Elle a conduit une Volkswagen de couleur crème en ville et a voyagé seule à l'étranger. Elle a essayé de maintenir des normes élevées et de compenser l'enfant problématique de la famille qui était Tante Parveen. Parveen était la folle du grenier; Elle parcourait les rues de Téhéran avec une expression très concentrée, comme si elle savait exactement ce qu'elle faisait, mais elle était peut-être autiste9 ou schizophrène. Personne ne savait vraiment à coup sûr. Elle n'a pas eu la chance de naître quand les gens en savaient un peu plus sur de tels maux. Son père n'avait pas voulu la placer dans un asile et avait obligé ses autres filles à s'occuper de leur sœur. Mes tantes ont réussi à survivre grâce à une forte personnalité et elles ont soigné leur sœur dans leur pays d'adoption récente. Ils avaient été élevés en Inde et se trouvaient maintenant dans un nouveau pays, où il était difficile de se faire respecter dans une culture dominée par les hommes.

Je vois encore de la famille et des amis dans mes rêves. Ces personnes, Janet, James, Guido et Peter aussi. Peter trouva un emploi à l'Organisation des Nations Unies et s'en alla en Afrique. Je pense au Congo. Je pensais que c'était courageux de faire quelque chose de nouveau, plutôt que de se contenter d'une situation peu satisfaisante. Il m'a quitté l'appartement de la Via delle Cinque Gironate et m'a dit: «Pourquoi ne louez-vous pas les chambres si vous avez besoin d'argent?» Il était pratique. Je venais juste de m'inscrire à l'université pour suivre un cursus en anglais et en langue et littérature allemandes. Je pourrais travailler et étudier en même temps. 9 Temple Grandin est un film merveilleux sur l'autisme qui m'a amené à s'intéresser à cette tante dont personne ne voulait se souvenir. Elle avait une expression sensible et c'était comme si elle était désolée d'être un fardeau pour ses sœurs. Elle s'est mise en colère, nous avons entendu dire qu'elle était terrifiante pour les gens qui ne la connaissaient pas. Sa situation semblait désespérée à l'époque. 70

Travaillant Au vieux pont C'était en 1984 et 1985. J'avais vingt-cinq ans et je travaillais à la bijouterie Ricci sur le Ponte Vecchio. Je voulais vraiment être étudiant à l'université, sinon je n'étais qu'un autre employé de magasin étranger qui cherchait à s'établir à Florence. J'avais quitté mon poste d'assistante commerciale dans le magasin de maroquinerie exclusif de Maria Grazia parce que je me sentais très opprimée dans cet environnement exclusivement «professionnel». Maria Grazia, la propriétaire, était une femme très charmante. Elle me demandait: «Pourquoi achetez-vous un journal en italien si vous ne pouvez pas le lire?» J'achetais tous les jours La Republica, je regardais les images et lisais les titres. J'ai aspiré au jour où je pourrais maîtriser suffisamment la langue pour pouvoir comprendre l'italien comme je comprenais l'anglais.

Selon Maria Grazia, mon achat du quotidien était un gaspillage d'argent car je ne savais pas lire l'italien. Elle était la propriétaire du magasin, une petite femme séduisante avec une voix énorme et beaucoup de sentiment. Elle avait un très grand mari appelé Lorenzo. Ils étaient très intelligents dans leurs affaires et j'ai beaucoup appris de son attitude envers la vente. J'avais envie d'apprendre d'elle, car elle était pleine de vitalité, de bonne humeur et très créative dans son attitude envers la vie. Cependant, son fils, qui avait mon âge, avait quelques petits problèmes avec ses parents, ce qui était douloureux et l'a obligée à me comparer à son fils. Le pauvre gars avait beaucoup de pression sur lui parce qu'il était fils unique et je comprenais pourquoi il essayait de tout faire pour plaire à ses parents.

Les familles sont parfois étouffantes, en particulier lorsque les parents exigent que leurs enfants réussissent, comme d’autres personnes qu’ils connaissent, sans tenir compte de tous les angles de la situation. Je pouvais voir comment l'attitude conservatrice de ce couple devenait un peu trop lourde. Ils m'ont rappelé mes propres parents. Mes parents aussi ont toujours été tournés vers les enfants des autres et leurs réalisations. Etre iranien et non européen a joué contre moi pour trouver un autre emploi. Les attitudes des gens étaient si différentes ici, et une éducation10 ne semblait pas compter beaucoup. Quand je leur ai dit que j'aimerais aller à l'université, ils ont dit que personne ne gagnait d'argent en étudiant et que les diplômes étaient tous bons et bons, mais inutiles dans la vie. Mon amie Janet, elle aussi, avait dit: «Oh, mon garçon!» - c’est-à-dire que cette université à vingt-cinq ans représente une énorme charge de travail, et pour quoi?

Je sentais qu'il y avait un air répressif qui négligeait toutes les pulsions joyeuses spontanées et spontanées de la jeunesse vers le ciel ouvert. Certaines personnes voulaient que vous regardiez votre assiette sans jamais la regarder. Était-ce parce que si vous leviez les yeux, vous pourriez avoir des idées pour aller après une vie meilleure? Ils semblaient vouloir te garder à ta place. Ils semblaient vouloir vous réparer comme un papillon en vous épinglant dans la situation dans laquelle vous vous trouvez. C'est ce que j'ai ressenti pour moi et parfois les gens ne voulaient même pas que vous achetiez un magazine intelligent et ambitieux. Je me suis rendu compte que je devenais trop stressé et que j'avais commencé à chercher un nouvel endroit et que j'avais finalement trouvé un travail moins impliqué avec les gestionnaires. J'avais trouvé une place sur le vieux pont, qui semblait très professionnelle. Cependant, au bout d'un moment, ils m'ont laissé partir en disant qu'ils cherchaient un Européen. Par le biais d’un contact avec un ami néerlandais, j’avais commencé à travailler dans un nouveau magasin vendant des bijoux sur le Ponte Vecchio. 10 «An Education», un film dramatique mettant en scène un jeune homme, réalisé par Lone Scherfig en 2010, parle de l’importance d’une éducation sentimentale et d’une «éducation supérieure». Vous vous demandez ce qui se serait passé si elle ne s’était pas remise expérience.

M. Ricci Senior n’a jamais été dans le magasin. Il avait soixante ans et avait une expression sensible. Il aimait les femmes et était plutôt à l'écoute de l'esprit féminin. Il avait été pianiste dans le passé et c’est la raison pour laquelle tout l’établissement avait un air de vieillesse et de raffinement. C'était Daniele, son très grand fils, qui dirigeait les lieux chaque jour. C'était un géant, un de ces gens génétiquement énormes, mais il était bien proportionné. Daniele avait l'habitude de donner un surnom à toutes les personnes qu'il connaissait. Un gars qui est venu dans le magasin pour vendre des choses s'appelait 'Piombo' (ce qui se traduit en heavy metal) parce qu'il était très déprimant. On m'a surnommé 'Fenomeno' - c'est-à-dire pas normal - ce qui m'a semblé très flatteur. Mais, je ne sais pas si cela était bien voulu, parce que parfois sa ruse 11 Il avait deux filles adorables, dans la vingtaine, qui étaient gentilles et amicales. L'une d'entre elles, âgée d'une vingtaine d'années et une superbe blonde, a partagé les mêmes problèmes avec les filles, (Anna), elle est devenue amie par la suite.

est sorti aux situations les plus inattendues. Rosanna était la gérante des filles. Elle avait environ quarante ans et tricotait toujours de jolis sauteurs. J'étais reconnaissant de ne pas être directement sous les propriétaires, comme dans l'autre magasin. La vue depuis la fenêtre de Ponte Vecchio était magnifique, mais le magasin n’avait pas de salle de bain et les gens devaient donc aller au café pour pouvoir utiliser les toilettes. Il y avait beaucoup de bateaux à rames appartenant au club de bateau sur l'Arno. C'était comme si les gens du club nautique étaient assis sur la plage au centre du centre-ville, à l'image de ce qu'ils ont à Paris aujourd'hui. Contrairement à cela, au début des années 1980, les artisans et les hippies vendaient leurs objets sur le pont.

Il y avait beaucoup d'artisans sur le vieux pont. Mais dans les années suivantes, tous ces gens ont été enlevés. Je pense que beaucoup de drogues ont circulé aussi. Je n'ai jamais vraiment vu la culture de la drogue, mais plus tard en 2005, je devais connaître l'histoire de Michelangelo, Sandra et Marina, qui était touchée par la drogue. Pendant de nombreuses années, je ne savais pas que c'était une menace pour beaucoup de jeunes. Pour moi, je finirais mon travail et je rentrais chez moi en bus, en voyant toujours les mêmes visages que ceux qui vivaient dans la Via Bolognese. Je me demandais qui ils étaient et comment ils vivaient. Ce quartier, le vieux pont, avait un air de vieilles familles, de paysans et d’énergies saines, tout comme les familles que j’avais connues. J'étais tellement heureux que les Ricci soient des gens gentils, ne contrôlant pas et pas les types pour vous rabaisser.

Energies et tendances est une peinture qui a été vendue à Dubaï par une personne qui travaillait pour la galerie d'art Mondo. J'ai adoré vivre dans la région du printemps 14 de Dubaï. C'était un endroit très spécial, avec beaucoup de familles avec de jeunes enfants. C'était amusant de sortir et de voir tous ceux qui vivaient là-bas faire leur travail. C'était un très beau quartier où les gens semblaient être bien nantis. J'avais espéré déménager ici avec ma mère, mais elle n'était pas destinée à voir cet endroit. Dubaï a de nombreux visages différents. Après avoir quitté la villa, j’avais loué un loyer dans la région de Spring. Je visitais encore souvent Dubaï et séjournais dans des hôtels. J'ai dû quitter ma maison à Téhéran souvent à cause des pressions des anonymes. Certains promoteurs immobiliers avaient peut-être un plan pour se débarrasser de toutes les personnes vivant seules dans de grandes maisons comme moi. J'avais vu des gens assis dans la rue qui regardaient, qui entraient et sortaient de telles maisons. Si vous n'étiez pas dans la maison, il était inévitable que vos biens ne soient pas protégés, car ces personnes semblaient être capables de se faufiler d'une manière ou d'une autre. Une fois, j'étais allé voir la police et le responsable m'avait dit de façon flagrante que je devais engager quelqu'un pour surveiller les lieux quand je n'étais pas là.

Le même genre de chose m’était arrivé à Via Fiesolana à Florence. C’est la raison pour laquelle j’ai eu mes assistants toute la journée et je travaillais fort pour payer les factures. Mais je ne pouvais jamais comprendre ce qui se passait et pourquoi cela se passait. J'ai été très surpris de constater que la même chose se passait à Téhéran. Une fois, quand ma mère était vivante et que nous vivions dans l'appartement de Tehransar, je l'avais laissée seule et allée faire les magasins et, à mon retour, elle a dit qu'il y avait un jeune homme vêtu d'une tenue militaire. son propre accord et assis là avec elle pendant un moment. Il était alors parti sans dire un mot. Maintenant, après le décès de ma mère, j'étais seule et je ne voulais pas vivre à Téhéran. J'avais vu un groupe de personnes nerveuses attendre dans une voiture. Il semblait qu'ils étaient payés pour faire un travail et j'étais consterné par ce qui se passait. Ils attendaient leur tour pour entrer dans un appartement et qui sait quoi faire. C'était le nouvel ordre mondial au travail; ce qu'ils appellent la survie du plus apte. Suzanne, une femme que j'avais rencontrée à Berlin, m'avait demandé avec un sourire malicieux: «Comment ça se passe dans ta région et est-ce que tu t'entends bien avec les gens?» Je comprenais maintenant ce qu'elle voulait dire. Quel que soit le plan, c'était probablement européen.

Dubaï était pour le moins une libération. Quelqu'un m'avait dit à Téhéran que si vous priiez trois heures par jour, les choses changeraient pour vous. Trois heures! C’était une expression qui signifiait depuis longtemps… La raison pour laquelle je me laissais aller à ce type de vie était simplement parce que je voulais simplement vendre ma place et partir, mais j’avais été dupé par un homme qui avait dit qu’il achèterait ma maison. et ne m'avait pas payé alors. Il m'a fallu deux ans pour le traduire en justice, après quoi je me suis rendu compte que tout était planifié et qu'il ne faisait partie que d'une énorme machine entièrement orientée vers le projet de certaines personnes visant à réaliser de gros bénéfices sur la vente. de ma propriété. Même les avocats étaient au courant. Un jeune avocat de trente ans m'avait dit que mon cas n'était vraiment pas beau car je devais payer des frais de justice très élevés. Un autre avocat moins expérimenté m'avait dit qu'il paierait lui-même les frais de justice, ce qui m'a incité à rester et à défendre l'affaire. C'était une bataille perdue d'avance, car sa générosité et sa bonne volonté n'avaient eu aucun résultat. J'avais attendu deux ans pour récupérer ma maison de la part d'un acheteur qui avait refusé de me payer, et mon avocat avait disparu et était parti en voyage aux États-Unis et n'avait aucune intention de se défendre, car il savait que c'était un cas jeu qui allait me faire payer l'homme - qui était censé me payer - et beaucoup d'autres intermédiaires inutiles. Après tout, c’était la survie du plus apte et je n’étais pas assez fort pour protéger ce dont j’avais légitimement hérité

De mes parents Le jour où nous sommes allés au tribunal, le juge, qui était un jeune homme surprenant, a tiré la langue; il était évident que je perdais mon temps à rêver que justice soit rendue. Je ne blâme pas la condition des femmes en Iran. C'était un plan international. Plus tard, j'ai entendu parler d'autres personnes qui avaient dû subir les mêmes pressions. L'acheteur m'avait dit lui-même dans un de nos arguments que même Dieu ne pourrait pas me sauver maintenant. Son partenaire, qui a prononcé ses prières islamiques mais qui a également dupé les gens, m'a dit que tous les mots que je prononçais seraient utilisés contre moi. Il a même dit cela à mon premier avocat, qui a démissionné après plusieurs tentatives pour leur parler. Ils lui avaient dit qu'ils le consulteraient et lui révéleraient des choses personnelles qui le mettraient certainement dans la honte. Il a cessé de se battre pour mon cas après plusieurs mois de retard. Le pauvre homme semblait devoir se gratter les couilles chaque fois qu'il se présentait aux gens. Il m'a embarrassé, mais il avait le cœur d'or et je sais que c'était l'époque où nous vivions qui rendait les gens mal se comporter. Après tout, qu'est-ce que quelqu'un avait à perdre quand j'étais seule?

Alors, comment se fait-il que Sharon soit venue me rendre visite via Fiesolana en 2003 et m'ait dit qu'une telle chose m'arriverait en 2008? Était-ce parce qu'elle était sioniste et communiste? Je me demande. Ce type de prophétie allait désormais devenir une sorte d'élément constant dans ma vie. Certaines personnes savaient simplement ce qui allait se passer ensuite. Que les communistes aient participé à tout cela était clair. Il me semblait que l’Iran était un satellite, ou en passe de le devenir, de son puissant voisin, qui installait l’énergie nucléaire. Était-ce eux qui faisaient ça? J'avais lu dans les journaux anglais un événement bizarre à Londres, où un vieil homme qui vivait dans une grande maison située dans un lieu coûteux était harcelé par un homme d'un ancien État communiste, qui avait ensuite prétendu avoir hérité de cet endroit. Il semblait que certaines personnes voulaient obtenir de l'argent sans effort. un autre avocat m'a dit qu '«ils étaient en train de cueillir les fruits de l'arbre» et qu'ils n'avaient pas l'intention de nuire à l'arbre lui-même.

Beaucoup de gens ont dû se sentir heureux avec cette explication. C'est pourquoi mes voyages à Dubaï m'ont emmené dans un pays qui était une sorte de paradis de vacances. J'aurais aimé découvrir Dubaï avant de me rendre en Italie, car c'était un bien meilleur endroit dans les années quatre-vingt, et les personnes que j'avais rencontrées et qui s'étaient installées là-bas au cours de ces années étaient maintenant à l'aise et vivaient dans un style de vie détendu. J'avais rencontré Linda à Florence, qui était anglaise, et elle m'avait raconté qu'elle avait vécu à Dubaï ces années-là. Je réalisais maintenant qu'elle avait été beaucoup plus expérimentée que beaucoup des personnes que j'avais rencontrées en Italie. J'avais trouvé la Mondo Art Gallery dans le centre commercial des Émirats alors que je vivais dans la région du printemps 14 dans une villa que j'avais louée à Dubaï en 2007. J'étais effectivement allé au centre commercial ce jour-là pour rencontrer Olivier, un agent immobilier. Nous nous sommes rencontrés dans un café et il m'a montré des images de maisons sur son ordinateur portable, des images de propriétés. Ma mère venait de décéder et je pensais retourner en Italie. Je devais vendre la maison de mes parents à Téhéran pour acheter un nouveau logement. Après avoir rencontré l'agent immobilier, je suis allé à la galerie d'art Mondo, dans le centre commercial, pour vérifier.

J'avais toujours eu l'intention d'entrer et de me présenter, et c'est ainsi que j'ai rencontré A, le gérant de la galerie. Je suis entré et elle était assise là avec une expression tendue sur son visage, qui n'était ni accueillante ni agréable. Elle regarda plutôt en garde et en travers. Cependant, j'ai eu le courage de monter à son bureau et de lui parler. Je lui ai parlé en italien et elle était gentille; elle m'a dit qu'elle viendrait chez moi pour voir mon travail, puisqu'elle vivait dans une villa proche de la mienne. Mes toiles étaient à la maison maintenant, car je les avais envoyées d'Italie. C'était avant que je quitte Dubaï en raison des problèmes liés à la vente de ma propriété. À Florence, Sara avait demandé à sa collègue chanteuse Anne de m'aider avec mes affaires que j'avais dû laisser derrière moi. Anne avait été gentille et les avait gardés dans le sous-sol du bâtiment, qui appartenait à l'église évangéliste. Ils ont été gardés là pendant une année entière. J'étais allé à Florence pour emballer ces objets et les envoyer à Dubaï, dans l'intention de vivre à Dubaï, pour finalement vendre ma maison à Téhéran et quitter l'Iran. J'ai parlé à A de mes projets de vente de ma maison à Téhéran. C'était probablement une erreur. Je ne savais pas que les microphones dissimulaient derrière eux des personnes sans scrupules.

L'intérêt des gens pour vendre ma propriété semblait bizarre. Ce n’était pas le type d’intérêt habituel car il avait un sens prédateur. Peut-être que certaines personnes fouillaient la population du Moyen-Orient depuis de nombreuses années, grâce à ces méthodes de collecte d'informations - à savoir la sécurité et le contrôle à l'aide de microphones et de vidéosurveillance. Quelqu'un faisait la guerre sur le marché immobilier du Moyen-Orient depuis des siècles. Quelle naïveté de ma part d'avoir commis l'erreur de dire quoi que ce soit au sujet de la vente de mes biens à qui que ce soit. A était une femme du nord de l'Italie. Elle a sélectionné certaines de mes peintures et les a exposées pendant deux semaines. Elle a réussi à vendre ce tableau intitulé "Energies et tendances" à un homme qui, dit-elle, l'avait acheté parce qu'il l'aimait! J'ai apprécié l'énergie qu'elle a mise pour parler de mes peintures aux clients. Elle a vraiment mis son cœur et son âme dans son travail et était très stressée la plupart du temps. Elle a dû quitter son emploi plusieurs mois plus tard. La peinture "Energies et tendances" parle de l'Iran et du Moyen-Orient. J'avais volontairement pas accroché les deux toiles au mur de la façon dont elles étaient censées être suspendues, car je craignais que le contour de la carte de l'Iran ne devienne un problème pour les personnes la visualisant à la galerie.

Les deux panneaux, s'ils étaient assemblés correctement, donneraient un contour en blanc et rouge, qui était le contour «semblable à un chat» de la carte de l'Iran. Je n'avais pas l'intention de faire une photo de l'Iran, mais il y avait tellement de choses dans la photo que je me suis dit: «Hé! Cela ressemble à un désordre turbulent, comme au Moyen-Orient ». Ensuite, il y a des dessins de la division cellulaire, ce qui signifiait de nouvelles naissances et de nouvelles mutations et une nouvelle vie et tout, parce que c'était ce qui se passait en Iran et dans les pays arabes de la région. Peut-être y a-t-il de l'énergie au Moyen-Orient en raison de la lutte en cours pour survivre.

Les couleurs coulent, parce que je voulais montrer les courants qui sous-tendent notre situation politique. Que ce soit sous l'influence de la Russie soviétique, à travers l'endoctrinement de jeunes esprits ou sous l'influence américaine, tout le monde était en Iran sous couverture. Même la Chine courtisait maintenant l’Iran, car après la guerre avec l’Iraq, tout un pays attendait d’être reconstruit à partir de zéro. Cependant, le Moyen-Orient est instable car nous subissons trop de pressions de l'extérieur et nous ne sommes jamais laissés en paix pour nous développer comme nous devons le faire. Notre culture et nos traditions ne nous aident pas à nous organiser car elles sont constamment manipulées par des puissances étrangères. Qui sait si la personne qui a acheté ce tableau sait ce que je voulais dire, mais je suis sûr qu'il a aimé l'état de confusion détaillé qui y est décrit.

J'espère égoïstement qu'il n'y a pas eu de révolution dans le pays où je suis née pour que ma vie n'ait pas à changer. La révolution avait des points positifs, mais elle nous rendait facilement la proie des pays dont le peuple n’avait pas peur de Dieu. Pendant que nous étions en train de prier, ils ont vénéré le «veau d'or» et s'en sont tiré à nos frais. C'étaient les nouveaux dieux, opérant derrière les scènes de 84 à 84, ils tenaient les ficelles de notre vie et ils ne pouvaient vraiment pas et ne se souciaient pas de la souffrance qu'ils causaient. Je peux témoigner que de nombreux jeunes se sont suicidés ou ont succombé à une crise cardiaque à Téhéran pour avoir utilisé brutalement ce nouveau «stasi power» invisible. Je peux imaginer que le contrôle élitiste exercé par les forces de sécurité derrière la vidéosurveillance et les microphones - leur traitement de la vie privée des gens comme un servage personnel - soit l’une des raisons de la révolte au Moyen-Orient. Au mois de Ramadan, en août 2011, en Syrie, les gens se rendent tous les vendredis pour affronter leurs morts sans crainte. Jusqu'où ont-ils été poussés à ne pas vouloir vivre?

Après la révolution en Iran, les universités ont fermé dans le pays et une vision négative des Iraniens s’est installée et a prospéré grâce aux otages américains de l’ambassade, puis à la guerre Iran-Irak. Et maintenant le contrôle des staliniens avec leurs méthodes Stasi. Combien cela pourrait-il avoir pour nous, Iraniens, qui essayons de vivre notre petite vie comme tout le monde? Ayant perdu tous nos privilèges du jour au lendemain, qui pourrait être heureux dans cette nouvelle situation? Ma propre vie s'est agitée comme un petit bateau sur les vagues de l'océan, le destin était venu pour nous mettre à notre place. Nous étions redevenus un peuple tribal, comme nous l’avons toujours été. La mentalité citoyenne de l'Europe occidentale, à laquelle nous aspirions, restait un idéal à atteindre. La population est passée de trente millions à soixante-dix millions et la nouvelle génération a été reprise sur d'autres valeurs - d'où le nom «Energies et tendances» - une nouvelle ère a commencé pour nous tous. Une des bonnes choses qui est sortie de la révolution est que nous n’avons plus de système de classe asiatique étouffant dans lequel les gens sont bloqués dans le statut social dans lequel ils sont nés. Le printemps arabe de 2011 portait sur des problèmes similaires. Le travail et les classes ouvrières ont finalement été découverts.

Aujourd'hui en 2009, le 1er novembre, l'Iran négocie avec l'Occident, essayant d'être accepté par le monde en tant que pays doté d'armes nucléaires. Les nombreuses années de guerre en Irak et en Afghanistan, ainsi que les problèmes au Pakistan sont sous contrôle - ici en Iran 85 85 peut-être, par les prières de notre peuple saint?. Même aujourd'hui, la stabilité en Iran est un miracle. Dans le poème "Là-bas", je veux donner le message aux personnes qui veulent faire quelque chose dans leur vie pour le faire, tergiverser parce que vous vous sentez lié par des sentiments pour les autres est inutile. Vous devez tenter votre chance d'une manière ou d'une autre, car l'individu peut être submergé par l'immensité des choses qui se passent. C’est un hommage à toutes les personnes qui prennent ce bateau et qui s’essayent à traverser les eaux afin de chercher un avenir meilleur ailleurs. Vous risquez votre vie et personne ne peut rien garantir.

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Al Noor, huile sur toile, 1989 Extrait du Saint Coran Le chapitre Al Noor (sens de la lumière) v.35, 36 «Dieu est la lumière des cieux et de la terre, sa lumière est comme ceci: il y a une niche et c'est une lampe, la lampe à l'intérieur d'un verre, un verre ressemblant à une étoile scintillante, alimenté par un olivier béni, ni à l'est ni à l'ouest, dont l'huile éclaire presque même quand aucun feu ne la touche - lumière sur lumière - Dieu guide qui il veut à sa lumière; Dieu établit de telles comparaisons pour les gens; dieu a la connaissance totale de tout »4. Al-Noor C'est l'une des premières peintures que je trouve a l'équilibre et l'équilibre. Le fait est que quand on peint des peintures abstraites sans avoir de direction, la peinture est une aventure et se passe toute seule. Ce n'est pas une peinture d'action, car cette peinture intuitive a certaines directives et n'est pas totalement laissée au hasard comme la peinture d'action. Il s'agit plutôt d'une image 87 87 que vous avez à l'intérieur de vous et que vous la projetez sur la toile - la pêchant, pour ainsi dire. Je me souviens que c’était ce que certains peintres romantiques pensaient de la peinture; L'image se trouvait quelque part dans votre subconscient et il suffisait qu'elle soit capturée.

J'ai appelé ce tableau 'Noor' - c'est-à-dire 'la lumière'. Mais il fait très sombre et seule la tache jaune centrale peut justifier qu’on l’appelle lumière, ce qui signifie que dans un monde sombre et confus, quand il y a de la lumière, les choses ont des contours et on peut distinguer son environnement; c'est ce que fait la lumière. C'est une image très sévère, vraiment terreuse avec les bruns et les verts, et cela me rappelle que mère nature est rude et méchante la plupart du temps. L'humanité est périssable et la nature a toujours été une force avec laquelle il a dû lutter pour survivre. La perspective de la mort et de la maladie a toujours amené les hommes et les femmes à chercher des moyens de prolonger leur séjour sur la Terre. Des siècles se sont écoulés avec des humains accrochés à des dieux d'une sorte ou d'une autre avant de proposer le concept d'un Dieu abstrait. On se demande pourquoi les humains ont été et sont si matérialistes. Et pourtant, ils ont atteint un point d'abstraction. Mais alors il y a quelque chose qui est insondable et éthéré dans cette peinture. Au milieu du lourd pour ainsi dire; en tirant le poids de la réalité. La lumière élève de manière miraculeuse. Il peut voler au-dessus de la chair et des nerfs et des problèmes d'être en vie sur cette dimension terrestre.

C'est comme si je marchais avec mon âme à la recherche d'eau; Je me promène dans le désert déshydraté en tant que plante puis, tout à coup, je parviens à une oasis où l’eau est omniprésente et où la sécurité des arbres et de la végétation est assurée. C'est une analogie avec notre besoin spirituel d'espoir dans un monde difficile, si bien décrit dans les premiers chapitres du roman The Source ou Hawaii, écrit par James Michener, où l'homme ferait n'importe quoi pour que la pluie tombe ou pour que les temps et les situations restent négatifs. à la baie. Noor, la lumière est un espoir mais aussi une bonne nouvelle, une sorte de lumière au bout du tunnel; un cadeau de Dieu le créateur, qui se déclare ami des croyants. 88 88 J'ai écrit le verset du Coran autour de lui dans un persan, qui n'est pas du tout raffiné. C'est plus l'écriture d'un enfant. C'est parce que je voulais représenter tous les hommes et toutes les femmes qui ne sont pas nécessairement raffinés, ni même éduqués. Peut-être parce que je pense que Dieu n'est ni classiste ni sexiste et qu'il apprécie les sentiments sincères des croyants.

Le verset décrit le sentiment de lumière - c'est-à-dire de la présence de Dieu. C'est une manière si mystérieuse de comparer la lumière de Dieu à une lumière de quelque chose de matériel. La lumière de Dieu serait comme ça, dit-on, plutôt que de décrire Dieu lui-même. «Dieu est la lumière des cieux et de la terre. Sa lumière peut être comparée à une niche qui consacre une lampe ». Ce tableau a été offert en cadeau à mon ami d’enfance. Aujourd'hui, en août 2011, la famine est en perspective. Les gens ont perdu leurs animaux et des milliers de personnes quittent leurs villages pour se réfugier dans et autour des villes. C'est une situation sans espoir. Qui peut soutenir ces milliers et pour combien de temps? Cela vous rappelle les histoires bibliques sur l'Égypte et l'histoire du prophète Joseph. Les sept années de vaches maigres sont peut-être revenues.

Après le divorce, Sharon avait vendu sa maison et avait beaucoup de millions de lires à la banque. Elle se dirigeait maintenant vers un nouvel avenir. Je n'oublierai jamais le petit appartement qu'elle avait acheté rue Via delle Pergola, n ° 50, devant l'hôpital, car j'avais passé quelques jours là-bas. J'aurais aimé être aussi pratique qu'elle. Comme dans le film "Thelma et Louise" ..., Sharon avait acheté une voiture de sport rouge et nous emmenait parfois en promenade. très grisant. 90 90 profondément. Comment a-t-elle gardé le souffle? Après tout, notre vie émotionnelle est notre navire qui nous permet de flotter sur l'océan de la vie. Mes prières étaient ma façon de naviguer dans les eaux de la vie. Mais qu'est-ce qu'elle avait? Des relations avec les gens?

Ce qu'elle a fait, c'est rendre visite à un psychologue, qui semblait lui avoir dit que notre amitié était vouée à l'échec. Alors, au lieu de dire: «Je suis désolée si je t'ai blessé», elle a simplement continué son chemin, me laissant tomber de sa vie. Je suis sûr que je savais que cette relation / amitié irait comme ça. Je n'y avais pas trop investi, car je savais que j'allais dans une direction différente. 91 91 Je l'aimais pour ses qualités, son sens de l'humour et son énergie infatigable au travail et dans des directions différentes - c'était donc inévitable. Cependant, nous avons eu de bons moments avant de nous effondrer.

Cet été-là, je travaillais dans une bijouterie sur la Piazza S Croce. Un jour, elle m'a appelée et m'a demandé: «Pourquoi ne partons-nous pas en vacances ensemble à Maremma»? J'étais enthousiaste, mais ce qui faisait l'actualité en 1993 et en 1994, c'était que des gens jetaient des pierres sur des voitures en mouvement sur la Auto Strada. Cela faisait tout le temps la une des journaux et ça me faisait peur, mais ça ne la dérangeait pas. Elle avait une nouvelle voiture de sport rouge et nous avions cherché des maisons à acheter. Je m'étais porté volontaire pour l'accompagner, car je pensais qu'un jour je pourrais vouloir acheter quelque chose en Italie. C'était juste pour faire quelque chose d'intéressant et pour être en sa compagnie. J'étais heureux d'avoir un ami de New York 92, parce que Sharon était intéressante et d'origine différente. Nous sommes allés au Parco del Uccellino et avons eu une petite aventure à la campagne en essayant de trouver un endroit où passer la nuit. Nous avons trouvé cette maison dans le pays avec un homme étrange qui a prétendu être un médecin de sorcière. C'était très effrayant, c'est le moins qu'on puisse dire. Ce voyage m'a inspiré de très tristes sentiments.

Je me suis beaucoup plus amusé avec Sara et Eric. Même s’ils n’avaient pas d’argent, ils avaient l’esprit, étaient plutôt innocents et avaient l’originalité de s’absorber, et c’est ce qui fait rire. Quand ils se préparaient à aller quelque part comme un mariage, Eric criait à Sara de lui demander ce qu'elle allait porter avec enthousiasme, comme si cela lui importait aussi beaucoup; ce qu'elle portait et comment elle avait l'air. Eric avait vécu à Pietra Santa, comme il prétendait être une sculpture. Je pensais que la vie de Sara sur les Piazzas Spirito était la raison pour laquelle je la trouvais excitante d'être avec elle, même si je la connaissais auparavant. Mais ce n'était pas ça. L'endroit a contribué à la vie sociale qu'elle a aimée avec tous ses amis chanteurs. Beaucoup de gens ont chanté dans les chorales de l'église comme elle. En chantant dans les chorales et lors des mariages, elle était devenue une personnalité connue. Dans son propre domaine, les gens la connaissaient et elle a assisté à toutes les fêtes, qui étaient les bonnes.

Elle a traîné avec les artistes, ou les aspirants. Je pense que son attitude à travailler dur pour atteindre un but était admirable. Cela m'a vraiment rappelé d'une manière humble la façon dont une personne amoureuse aborde un bien-aimé inaccessible. Elle avait décidé de profiter de tout ce que la vie lui avait donné pour atteindre son objectif, qui était toujours de devenir une soprano professionnelle. Contrairement à Sharon, elle n'était pas du tout exigeante. Comment a-t-elle réussi à tout faire? Je ne comprenais pas comment elle avait trouvé le temps de dormir, avec les quelques heures passées dans sa maison. C'était extraordinaire! Ma vie était certainement la plus paresseuse de nous trois parce que j'avais absolument besoin de dormir beaucoup. J'avais appris à le faire grâce à Philippe, qui était en quelque sorte un loir. Ma mère aussi a toujours dit qu'il valait mieux dormir autant que possible quand on avait la chance de le faire. Sharon et Sara ne perdaient cependant pas de temps à dormir. Ils sont tous les deux allés faire du jogging le matin - beurk! 94 94 Sara aussi, a fait ces choses super-femme. Mais elle avait aussi un fort sens de la vie en latin. La partie anglo-saxonne de courir après les exploits et d'être de fait faisait partie de sa personnalité. Elle n'aimait pas qu'Eric n'ait pas d'argent et ne travaille pas.

Mais elle aimait être sociable et être au cœur de l'action, et connaître tout le monde dans le monde, en particulier les personnes qui étaient du type "in-type". Elle était avec un si large éventail de personnes par le biais de ses amis chanteurs. C'était ahurissant combien de personnes elle connaissait et les cercles dans lesquels elle s'était installée. Mais son cœur était dans la petite vie privée intime, et cela ne lui permettait pas d'utiliser ses relations pour progresser socialement. Elle ne pouvait pas être mercenaire dans ses amitiés, même si elle le voulait. Je suppose que le fait d’être artiste signifie que ces problèmes de cœur et ces sentiments sont très importants. J'ai apprécié qu'elle soit 95 95 enfantine dans ce sens. Je pense que nous étions semblables de cette façon. En cela, nous n’avions pas perdu cette petite fille à l’intérieur et cet enfant nous accompagnait tout au long de notre vie, ce qui nous gênait d’une certaine manière, mais nous faisait tout de même nous émerveiller devant les étoiles dans le ciel nocturne.

Eric était aussi un idéaliste et dans ce sens, il aimait Sara. On pourrait dire qu'il était très irresponsable. Il avait de beaux cheveux longs, tressé dans le dos à la manière indienne, ce qui le rendait très romantique. Avec le photographe Marco, qui ressemblait à quelqu'un de Led Zeppelin, ils formaient une équipe d'idéalistes de type hippie. Est-ce que quelqu'un que je connais a travaillé à Florence? Beaucoup de gens que j'avais connus dans la trentaine ne travaillaient pas du tout. Beaucoup d'entre eux sont restés à la maison et n'avaient pas d'argent. Il fallait du courage pour sortir et participer au monde. J'avais travaillé comme vendeuse, mais je préférais louer des chambres comme Marco le faisait depuis de nombreuses années. Ce n’était pas du tout une vie saine et les gens ne le respectaient pas. Eric aussi était du genre à vouloir un bon travail, et pas n'importe quel type de travail. Il avait l'habitude de parler fort d'espace et de vaisseaux spatiaux et c'était la qualité supérieure qu'il recherchait. C'était rafraîchissant de parler à quelqu'un qui espérait encore que de bonnes choses pourraient se produire à l'avenir. Je pense que c'est peut-être l'esprit pionnier des Américains qui est si attrayant. Parce que si les Asiatiques et les Européens sont liés au sol par leur histoire féodale, toujours intéressés à savoir qui possède la terre et qui ne la possèdent pas, ces nouveaux peuples du continent que je connaissais avaient une attitude totalement différente. L'attitude de «pouvoir faire» d'Eric et Sara n'a pas duré. Il y avait trop de gens après Eric, et ils n'avaient pas l'endurance nécessaire pour le faire en couple.

Je veux dire, Patriza13, qui avait rencontré Eric lors d'une soirée chez moi, était tombé amoureux de lui. C'est pourquoi Sara a blâmé la fête chez moi pour avoir réuni Patriza et Eric, ce qui a entraîné sa perte. Sara a ensuite rencontré Curro, qui était espagnole, à l’opéra et qui possédait une moto de type Harley Davidson. 13 Patrizia, une bourgeoise typique qui conduisait une belle jeep en ville et qui, pour une raison quelconque, me faisait penser à Mina, l'auteur-compositeur et interprète. 96

Il travaillait pour une famille noble à Florence et était beaucoup plus ensemble que le reste d'entre nous. Eric était cher et Patriza avait l'argent. Elle l'appréciait parce qu'il était américain et dans un sens différent. Elle en supportait beaucoup, car on pouvait dire que Patriza et Eric travaillaient très dur pour maintenir la relation qu'ils avaient commencée. Patriza avait toujours aimé les types idéalistes et elle aimait la noblesse, à l'instar de la petite amie italienne d'Eric. Sur le plan social, cela a fonctionné et Patriza est ensuite allé aux États-Unis avec lui. Elle est devenue une meilleure personne après avoir vécu cette expérience. Une des choses à propos d'Eric, c'est qu'il se souciait des autres, de son groupe en quelque sorte. Un jour, après avoir reçu mon argent - la "récompense", comme l'appelait Matthew, pour avoir plaidé contre la bijouterie dans laquelle j'avais été harcelé, Eric est venu seul à Via delle Cinque Giornate. Il m'a dit à 97 97: «Vous devez commencer à travailler, car l'argent va bientôt disparaître». Il avait raison, car l'argent n'était que de vingt millions de lires. Je savais que si je payais tout le loyer que je devais pour l'appartement, je pourrais le garder pour toujours, selon les lois italiennes. Cependant, je me suis opposé à cela, car je ne voulais pas faire de l'appartement, qui n'était pas le mien, le centre de ma vie comme l'avait fait Marco. Je me suis senti mal à propos de ce que je faisais aux propriétaires.

Je pensais que c'était la colère de Dieu sur moi que je ne me sente pas heureux avec ma vie et que je ne puisse pas trouver un moyen de sortir de mes problèmes. Je pensais à Nadia et au courage avec lequel elle avait vécu et travaillé à l'hôtel comme réceptionniste pendant quelques années, mais avait décidé de rentrer en France. Elle avait pris une décision ferme et pris des responsabilités. Vivre avec des compromis rend faible et fatigué. C'est pourquoi j'ai décidé de laisser aller l'appartement et d'en être finalement expulsé. J'avais vécu dans cet appartement au rez-de-chaussée de la Via delle Cinque Giornate, n ° 6, pendant quinze ans.

J'aurais pu épouser quelqu'un, m'installer et avoir des enfants. Mais ce n'est pas pour ça que je suis venu en Europe. J'étais venu en Europe parce que je voulais devenir une personne qui produisait du bon art et le réaliser était ma priorité. Je pensais à la postérité parce que je pensais que tous les enfants du monde pourraient être mes enfants si j'avais un bon message à leur transmettre. Je n'aimais pas l'idée de penser à reproduire son ADN dans un monde qui a toujours été un endroit difficile. Je veux dire, si j'avais eu la force de le faire, j'aurais eu une famille. Mais, j'étais généralement celui qui était blessé dans les relations. M. X a déclaré qu'il envisageait de se marier, mais que je devrais attendre. Personne n'était assez fou pour vouloir se marier avec quelqu'un comme moi! Je me croyais très déprimant. J'avais perdu ma chance de la vie quand Philippe m'avait une fois demandé poliment de nous fiancer. J'avais été désinvolte à ce sujet et j'avais ignoré ses mots sérieux. Il avait toujours été très gentil, alors c'était de ma faute si je ne savais pas ce que j'étais après.

J'ai passé les dix années suivantes à penser chaque jour à Philippe et à désirer être avec lui dans toutes les relations que j'avais. Même quand j'étais avec Sara, Sharon, M. X et Nadia, je souhaitais être avec lui. J'étais une personne avec deux coeurs. C'était incroyable, comme avoir deux photos qui ne se ressemblaient pas, même si elles étaient identiques. J'ai réfléchi à mon passé islamique et à la manière dont cela m'empêcherait d'être avec quelqu'un de l'Ouest. Aussi, comment un homme islamique m'empêcherait d'être libre de grandir en tant que personne.

Santo Spirito

Apr 12, 2019, 7:12 PM

------//////----------//Saint esprit sahra et Marc

En tout cas, personne ne me demandait: "Qu'est-ce qui te fait te sentir heureux parce que je veux te faire sentir heureux ou faire partie de ton bonheur". J'ai récemment vu cela dans un film14 et je pensais que 14 Par la suite, j'ai vu des films indiens comme "Hum Tum", "Bride and Prejudice" ou même "Come dancing"; qui semblait analyser les relations entre les deux sexes d’une manière qui était proche de ma propre mentalité et j’ai réalisé le 101 101 101 romantique que j’ai toujours été aussi égoïste et égocentrique. Je suppose que je n'ai jamais été là-bas pour essayer de rendre quelqu'un heureux, à part moi-même. Une seule fois dans un élan d'enthousiasme, que je ne comprenais pas moi-même, j'ai pensé que je pourrais enseigner à M. X English et que cela aurait changé sa vie. Mais je pensais que c'était trop une idée folle, et comme il était tellement impliqué dans sa propre routine, cela ne semblait pas réaliste.

Qu'est-ce que je suis, une sorte de professeur? Je me suis dit qu'il parlait de ses amis au marché "l'appréciant tel qu'il était". Je suis donc arrivé à la conclusion qu'il n'aurait pas essayé de faire un effort. Les étals du marché sont l'endroit où les gens tombent dans les relations et en sortent, et il avait beaucoup d'amis au travail. Il racontait comment une Italienne était venue s'asseoir un jour sur ses genoux et comment on l'appelait surnom. Je pensais qu'il y avait tellement de choses que je ne connaissais pas à propos de cette personne et qu'il ne me le disait pas - et qu'il ne me le dira jamais. J'avais le sentiment qu'il y avait quelqu'un de très important dans sa vie et que je n'étais pas un sujet aussi brûlant pour lui après tout. Puis j'ai pensé, bon, je vais lui demander de se marier, et il sait à quel point c'est important. Je ne peux pas rester ici à attendre sa décision, alors je devrai y aller et faire ce que je veux. Comme je l'ai deviné, il n'a pas beaucoup insisté sur la question et nous en sommes restés là. C'était en 1994, après que ma mère soit venue me rendre visite et que je lui ai parlé de lui. Elle l'a rencontré et m'a dit qu'il était une personne brillante qui ne resterait pas dans sa position sociale mais irait plus loin. Je pensais que c'était si généreux de sa part de dire ça - merci maman! J'étais vraiment reconnaissant qu'elle était optimiste à son sujet. Mais en même temps, elle a dit: «Vous savez que vous devez trouver quelqu'un qui a le même passé». Je ne sais pas si elle a dit «comme nous», mais je pense qu'elle voulait dire instruite. Une éducation avait été si importante pour moi et pour les gens de ma famille. Même mon oncle avait obtenu son diplôme à quarante ans après avoir travaillé pour l’agence de voyages pendant de nombreuses années. Il a commencé à aller à l'université tard et a obtenu son baccalauréat, puis a commencé à enseigner. J'ai compris d'où elle venait. Karina m'avait dit il y a quelques années, quand nous étions assis sur la Piazza Santa Spirito, d'aller parler à Philippe quand il m'avait approché. Mais c'était juste avant mon diplôme et je pensais que je ne pouvais pas me permettre de me perdre dans un enchevêtrement émotionnel après tant de travail. Je l'avais laissé partir. Il avait vraiment été très important pour moi.

J'ai réalisé que j'avais une chose si importante à finir et que je la perdrais si je continuais à courir après les gens tout le temps. Je voulais aussi obtenir un diplôme à cause de mes parents. Je suppose que pour rendre tout le monde heureux. J'avais quitté la maison à cette fin et je livrais ce que je disais que je ferais. Je suis sûr que mes parents auraient été beaucoup plus heureux si j'avais amené des enfants au monde et créé une famille pour moi-même. La vie dans l'Iran post-révolutionnaire avait abaissé les normes et les gens n'attendaient pas grand chose de la part des femmes. Faire une famille 103 103 était un exploit prestigieux pour une femme. En fait, après tous mes efforts pour obtenir un diplôme, tout ce que ma mère avait à dire, c'était: «Alors tu t'es finalement élevé à mon niveau», ce qui était un signe que ma famille n'était pas très impressionnée du tout. Je sais qu'un baccalauréat est pour quand on a vingt-trois et pas l'âge de trente deux. J'avais abandonné mon bonheur en cours de route, mais j'étais heureux d'avoir enfin compris ce qui était bon pour moi. Ma colocataire suédoise Karina, qui était une femme très intelligente et qui semblait observer ma vie, m'avait aussi dit que, de toute façon, je n'avais pas beaucoup de temps à passer dans une famille ou une relation. Même si j'avais voulu le faire, j'avais trop de choses qui étaient importantes pour moi. Elle avait eu raison. J'étais sur le point de créer un studio d'art et cela nécessitait toute ma force et ma concentration. Philippe était une source d'inspiration importante et j'aurais aimé pouvoir aussi aider d'autres artistes.

Karina, Sharon et d’autres personnes m’avaient aidé à créer le studio; ainsi que M. X, ainsi que Patrizia, Enzo, Paola et Caterina. C'était une aide pour ma survie, et beaucoup d'autres aussi. Cependant, spirituellement, ils ne m'avaient pas donné la force que Philippe m'avait donnée. À travers lui, j'avais trouvé mon identité en tant qu'individu et mes ancêtres et leur dévouement. Il avait été une source d'énergie, comme seules certaines personnes exceptionnelles peuvent l'être. Quand j'étais en sa compagnie, je pensais que tout était beau et intelligent, même les plantes, et que tout avait des couleurs plus vives. C'était comme si j'avais pris des drogues améliorantes. Je pensais que c'était peut-être le même sentiment. J'avais l'impression d'être dans un film indien. Comme d'habitude, je me suis déclaré, c'était dans un café de la place Santa Maria Novella. Il pleuvait fort. Il y avait du tonnerre et des éclairs comme jamais auparavant. Je pensais que le temps exprimait mon état d'esprit. Tous les films indiens ont des scènes de pluie.

Il a dit: "Vous mentez!" Puis il a pris mon bras. J'avais ces bracelets en or et il les a examinés comme s'il s'agissait de choses horribles. C'était comme s'il pensait, ça ne peut pas être du vrai or! Quelle dégoûtant s'ils étaient! J'avais alors honte de mes bracelets en or. Ma mère les avait achetés pour moi à Karachi au Pakistan. Ils étaient or 22 carats, ils pesaient beaucoup et valaient une bonne somme. Quand il les a regardés de cette façon, j'ai essayé de ne plus les porter. En Occident, les gens ne portent pas d'or comme nous le faisons en Asie ou en Afrique. J'ai vu les filles somaliennes porter parfois leur or avec fierté. Ici, j'étais contre-interrogé à cause d'eux, comme si personne ne pouvait comprendre la nécessité de porter autant d'or. Je pensais que ce n'était pas sûr, alors je les ai mis à la banque et ils y sont restés pendant de nombreuses années. 105 105 La déclaration ne s'est pas déroulée comme d'habitude. Il a dit: "Pourquoi tuez-vous les choses pendant qu'elles grandissent, et pourquoi êtes-vous un tel rocher?" Puis il a dit, j'ai une petite amie israélienne qui est plus mince que toi, et sur la scène est venue la fille israélienne qui était la femme de son meilleur ami! C'était une autre histoire. Je pensais être sincère et il joue à des jeux avec moi! Je suppose que cela ressemblait un peu à ce que Picasso a fait avec ses femmes. Bien des années plus tard, j'ai lu que Picasso faisait que les femmes se battaient pour lui en sa présence et cela lui plaisait. Ce qui était vraiment désagréable à ce moment-là, c'est que je n'avais pas vraiment d'argent, et il était très sûr qu'il ne voulait pas d'une femme qui pesait sur sa vie et sur sa poche et qu'il ne voulait pas de problèmes. C'est ce qu'il m'a dit. À ce moment-là, j'étais sûr de ne pas vouloir moi-même de problèmes, car je n'étais qu'à quelques pas de mon dernier examen et je devais ensuite rédiger mon dernier mémoire. Alors j'ai pensé, d'accord, ça va être dur, mais je dois sortir de cette relation. J'avais trente ans et je ne voulais plus perdre de temps à mener à bien mon projet. Plus tard, Cristiana, qui était mannequin pour Philippe, m'a demandé: «Je suppose que tu ne crois pas vraiment en l'amour?» Elle a dit cela parce qu'elle aurait peut-être traité la question différemment.

Le triangle de relations Cristiana avait été mariée à un Français et parlait couramment le français et l'espagnol. Elle pouvait comprendre Philippe à un autre niveau. J'ai dit, eh bien, je dois répondre à ma famille et je ne peux pas tout jeter au nom de l'amour. Tous les membres de ma famille s'attendaient à ce que je leur donne un résultat, et je n'avais vraiment pas envie de les laisser tomber pour quelqu'un qui ne se souciait vraiment pas de moi autant. De plus, il y avait une concurrence entre une mince femme israélienne, ou peut-être beaucoup de femmes, parce que c'était un séduisant adolescent de trente-deux ans, bien élevé et célibataire issu d'une famille apparemment bourgeoise. Je suis sûr qu'il n'a épousé aucune des femmes avec qui je l'ai vu par la suite.

La mince Israélienne a eu deux enfants de sa fiancée peintre italienne. L'homme qui était l'ami de Philippe avait l'air de sortir d'un film sur l'Italie au XIXe siècle. Il avait une énorme et longue barbe ancienne et ne ressemblait pas à des gens normaux - il m'a rappelé le peuple Amish aux États-Unis qui vit toujours sans voiture. Il avait sorti un livre de sa voiture et j'avais commenté à quel point je n'aimais pas l'artiste à qui le livre appartenait. Je ne m'étais vraiment pas attendu à ce que mon humble opinion lui veuille bien rien. Cependant, il était assez offensé et m'a dit qu'il était au contraire un admirateur de Giorgio Morandi, le peintre qui peignait des bouteilles. Toile après toile. Je ne pouvais pas voir l'intérêt des bouteilles comme sujet des peintures.

Je n'avais pas réalisé que cet homme aimait vraiment Morandi. Il semblait être irrémédiablement placide la plupart du temps, mais devint tout de suite rouge lorsqu'il entendit mon opinion. «Comment osez-vous dire cela?» Dit-il en me montrant un énorme livre de milliers de pages sur son peintre préféré. J'ai été humilié par mon erreur. Morandi avait passé toute la Seconde Guerre mondiale à peindre des tableaux chez lui, à la campagne. Peut-être que la laideur de la guerre nous oblige à nous concentrer sur les quelques choses que nous pouvons contrôler, qui sont toujours absolument innocentes et propres. Peut-être était-ce le message de Morandi? il disait: «Je ne ressemble pas vraiment à cette réalité, mais je vais inventer la mienne». Il était une personne charitable, parce que plus tard, les gens qui avaient ses peintures deviendraient riches. En fait, j'ai rencontré un couple italien qui avait acheté un appartement coûteux après avoir vendu l'une de ses peintures.

La cuisine de Sara Sara et sa vie, en quelque sorte, étaient ma mère porteuse parce que je voulais être avec Philippe. Sara ressemblait beaucoup à moi, faisant de son mieux pour atteindre son objectif. On peut toujours se perdre sur son chemin. Sara était quelqu'un qui souffrait pour sa cause, comme moi. Juste avant de passer finalement les examens, elle et moi nous sommes rencontrées devant les marches de l'église de Santo Spirito et elle pleurait désespérément en disant: «Je sais que je peux chanter, je dois réussir à traverser ça. Je ne l'avais jamais vue aussi déprimée. Pour cela, il fallait beaucoup d’études, beaucoup de travail au piano et, en plus, travailler dans son métier d’enseignant pour gagner sa vie. Cristiana était un autre substitut de Philippe. Je suis devenue amie avec elle lorsqu'elle était mannequin à la Charles Cecil Art School. Elle avait les cheveux longs teints en blonde et une voix bourrue très sexy qui rappelait l'actrice Monica Vitti. Elle voulait que les gens pensent qu'elle était sexy comme Brigitte Bardot. Cristiana n'était pas vraiment sexy quand on l'a connue en tant que personne. Je veux dire, elle n'était pas fausse et calculatrice. En fait, c'était une fille sympathique issue d'une famille sympathique du nord de l'Italie qui souhaitait créer une famille avec un gars. Elle m'a dit qu'elle était mariée à un français et vivait en France depuis un certain temps. Mais maintenant elle était séparée.

Cristiana avait un studio à Via Guelfa, un quartier vraiment miteux du centre-ville, près de la gare. Elle a peint des copies des peintures des maîtres. C'étaient généralement des peintures de la Renaissance, avec beaucoup de livres, d'instruments de musique et de tapis persans. Je suis souvent allé visiter cet appartement et ce studio. J'ai aimé ses peintures. Elle a emprunté ce livre d'art à Philippe et l'a vraiment foiré. C'était comme si elle n'avait pas envie de blesser ses sentiments du tout.

J'aurais eu plus de respect pour ce livre, à qui appartenait-il. Cependant, Cristiana pouvait s’en tirer avec beaucoup, car c’était une fille chaleureuse et qu’elle avait de bonnes intentions. J'ai trouvé que sa voix était très attrayante. Je lui avais raconté mon expérience de peintre. Je lui ai dit que je connaissais Philippe, et c'est pourquoi elle m'a autorisé à aller dans son studio et elle m'a appris à utiliser la feuille d'or. Je sentais que j'aurais dû la payer, mais je n'avais pas d'argent pour lui montrer à quel point j'étais reconnaissante. C'était une des personnes à Florence qui avait été généreuse et gentille et qui ne voulait rien avoir en retour. Par chance, elle a trouvé une jeune fille écossaise qui avait tenté d'ouvrir une galerie à Florence et qui avait acheté certaines de ses toiles et les avait payées d'avance! C'était incroyable. Personne ne faisait de telles choses à Florence - du moins, personne que nous connaissions. J'ai demandé à cette jeune galeriste: «Est-ce que tu achètes des tableaux dans le but d'aider 111 111 artistes?», Et elle a répondu que c'était incroyable mais vrai. Je pouvais sentir qu'elle avait pris un énorme fardeau sur elle-même.

Entre-temps, alors que j'étudiais pour mes derniers examens, Cristiana avait trouvé un partenaire, Leonardo, expert en informatique florentine. Il vivait dans un appartement situé juste à côté de la place Porcellino, dans le centre-ville, et avait un diplôme en mathématiques. Son fiancé était très gauchiste et agréable, avec un sens de l'humour. Cristiana l'avait trouvé parce qu'elle était allée à une soirée à la European University avec un doctorant néerlandais. Leonardo lui avait demandé de danser et elle avait laissé tomber l'étudiante et s'était liée d'amitié avec Leonardo. Plus tard, ils ont eu deux enfants et se sont mariés. C'était incroyable. J'ai eu pitié du Hollandais, mais c'était typique. Plus tard, elle m'a dit qu'elle aimait les hommes qui portaient des costumes et des cravates, mais ils étaient très exigeants et recherchaient les femmes qui avaient de l'argent. Elle n'avait pas d'argent et elle cherchait quelqu'un qui veuille avoir des enfants et qui puisse s'occuper d'une famille. Elle savait ce qu'elle voulait. C'est Cristiana qui m'a dit que certaines personnes pourraient obtenir une permission spéciale pour obtenir le divorce du pape, afin de se marier avec quelqu'un d'autre.

Je suppose que ces hommes en costume et cravate ressemblent à des femmes riches comme Patriza, qui pouvaient se permettre de dépenser beaucoup d’argent pour des vêtements à la mode, qui avaient une voiture - une nouvelle - et un appartement, et un père qui dépensait de l’argent pour eux. Je n'avais pas réalisé que le jeu de l'argent était une chose mondiale. Si une fille semblait ne pas avoir d'argent, elle ne serait probablement pas en mesure de choisir. Je regardais Cristiana avec admiration parce qu'elle était tellement la femme qui voulait être très féminine et elle savait ce qui lui était demandé: être mince, être blonde, être flexible, porter des jupes courtes et avoir l'air sexy - tellement de travail acharné! Elle avait maintenant trente ans et elle était convaincue qu'elle voulait des enfants et que c'était le moment de le faire.

Je pensais qu'au Moyen-Orient, les femmes ont la vie facile, parce que les familles pensent à marier les jeunes gens par le biais de mariages arrangés. Aucun homme ni aucune femme 113 113 113, aussi médiocre soit-il, ne gaspille le temps à chercher le bon partenaire. Après tout, tout est question de procréer les gènes - pour que tout le monde soit laid ou attrayant, avec des défauts ou des maladies, riche ou pauvre, instruit ou au chômage - tout le monde pourrait se marier parce que c'était une règle sociale. Mais en Europe, cela semblait si difficile. Les gens devaient trouver le bon partenaire et très peu de mes amies ont jamais trouvé les bonnes personnes. En fait, ils ont dû traverser diverses expériences et erreurs afin de se contenter du partenaire le moins satisfaisant. Au Moyen-Orient, j'ai été surpris de voir que même les personnes qui n'avaient pas les moyens d'avoir des enfants les avaient et les élevaient d'une manière ou d'une autre.

Dans l’Ouest, beaucoup avaient prévu d’avoir des enfants mais ne le pouvaient pas car avoir des enfants coûtait cher et qu’il fallait renoncer à une vie confortable pour pouvoir fonder une famille. Mes amis italiens d'université avaient leur propre maison et pouvaient se permettre de se marier, mais ils ont mis des années à s'installer sérieusement. Beaucoup de femmes que je connaissais n'avaient pas du tout de partenaire et avaient juste un enfant avec quelqu'un, histoire de profiter d'être mère. Ce qui inquiétait tout le monde, c’était de trouver un revenu stable. c'était les années 1990 et les choses ne semblaient pas si bonnes.

Je travaillais sur la place Santa Croce dans une bijouterie en été, et il y avait des jours où il n'y avait personne sur la place. À la fin des années 1980, beaucoup de Russes avaient apporté beaucoup d'argent. Ils emporteraient beaucoup d'argent avec eux et les investiraient dans de l'or. C'était quand l'Union soviétique est devenue la Russie. C'était en 1988 et en 1989, et M. Gorbatchev a été constamment à la une des journaux, avec Glasnost et Perestroika en tête de liste. Je me suis dit que Gorbatchev ne durerait pas longtemps parce qu'il était professeur d'université et trop idéaliste. Puis le siège du palais a eu lieu et Eltsine a pris le relais. Le magasin où je travaillais appartenait à une famille italienne. Le propriétaire, qui était Florentine, s'appelait MC. Il avait épousé une femme russe appelée Vera; elle était belle alors. Elle avait de grands yeux bleus et de longs cheveux crépus et un visage très triangulaire. Elle était très féminine. Bientôt, elle a pu prendre une part active dans le commerce, car tous nos clients étaient russes. Après avoir travaillé dans le magasin pendant quelques années, elle a coupé tous ses cheveux et les a gardés très courts, et elle a commencé à devenir masculine à sa manière. Je pense que c'était parce qu'elle portait plus de responsabilités sur ses épaules. Son éducation était très modeste, mais elle était ingénieur en aéronautique. Elle avait l'habitude de parler de Moscou et c'était fascinant pour moi et ma collègue Nora d'écouter ses histoires de la vie avant l'Italie. À ce moment-là, il y avait beaucoup de Russes qui venaient en Italie, qui étaient sur le chemin des États. Anja leur a offert l'hospitalité et l'un de ses invités juifs qui ne possédait pas un sou et dormait dans la voiture s'est ensuite rendu à New York et est devenu très riche. Selon elle, il y avait établi plusieurs supermarchés. Quelque chose d'important se passait et nous ignorions ce qui se préparait dans le pot.

Les téléphones portables venaient de sortir et Anja en avait un. C'était très à la mode d'être vu en train de trotter avec un téléphone pressé près de l'oreille. Cela donnait l'impression d'être riche et important, car peu de gens en avaient un. Les moins chères étaient des choses énormes et lourdes avec des batteries qui ne duraient pas longtemps. La révolution mobile ne faisait que commencer, mais les répondeurs étaient toujours un élément important des années 1980. Sharon, dans sa nouvelle situation de fortune, avait acheté un de ces nouveaux téléphones / fax, qui avait tout, y compris un répondeur. De La Soul, le groupe, était vraiment à la mode à cause du morceau dans la chanson avec le bip du répondeur. C'était très branché. Nous avions l'habitude de lire à propos de Eltsine et de ses habitudes de consommation d'alcool. Les Russes ont été éduqués et cultivés, mais ont été pris au piège de ces dirigeants, qui n'ont pas réussi à stabiliser leur pays. Moscou était censée être un endroit terrible où vivre; nous avons entendu parler des pauvres et des personnes âgées, c’est-à-dire des personnes qui avaient été habituées à un État social; ils ne pouvaient pas s'adapter au nouveau rythme de vie. Il y avait des nouvelles que les jeunes formaient des gangs, et cela rendait la vie très difficile pour les citoyens ordinaires.

C'était la Russie à l'honneur et Anja était une vraie Russe de cette planète. Si elle n'avait pas commencé à devenir trop enthousiaste, j'aurais vraiment pensé à elle comme à une amie et à une connaissance, et j'aurais eu envie de rester en contact. C'était inexplicable pour moi quand elle et le jeune homme qui y travaillait ont commencé à me traiter avec moins de respect. Je suppose qu'ils voulaient que je cesse d'y travailler de mon propre chef, par opposition à ce qu'ils me renvoient. Je suppose que c'était juste après le mariage de Nora. Avant, j'étais fasciné par les histoires de Vera sur Moscou, autant que par ma collègue colombienne Nora, qui parlait de Bogota et de Medellin. Ils étaient maintenant gouvernés par les trafiquants de la drogue et faisaient l'actualité tous les jours, ces beaux endroits dans lesquels elle avait grandi. Elle avait travaillé dans le magasin vendant des émeraudes aux touristes américains. La façon dont les Sud-Américains ont parlé de la nature qui les entoure lorsqu'ils ont grandi m'a rappelé l'Inde et le Pakistan.

La mer et la nature sauvage de la terre non aménagée avec de nombreuses plages inconnues et des lieux encore épargnés par le tourisme étaient pleines de gens sauvages, mitraillettes à la main, qui se rebellaient contre l’injustice en vivant dans la forêt. La famille de Nora était dans le commerce de détail et elle était déjà mariée et divorcée. À présent, elle se mariait une seconde fois avec un homme turc qui travaillait dans le magasin voisin. Ce magasin était un magasin turc. Son mari était blond aux yeux bleus et il avait choisi de s’appeler avec un prénom chrétien occidental. Des hommes arabes travaillaient également dans ce magasin. L'un était un égyptien attrayant appelé Mehran. Je pensais que Mehran ressemblait vraiment aux statues antiques des anciens Égyptiens; il était vraiment l'une des plus belles personnes que j'ai jamais vues de ma vie, mais il était modeste à ce sujet. Il avait 118 ans marié à une Italienne qui travaillait comme guide en Égypte, mais il était évident qu'il était sur le point de divorcer. J'ai aimé Mehran en tant que personne. Je pensais le présenter à mon amie algérienne Nadia, âgée de vingt-quatre ans et qui avait déclaré vouloir se marier avec un arabe. Mais ça ne devait pas être.

C'était drôle de voir comment, le jour du mariage de Nora, j'étais allé aux toilettes au travail et j'avais pleuré. J'avais trente-deux ans, j'étais toujours étudiant et me sentais comme un perdant total, complètement seul et incapable de trouver un partenaire approprié. Mais je ne ferais aucun pas dans le sens de régler quelque chose avec les gens autour de moi, comme l'avait fait Nora. Je ne participerais pas à des soirées comme Cristiana et je n'essayais pas du tout de remédier à ma maladie. J'avais essayé d'introduire mon ami M. X dans ma vie, mais ça n'avait pas marché du tout. Même Cristiana avait essayé de me donner quelques conseils sur la manière de mettre la relation dans la bonne direction. 119 119 Plus tard, j'ai réalisé que les problèmes sentimentaux sont vraiment difficiles. Mehran avait trouvé une fille palestinienne dont le père lui avait dit que sa fille était amoureuse de lui. Son père a effectivement travaillé pour cette fille chanceuse, afin de faire le lien. Je pensais que c'était une chose tellement précieuse que l'on pouvait avoir un ami comme ça. Il les a mis sur le chemin pour ainsi dire, alors Methad a continué à se marier une deuxième fois et était heureux avec sa nouvelle famille.

Au cours de ces années de vie personnelle et universitaire, je subissais tellement de pressions que lorsqu'un collègue arabe du Yémen, un vendeur du magasin voisin, a commencé à me surveiller, je le trouvais étrange, mais je n'en prenais pas beaucoup avis de celui-ci. Même si j'étais conscient des microphones du magasin qui nous contrôlaient, je pensais qu'ils allaient tous de pair avec le fait que le propriétaire du magasin, M. C, était un fasciste déclaré. Il nous parlait du temps où, jeune garçon, il se rendait à la Piazza della Signoria en chemise noire et le salut fasciste pour prendre part aux rassemblements sous le régime de Mussolini. 120 120 M. C avait soixante ans et avait le visage ridé et l'expression d'un tableau de la Renaissance. Il m'a rappelé une fresque de Gozzoli dans le palais des Médicis. Comme ces gens qui vivaient dans ces villes il y a des siècles, M. C était sage et prudent dans ses propos. Il a pris sa femme Veras naïveté dans sa foulée. D'une certaine manière, il avait un aperçu psychologique des sentiments des gens.

Même si M. C était une figure paternelle, j’ai eu l’impression que je ne pouvais pas vraiment me plaindre de ce qui m’était arrivé. Mes sentiments d'être agressés dans le magasin étaient difficiles à exprimer. Je pensais que les gens en auraient ri et que l'insulte semblerait sans conséquence. C'est pourquoi j'ai pensé les poursuivre en justice et en retirer de l'argent, car c'était le moins que je puisse faire pour me défendre. Quand j'ai dit à ma tante Ylva, elle a dit au téléphone que le passé soit passé. Mais elle n'avait pas ressenti l'humiliation et la souffrance comme moi. Je pensais que cela leur ferait réfléchir à deux fois avant de passer à quelqu'un d'autre sur le lieu de travail. Ils auraient peut-être pensé que c'était une blague, mais je ne l'ai pas fait. J'étais déterminée à obtenir justice, parce que ma seule faute était d'être une femme célibataire sans personne pour me défendre. Je m'étais toujours habillée convenablement, dissimulant, par opposition à ma collègue Nora, qui avait porté des hauts vraiment courts et très à la mode, révélant ainsi son nombril.

Le dernier jour de travail au magasin, j'avais rendez-vous avec Sharon et j'étais allé au supermarché pour acheter des biscuits. J'ai trouvé M. C qui se tenait là comme s'il avait quelque chose à me dire. Aurais-je dû me lamenter comme un enfant et lui parler de la plaisanterie d'Anja et d'Enrico de me toucher? Je suis sûr qu'ils avaient aussi la vidéosurveillance dans la bijouterie, alors ils ont probablement vu ce qui s'était passé et étaient au courant. C'était une sorte de blague. Plus tard, après quelques années, j'ai vu une femme faire cela devant sa petite amie en face de moi et j'ai été consterné par le regard confus de cette fille innocente.

M. C n'était pas stupide; il savait que si je lui avais parlé, j'aurais probablement laissé tomber tout ce qui était insupportable. Mais il y avait la honte que je ressentais à propos de tout cela, comme si je devais supporter de telles absurdités sur le lieu de travail. C'est pourquoi je suis allé au bureau de l'avocat. En 1996, mon camarade de chambre américain Eric Black est revenu à Florence et il est venu me rendre visite. J'avais peint l'appartement en bleu et pour moi, c'était la maison des 99 noms de Dieu, parce que j'avais écrit ces noms dans toutes les pièces. C'était une période folle parce que je vivais dans mon propre monde, loin de la réalité. Peut-être que Sharon essayait de me dire cela quand elle est venue rendre visite, et ses mots voulaient me le dire. J'aurais dû prendre sur moi de faire remarquer que ça n'avait pas été gentil de sa part de me parler comme ça; que j'étais une artiste et donc pas aussi capable qu'elle de traiter les problèmes de la vie réelle. Très probablement, elle ne pouvait pas comprendre pourquoi j'étais assis à la maison avec un diplôme alors que j'aurais pu travailler comme elle l'avait fait. Je ne lui avais raconté à personne ni à personne ce qui s'était passé au travail. Je trouvais ça trop embarrassant et beaucoup de gens ne comprenaient pas du tout mon point de vue.

Eric a pris des photos de la maison, des peintures et des pièces et m'a même demandé de partir en Allemagne avec lui. Il était allé à Berlin et c'était après la chute du mur en 1989. Il était très enthousiaste à propos de Berlin et de la construction qui s'y déroulait. J'étais très tentée parce que je comprenais très bien Eric, nous aurions pu être de bons partenaires, mais j'étais sur un certain chemin et je pensais continuer. 1995 et 1996 étaient également les années de la guerre en Yougoslavie. La seule personne qui était intéressée était Sharon et j'étais reconnaissant de pouvoir parler d'elle et de Nadia. Certains Juifs ont écrit des articles de protestation contre les camps de concentration de viol et les conflits religieux qui s'y déroulaient. Même Eric était politiquement conscient de ce qui se passait. Les camps de viols étaient des endroits où les Serbes avaient procédé à l'imprégnation forcée de femmes musulmanes et croates afin d'humilier leurs opposants. J'étais heureux d'avoir peint deux tableaux avec Sarajevo comme sujet. Cependant, après la fin de la guerre, il semblait inutile de peindre des tableaux politiques car il était inutile de protester.

Marco, photographe professionnel, a pris les photographies de mes peintures. Il pratiquait le bouddhisme, il l'a donc fait gratuitement, mais je lui ai donné une peinture en retour. Marco menait une vie très semblable à la mienne. Il est resté dans sa chambre et a prié. Les bouddhistes formaient un groupe et se réunissaient chaque semaine pour prier ensemble. Nous pouvions les entendre quand ils priaient ensemble dans sa chambre. Il avait une grande pièce qui avait une fenêtre donnant sur le visage de l'église de Santo Spirito. Je savais que l'appartement dans lequel il vivait devait valoir beaucoup, à cause de sa situation sur la Piazza. Elle donnait sur toute la place et Marco avait contrôlé le loyer comme moi. Il gagnait sa vie en louant des chambres. C'était un type de personne accueillante, vous pouvez le dire, parce qu'il avait de très beaux tapis persans dans sa chambre et que l'endroit était toujours beau et propre. Il prendrait soin de ses affaires personnelles, mais il se fichait de ce qui se passerait dans le reste de la maison. Finalement, il s'est acheté un ordinateur et a commencé à travailler chez lui sur ses photographies artistiques. 

 

I was talking to a friend, who painted and was a teacher at an American university in Florence. He was a web designer and had done many websites for artists he knew. He had seen my studio and my cards and said, “Why don’t you write a story to go with your cards?” I had always wanted to write such a story, but I didn’t think real life would allow me any flights of the imagination. That’s why I thought about writing about the times I lived in. 

I have always wondered about art meaning different things in different countries. As an example of recent successful artists, 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 world over, his books where 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 art – 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/Iraq 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, 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, 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 selfconfidence, 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 course in London which I went to in 1980, who was a photographer, told me that the Persian miniatures themselves were the artworks of people 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 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 papers. 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 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 Emily, 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 Jurgen, who was a German friend, then a PHD student, and his girlfriend Silvana.

I had gotten to know my fiancé Guido in Rome in 1983 and wanted to get married. My twenties were flying by and I 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. Jurgen 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. I suppose I can blame that on my upbringing, which made me have a submissive personality.

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’ 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 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, but social pressure and my traditional side was making me propose to people myself! Ideally, I would have loved to have all the time in the world to know a friend who later on would become a partner. My mother, who was an educated, modern woman, surprisingly suggested that I could throw myself at the feet of one of her 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, 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 apartment 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 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. A Vattimo 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. (This last sentence does not make sense – consider rewording)

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. 

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 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.  

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 Emily. 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

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. Lindsey, 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. Jurgen 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 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

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 Emily.

Her friend Deborah 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

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 – Guido. 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

Deborah had married Guido 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 Deborah 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 Deborah.

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! Deborah 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.

 

The Metropolis  Watercolour Collage, 2008

Mario, Emily’s boyfriend from Florence, was smart, I thought because he had managed to get married and go to live with Emily in New York. But it took him quite a few years to do it.

Guido 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.

Mario and Emily had met in a bar on the Lungarno. Emily

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 Emily was looking for a flatmate, so she introduced me to her. Emily wasn’t bothered that I was Iranian and Muslim, and I was happy that we could have a respectful relationship.

One day, she met Mario, 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. Mario would make pasta tricolore for us.

 

Cosmopolitan Time, 1990 Oil on canvas

Then one day, Mario was banging on the door downstairs on the street and Emily 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.

Mario 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.

I was to translate, since I could understand both sides. I found that Emily was much more structured and law abiding, while Mario was a heart person, moved by his emotions. It took him quite a few years to persuade her that they could be good together.

 

He went to the States several times, and Emily came to Florence several times, and they eventually became a family in the late 1980s. Emily 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 Charles and Gennaro, the two men living next door, through Emily’s friendship with them.

Emily, who had introduced me to Deborah, was a twenty three 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.

Charles 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 Gennaro who was a simple Neapolitan young man, but Gennaro went to an expensive art school in town. I used to envy Gennaro so much for his going to that art school, as it was something I could only dream of doing.

 

The Old City  Watercolour, 2003

Emily, my flatmate, was fond of Charles, 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 didn’t much like getting involved. I suppose I wished I had had a friend like Gennaro 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, also 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.

The Via Bolognese Apartment

I found Jurgen 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.

Jurgen 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 Jurgen and Silvana, his girlfriend. We moved to Via delle Cinque Giornate in 1984.

Jurgen was sharing the flat in Via Bolognese with other young people; Sonia, for example, was a Greek American girl from the Midwest, and she was engaged to be married to Franco. 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 Andrew, who had 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. Andrew 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.

Andrew 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 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 Andrew 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, Andrew met my mother, and more discussions followed. He was then telling Jurgen 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 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.

At this time Silvana, Jurgen’s girlfriend from Naples, was telling me that Andrew 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.

Jurgen and Silvana were good together. Once we were preparing food in the kitchen and talking about our lives. Silvana was a very sociable, fun type of person to be with. I was twenty five and thinking about getting a degree, whereas Silvana, 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 Steve, 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 Shah – 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 jobs. I suppose that was why Jurgen decided upon a career in Africa, 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 Sonia. She and her fiancé Franco 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 Sonia, “but what is his mother going to do now without Franco?”, and she would reply dryly, “she’ll live”. Sonia 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 Nadar came to visit me in 1984, when I was living in Via Bolognese. Sonia really liked Nadar 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. Sonia was always criticising Jurgen. 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 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, Jurgen 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 Jurgen’s initiative. Actually, I respected Jurgen 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 Sonia and Andrew 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

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, 1999

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. 

Moving To Via delle Cinque Giornate

My move to Via delle Cinque Giornate to the apartment of Mr Quercioli with Jurgen, was accompanied by Guido, Sonia and Franco, who had become my best friends. Franco was a nice serious family man, a Calabrese and 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

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.

 

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.

 

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 Jurgen 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.

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 autistic, 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, Sonia, Andrew, Guido and Jurgen too. Jurgen 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 was paid well and I did keep in touch for a while. 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 couldn’t work and study at the same time. I lived by sub-renting rooms from 1985 onwards.

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 Anna Maria’s because I felt very oppressed in that exclusively “business environment”. Anna Maria, 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

In Anna Maria’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 Renzo. 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 problems with drugs, 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

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.

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 education 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 Sonia, 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 that air of Fascism that repressed all youthful spontaneous joyous impulses towards the open sky. Fascists like you to look down at your plate and never look up from it. It is because if you look up, you might get ideas of going after a better life. They want to keep you in your place. They want to fix you like a butterfly by pinning you down in the situation you find yourself in. That was how it was for me in the shop, and some other places where people didn’t even want you to buy an intelligent and ambitious looking magazine. In the new work place, I found, things were different.

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.

 

Casa A Serpiolle Watercolour, 1999

Mr Ricci 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’ 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 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 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’, artisan and hippy type people used to sell their things on the bridge.

 

The Old Bridge Type, Year?

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 Jacopo, Silvia 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 type to put you down.

 

Energies and Tendencies  Type, 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 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. 

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 injustice.

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, a Mr Najjar-Nejad, had told me himself in one of our arguments that even God himself could not rescue me now. His partner Mr Sarafraz, 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 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 Robin had come to Via Fiesolana to visit me in 2003, for seeing all this, 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 exCommunist 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 Lindsey, 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 had rented in Dubai in 2007. I had actually gone to the mall that day to meet Olivier, who was an estate agent. We met in a café and he showed me some pictures of houses on his laptop, pictures of properties. My mother had just passed away and I was thinking about moving back to Italy. I had to sell my parents’ house in Tehran in order to buy a new place. After meeting the estate agent, I went to the Mondo Art Gallery in the mall to check it out.

I had always intended to go in and introduce myself, and this is how I met A, who was the manager of the gallery. 

I walked in, and she was sitting there with a tense expression on her face, which wasn’t welcoming or pleasant. She looked rather on guard and cross. However, I got up the courage to go up to her desk and talk to her. I spoke to her in Italian and she was nice; she told me that she would come to my house and see my work, since she was living in a villa close to mine. My canvases were at home now, as I had got them sent over from Italy. This was before I had to leave Dubai due to the problems with the sale of my property.

In Florence, Sarina had asked her singing colleague Anne to help me with my belongings, which I had had to leave behind. Anne had been kind and had kept them in the basement of the building, which belonged to the Evangelist church. They were kept there for an entire year. I had gone to Florence to get these things packed and sent to Dubai, with the intention of living in Dubai, eventually selling my house in Tehran and moving out of Iran. I told A about my plans of selling my house in Tehran. Probably that was a mistake. I wasn’t aware that the microphones were hiding very unscrupulous people behind them.

People’s interest in selling my property seemed weird. It wasn’t the normal type of interest as it had a predatory feel about it. Perhaps some people had been fleecing the population in the middle east for many years, through these methods of collecting information – i.e. security and control with microphones and CCTV. Someone was war mongering in the Middle Eastern property market in this way for ages. How naïve of me to have made the mistake of saying anything about the sale of my property to anyone at all.

A was a woman from northern Italy, and she selected some of my paintings and held an exhibition of them for two weeks.

She managed to sell this painting called ‘Energies and Tendencies’ to a man who, she said, bought the painting because he liked her! I appreciated the energy she put into talking about my paintings to the clients. She really did put her heart and soul into her work, and was very stressed out most of the time. She had to quit the job several months later. The painting ‘Energies and Tendencies’ was about Iran and the Middle East. I had purposely not hung the two canvases on the wall the way they are supposed to be hung, because I was afraid that the outline of the map of Iran would become an issue with people viewing it in the gallery.

The two panels, if stuck together the right way, would give an outline in white and red, which was the “cat like” outline of the map of Iran. I hadn’t meant to do a picture about Iran, but there was so much going on in the picture, that I thought, “Hey! This looks like a turbulent mess, like the Middle East”. Then there are drawings of the cell division, which meant new births and new mutations and new life and everything, because that was what was happening in Iran and the Arab countries of the region. Perhaps there is energy in the Middle East because of the ongoing struggle to survive.

 

Energies and Tendencies (Detail)

There are flowing colours, because I wanted to show the undercurrents to our political situation. Whether Soviet Russia’s influences through the indoctrination of young minds or America’s influence, everyone was in Iran undercover. Even China was now courting Iran, because after the war with Iraq there was a whole country just waiting to be rebuilt from scratch. 

However, the Middle East is unstable because we have too many pressures from the outside and are never left in peace to develop as we need to do. Our culture and traditional ways don’t help us get organised because they are manipulated by foreign powers all the time. Who knows if the person that bought this painting knows what I meant to say, but I am sure that he liked the detailed state of confusion depicted in it.

 

Detail of ‘Energies and Tendencies’

I selfishly wish there had been no revolution in the country where I was born, so that my life would not have had to change. The revolution had some positive points, but it had made us easy prey to the countries whose people had no fear of God. While we were praying away, they worshipped the “golden calf”, and were getting away with doing this at our expense. They were the new gods, operating from behind the scenes, they were holding onto the strings of our lives and they really could not and did not care for the suffering they caused. I can testify to many young people committing suicide or dying of heart attacks in Tehran for the rough use of this new invisible power.

I can imagine that the elitist control practiced by the security forces behind the CCTV and the microphones – their treatment of people’s private lives as their personal serfdom – to be one of the reasons for revolt in the middle east. In the month of Ramadan in August 2011 in Syria, people are going out every Friday to meet their deaths with no fear. How far have they been pushed to not want to live?

After the revolution in Iran, universities closed in the country and a negative view of Iranians took hold and flourished due to the US hostages of the Embassy, and then the Iran/Iraq war. And now the control of Stalinists with their Stasi methods. How bad could it get for us Iranians who were trying to live out our little lives like everybody else? Having lost all our privileges from one day to the next, who could be happy in this new situation?

My own life tossed about like a little boat on the ocean waves, destiny had come to put us in our place. We were once again a tribal people, just as we had always been. The citizen mentality of Western Europe, which was what we aspired to, was still an ideal to be reached. The population went from thirty million to seventy million, and the new generation was bought up on other values – hence the name ‘Energies and Tendencies’ – a new era had begun for all of us.

One good thing that came out of the revolution was that we no longer had a stuffy Asian class system which saw people stuck in the social status they were born into. The Arab Spring in 2011 was about similar issues. Work and the working classes were finally discovered.

Today in 2009, the 1^st of November, Iran is negotiating with the West, trying to be accepted by the world as a nuclear country. The many years of war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the problems in Pakistan are being kept at bay – here in Iran perhaps, by the prayers of our saintly people?. Even today, the stability in Iran is a miracle.

In the poem ‘Out There’, I want to give the message to people who want to do something in their lives to just do it, procrastinating because you feel tied by feelings for others is useless. You have to try your luck one way or the other, because the individual can be overwhelmed by the immensity of the things that are going on. This is a tribute to all the people who take that boat and come out trying to cross the waters in order to seek a better future somewhere else. You risk your life and no one can guarantee anything. 

Out There

Out There, Out There

So many people are doing their own thing,

Walking, Talking, Working, Calculating And the Cash Register Is always Ringing.

Money is lost, 

And Money is gained

That is the eternal story

Of The People walking to and fro,

They are used and abused They do use and abuse, Out There, out There.

Here

I live in a picture of my own

I Do and Do and Do Dream

Here am I

I am sitting Here

Dreaming of the wide Horizons of Possibility

Dreaming like youth of what is to come

Dreaming of the wide Horizons of Probability

There are so many people Out There

Who think in a logical rational way

They Walk , Talk, Work, Calculate

They

They are changing the world

Money is lost

And Money is gained

In Factories and Chemical Industries

The new science religion of Nuclear Power and Energy

Sends Spaceships to Mars and Mercury

That, is the Eternal Story Of Destruction, and Construction Out There, Out There. 

Here, 

Here I Sit in a picture of my own

I Do Dream

And my hands are tied behind my back Here I sit thinking of the friends that I don’t make Of the good Music in me that no one hears Yes!

They are changing the face of this earth And I am embarrassed.

Here I sit in a picture of my own

Dreaming of the wide Horizons of Possibility Dreaming like youth of what is to come Dreaming of the wide Horizons of Probability.

And Hope still lives in me

Now;

Now is the Time

For my Dreams to step out

It is Time Now

For the paintings which live in my imagination

For the children who live in the center of my cells

For the Music which plays my sentiments so clear

And for the Poetry which wills to have its own way

It is Time now for them to step out

And give me a Face; a Place; an Identity

In the reality Out There.

Out There, 

People Do Dream, and Dream, and Dream

They Listen intently at the throbbing of their hearts

They Sit and Register on their Souls center, They register like Seismographs  The reality.

Here 

We Sit

Looking out of the Windows of our Homes

We Sit Here

Dreaming

Dreaming 

Dreaming about the wide Horizons of Possibility Dreaming like Youth of what is to come,

Dreaming of the wide Horizons of Probability.

Oh rational self,

You always want to control life with your Horizontal and Vertical lines, Lines which go up and down, left and right,

So that you can protect yourself from suffering In the immense Sea  Of the irrational.

The irrational life which throws you here and there and everywhere. 

A Page From A Diary

21^st OCTOBER 2003?

The linden trees on Independence Day

Fascinated dreamers

They cast a spell (with their giddy perfume)

You have to struggle to resist their magnetic force

Their temptation

Sprinkled mercilessly in the atmosphere

I am the only one who understands them

Perhaps because I am alone

This array of trees

They are

 Unscrupulous and base

Predators

Who want to bend our will to their wishes

They want to make us give up resisting them

Their accomplice, cropped grass

Has a fresh perfume

Seemingly innocent

Together they are trying to…make me become like them

But they can’t make me

You poor deceitful trees

Standing tall and ambitious

With your branches tensely reaching out Out-towards the limits of the sky Are you trying to hide-your fears?

You are unable to walk

The linden trees on Independence Day

I try to escape their smell

I struggle

In order to resist their temptation

Their magnetic force

Is in the giddy perfume

They sprinkle mercilessly in the atmosphere

Theirs is a difficult game

Perhaps because I am alone like them

They army of trees

They are

Cleverer than me

Unscrupulous and base

Predators

Who want us to bend to their wishes and whims

Who want to

Make us give up

Resisting them

The cropped grass

Fresh perfume of seemingly innocent

Is their accomplice

Together they are trying to make me become like them

But they make me…

Can’t

You poor deceitful trees standing there

With your branches

Tensely reaching out

Towards the limits of the sky

Are you trying to hide

Your fears

You even recite poetry

Saying that you enjoy graceful occupations Claiming for yourselves

Quiet greatness and noble simplicity…..

You make me pity you

Can you tell

Like primitive warriors and hunters

You are pulsating predators prowling

Looking out for fresh flesh

So that you can suck vitality and life

And turn into stone a creature who was roaming free

Even so, you claim to be graceful

Reciting the poetry, of

Quiet greatness and noble simplicity

You make me pity you

I can see you are like

Primitive warriors, or

Hunting predators

Prowling

You search for fresh flesh

So as to suck vitality and life

And turn into stone a creature who was roaming

Existing in freedom

A minute ago

Walking this earth one morning

In the Piazza

I saw you and you were not in your usual sombre files

Seemingly old and static

Standing-solid

I observed you from a hidden place

While you began to dance

A dance of servile devotion, as if

You were dancing in a humble, servile fashion

Desiring to please

A severe judge – You were dancing trees

Who bore coloured fiery flowers

Born out of the tension of the test

Which made you sprinkle

Your perfume in the air

While you pretended to be

Quiet and simple seemingly noble creatures

You were adoring a presence

Your funny trunks

Ridiculously rigid

When moving in the rhythm

You were trying to please

An invisible being

You were in prayer

To a divinity unknown

I saw you…

Whilst you held up above you, your thousand branches

Wantonly moving with the wind in

Voluptuously undulating movements

From root to each and every leaf-dancing in silent reverence

You were dancing in a humble, servile fashion

Desiring to please

A severe judge – You were dancing trees

Who bore coloured fiery flowers

Born out of the tension of the test

Which made you sprinkle

Your perfume in the air

While you pretended to be

Quiet and simple seemingly noble creatures

A minute ago

Existing…

Walking this earth one morning

In the Piazza

I saw you and you were not in your usual sombre files

Seemingly cold and static

Standing tall and solid, placed on the ground.

I observed you from a hidden place,

While you danced

A dance of servile devotion, as if

You were adoring a pagan god

With rhythmical movements

Of your trunks

So ridiculously rigid

You were trying to please

An invisible being…..

A divinity

You were in prayer

To a being……..unknown I saw you, did you know?

I saw you whilst with your thousands of branches

Held up above you harmoniously

With the wind blowing in undulating motion

Moving

Your bodies were from their

Roots to each and every leaf, in silent reverence

You were dancing in a humbly, servile fashion

Desiring to please

A severe presence (who judged you)

You were dancing trees

Who bore fiery flowers

The tension of the test

Made you sprinkle your perfume in the air

While you pretended

To be quiet and simple, even noble creatures

You were dancing in a humble, servile fashion

Desiring to please

A severe judge – You were dancing trees

Who bore coloured fiery flowers

Born out of the tension of the test

Which made you sprinkle

Your perfume in the air

While you pretended to be

Quiet and simple seemingly noble creatures?

I am fascinated by you

Trees in love

But I try to escape from your spell

Song For Big Brother

Living In Big Brothers Surveillance Society

“If You Stick Out Your Tongue”

Maybe I won´t hurt you

Cause by doing this

You are admitting submission

To the powers that be

You are adhering 

To my point of view

The way I see things You have got to play the game According to my rules:

Weaknesses

Vulnerabilities, and your problems

Are good for my purpose

And when you are down

I am there beside You To make use of the situation.

Each and every one of us 

Thinks… Quite naturally

Live and let die…

Cause we have only got one life to live And none of us wants to be caught by “Caligula”

(He is not a nice person at all)

(He used to watch with pleasure the Christians thrown to the animals)

So we say: “Why not adhere”?

And each individual

Will do exactly as they are told

We all have a lot of things

We would like to achieve

A lot that we´d like to hold onto

Some people adhere

Because they live at the bottom of the social ladder

They like the power: Women

Women love having power

They love the power of putting the fear

The fear of God in you

“God” can take away your loved ones

God can reprimand you when you are having sex

Little “gods” are in all the nooks and crannies of your life

Streets full of CCTV´s

Rooms full of microphones

In Your homes and offices Just so that we can control You  Big Brother is Here!

This is the way the decadent century begins

Say Goodbye to the free-world as you knew it

Security and Surveillance

Are here to stay

You might as well get used to it

Privacy is a luxury

The future is full of

Information manipulators (who put microchips where ever they please)

Microphones and CCTV´s 

Will cover our cities and our lives

Spies and stalkers in the streets

Listening to every word

Reporting moves and political opinions

(Doesn´t it remind you of North Korea ? )

(Or military rule in Burma?)

People in many countries have lived,

With Big Brother watching them for many years Why should You be Free?

Why should you live a spontaneous life?

Where love and anger and other emotions

Were not speculated upon

Now that we have gotten a TV

Watching every bodies life Like little gods behind the scene We sit:

Omniscient and omnipotent….

If You stick out your tongue I promise I won´t hurt you

If you are one of “Us”

We will make sure that you are well connected

We will look after you;

See to it that you get things done (you get more information)

Carry out my orders

And I will give you the right instructions

In order to get on in the competition

I can read your innermost thoughts and fears

So Fear and Love 

Your beloved protector and benefactor.

Be loyal to me

So that my voice shall be your voice And I will allow you to use your PC I will allow you to get on with your life.

“You must stick out your tongue”

You must reassure me

That You belong to Me,

You are saying that the cultural differences between us don´t exist

You are assuring me that you fear

The “Islamic Bogymen” That You are not a nuisance

 Or a dangerous minded person. 

That you will not dare to “believe “in anything else.

Stick out your tongue (at the corner of your mouth)

And I will give you Joy,

Joy in Business and material gain.

Oh Big Brother!

I know which way my bread is buttered

Please don´t mess up my life You exercise pure Power I know you are here to stay!

Cause you are protecting us

By milk shaking our brains Rightly you are creating

Homogenized… Zombies

Big Brother says: 

I want to create a New World Order

Where feelings of humanity are banished for ever,

My Religion is based on Profit,

You have to realize, that nothing is for free Not even the breath you are taking.

You have to pay for

All the benefits you are receiving.

Like Abraham’s God

We want to rule your hearts and minds

(Abraham broke the Idols in the Temple if you remember)

“Stick out your tongue”

And I promise I won´t hurt you

Or your beloved ones

And the benefits are

That you will be connected

And perhaps  I will allow you to live  A little.

(I am taken aback by the self confidence

And yet I dream

That one day

The situation will turn around 

And I won´t have to be eating humble pie

One day soon the wheel of fortune will do justice

And I hope that I will have the last laugh

There have always been unjust big brothers in the world

Like in Hamlet

They think they can get away

With all the sufferance they cause

I hope that God who has created the universe

Will finally look at us

And make Big Brother Back Off

Cause we just want to live in peace 

And love our neighbour as much as one of us…

The persecutions and the Inquisitions

Did manage to succeed

But why do we always have to go back to those things?

Mr B a famous politician says he has chosen this policy

Of “the survival of the fittest”

Because he wants to save

“Our way of life”

But meanwhile he gets paid for giving talks

About how he would solve the questions on the table

And then he politely bows out

Having contributed nothing at all

And yet we idiots believed in him.)

May 2012

I started writing this poem when I was in Tehran, in 2006. I had come away from Viareggio and had started to live with my brother and my mother again in 2006.

I had had an Art Studio in via Fiesolana from 1998 to 2004 and had experienced a lot of pressure from anonymous people who used to get in and out of my studio when I was not in it myself. They used to take things which were important to me. And afterwards someone would appear and stare at me hard. This always frightened the life out of me. Once a young girl came in and she had such an omnipotent expression on her face while she was staring… It was very strange, and I wish I could have asked her, “what do you want?”,

But I had no strength to protect myself from such hard hearted gazes.

Another time a smiling girl came, and I will always be grateful for her smile. A lot of inexplicable things were going on. One day at the bank I saw a non-Italian white woman approaching the bank manager all tongue, she was rolling it out so much … in front of everybody watching her …. And I thought “what is going on here?”

One of my friends said that it meant “do you want to have sex?” The married women I knew were all into it. In my mind I was really confused. If I had had a TV I would have probably caught onto what was going on…. But I had not watched TV for ten years and I had painted and read books and prayed. It seemed too diffuse and common when I was out in the world again in 1998.

I was pondering the meaning for many years, even in Tehran it was the biggest trend. So much so that you seemed to not get anything done without doing it.

That’s why I thought about putting my feelings of fear and my suffering from not having adhered to it in words.

I will never forget all the harm I received by this

“religious” group. Their persecution will probably never leave their victims alone. 

This is the poem “pages from a diary” in Italian

I have written them in this language to begin with and then translated them into English.

Pagina Dal Diario

“Canzone agli Alberi della piazza d´Indipendenza”

Subisco il fascino

Ma cerco di fuggire l´incanto

Ogri giorno cerco di resistere alla tentazione

Ogri mattina lotto contro la forza magnetica;

Il profumo inebriante ´degli alberi e´ sparso impiestosamente nell aria

E´ un gioca difficile

Io sono sola di fronte all’esercito degli alberi

Loro sono pin furbi di me; “Ignobilmente senza scrupoli”

Vogliono assoggettarrni alla loro volonta’

Cercano di rompere la mia resistenza

 E hanno la complicita’

E l’amicizia dell’erba appena tagliata 

Albei; poveri paralizzati creature…..

Sempre con le vostre mani estese in tensione

Verso il limite dell’atmosfera

Mascherate la vostra vita interiore con

“Stille grosse und edle einfalt”

con la tranquilla grandezza e nobile semplicita’, mi fate pena sapete?

Mi fate pena perche come gli antichi cacciatori,  oppure gli uomini primitivi

Cercate la viva carne fresca e pulsante

Una preda cercate

Per sbranarlo e succhiare la linfa vitale di quella

Che prima esisteva in libero movimento

Una mattina mentre passavo dalla piazza

Vi ho visto e non eravate pin eretti e fermi come sempre Di nascosto, vi osservavo dall’angoli degli occhi, mentre

Voi in un balletto devoto e servile

Come gli adoratori pagani 

Con movimenti ritmici di vostri tronchi rigidamente ridicoli

Cercavate di compiacere

A un essere divino ed invisibile

Voi alberi freddi e marmorei Adoravate un essere Frantumato…..sapete?

Vi ho visto…..sapete?

Vi ho visto che con le mille mani

In estensione verso l’infinito

Con le vostre braccia 

E movimenti

Armoniosamente ondulanti Pulsavate dalle radici sino

Alle estremita’ delle foglie…..

Di una volutta’ soffocata

Eravate servilmente umili e ardentemente

Deridersosi di compiacere ad un essere divino 

Un severo gindice per il quale danzavate

Danzarate o alberi e ogni mattina,

Dalla tensione della prova

Vi nascevano dei Fiori di fuoco che spargevano

Impietosamente il vostro profumo “Stille grobe und edle einfalt”

Subisco il fascino di voi alberi in amore,

Ma cerco di fuggire l’incanto…

11^th February 1993 

 

Al Noor, oil on canvas, 1989

From the Holy Koran

The Chapter Al Noor (meaning Light) v.35, 36

“God is the light of the heavens and the earth, his light is like this: there is a niche, and in it a lamp, the lamp inside a glass, a glass like a glittering star, fuelled from a blessed olive tree from neither east or west, whose oil almost gives light even when no

fire touches it – light upon light- God guides whoever he will to

his light; God draws such comparisons for people; god has full knowledge of everything”

4. Al-Noor

This is one of the first paintings, which I find has balance and equilibrium. The point is that when one paints abstract paintings without having a direction, the painting is an adventure and happens on its own. It isn’t an action painting, because this intuitive painting has certain guidelines and isn’t totally left to chance like action painting. Rather, it is an image which you have inside of you, and you project it on the canvas – fishing it out, as it were. I remember that was what some romantic painters thought of painting; the image was there in your subconscious mind somewhere and it just had to be captured.

This painting I called ‘Noor’ – i.e. ‘light’. But it is very dark and only the centre yellow patch can justify it being called light, meaning that in a world of darkness and confusion, when there is light, things have outlines and one can distinguish ones surroundings; that is what light does.

This is a very stern image, really earthy with the browns and the greens, and it reminds me that mother nature is rough and unkind most of the time. Mankind is perishable and nature has always been a force which he has had to struggle with in order to survive. The prospect of death and disease has always made men and women search for ways to prolong their stay on earth. Centuries have passed with humans clinging on to gods of one kind or the other before coming up with the concept of an abstract God. One wonders why humans have been and are so materialistic. And yet, they have reached a point of abstraction.

But then there is that something which is unfathomable and ethereal in this painting. In the midst of the heavy as it were; down pulling weight of reality. Light is uplifting in a miraculous way. It can fly above the flesh and the sinews and the issues of being alive on this earthly dimension.

It is as if I were walking with my soul hanging out for water; I walk the desert dehydrated as a plant and then all of a sudden, I come to an oasis where there is water and the safety of the trees and vegetation. This an analogy to our spiritual need for hope in a difficult world, described so well in the first chapters of the novel The Source or Hawaii, written by James Michener, where humans would do anything to have rain falls or to keep negative times and situations at bay. 

Noor, the light, is hope, and it is also good news, a sort of light at the end of the tunnel; a gift from God the creator, who declares himself a friend of the believers.

I have written the verse from the Holy Koran around it in a Persian, which is not at all refined. It is more the handwriting of a child. This is because I wanted to represent an every man or woman who is not necessarily refined, or even educated. Perhaps because I think God isn’t classist or sexist and appreciates the heartfelt feelings of the believers. 

The verse describes the feeling of light – i.e. of God’s presence. It is such a mysterious way of comparing the light of God to a light of something material. The light of God would be like this, it says, rather than describing God itself. “God is the light of the heavens and the earth. His light may be compared to a niche that enshrines a lamp”.

This painting was given as a gift to my childhood friend. Today in August 2011, there is the prospect of famine in Somalia. People have lost their animals and thousands are leaving their villages in order to take refuge in and around cities. It is a hopeless situation. Who can sustain these thousands, and for how long? It reminds you of the biblical stories about Egypt and the story of the Prophet Joseph. The seven lean years have perhaps returned.

Robin &Sarina

 

After the divorce, Robin had sold her house and had lots of millions in old lire in the bank. Now she was on her way to a new future. I’ll never forget the little apartment she had bought in the Via delle Pergola, No. 50, in front of the hospital, because I had spent some days staying there. I wished that I was as practically minded as she was. She could organise her life, and even having a terrible private life didn’t touch her deeply. How did she keep buoyant? After all, our emotional life is our ship which keeps us floating on life’s ocean. My prayers were my way of navigating the waters of life. But what did she have? Relationships with people?

 

The thing she did was to visit a psychologist, who seemed to have told her that our friendship was bound to fail. So, instead of saying, “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings”, she just continued on her way, dropping me out of her life. I’m sure I knew that this relationship/friendship would go like that. I hadn’t altogether invested too much in it, as I knew I was going in a different direction.

I had liked her for her qualities, her sense of humour and her indefatigable energies in work and play different directions – so it was inevitable. However, we did have some good times before we fell out.

 

I was working in a jewellery store in Piazza S Croce that summer, and she called me one day and said, “Why don’t we go on holiday to Maremma together”? I was enthusiastic, but what was in the news then in 1993 and 1994 was that some people were throwing stones at moving cars on the Auto Strada. It was on the news all the time, and that made me afraid, but it didn’t bother her. She had a new red sports car and we had been going around looking at houses for her to buy. I had volunteered to go with her, because I thought one day I might want to buy something in Italy. It was just to do something interesting and to be in her company. I was happy to have a friend from New York, because Robin was interesting and of another background. We drove down to the Parco del Uccellino and had a little adventure in the countryside, trying to find a place to stay the night. We found this house in the country with a strange man who professed to be a witch doctor. It was very scary, to say the least. Going on that trip inspired me with very sad feelings. 

I had a much more fun time with Sarina and Eric. Even though they didn’t have money, they had the spirit and were sort of innocent and had self-absorbed originality, and that is what makes fun. When they were preparing to go somewhere like a wedding, Eric would shout up to Sarina to ask what she was going to wear with enthusiasm, as if it was of the greatest importance to him as well; what she wore and how she looked. Eric had lived in Pietra Santa, as he professed to be a sculpture.

I thought that Sarina’s living in Piazzas Spirito was the reason I found her exciting to be with, even though I had known her before that. But it was not that. The place contributed to the social life that she loved with all her singing friends. A lot of people sang in the church choirs like her. Through singing in the choirs and at weddings, she had become a known personality. In her own sphere, people knew her and she went to all the parties, which were the right ones. 

 

She hung out with the artists, or the aspiring ones. I think her attitude of working hard towards a goal was admirable. It really reminded me very much of a humble way a person in love approaches an unreachable beloved. She had made up her mind to enjoy whatever life gave her on her way to her goal, that had always been to become a professional soprano. Unlike

Robin, she wasn’t at all demanding. How did she manage to do everything? I couldn’t understand how she found the time to sleep, with the few hours that she got to be in her house. It was extraordinary! My life was certainly the laziest life of the three of us because I absolutely needed to sleep a lot. I had learnt to do that from Philippe, who was sort of a dormouse.

My mother too always said that it was best to sleep as much as one could when one got the chance to do it. Robin and Sarina however were not into wasting time sleeping at all. They both went jogging in the morning – ugh!

Sarina, too, did these superwoman type things. But she really had a strong Latin sense of life as well. The Anglo Saxon part of running after achievements and being matter of fact was a part of her personality. She disliked Eric not having money and not working.

 

But she did like to be sociable and to be right in the middle of the action, and to know everybody in the world, especially the people who were the “in type”. She was in with such a wide range of people through her singing friends. It was mind boggling how many people she knew and the circles she moved in.

But her heart was in the small intimate private life, and that wouldn’t allow her to use relationships in order to move up socially. She couldn’t be mercenary in her friendships, even if she wanted to. I suppose being an artist means that those heart issues and feelings are very important. I appreciated her being childlike in that sense. I think that we were similar in that way. In that, we hadn’t lost that little girl inside, and that that child was still walking with us through our life, hindering us in some ways, but still making us look up in wonder at the stars in the night sky. 

Eric was an idealist too and in that sense he liked Sarina. One could tell that he was very irresponsible. He had lovely long hair, braided down his back Indian style, that made him look very romantic. Together with Marco the photographer, who looked like someone out of Led Zeppelin, they were a team of hippy type idealists. Did anyone I know work in Florence? A lot of people that I’d known in their thirties didn’t really work at all. Many of them stayed at home and had no money. It required courage to go out there and participate in the world.

I had worked as a saleswoman, but preferred to rent out rooms like Marco had done for many years. It wasn’t a healthy life at all, and people didn’t respect that. Eric too was the type that wanted a good job, and not just any old type of work. He used to talk big about space and spaceships and it was top quality that he was after. It was refreshing to talk to someone who still hoped that good things could happen in the future. I think that it may be the pioneer spirit of the Americans that is so attractive. Because whilst Asians and Europeans are tied to the ground by their feudal history, always interested in who owns land and who doesn’t, these new continent people I knew had a totally different attitude. The ‘can do’ attitude in Eric and Sarina didn’t last. There were too many people after Eric, and they didn’t have the stamina to make it as a couple.

I mean Patriza, who had met Eric at a party at my house, fell for him. That was why Sarina blamed the party at my house, for bringing Patriza and Eric together, resulting in Sarina losing him. Sarina then met Curro who was Spanish, into opera and owned a Harley Davidson type of motorbike.  

 

He was working for a noble family in Florence, and was much more together than the rest of us. Eric was expensive, and Patriza had the money. She appreciated him because he was an American and in a sense different. She put up with a lot, because one could tell that Patriza and Eric worked really hard to keep up the relationship they had started. Patriza had always liked the idealist types and she was into nobility, like Eric’s previous Italian girlfriend.

Socially it worked, and Patriza then went to the States with him. She became a better person having gone through that experience. One thing about Eric was that he did care about other people – his group, as it were. One day, after I had got my money – the ‘reward’, as Steve called it – for doing the case against the jewellery shop in which I had been harassed, Eric came to Via delle Cinque Giornate on his own, like I had read in the Surat al Yasin – a man came running to give Moses the news. He said to me, “You must start to work, because the money is going to soon disappear”. He was right, because the money was only twenty million old Lire. I knew that if I paid all the rent money that I owed for the apartment, I could keep the apartment forever, according to the Italian laws then. However, I decided against this, as I didn’t want to make the apartment, which wasn’t mine, the centre of my life like Marco had done. It made me feel bad about what I was doing to the owners. 

 

 

I thought that it was God’s wrath upon me that I didn’t feel happy with my life and couldn’t find a way out of my problems. I thought about Nadia and how courageously she had lived and worked in the hotel as a receptionist for some years, but had decided to go back to France. She had made a strong decision and taken responsibility. I felt that I was becoming too Italian. Living with compromises makes one weak and tired. That is why I decided to let the apartment go and to eventually get evicted from it. I had lived in this apartment on the ground floor of Via delle Cinque Giornate, No. 6, for fifteen years.

 

 

I could have married somebody and settled down and had children. But that wasn’t why I’d come to Europe at all. I had come to Europe because I wanted to become a person who produced good art, and achieving that was utmost on my mind.

It was posterity that I was thinking of because I thought that all children in the world could be my children if I had a good message to give them. I disliked the idea of thinking about reproducing one’s DNA in a world which had always been a difficult place. I mean, if I’d had the strength to do that, I would have had a family. But, I was usually the one that got hurt in relationships.

Mr X said that he thought of getting married, but that I would have to wait. No one was crazy enough to want to get married to someone like me! I thought of myself as being very depressing. I had lost the chance of my life, when Philippe had once politely asked about us getting engaged. I had been flippant about it and had ignored his serious words. He had always been very sweet so it was my own fault for not knowing what is was that I was after.

I spent the next ten years thinking about Philippe every day, and desiring to be with him in every relationship I had. Even when I was with Sarina, Robin, Mr X and Nadia, I was wishing to be with him. I was one person with two hearts. It was amazing, like having two photographs that didn’t sit right together, even though they were the same. I thought about my Islamic background and how that would hinder me from being with anyone from the West. Also, how any Islamic man would hinder me from being free to grow as a person.

1. Santo Spirito & Sarina & Marco 

In any case, no one was asking me, “What is it that makes you feel happy because I want to make you feel happy or be part of your happiness”. I recently saw that in a film and I thought I’ve always been so selfish and self-centred. I suppose I have never been out there trying to make anyone feel happy but myself. Only once in a surge of enthusiasm ,which I couldn’t understand myself, I thought that I could teach Mr X English and that would have made a difference in his life. But I thought it too much of a mad idea, and as he was so much into his own routine, it didn’t seem to be realistic.

What am I, some sort of teacher? I thought to myself, that he talked about his friends at the market ‘liking him just the way he was’. So I came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t have tried to make an effort. The market stalls are where people fall in and out of relationships, and he had a lot of friends at work. He was saying how one Italian girl had come and sat on his lap one day and how they called him nicknames. I thought that there is so much that I don’t know about this person and so much he isn’t telling me – and so much he will never tell me. 

I had a feeling that there was someone very important in his life, and that I wasn’t such a hot item for him after all. Then I thought, well, I’ll ask him to get married, and he knows how important that is. I can’t be hanging around here waiting for him to decide, so I will have to go ahead and do my thing.

As I guessed, he didn’t pursue the issue much and we left it at that. That was in 1994, after my mother had come to visit me and I had told her about him. She met him and told me that he was a bright person who wouldn’t stay in his social position but would go further. I thought that was so generous of her to say that – thank you Mum! I was really grateful that she was optimistic about him. But at the same time she said, “You know you must find someone who is from the same background”. I don’t know if she said “like us”, but I think she meant educated. An education had been so important to myself, and to the people in my family. Even my uncle had got a degree at forty after having worked at the travel agency for many years.

He started to go to university late and got his BA, and then started to teach. I understood where she was coming from. Karina had told me some years back when we were sitting in Piazza Santa Spirito to go and talk to Philippe when he had approached me. But that was just before my degree, and I thought that I couldn’t afford to get into an emotional tangle after such a lot of hard work. I had let him go. He had definitely been very important to me.

 

I realised that I had such an important thing to finish and that I would lose it if I kept running after people all the time. I had wanted to get a degree because of my parents as well. I suppose in order to make everyone happy. I had left home for this purpose and I was delivering what I said I would do. I am sure that my parents would have been much happier if I had brought children into this world and made a family for myself.

Life in post-revolutionary Iran had lowered the standards, and people didn’t expect much from woman. Making a family was a prestigious achievement for a woman. In fact, after all my efforts for getting a degree, all my mother had to say was,

“So you finally pulled yourself up to my level”, which was a sign that my family weren’t very impressed at all. I know that a BA degree is for when one is twenty three and not the age of thirty two. I had given up my happiness on the way, but I was happy that I had finally understood what was good for me.

My Swedish flatmate Karina, who was a very smart woman and who seemed to be observing my life, had also told me that I didn’t seem to have much time to spend in a family or a relationship anyway. Even if I had wanted to, I had too many things that were important to me. She had been right. I was on my way to producing an art studio, and that needed all my strength and concentration. Philippe was important as an inspiration and I wish that I had had the strength to help other artists too. 

Karina, Robin and others had helped me on the way to establishing the studio; so had Mr X, so had Patrizia, Enzo, Paola, and Silvana.

It was a help to my survival, and so had many others. However, spiritually they hadn’t given me the strength that Philippe had given me. Through him, I had found my identity as an individual and my forefathers and their dedication. He had been a source of energy as only some special people can be. When I was in his company I thought that everything was beautiful and intelligent, even plants, and everything had stronger colours.

It was as if I had taken enhancing drugs. I thought perhaps that it was the same sentiment. It felt like being in an Indian movie. As usual, I declared myself, it was in a coffee shop in Piazza Santa Maria Novella. It was raining hard. There was thunder and lightning like never before. I thought the weather was expressing my state of mind. All Indian movies have rainy scenes.

 

He said, “you are lying!” Then he took my arm. I had these gold bangles on and he examined them as if they were horrible things. It was as if he was thinking, these can’t be real gold! How disgusting if they were! I was ashamed of my gold bangles then. My mother had bought them for me in Karachi in Pakistan. They were 22 carat gold, they weighed a lot and were worth a good sum. When he looked at them that way, I tried not to wear them anymore. In the West, people don’t wear gold like we do in Asia or Africa. I saw the Somali girls sometimes wearing their gold with pride. Here I was, being crossexamined because of them, as if no one could understand the necessity of wearing such a lot of gold. It wasn’t safe, I thought, so I put them in the bank and they were there for many years after that. 

The declaration didn’t go well as usual. He said, “why do you kill things as they are growing, and why are you such a rock?” I thought, I cannot very well change what I am. Then he said, I have an Israeli girlfriend that is slimmer than you, and on to the scene came the Israeli girl who was his best friend’s wife! That was another story. I thought here I am being sincere, and he is playing games with me! I suppose it was a bit like what Picasso did with his women. Many years later, I read that Picasso used to make women fight over him in his presence and he enjoyed that. 

What really was unpleasant then was that I didn’t really have any money, and he was very sure that he didn’t want a woman weighing on his life and on his pocket and he didn’t want any problems. That was what he told me. At that point, I was sure that I didn’t want any problems myself because I was just a few steps away from my last exams, and then I had to write my final paper. So I thought, okay, this is going to be tough, but I have to get out of this relationship. 

I was thirty and I didn’t want to waste anymore time getting through my project. Later on Cristiana, who was modelling for Philippe, asked me, “I suppose you don’t really believe in love?” She said that because maybe she would have dealt with the matter in a different way. 

 

Cristiana had been married to a French man, and could speak French and Spanish fluently. She could understand Philippe on a different level. I said, well, I have to answer to my family and I can’t throw everything away in the name of love. Here was all my family expecting me to give them a result, and I really didn’t feel like letting them down for someone who really didn’t care for me that much.

Plus there was competition from a slim Israeli woman, or perhaps many women, because he was an attractive thirty two year old, well-bred and a bachelor from a seemingly bourgeois family. I am sure he didn’t get married to any of the women I saw him with after that. 

 

The slim Israeli woman went on to have two children by her Italian painter fiancée. The man who was Philippe’s friend, looked as if he walked out of a film about Italy in the 1800s. He had a huge, long, old-fashioned beard and didn’t look like normal people – he reminded me of the Amish people in the US who still live without cars. He had taken a book out of his car, and I had commented how much I disliked the artist the book was about. I really hadn’t expected my humble opinion to mean anything to him.

However, he was quite offended and told me that on the contrary he was an admirer of Giorgio Morandi, the painter who painted bottles. Canvas after canvas. I couldn’t see the point of bottles being the subject of the paintings.

 

I hadn’t realised that this man really liked Morandi. He seemed to be irremovably placid most of the time, but turned red all of a sudden when he heard my opinion. “How dare you say that?” he said, and he showed me a huge book of thousands of pages on his favourite painter. I was humbled by my mistake.

Morandi had spent the whole Second World War painting pictures at his home in the countryside. Perhaps the ugliness of the war makes us concentrate on the few things that we can control, which still are absolutely innocent and clean. Perhaps that was Morandi’s message; he was saying, “I don’t really like this reality but I will make up my own”. He was such a charitable person, because later on people who had his paintings would become rich. I actually met an Italian couple who had bought an expensive apartment having sold one of his paintings.

Sarina

Sarina’s kitchen and her life, in a way, were my surrogate for wanting to be with Philippe. Sarina was much like myself, trying so hard to make it to her goal. One can always get lost upon her way. Sarina was one who was suffering for her cause, like myself. Right before she finally got though the exams, she and I met in front of the Santo Spirito church steps, and she was desperately crying, saying, “I know that I can sing I just have to make it through this”.

I had never seen her so depressed. Making it meant lots of studying, lots of hard work at her piano and on top of that, working at her teaching job in order to make a living. Cristiana was another surrogate for Philippe. I became friends with her when she was modelling at the Charles Cecil Art School. She had long hair which she dyed blonde, and a very sexy gruff voice, which reminded of the actress Monica Vitti. She wanted people to think that she was sexy like Brigitte Bardot.

Cristiana wasn’t really sexy at all when one got to know her as a person. I mean, she wasn’t false and calculating. She was actually a nice girl from a nice family in northern Italy, who wanted to create a family with some guy. She told me that she had been married to a French man and had lived in France for some time. But now she was separated. 

Cristiana had a studio in Via Guelfa, a really seedy part of town in the centre near the railway station. She painted copies of paintings by the masters. They were usually renaissance paintings, ones with lots of books and musical instruments and Persian carpets. I went to visit this apartment and studio often. I liked her paintings. She borrowed this art book from Philippe and really messed it up. It seemed as if she didn’t care to hurt his feelings at all.

 

I would have had more respect for that book, whoever it had belonged to. However, Cristiana could get away with a lot, because she was a warm-hearted girl and she did have good intentions. Her voice, I found, was very attractive.

I had told her about my experience as a painter. I told her that I knew Philippe, and that is why she allowed me to go to her studio and she taught me how to use gold leaf. I felt that I should have paid her for it, only I didn’t have any money to show her how grateful I was. She was one of the people in

Florence who had been generous and nice and hadn’t wanted anything back.

As luck would have it, she found a young Scottish girl who had tried to open a gallery in Florence, who had actually bought some of her canvases and paid for them up front! It was unbelievable. No one used to do such things in Florence – at least, no one we knew about. I asked this young gallery owner, “are you actually buying paintings with the idea of helping artists?”, and she answered that it was incredible but true. I could feel that she had taken a huge burden upon herself. 

In the meantime, whilst I was studying for my last exams, Cristiana had found a partner, Leonardo, who was a Florentine IT expert. He was living in an apartment right next to the Porcellino Square in the centre, and he had a degree in mathematics. Her fiancé was very much a leftist and a pleasant person, with a sense of humour. Cristiana had found him because she had gone to a party in the European University with a Dutch PhD student. Leonardo had asked her to dance, and she had dropped the student and had made friends with Leonardo.

 

Later on, they had two children and got married. It was unbelievable. I pitied the Dutch man, but it was typical. 

Later on, she told me that she liked the men who wore suits and ties, but they were very demanding and were after women who had money. She didn’t have money and she was looking for someone who wanted to have children and who could look after a family. She knew what she wanted. It was Cristiana who told me that some people could get special permission for getting a divorce from the pope, in order to get married to someone else. 

I suppose those kinds of men in suits and ties like rich women like Patriza, who could afford to spend lots of money on fashionable clothes, who had a car – a new one – and an apartment, and a father who spent money on them. I hadn’t realised that the money game was a worldwide thing. If a girl seemed not to have money, then she would probably not be able to pick and choose.

I looked at Cristiana with admiration because she was so much the woman who wanted to be very feminine, and she knew what was required of her – i.e. to be slim, to be blonde, to be flexible, to wear short skirts and appear sexy – such a lot of hard work! She was now thirty years old and had made up her mind that she wanted children and that this was the time to do it.

 

I was thinking how in the Middle East, woman have it easy in a sense, because families think of getting the young people married off through arranged marriages. No man or woman, however unattractive or poor, wastes time searching for the right partner. After all it is all about procreating the genes – so everyone, ugly or attractive, with defects or illnesses, rich or poor, educated or unemployed – everyone could get married because it was done as a social rule. But in Europe it seemed so difficult. People had to find the right partner and very few of my girlfriends ever did find the right people. 

They actually had to go through various experiences and mistakes in order to settle for the least satisfying partner. In the Middle East, I was surprised that even people that couldn’t afford to have children were having them and bringing them up somehow or other.

In the West, many planned to have kids but couldn’t because having kids was expensive and you had to give up a comfortable life if you wanted to have a family. My Italian friends from university had their own homes and could afford to get married, but they took years to decide to settle down together seriously. A lot of woman I knew didn’t find a partner at all, and just had a child with someone, just to enjoy being a mother. What worried everybody was finding a steady income; it was the 1990s, and things were not looking so good. 

 

I was working at Piazza Santa Croce at a jewellery place in the summers, and there would be days when there was no one in the square. In the late 1980s, there had been a lot of Russians who had brought lots of money. They would carry lots of cash with them and invest it in gold. It was when the Soviet Union became Russia. It was 1988 and 1989, and Mr Gorbachev was on the news all the time with Glasnost and Perestroika being the key words in the news. It crossed my mind that Gorbachev wouldn’t last long because he was a university professor, and too much of an idealist. Then the siege of the Palace happened and Yeltsin took over. 

The shop where I worked was owned by an Italian family. The owner, who was Florentine was called Mr C. He had married a Russian women called Vera; she was nice looking then. She had big blue eyes and long frizzy hair and a very triangular face. She was very feminine. Soon she got to take part in the business in a big way, because all our clients were Russian. When she had worked in the shop for some years, she cut off all her hair and kept it really short, and she started to become masculine in her ways. I think it was because she was carrying more responsibility on her shoulders. She was very modest about her education, but she was an aeronautics engineer. She use to talk about Moscow and it was fascinating for me and my colleague Nora to listen to her stories of life before Italy. Right then, there were a lot of Russians coming over to Italy, who were on their way to the states. Vera gave them hospitality and one of her Jewish guests who hadn’t a penny and used to sleep in the car, later on went to New York and became very rich. According to her, he had established several supermarkets there. Something big was happening, and we were unaware of what was brewing in the pot.

 

Cell phones had just come out, and Vera had one. It was very such a fashionable thing to be seen trotting about with a phone pressed close to the ear. This made one feel rich and important, because not many people had one. The cheap ones were huge and heavy things which had batteries that didn’t last long at all. The mobile revolution was just beginning but answering machines were still an item of importance, remaining from the 1980s. Robin, in her new wealthy situation, had bought one of those new phone/fax machines, which had everything including an answering machine.

De La Soul, the band, was really in vogue because of the bit in the song with the beep of the answering machine. It was very hip. We used to read about Yeltsin and his drinking habits. The Russians were educated and cultured, but were stuck with these leaders, who failed to deliver stability to their country. Moscow was supposedly a terrible place to live in; we heard about the poor and the old – i.e. people who had been used to a welfare state; they couldn’t adapt to the new pace of life. There was news that the youth were forming gangs, and that was making life very difficult for the ordinary citizens. 

It was Russia in the limelight, and Vera was a real Russian from that planet. Had she not started to get overenthusiastic, I would have really thought of her as a friend and an acquaintance, and would have been keen on keeping in touch. It was inexplicable to me when she and the young fellow working there started to treat me with less respect. I suppose they wanted me to stop working there on my own accord, as opposed to them sending me away. I suppose that was just after Nora’s wedding.

I used to be fascinated by Vera’s stories about Moscow, as much as my Columbian colleague Nora, who would talk about Bogota and Medellin. They were now ruled by the drug lords and were in the news every day, those beautiful places that she had grown up in. She had worked in the shop selling emeralds to American tourists. The way that South Americans talked about the nature around them when they were growing up reminded me of India and Pakistan.

 

The sea and the wilderness of the undeveloped land with lots of undiscovered beaches, and places still untouched by tourism, were full of wild people, with machine guns in their hands, rebelling against injustice by living in the forests. Nora’s family were in the retail business, and she was already married and divorced. Now she was getting married a second time, to a Turkish man who was working in the shop next to us. That shop was a Turkish shop. Her husband happened to be blue eyed and blonde, and he had chosen to call himself with a Western Christian name.

There were some Arab men as well working in that shop. One was an attractive Egyptian called Mehtad. I though Mehtad really resembled the antique statues of the ancient

Egyptians; he was really, truly one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen in my life, but he was modest about it. He was married to an Italian girl who worked as a guide in Egypt, but it was obvious that he was on his way to a divorce. I liked Mehtad as a person. I was thinking of introducing him to my Algerian friend Nadia who was twenty four, and who had said that she wanted to get married to an Arab. But that wasn’t to be.

 

It was funny how, on Nora’s wedding day, I had gone into the loo at work and had cried my heart out. I was thirty-two, still a student and felt like a total loser, utterly alone and incapable of ever being able to find a suitable partner. But I wouldn’t take any steps in the direction of working something out with the people around me, like Nora had done. I wouldn’t go out to parties like Cristiana, and I wasn’t trying at all to find a remedy to my ailment. I had tried to introduce my friend Mr X into my life, but it hadn’t worked out at all. Even Cristiana had tried to give me a few tips about how to put the relationship in the right direction.

Later on, I realised that sentimental issues are really difficult. Mehtad had found a Palestinian girl whose father had told him that his daughter was in love with him. Her father actually worked for this lucky girl, in order to make the connection. I thought it such a precious thing that one could have a friend like that. He put them on the path as it were, so Methad went on to get married a second time, and was happy with his new family.

 

I was harbouring so many pressures in those years from personal and university life that when an Arab colleague from Yemen, a salesman from the shop next door, started to act as a watchdog on me, I thought him strange, but didn’t take much notice of it. Just as much as I was aware of the microphones in the shop controlling us, I thought that they all went together with the fact that Mr C the shop owner was a declared fascist. He used to tell us about the time when, as a young boy, he would go to Piazza della Signoria in a black shirt and the Fascist salute to take part in the rallies during Mussolini’s regime.

Mr C was sixty years old and had the wizened face and expression of a renaissance painting. He reminded me of a Gozzoli fresco in the Medici Palace. Like these people that had lived in these cities centuries ago, Mr C was wise and careful about what he said. He took his wife Veras naïveté in his stride. In a way, he had psychological insight into people’s feelings. 

Even though Mr C was a fatherly sort of figure, I felt that I couldn’t very well go and complain to him about what had happened to me. My feelings of being molested in the shop were difficult to express. I thought people would have laughed it off and made the insult seem of no consequence. That’s why I thought I would sue them and get money out of them, because it was the least I could do to defend myself. 

When I told my Aunt Ylva, she said on the phone let bygones be bygones. But she hadn’t felt the humiliation and suffering like I had. I thought that it would make them think twice about it before they made a pass at someone else at the work place. They might have thought that it had been a joke, but I didn’t. I was determined in having justice, because my only fault had been to be a single woman with no one defending me. I had always dressed decently, covering up, as opposed to my colleague Nora, who had worn really short tops which were very fashionable, revealing her belly button.

On the last day of work at the shop, I had an appointment with Robin and I had gone to the supermarket to buy biscuits. I found Mr C standing there as if he had something to say to me. Should I have lamented like a child and told him about Vera and Enrico’s joke of touching my derrière? I am sure that they also had CCTV in the jewellery store, so they probably saw what had happened and knew about it. It was a sort of practical joke. Later on, after some years, I saw a woman doing this to her young girlfriend in front of me, and I was appalled by the innocent girl’s confused look.

 

Mr C wasn’t stupid; he knew that if I had talked to him, I probably would have let the whole unbearable thing go. But there was the shame that I felt about the whole thing, as if I had to put up with such nonsense in the work place. That is why I went to the lawyer’s office belonging to Mr F. We discovered that we had a common friend, and that young Mr F knew my friend Sarina from her singing in choirs around town.

In 1996, my American flat mate Eric Black came back to Florence and he came to visit me. I had painted the apartment blue, and for me it was the house of the ninety nine names of God, because I had written those names in all the rooms. It was a crazy time because I was living in my own world and far away from reality. Perhaps Robin was trying to tell me this when she came to visit, and her words meant to tell me that. I should have taken it upon me to point out that it hadn’t been nice of her to tell me off like that; that I was an artist and therefore not as capable as her to deal with the real life issues. Most probably, she couldn’t fathom why I was sitting at home with a degree when I could have been working like she had done. I hadn’t told her or anyone else about what had happened at work. I thought it was too embarrassing, and many people couldn’t understand my point of view at all.

Eric took some pictures of the house, the paintings and the rooms, and even asked me to go to Germany with him. He had been to Berlin and that was after the wall fell in 1989. He was very enthusiastic about Berlin and the construction that was going on there. I was very tempted because I could understand

Eric very well, we could have been good partners but I was on a certain path and I thought that I would continue on it. 1995 and 1996 were also the years of the war in Yugoslavia. The only person who was interested was Robin, and I was grateful to have her and Nadia to talk to.

Some Jewish people wrote articles of protest against the rape concentration camps and the religious conflicts that were taking place there. Even Eric was politically aware of what was happening. The rape camps were places where Muslim and Croat women were impregnated forcefully by the Serbs in order to humiliate their opponents. I was glad that I painted two paintings with Sarajevo as the subject. However, after the war ended, it seemed pointless to paint political pictures because it was useless to protest.

Marco, who was a professional photographer, took the photographs of my paintings. He was practising Buddhism so he did it for free, but I gave him a painting in return. Marco was living a life very similar to mine. He stayed in his room and prayed. The Buddhists had a group and they met every week to pray together. We could hear them when they prayed together in his room.

He had a large room, which had a window looking on to the face of the Santo Spirito church. I was aware that the apartment he lived in must have been worth a lot, because of its position on the Piazza. It overlooked the whole square, and Marco had done rent control like myself. He made a living by renting out rooms. He was a homely type of person, you could tell, because he had very nice new Persian carpets in his room, and the place was always nice and clean. He would take care of his personal things, but he didn’t care what would happen in the rest of the house. Eventually he bought himself a computer and started to work at home on his artistic photographs. 

Mr X and Myself – Tizano and Robin

I had met Mr X in 1989 or 1990, and even though he was just a young Iranian man from a simple background which was very working class, I preferred him to the Kurdish Mr Changeez, who had a degree in architecture and knew all the right things to say because he was a leftist. He was a cultured and educated type. I’d met them both at the Cultural Centre in Florence during the Iraq/Kuwait crisis. These two men symbolised the class division in Iran. On the one hand there were people in the majority who were uneducated or less educated belonging to the rural areas, and the working classes who were usually very pious and who supported the government and the revolution.

The other group of people were educated leftists and middle classes, who felt that they deserved privileges and that they were superior to the masses and the main population. Changeez represented the latter.

Changeez was very attractive and charming, but he was utterly and hopelessly self-centered, penniless and unemployed. He could quote Shakespeare and was an expert on cinema, but he was a man who wasn’t earning – nor was I – and didn’t have any prospects. Another point which wasn’t in his favour was the fact that he was in a sort of close friendship with his Italian friend’s American wife. Anyone could tell that she liked him a lot, so he was able to pick and choose.

One day, I went to visit him in the Cultural Centre, and he took me to the house of his American girlfriend. She was a soprano opera singer like my friend Sabina, and she sang in the Maggio Fiorentino. One could tell that she had put aside her husband and was really into Mr C. In fact, people have said since that they eventually married. I was astonished to see that this Italian man put up with their friendship going on right in front of him, between his wife and his best friend. I really felt sorry for him, but I thought that he must be a very generous man – or a cold-blooded, reasonable person -, to be able to watch other people’s happiness eat into his marriage. So even if Mr C asked me, I didn’t accept.

Mr X was different. He was a pious praying kind of person who worked. He had managed to live a regular life and he pursued his interests, which were sports and cinema. I was awestruck by the fact that even though he was poor, he had managed to buy his parents an apartment. I think that is why I sort of respected him a lot. However, later on I found out that he had a woman in his life, although he said that he wasn’t married. I didn’t want to fall into having a husband who was already married. But by the age of thirty and thirty one, everyone around me was with someone. There was a voice within me that said he wasn’t good for me. I suppose I found out why when we went to Rimini with Tizano and Robin. 

Via Delle Cinque Giornate Apartment, 1995

I had been friends with Robin since my degree party in 1992. We had common friends who had introduced us. Jeff and Steve were people who were teachers of English at university and who were into theatre. I had known them for many years, since starting university. My degree party in Via delle Cinque Giornate was a big do, so they had invited their friends Robin and Sarina. They were all teachers of English. I really had a lot of respect for these people, as they were socially superior to me. I was an unemployed student and a renter of rooms. I had a lot of respect for Robin and Sarina because they were teaching, and even as language teachers they were following their artistic interests. Sarina and Robin were into singing and classical music and opera. 

Pulsar Watercolour, 1998

They were friends of Steve to begin with, and I had spent an entire summer listening to Steve complain about his Italian girlfriend M, who was already married. She was a wealthy lawyer and it seemed that there was no future in the relationship. Steve’s private life was well known to his friends – it was an ‘event’, and I suppose everybody watched his life with interest because he was an attractive man and with a very good sense of humour.

Geoff, too, was attractive, because he was the more middle class posh accent sort of person. Even though he wore a ponytail, you could tell he had a solid background. Geoff eventually got married and went to live in the States with his family. We were all dreaming of doing something big with our lives then. Steve dreamt about being an actor and he defined art wistfully: “those sort of things that people who don’t work seem to afford to do”. Robin too thought that teaching had its limits. Sarina’s attitude was more positive; she took teaching as a temporary situation, which was soon to change. 

Serena and Elena and myself in the market at Santo Spirito, 1995

I liked Robin and Sarina immediately because they had a similar sense of humour. Steve was very lighthearted, and when he was in the mood he could be very pleasant to be with. He was well liked because he was sociable and ready to mingle. 

In 1992, when I met Robin, she was just about to separate from her husband who she had been married to for some years. They had renovated an old house together and had fallen out of love when they had finished the job. Some people say that it is not good to renovate old houses with your spouse because of the pressure it puts on the relationship. But marriages and relationships were falling apart with many couples we knew, regardless of whether they were working on a project together or not.

Robin revealed herself to be a woman who was very capable of starting a new life at thirty. She wasn’t at all the sweet and simple type, and most Italian men usually like their women to at least pretend be one step behind them, rather than boasting to be running in front of them. I could see that she was feeling stifled in a women’s traditional role in her marriage and she had already made the decision. When she got her divorce, Titziano had come into Robin’s life as a consequence of her wanting to replace her husband. Titziano was a very attractive Italian, thirty years old, from the outback of Prato. He looked just like the famous actor Nani Moretti. He was also someone who really liked cinema and intellectual things.

Robin was just out of divorce and she was sharing her experiences with me and Sarina, talking about her research for a new man, and Titziano sounded very good. Even if in the process of finding him, she had broken a heart or two.

Tizy, as me and Sarina called him, was tall, dark and handsome, and had swept Robin off her feet. He took her on sightseeing trips, things which she hadn’t done in all her years of marriage. He was a bit too good to be true! She was very flattered to have found a sensitive man, who was also alive and had an interest in the world around him. He wasn’t boring and he had made it clear to her, that he wanted to be the only one in her life. That was a pretty committing type of statement for someone to make just after her divorce.

Mr X was very sweet and had a sincere heart, but he thought that he still had time and could shop around. I was dating him because I wanted to get married. He was sensitive and smart, but didn’t have the Italian leftist education that most educated or even uneducated people share in Europe. The jargon about cinema and any other art form is usually leftist in fact. Being an intellectual in itself belongs to the left. Only business people seemed to lean to the right. So Mr X didn’t fall in place with these educated friends of mine, who were surprised about my choice.

After many years of living alone, I’d settled for someone so far from myself. People could tell that he wasn’t the right sort of person. On one occasion at a friend’s dinner party hosted by M, her friend, who was a Romanian and had lived many years in Germany, a very cultured man in his 1950s, started to say very unpleasant words which seemed to be directed at Mr X. Then again, before our trip to Rimini I could sense that people were not really accepting this person, and were putting up with him only for my sake. It seemed that I was being tested to see if I could defend him.

Titziano called us, in a general way, ‘babuini’ – i.e. ‘the Iranian Monkeys’, criticising us because we were imitating Western ways. He said quite a few unpardonable things on that trip, which were hard for me to bear. I did jolt when I heard his comments on the Serbs being the good guys in the war that was going on in Bosnia. Me and Robin had just written a letter about the plight of the women in the so called ‘rape camps’ installed by them. They were provocative comments, and suffice to say that if I had felt totally helpless and full of rage by the injustice and insolence of his comments. However I kept quiet on both occasions, only feeling cold and distant. It was really not worth my while to get angry.

Poor Mr X could not defend himself at all socially. He was a meek type who needed a mother. I felt frustrated that I couldn’t have someone by my side who could be strong for me. I should have been strong enough or clever enough to respond to Titziano’s insults. He had really got to me, and I was ashamed of myself, for not being able to defend anything or anyone, not even myself. Robin didn’t say anything either, as if she had taken it in her stride. But she did know, the enormity of these gestures and words. I realised what women had to put up with when they have a partner.

It was sometime after our trip to Rimini that Robin came to my place one day. She said she was upset because Titziano had told her a terrible thing and had expected her to accept it as well. He had told her this thing about himself in a lighthearted manner, as if she would have to accept it if she wanted to have him in her life. Later on she quit seeing Titziano, as she couldn’t agree with such an attitude.

Now I wonder if a dark force wasn’t already operating in those years as well, putting us to the test, as it were. Titziano was not at all unmanly in his ways. I was an idiot for telling Steve what had happened between Titziano and Robin. But Robin hadn’t told me to keep quiet about it. I mean, I was shocked myself and couldn’t bear this burden of Robin’s words which weighed on me, and I felt confused. I was astonished to hear Steve agree with Titziano. That was an extremely revealing conversation. I was like, “Am I the only person who can understand how Robin must feel about this?”

That was in 1992, 1993 and 1994, and the war in Bosnia was raging. The war in Kuwait had brought me out of my room to meet people and I had met Mr X. He was more spiritual than anyone else I knew in Italy, except for Nadia. Nadia was living in the front room in Via delle Cinque Giornate. She was twenty three when she took the room, and she was a very reserved young lady. She had been born and brought up in the north of France, but her family was from near Algiers. It was fascinating because she brought a totally new experience and point of view into my life. She didn’t know any Arabic, not even enough to read the Holy Koran. However, she said her prayers and tried her best to be Islamic.  We had many conversations about the state of things in the Muslim countries, especially since in those years a strange phenomenon was happening in the Algerian countryside, whereby villages and their inhabitants where being attacked and burnt by ruthless mercenaries who were absurdly called Muslims by the media. 

We were both sure that such strange things could not be perpetrated by Muslims, since in the news they said that the new non-religious government was not allowing the inhabitants to have guns to protect themselves, nor was it doing the job of protecting itself. Furthermore a free general election resulting in the people’s choice of an Islamic tending government was inexplicitly cancelled. Why was this happening? I remember once we were walking in Via della Pergola and we were talking about this situation and she was hysterically asking if this was Islam that was practiced in her country, “is this Islam?” I was trying to explain to her that at times the people who actually did the horrible things blamed everyone else and got away with it. It was really a well-known strategy.

About the same time, there was an article in the papers about a young mercenary who had been captured after such terrible acts, and he confessed that he had done all sorts of things under the effect of drugs, and was not aware of what he had done afterwards. Which made sense. Much more than Islamic militants killing innocent locals, it was the greedy people who wanted the villages to themselves who had paid him, he said. This article was in the Italian papers.

Nadia stayed at home and locked in her room most of the time, reading and learning languages, while she was looking for a job. She was a practicing Muslim, even if modern, and she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. She was even wary of me and treated everyone who wasn’t her family as “a stranger” and not to be trusted. 

In one respect, she was right. It seemed that one took a risk every time one trusted a friendship because loyalties were very fragile, to say the least. She was right in staying in her room all the time and trying to work out what she had to do next. I realised that she was trying very hard to get a grip onto her life. I suppose she was realistic in not dating anyone, because even though she was an attractive twenty something, she knew that finding the right partner was an arduous task.

Robin was very disappointed in me for having talked to Steve about her private life and her experience with Titziano. She looked at me with new eyes, as if I couldn’t be trusted. She did not realise that I was as shocked that she had confided such a delicate matter to me in the first place. She had put a burden on me which was too much for me. I really felt things deeply, and I felt sympathetic to what she had gone through.

And she hadn’t told me to keep quiet about it. 

Later on, when I met Hans, the blonde Danish boy at Sarina’s door in Piazza Santo Spirito, I wasn’t thinking of

Robin at all. Hans was being introduced to Florence in the Piazza by an Italian woman who said that he was looking to rent a room. I was always on the lookout for renters, and since I had just finished my thesis, I needed to rent the rooms again. Hans was not a very pleasant person, especially when he said something about me prostituting my rooms when I showed him the room. This was very impolite, to say the least. I had known another Hans from Denmark who had been a Catholic and a very special person. Therefore, I thought this Hans would be okay, since I had had a positive experience with northern people in general. Hans turned out to be educated. He was a computer person and had a degree in engineering, but liked to introduce himself as a blacksmith. Why did I ever think of putting Robin and Hans together? God only knows.

Had I been a calculating woman with my head screwed on the right way, I would have cultivated this bachelor even for getting myself a European residence – something which Robin had done – and would have tried to get rid of my Iranian passport. It was always a problem for visas and stay permits. Any red-blooded Iranian would have seen Hans as an opportunity not to be gifted to other women. However, Hans had uttered a dark series of words which made me feel wary of him. He had also told me that I would die by taking my own life, and that, was not sweet of him at all! 

His being an educated man made me think that that was what Robin needed in her life because she herself was into education and was bookish. I sound like a do-gooder and a matchmaker, but really I was sorry that a woman of Robin’s calibre should be wasting her time on people who were very much inferior to her, I thought it such a waste. I acted as a real Eastern friend, someone who cared. Nobody except Carina had cared for me; if I was alone and rotting away in solitude, it was my own fault entirely, but I was living up to the philosophy that had I acted positively, I would get the good energies back from the universe.

Hans wasn’t charming at all in his manners, but I felt that he was a person who was worthy of being helped and that is why I introduced him to Leonardo, who was an IT consultant, and was looking for someone to help him. Later on I introduced him to Robin and sent them off to the movies together – he had asked me, but I wasn’t interested; I was still thinking along other lines.

I was actually surprised pleasantly by Hans some weeks later when he commented on how some people in town used bad language in relation to the Prophet Jesus (may peace be upon him) and the Virgin Mary. He thought it was a scandal to hear such insulting language and had stood up in one conversation and had left the room, saying that he would not tolerate such things. In fact it was surprising to find some people saying that they didn’t believe in any of the biblical stories and that these two revered names had been ordinary people, under the rule of the Romans. Such people believed in the power of the secular society and its rules more than anything else.

I had a new respect for Hans after that, and I was grateful that someone had stood up for the revered Prophet and the Virgin Mary, because in Islam we feel a great deal of reverence for them, and it is a great sin to speak of them as normal, ordinary people. For Hans, behaviour in this matter I felt that he had well deserved my help and friendship. My having introduced Robin to him was good too. Later on I fell out with Robin for having done that. She came back from a holiday in New York to visit me, and during our relaxed conversation she had suddenly become very stern and had told me to “grow up”; however she had said it in a way which couldn’t be pinned down. I couldn’t accuse her of having said this to me and ask her to explain. 

She had been totally weird, as if talking to a wall and not a well-wishing friend and I thought to myself, “naturally! My doing good was not appreciated at all.” I wasn’t competing with anyone over anything and yet here I was being sat upon in my own kitchen by this woman. I suppose I had foreseen this and I was not going to be unpleasant and fight, but I let it go and I thought, “good luck to you, you obviously don’t need me in your life anymore.” 

Later on, I thought that it was probably a different point of view on life in general which separated us. I noticed a lot of people were uttering absolutely absurd things and getting away with doing so; it was as if they would somehow get promoted for saying the most horrible things and uttering the biggest lies, and I was wondering why this was happening. Then I read somewhere that it had something to do with Stalin. Or was it to do with Europe? A new era had begun, 

All religions and philosophies talk about the concept of

“caring for each other” – “treat others as you would like others to treat you”. We are here to care about each other/ I mean, people read books but do they think about values? Human feelings, all the good things of the heart belong to the religious minded and if we don’t live up to the rules of God, who will? No materialist gives away the things that they need themselves.

Since my biggest dream had been to live in New York, I was very happy when Robin called me from New York where she had gone for the holidays. But when she came back, she was pretty hard on me and told me to “grow up”. 

We were sitting in the kitchen in Via delle Cinque Giornate and she was just back from her trip. I was being very wishy-washy, talking about Eric and Sarina and how it was going for them, whilst I knew that Robin and Hans were now together. In a sense, I was in a weak position because I didn’t have anyone in my life again. I had given up on Mr X. My first reaction to Robin’s intellectual somersault when she criticised me was that I was totally dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe that she could be harsh and unkind to me after my being thoughtful about her. I mean, no one was introducing me to a nice young man, but I was being generous to her life as a whole. I mean I know the worth of what I had done for her, because I so much needed a partner in my life myself. And this woman had the gumption to come to my house and tell me to grow up! How ungrateful can one get? I got the feeling that she was thinking,

“You are such a loser! You haven’t got anything going for you”. Was that an acceptable attitude? Today I compare that to Mr Sedley’s fate in Vanity Fair, where he says, “Some people don’t like to be reminded that they have been helped”. I didn’t even expect a thank you, but I expected her to understand the positive thoughtfulness that I’d had for her and to take it into account.

I suppose the tide of the concentration camp attitudes or Zionist jig of heartlessness had already been there for a long time and that I was experiencing it for the first time. Good luck to you, I thought. But that’s all the time of the day that I can give you.

 The Zionist jig is a condition whereby a good relationship is blown away by actively sowing the seeds of hate rather than love.

‘Existence’ was sold to a Danish couple in 2008 by Roberto. I am worried about these fascists having my paintings at all. Especially this one, which has always meant so much to me.

This is another painting that I started at one corner and didn’t know about the outcome. 

It is a violent one, with the soft cell amoeba in the middle and the needle-like things representing life’s difficulties for all creatures in order to survive in the blue earth and oceans which we are living in. 

The amoeba is a living unit, and in it there is the writing of Sure Hand, the first Sure in the Koran. Because as a living unit, me being the amoeba, I had this written in me when I started out. But the needles promise a difficult time. One of the unexpected geographical twists and turns, ups and downs, where a voyager finds that in the next corner and angle of a street a block of houses or a mountain or a valley, there is something unforeseen waiting for us little creatures. Even though the amoeba is fairly big – however, it is totally vulnerable and flexible – it tries to roll over things, bumping into or bouncing over all needles. It tries to survive by being adaptable to any shape. That is why the soft cell can survive.

I was working on the images ‘Existenz’, ‘Da-sein’, ‘Being There’, and ‘The Invisible Pillars’, and I thought that my life as a woman at thirty or thirty two years of age, was never going to work out. I was living in the front room in Via delle Cinque Giornate. Nadia had been living in the room next door to mine. Then there was Verena in the room at the back. Nadia and Verena were in my life when I started to do these images, as was Mr X. 

I asked Mr X, why don’t we get married? I suppose Mr X had problems in his life. He said in the beginning that he didn’t want to ruin my life! I suppose he was a good guy, and now I understand what he was saying. I had gone looking for him that August of 1990 or thereabouts, and he wasn’t there. He said he’d been to Austria for a week’s holiday. I could tell that he was pretty self-centred and that he wasn’t that much into me. I suppose that I wasn’t that much into him either; he was just my nostalgia for my family and the past. 

That was existence. I thought I wanted to go back to where my roots are, I wanted to seek my identity in him and his little world. He was so organised in his little world, and I admired that so much. I admired the fact that he’d sent money to his parents and they had bought a house with the savings that he had sent them. Such dedication was sort of Japanese – very loyal and very sincere, and I respected this young softly spoken man, even though I felt that he really wasn’t up to the mark. I mean, even physically, he was a weakling and very cold, I thought. But, the fact was that he wasn’t that much into the relationship because he had another woman, who wasn’t going to let him go easily. 

Such emotional strain made me believe that men were all double crossing shits, and one couldn’t really expect any better. Because, I suppose, I was the unlucky girl who couldn’t find a partner. Philippe was the one who was so out of reach, and he had actually asked me to get engaged! What was it that made me fly over the treasure that I so much desired? I went on thinking about Philippe for over a decade, following his shadow everywhere. I think that I was overawed or I wasn’t up to the responsibility. I have never been one who listens to people anyway, and I never follow. 

But I did follow Mr X, because he was the sort of man who prayed, and in a way he was humble, especially in front of his creator, and I thought that he was a good boy. Whereas with everyone else I knew that it would be a struggle, with him and I knew there would be peace. However, as life would have it, he had gone away on holiday without even thinking of telling me, which showed that he really couldn’t care less. Such a typical situation. But my prophetic soul, I knew he wasn’t good for me just the first few times when he expressed the opinion that “women were smelly”, which was really offensive. His other opinions about women were downright sexist – a wife shouldn’t get a chance to dominate or influence a man’s opinion and ways of his life. Words that made my hair stand on end! So why did this guy follow me around when he knew that I was a free spirit? Looking back on it all now, I think that it was probably planned that way. 

I thought about Francesca and her ‘muratore’ boyfriend. This guy was very good looking, one of those Florence people who have antique features. He had big doe-like eyes and seemed to be a sensible type of person. When she met him, they were always together and she wasn’t alone, like she used to be. She even got him to study her English Literature books and got him to get a degree in English Literature. That was amazing, and it was refreshing to think that someone in this class-ridden world of ours could be different. Love could make a difference after all and a middle class girl could contribute to the uplifting of a boy from a working class family and share him and everyone who he had in this world, the fat of the land. So, why couldn’t it happen with Mr X? I suppose, because he already had one forty year old middle class lady in his life, and didn’t need another one just then.

That was one of the most difficult summers in my life, and I am glad that Verena was there for me. Verena was my sweet angel, and she was a true sister in the solidarity that she showed me, whereas Nadia, was probably judging me to be a loser. I guess it was pretty obvious which direction it was going to go and she was already onto the results of this – God’s exam. She knew that these kinds of men couldn’t be fair minded because she had several brothers herself. So she knew that I was going to have problems because some sexist men are not there and not friends of women. Usually they are antagonists and they can only at best be indifferent, but never sincere. Nadia was very neutral at that time, but I needed a real friend, and Guido called up and said why don’t we get married and create a family? However, even though I needed him, I said no. This was because I couldn’t forgive him for running off to the Philippines with Amor, the girl he’d got to know on the train. I couldn’t trust him anymore. He had been lying through his teeth and wasting my precious years, and I was following him loyally, only because he was kinder to me than my own family. He did save me from a lot of things and I was grateful, but since he never listened to me, I thought it was useless. I suppose I was after a dream. Someone like my father, who listened to my mother and respected her ideas and opinions. 

This was my existence in those years, and the images I was working on said these damned men are only a waste of time; why should I be running after them, when all they can do is to humiliate me and make me feel like shit? I felt like the Iranian women who worked on the carpets. That carpet creativity allowed the women to get away from the male dominations in their lives for at least a few hours. Ideally if there was respect and love and only respect and love, then perhaps we could have created a family. I wouldn’t have been an amoeba anymore. I wouldn’t be trying to catch hold of the moments and seconds so much. I suppose trying to catch hold of one’s time and hours means that one wants to get control, have control over one’s life and all the possible things that may happen. Had I been more easygoing and ‘normal’, I would have married Guido, even though, he didn’t have a job and had children, and made myself a life with him in Italy. I owed him that because he had been good to me emotionally; he had the patience like a true friend to cure me when I was hurt, and nobody else had ever been that good to me saving me from madness. I suppose going to university and finishing that formal education saved me. But I think to myself that reading the Holy Koran would have had the same healing effect, and it would probably have brought me more barakat.

My existence got very complicated. A lot of the time we don’t realise that other people are amoebas just as much as ourselves, trying to survive the world and our own life. 

If I had been a cleverer woman, I would see that men too take a woman for the good things that she can add to his life. It was only years later that Serenella and Enzo came into my life, both Florentine people who had rationalised this process. As Serenella put it one day – she was good wife herself – she said that, “Enzo wants a woman who doesn’t spend too much and who is companionable”. The good things she can add to their life.

Italy Via delle Cinque Giornate Oil Paintings, 1984-1998

The Contact of Aliens with Humans

1. The Contact

This painting, ‘The Contact’, was sold in Dubai in the winter of 2008-09, by Roberto in a Dubai gallery called Mondo Arte. R is a thirty year old artist himself, and he had had a feeling for this picture when he first saw it. Later on he stretched the canvas and put it up on show, together with the rest of the paintings I’d shipped from Italy.

‘The Contact’ was done spontaneously. I mean, I hadn’t a clue about what I was doing or where I was going. It just happened. However, I must say that I had seen this film – it was ‘Independence Day’. Such a Star Wars type movie, always excited my imagination.

It made me express my belief that there was intelligence in the universe, but what I was really talking about was pretty earthly itself. I mean, it’s a contact of relationships – i.e. it is about when you find someone who you can really relate to, someone who opens up the world to you from a totally different angle, and that becomes a phenomenon in itself, because through a real contact you can also see surreal things.

*This was written before the black Fukushima episode in March 2011.

Vision of a Planet Watercolour, 1990

I took this painting to Pakistan, thinking that the words from the Koran would make it interesting to someone from an Islamic culture. However, I had to take it back to Dubai because no one wanted it, even Auntie Jahan, who had wanted a big painting on her wall, and I had brought it especially for her. R said that an American client at the gallery had it now.

The Koranic writing says, “Do not the rejectors of the faith know that the galaxies and the earth were all one single mass and we blasted them apart? Then we caused rain to fall and give life to earth…We made every living thing out of water, will they not believe in Allah?” God the mastermind is taking credit for his creation.

Vision of a molecule Watercolour, 1990

I was overjoyed that it was sold. I don’t think that my other big paintings will ever be sold now because, as is the situation in 2009, there is a general economic crisis and nobody seems to be spending money on such items. 

So I got lucky that time. R left the gallery and the gallery closed down after some months. Actually, the story is that I got to know R through A, who worked in the gallery full time. She was very stressed by her new job, but she liked my work and accepted them in the gallery. Then I met R who I thought could be related to her – I was wrong. Later on, I realised that he must be very young – perhaps not even thirty. 

Cosmopolitan Time painting in the blue apartment, 1995

When he took over responsibilities from A because she had an argument with the owner, he was just as stressed, but he was friendly and we talked about various things. He told me that he had gotten to know Raffaella, who was the directress in the gallery, whilst he was running a flower shop somewhere in the periphery of Milan. Raffaella had brought him to Dubai, and so he had been living in Dubai a few years. 

Raffaella was a woman one never met at all. Behind the scenes somewhere being totally irresponsible. I say this because one of the ‘slimies’ had damaged one of my paintings in the gallery whilst A had been there. I saw this poor painting being mistreated, and Anna didn’t do anything to fix or repair it, even if she said she would do it.

When R took over, he too didn’t do anything about repairing it, even though he said he would. So finally, I repaired it myself, taking some instructions from this other painter called Paolo Maria. Paolo was friendly and interesting to talk to. 

When I had finished repairing the painting with more gold leaf, and it had become a beauty, a couple from Denmark walked in and wanted to buy it. They took it without paying for it, and I was left with the choice of accepting the fact that I had very little power to protect myself and my interests if the gallery didn’t do it, or to fight with everyone and leave, protesting the only way I could. I chose to let the painting go and say nothing – i.e. not make an issue of it. They were probably part of an elite group, I mean, the Danish couple, and I had had to be a victim of their privileged status. 

The young client said that he had participated in the Bosnian war, so I suppose he enjoyed getting something for free.

Cosmopolitan Time Oil on canvas

The young man who had worked for the UN in the Bosnia area was talking about the Sarajevo pictures and I thought it was my duty to participate in the sale of the painting. Our conversation was civil to begin with, but later on he said some unpleasant things and so did his young wife, and that was when I realised that they were out to get me. It was a power trip on their part. Later on R, who was totally taking their side, hence meaning to say, “go away from the gallery if you don’t like what we are dishing out to you” in a silent slimy (means invisible mischief maker) fashion. 

Sarajevo Oil on canvas, 1995

I had been in a similar situation before and I had lost out and suffered. I chose to accept the situation, even though I had counted on the money because I needed it. R said afterwards, “We are living in a war situation” (2007). It was sincere, his speaking frankly. I thought, “thank you, R – you are a kind person after all”, and even though this is rough on me, I’ll bear with it. Time will sort this out. Being a Muslim and a woman on her own is not going to protect me. I’ll have to do like the prophet Jesus Christ and try to rise up upon this and many other occasions.

‘Time Warp’

This painting was sold by Mondo Arte gallery in Dubai.

I was listening to a program on the radio in Florence when there was a programme called ‘Time Warp’. I like this painting a lot. In a black and white world, there is not much space for the greys.

‘Time Warp’ is about our psychological time; not the time that flows in the ticking clock, but the one which derives from our consciousness and experiences. That’s why, for some people, time stops at a certain event or age, for others, time is a cycle which is always returning, whereas for others it goes in a straight line ahead. I’m thinking about how time is a flow of our personal feelings; a map with roads and lanes and landmarks.

Pulsar Watercolour, 1989

The reason why I did cosmic paintings was because I’ve always been a starry eyed teenager, and I am really impressed with astronomers who search out the Milky Way and that sort of thing. I mean, I wish that had been me. I am sure that I would have been a different, better person if I were involved in astrophysics. However, I can only afford to dream and this painting just leaped out of my imagination. 

The first one of such cosmic types was the one that I started to do in Pakistan whilst I was staying with my aunt in her house in Karachi. Her name is Jahan, which is such a big name, meaning ‘the world’ when translated from Persian. Could it be a coincidence that such big ideas were in my mind then? That watercolours were a rather 1960s type and sort of psychedelic, whereas ‘The Contact’ was an oil painting with a bit of gold leaf. It may be a metaphor for myself as an individual, so far away from people whilst in the midst of the crowd. That is how I have always felt. And now I think this ‘Contact’ business is really not about aliens, but about people who are alienated and finally find a relationship, which makes life worthwhile the living. I suppose some call it love with the big L.

Cosmic Stations  Watercolour, 1999

I remember watching some movies with Robin and Sarina in 1993. I was so proud of being friends with Robin who was socially in a higher league than me, being an English Language teacher at the university. We could talk about politics and ideas, rather than the day-to day things. I don’t know if I saw this movie with her or not. But, she was a planet and we had made contact. For a while there had been communication and that was good.

The Koranic verse here translates into a rational view of the creation of the Universe, but in a personal sense the universal creation is also a sort of communication… by God to the individual. ‘The Contact’ is from Surat al Anbia v.30 and it says, “Do not the rejecters of faith know that the galaxies and the earth were all one single mass and we blasted them apart?” It gives me such deep emotion that here the creator is saying, “I did this”. He takes possession of his role and says, “If you didn’t realise this before, then I’m telling you NOW, I created the galaxies and I’m the mastermind of all that you know and don’t know”.

It continues: “Then we caused rain to fall and give life to earth…we made every living thing out of water; will they not believe in Allah?” 

I interpret this line as a dialogue between God and man i.e., the individual {someone like the Prophet Abrham asks God the Mastermind: ‘How did you create the universe?’

And God in his benevolence responds: ‘I created the

Universe and I did it like this’

It continues by explaining the process of creation:

God the supreme Architect and Engineer says: ‘I created the universe… and I caused the rain to fall on earth so that living creatures could thrive’.

In a way we are being told that everything has a reason for which is exists in the process of creation and existence.

Back to the Centre Watercolour, 1980

My deep belief and faith in the creator is expressed here in the painting. Perhaps in a moment of real inspiration and contact with the divine, I want to say, “I’ve been blessed and I have seen the light – in a mystical experience”.

I have finally seen God the creator through his work.

3. Sarajevo

The Bosnian War was especially important to me because, as a Muslim who had lived in Europe for thirty years, I felt that the bridge that I believed in, was being rubbed out of history. The Arabs and the Islamic culture were totally made unacceptable. 

‘The Painting Called Sarajevo’

Robin was a teacher of English and the University. She was an assistant who had been working as a teacher for many years. She’d married an Italian, a Florentine electricity technician. Having renovated a house together, they were now at a stage where they were getting a divorce. I met her at this stage. She was a friend who came to Steve’s house. 

In fact, I remember walking down the street in Via del Cerretani one evening and I heard my name being called by someone who was running behind me, rather desperately, to catch up with me. I was surprised and a bit flattered that anyone should do that for insignificant me. That’s how I remember me and Robin becoming friends. She had come to my graduation party at Via delle Cinque Giornate, together with Sarina, Steve and Jeff. They also came to the exhibition I had at the women’s library. It was Guido’s last days with me and it was so unfair because he had been the one to help me through university and now I had this bunch of new friends.

Robin was intellectually stimulating and we were both interested in politics and what was happening in Bosnia. Especially those concentration camps where Muslim women were taken and impregnated by Serbian men in order to hurt the Muslim pride in general.

It was a Karadich tactic of psychological warfare put to use in this war. The things we use to read in the papers were probably a fraction of what the real situation was. 

What can one do about the superficial world of glossy magazines, writing about women’s clothes and sexuality but not about such real things that were about women being treated as less than human?

Sarajevo was really a big issue for me, so I painted pictures about it. But later on I regretted doing that because it was pretty useless me doing that. I suppose it was a way of saying, “I was here and I saw this happen”. As if a handful of Jews protesting against the Holocaust as it was happening, would make any difference. 

Robin joined me in writing this letter to the editors of these magazines, reminding them about what was happening to these women and asking them about their intentions with regards to giving their public some information about what was happening.

I suppose what is the real issue is that every one of us would like to live a life as far from problems as possible.

Hadn’t I and my family always avoided political subjects during the Shah’s time? We only wanted to get on with our little lives. We, none of us took part in the revolution – we weren’t leftist and we weren’t religious. A lot of people just want to get on with their lives and solve their problems as best as they can, because after all, life is so short.

‘A Letter from Sarajevo’

This Serbian man who I knew because he was into the cultural scene and liked to watch arty films like the rest of us – he was a sensitive soul who suffered for the political situation in the Balkans, and he was getting into a depressed state of mind which eventually made him psychologically ill. You saw him around town, drinking himself into oblivion. He was one of the ones who didn’t survive in the game of the survival of the fittest… whoever survives, because that’s reality. 

From the Holy Koran

The Chapter Al Noor (meaning Light) v.35 , 36

“God is the light of the heavens and the earth, his light is like this: there is a niche, and in it a lamp, the lamp inside a glass, a glass like a glittering star, fuelled from a blessed

olive tree from neither east or west, whose oil almost gives

light even when no fire touches it – light upon light- God guides whoever he will to his light; God draws such

comparisons for people; god has full knowledge of

everything”

Italy: Marina, Sylvia and Lucia 2004/5

Viareggio

Marina and Sylvia

In the fall of 1998 I moved to via fiesolana studio and my dream of working as an artisan had come true. One of my prayers was that I would be able to earn enough money by being self-employed as an artisan, so that I could keep my prayers and work at the same time. I met Susan through the exhibition I had had in August and she had told me about Silvia. I imagined that the connection between Susan and Sylvia was in the days when they were in their 20’s. They had shared the zeitgeist of the 60’s. Sylvia had rebelled against her wealthy conservative family rules and had married a Columbian architect who wasn’t well off. She had married for love and had worked as a teacher in order to contribute to the household expenses. When I first met Sylvia it was in the late 80’s. She was living in via dei bardi in an apartment on the ground floor. 

Buildings by the seaside – Oil Painting 2007

The rooms faced a garden full of tall trees. In the summer of 1998 Susan had told me about the place but I hadn’t made the connection in my mind. I had met the same person Susan was talking about. 

She was talking about the woman with the big house in viareggio and the apartment in Florence. I had been looking for a room to take on rent in an apartment years ago, because the responsibilities of having to run an apartment and study had been too much. I had seen her adverts (Sylvia) at the British institute library and had gone to see her place after calling her on the phone. I myself had been renting the rooms in my apartment for many years now. I wanted to change my life.

Sylvia had two grey cats who had a whole garden to live in, and I was wondering if I could take my cat to live with me. My pets Mooshie and her daughter were sharing my life and I could understand that Sylvia would not approve of cats in her place. The problem with having pets is that other people usually don’t want them around. 

Watercolour 2003

There was a romantic wooden shed in the middle of the garden at Sylvia’s house in the middle of the trees. It was being rented out and it looked like a little house in a fairy book. For one minute I thought that I could even bring my pets with me, but it didn’t seem very practical. I had been looking for a really normal home. 

It had been pleasant chatting to Sylvia in her dream home and I left her thinking that she was a special person. I didn’t see her again for many years to come.

Susan’s description of Sylvia and her children didn’t give me any clue as to who she was talking about. My house hunting had made me visit many homes. Susan to have had the same sort of problem. 

People who don’t have money to buy their own homes often know about other peoples’ houses just because they need to have a roof over their head. Susan had found a place in the mountain community and I had stayed in my apartment for many years. It was always nice to live in the centre of town and marina happened to be my neighbour living in the next street. We had been neighbours since 1984 when we started university. She had a little car, a fiat and she was employed as a full time secretary. I had seen her drive that car for many years, in fact she had had it right at the start of our meeting, now she had become a very competent driver and it was fun to be in her car and driving to the unknown situation ahead of us.(In 2005 we went to visit Syliva in Viareggio) 

The Underwater Seascape

Oil on canvas 2008

I had been told by Susan that I should call Sylvia and ask her about her about work as an assistant in her viareggio house come bed and breakfast. Now I was going to Sylvia’s place together with marina, I was taking her along with me to meet Sylvia; it was like a little adventure. 

I remembered the first time I had invited marina to my apartment, she had come along with her friend Angela and I had wondered why she had had to bring someone along with her. Now I saw that going somewhere with a friend is always comforting, because one has morale support. Some of my friends that drove had told me that they didn’t like driving on the motorway, but marina was chatting about everything under the sun as she drove and that made me believe in girl power. I was proud of being with her because she was always so together and cool headed and balanced about everything. 

Seaside House – Mixed Media 1997

We enjoyed each other’s company and we had so much to talk about. Later on when we had met Sylvia and Lucia I was also grateful that she had come with me. After via fiesolana I had moved into a first floor in the countryside around the city of Pietra Santa. It was a long walk away from the train station, and one could hear the trains going on the hour. I had rented it because of the garden and because my pets could wonder about. I had taken marina to see this country house because since she’d known me, I had been living in Florence and now I was out of the city and living by the seaside. 

It had been predictable that I would leave Florence because I wasn’t really upwardly mobile. I hadn’t found a steady job, Guido had left me and gone off with a Philippine girl called Amor and all I had left was my pretensions to art. 

Marina had picked up studying for her university degree at 25, just like myself. She had come back to Italy from Germany where she had worked as a secretary in a well-paid job. She had decided to come back to Italy after having grown up into the German school system and she had a clear-sighted view and a plan about the things she wanted. She never talked about these out loud, but her passion and perseverance at keeping a job and studying for a University degree at the same time, were really admirable. She never complained about how hard it was to get through the day and always had time for everybody. 

Cruising In The Countryside – Watercolour 2001

Her brother Antonio was in the police force and she would talk about his different girlfriends because he was an eligible bachelor. They had bought a house in the suburbs of Florence, he was staying at the ground floor and she was staying on the first floor. 

Marina was practical and down to earth and I don’t know how she managed not to harden up into a tough career girl, with all the things she managed to do. She never got out of being a nice family girl and a loving sister and daughter.

That Sunday in autumn the sun was shining down on us, it was 11.o.clock in the morning and a pretty chilly day. The place id rented in the countryside wasn’t very promising at all. There had been strange going-ons at night and the cats were behaving very much out of character. I suppose the owners who lived on the first floor thought I wasn’t very normal myself. From their point of view I was a foreigner who had bought in cats with her and a middle aged woman on her own. 

Marina instead had her brother and fiancée around her, she seemed to be well protected and well adjusted. She was amused by my eccentricity I suppose that was why she still kept in touch. We looked into my place in the country and later headed out to Sylvia’s place by the seaside. 

Swimming With The Dolphins – Oil painting 1988

The villa was just a little walking distance from the beach, you only needed to cross the road to get there. I found out later that the views from the window were magnificent and exciting, because the waves were rolling right in front of you.  We got to Sylvia’s place about noon when the sun had warmed up the front hall by pouring in through the large French windows. Sylvia and Lucia were there to receive us. Marina was a great conversationalist and I found out that there was so much that I’d never known about her. The interaction between these 3 Italian women was interesting because they had all such a rich amount of memories, experiences and tenacity, which was much different from what I had found in other people. 

View of the piazza signoria from the window Watercolour 2003

Marina was Pugliese and from manfredonia the area where Padre Pio had spent most his life. All catholics have great faith and respect for this saintly man. His life and works especially his stigmata’s were extraordinary and his life was impressive. Marina and Sylvia, who were both believing Catholics, were talking about Padre Pio. 

Sylvia was speaking a lot about different things, which showed she was well read and interested in the world. I was meeting Lucia for the first time in my life and the thing that was extraordinary about her was her simplicity and intelligence in speech, she was in her twenties and was about to drop out of university because she had to work for a living.  She was waitressing. She hadn’t been able to finish university because it was impossible to study and work at the same time. It requires a lot of concentration to focus on books and exams. I could relate to what she was going through. Lucia had gone through various exams but now seemed confused about what she wanted out of life. 

One losses strength, when there isn’t enough support from family and friends, I knew all about that sort of thing and I felt sympathetic. She seemed not to have anyone who encouraged her to get a degree.

It seemed such a miracle that I managed to pull through University after all those years, what with the Iran Iraq war and little funds from home, I felt I knew very well how hard it was for her to study and work at the same time. Especially with a humanities degree, much of the courses at the university were for people who had time and money to continue studying. Journalism or teaching, were only possible after you had spent some years at private schools. I had seen my wealthier colleagues do that. They were the ones that then went on to professions.

In The Library – Oil Painting 2007

Momenti Brillanti

Oil on canvas 1990

I got lucky because even though I was very confused about how a thesis was written I had been introduced to Patrizia by an Australian professor at uni, and she helped me by lending me her computer and by giving me good advice. Incredibly enough just as I handed in my thesis the university fees for the next bunch of graduates went from a few 100,000 old lire to a million old lire. It would have been impossible for me to pay another session at uni never mind this incredible high amount.

As Lucia was talking about her own experience, I knew perfectly well that for a woman her age the costs were an obstacle. I had known other people who had been passionate about getting through their studies. 

Such people had no time for niceties and pretences and Lucia was one of those people. She was a typical Italian girl jet-black hair and dark features were set upon very white skin and she had a striking beauty spot on her chin under her lips. She was what they called a truly archaic woman because she wasn’t really pretty but she grew on you. 

We had talked about so many things the 4 of us it was astonishing to find that the hours had flown by and we had hardly said all that we wanted to say. I realised that after many years of solitude I was back in a world where there were people who were interesting. I loved Sylvia’s house, which reminded me of a similar place in Karachi. 

The Sitting Room – Watercolour 2006

Seven bricks it was called and was owned by mother’s second cousins a big old house where some generations had lived, memories filling up each and every corner. I felt that there was the spirit of the house by the sea, which would be positive. We had been sitting in a huge hall with very high ceilings over 4 metres with very tall windows with lots of light pouring in, the autumn skies were darkening as we left the place. 

This front hall was probably the place where lots of people had had their romantic meetings, in fact I found out later that the buildings had been a hotel in the 20s and 30s and that Sylvia mother had lived there all her married life.

Casa a Pietra Santa

Watercolour 2003

Later on, this ninety year old lady told us stories about her life in viareggio whilst we were sitting around the dinner table, especially episodes that had happened during the second world war. One of the stories was about how she had to pass through a checkpoint where the German solders checked everyone who was entering Florence. She had her very blonde blue-eyed baby son who they thought was a German boy because he looked especially different and that is why she got through the checkpoint. They had asked her if his father was German and she had playfully said yes just to get through. 

The moral of this story she said, was that one had to go with the situation. 

I sat with the old lady when Lucia couldn’t sit with her and looked after her at times but my stay at the villa began on a Sunday. I had gone out to look for a place to rent closer to Viareggio. 

I was staying at Pietra Santa but it was cold and inhospitable. I felt that there were people there who were watching me closely. 

Buildings by the seaside (triptic)

Oil on canvas 2008

In a sense Eric, Sarina’s boyfriend was right about Pietra Santa. It was a place for rich artists and if you didn’t do sculptures, people couldn’t really accept you. Maybe I was just too old and I couldn’t pretend to be an aspiring artist anymore. I still sold my cards in a shop on the main piazza in the city but I found it difficult to get into the life. 

Once I saw some very handsome Senegalese people, men and women in their national costumes coming in and out of a house just next to the main piazza. They seemed to be very happy and I was surprised that they didn’t have any problems being black in an area that was very conservative. 

Houses in the country

Oil on canvas 2008

Eric had such a lot of good things to say about Pietra Santa because he was a rich American type. He probably didn’t get followed or watched at all. I was used to having this phenomenon in my life ever since I had moved to via fiesolana. Something was going on. Sylvana the gallerist in Borgo Pinti said that a lot of different groups of people were observing me even though I wasn’t political at all. 

I had come out of Pietra Santa thinking that I would speak to Sylvia and see what she would say about me joining her staff for the winter. I knew that she preferred to keep s South American people because she knew them well and they were flexible and good tempered. I had been followed by a group of people all that day. I had been walking down the beach road trying to phone up housing agencies and asking them about cheap rent for the winter. 

The Kitchen

Oil on canvas 2008

Sylvia, wasn’t to be seen anywhere and as I waited there behind the big front window I watched Jacopo Sylvia’s son. He was wearing a black jumper and pants sitting on the sofa with an afro American girl deep in conversation. I hadn’t seen Jacopo but I had heard his name mentioned a lot. You could tell that he had South American genes because he looked the type. He had a lot of dark thick black hair falling across his forehead and his features were peaceful. Their conversation made me think that he was a smooth and sophisticated type of person. 

Dialogue No. 1

Watercolour 1992

However my first impression of Jacopo would prove to be very wrong because, he had had many things which had darkened his life and he was far from being at peace with himself and the world. I would come to know these peoples stories later on and the reality would unfold itself but in this magic moment he would seem a “normal” man sitting with a “normal” girl; i.e. people who had no problems where as I was the one outside the door knocking and asking if I could be taken in for the night. 

It was very hard to ask for Sylvia’s help but as I knocked and introduced myself, they called her to come to the door. She had been in the kitchen and came to greet me much surprised because we had only met once and now, I was introducing myself as her friend. I asked her straight if I could stay the night or did I even ask? That I can’t remember because she led me away to a room upstairs and put me up for the night without a question or a word. 

Later on, she sent her young Chilean assistant Jose Miguel with some food up to my room. I couldn’t believe it. This was a moment of need and I was very grateful to have found refuge in a safe place. 

 

The Refuge

Mixed media 1987

I wished that I could have done the same for other people but I don’t think that I would ever have the strength or the faith to do so. It was a relief to have solved my bed situation for the night and I went out again after dinner to buy a toothbrush hoping that I would find a pharmacy open in the area. Of course it was useless to think that anything else but bars and nightclubs would be open on a Sunday evening.

Next morning I woke up to the lively cries of the ducks and geese on the riverbanks next to the house, I had always noticed them on my walks but on this particular morning I woke up to hear them sing; it was as if they sang the praise to the creator. 

It was a bright fresh morning to me because I had received this kindness from a friendly soul and the beauty of the place made life worth the living. There were rooms, which Sylvia showed me later, which had windows that opened right over the sea. Breath taking views to wake up with, it made all the difference. 

 

Boat out on the sea on a windy night

Watercolour collage 2008

Even though the building itself needed to be repaired it was still a grand old place. Its majestic marble staircase leading up to the first floor was really spectacular but the front halls that received the sun made it a happy joyful and a unique place.

However you realise it isn’t the place that is the most important thing, it is the spirit of the people and how good they are that matters most. I had left Via Fiesolana city bustle and I was grateful for that. I had moved on with much difficulty and now again I was looking for my future in viareggio. My mother and brother had given me hopes that they would have liked to buy property in and around Florence but they never got around to actually doing it. They held the purse strings and they weren’t really bothered by my problems abroad. 

 

The Old City

Watercolour 2002

They were thinking that they wouldn’t mind me going back to live in Tehran with them. They had dropped the idea of buying a place and didn’t want me to stay on. My father however thought that I should settle down in the adopted country after having lived there for so many years. 

I have reached the conclusion that if that one doesn’t innovate then life itself makes the necessary changes for you. One has to make an effort to make positive changes, beneficial ones and all this requires courage to begin with, strength to continue the task and purpose to bring it all together. That is the ideal, however I didn’t do too well in bringing it all together at all. I am sure that the only reason they were not making any more moves towards buying a place was because of fear. The fear of the unknown 

 

The Metropolis

Watercolour Collage 2008

Sylvia’s way of life made me question my own decisions. I think, it was the Christian morality of giving hospitality that played a part in her accepting to take me on in her household. It was now winter and I needed a place because I couldn’t pay more rent where I was staying. I called Lucia and had invited her to come to my place in Pietra Santa. I was thinking that perhaps I could do some waitressing like she did or some other work in order to earn money. But my heart was in the white villa on the beach and I asked Lucia to ask Sylvia if I could stay with them at her house. There was no heating in the rooms upstairs in the winter months. So eventually, I went to stay where everyone else was staying and my pets stayed downstairs in the garden. Lucia, Pascal and Teresa had rooms as well and I was given a room next to them. My stay at the villa began in the autumn of 2004. 

 

The bedroom view

Watercolour 2008

Sylvia ran the place as if it was her own family or community of people and certain rituals like dinner had been set. That was when people gathered around the big dining table next to the kitchen. Mrs Pardini Sylvia’s mother who was 94 years old stood in the kitchen and helped the cook make dinner for people. Actually one of the girls had the set task of preparing the meal for everybody but grandma did help out on the kitchen in whatever way she could. She worked as an assistant cook, Sylvia thought that by keeping her mother occupied, the old lady would get some exercise and lead a healthier life and she enjoyed being around other people,

I had been given the task of watering plants but after

having done that I didn’t know what to do so I did nothing and went for walks on the beach. No one in the house seemed to enjoy the beach. I found that these walks were a treasure which I had missed out on for many years. Living in Florence, wasn’t like living away from nature because the countryside was only minutes away. But one got tangled up in the everyday chores and didn’t make the effort of going out and seeking nature. Now I had the possibility to be with the sea breezes and the fresh air and the sound of the waves. I felt guilty about the times I had spent watching TV and I pitied my parents and people like them who had the TV on all the time. I am sure that they spent half their life in front of the telly like that. 

 

The Sitting Room

Oil on canvas 2008

That is the way a lot of people live today in the world. It has probably something to do with enjoying a passive state of mind, you just let go and accept whatever is given to you without any effort. 

Nobody in the white villa watched TV that much, but people stayed indoors a lot. Even on the very best days they couldn’t be persuaded to go out for a walk on the spur of the moment. I think that everyone worried a lot, thinking their lives and problems wouldn’t work out. 

 

The Studio – 1998

However worrying and anxiety never makes things better. I had stayed cooped up in the room of my apartment for years because I had to get through exams and university, and once that was done it was the same happening again in via Fiesolana because I had to make a living. I had spent so much of my life in doors that I almost felt a guilty pleasure when I did go out for walks (as if it was a privilege that I enjoyed without permission from the adults!). 

It’s funny how one feels that one doesn’t deserve to be happy and it follows that you want to give yourself a hard time just to fit in and please everybody else. 

 

The Studio Entrance

In fact in the moment of happiness there is a thought that ups itself and says, what about all the unhappiness of humanity (just looking at the daily newspaper is enough to participate in all the known problems and ignore the ones that we don’t know about). 

We are always trying to control life but one way or the other sooner or later we find out that one can only make an effort in the right direction and hope for the best. 

 

The Rough Seas – Acrylic on Canvas 1985

Like a small boat on the ocean we try to find the shore and if we are lucky, and God willing, we may find the island of happiness. 

Happiness was what a lot of people were after, and one of these was Sylvia’s son Jacobo. He said often that he didn’t want to suffer, he wanted to be normal like everybody else but he hadn’t found himself yet. 

 

Metropolis

Watercolour collage 2008

When I met Jacobo he was 35 years old; he reminded me of a darker shade of a young Roman Polanski, but he wasn’t an ambitious boy at all. He had lost his way on his way to school when he was 16 and had been trying to come back home ever since.

I was working as his nurse/companion during that Christmas of 2004/05 because his girlfriend had gone home to

Mexico. He was lost without someone to take care of him and I knew that I couldn’t replace her warmth and affection. They sat next to each other like two kittens, the body language said we just want to be hanging out together. 

 

The Computer Room – Oil Painting 2007

She wasn’t a pretty woman, but she seemed caring and he was a vulnerable young man who needed to lean on a companion. Rosa Elena was her name and she had a laptop and was managing to swim with the tide while Jacobo was struggling to keep afloat. He had stepped into the parlour of the “dealer” when he was a teenager in order to feel grown up. 

He had talked about himself over lunch one day saying that when the dealers approached him he had felt powerful, as if he had found his place in society; becoming a man amongst men. Later on though when he was into the game, he had been frightened; but then it had been too late to turn back. I was wondering why I had never been attracted to drugs myself. I had been curious about them, and I had even read Aldous Huxleys book about tripping experiences but I didn’t really feel that I wanted to have them in my life. 

 

The Confused Couple – Oil on canvas 2008

When after years of struggle I came back home to my parents, my mother asked me “why didn’t you become a drug addict like everyone else?” as if it was the only thing one could bring back home form the big wide world. I was astounded by the low opinion she had of me. All my life I had tried to get an education and aspired towards creativity and self-expression. Those highbrow things that can frustrate a young person and make you think that you will never make anything out of your life. I think what seriously saved me from falling into depression well and truly were my pets Mooshie and Mooshina who were nature’s examples of how fun life can be once you have a roof over your head and enough to eat. They taught me how to be contented with little and to find a lot of love and joy in their playful company. 

 

Mooshi and Mooshina 1984 to 2001

As far as work was concerned, Sylvia had told me to water the plants but it didn’t make sense to water them through the winter I did clean the rooms downstairs and chores like cutting the wood, or bringing in the washing. 

At dinner we used to sit around the big dinner table beside the kitchen. Sylvia liked everybody in the house to be sitting around the big table at dinner. D the cook was the one who looked after Sylvia’s mother in those months and she took her out for walks to the coffee shop during the day. It’s funny how I had seen a man walking outside the villa the first night I stayed there and he seemed to be a living copy of this girl in his features only that he was taller. This stranger had looked at me in an inexplicable way as if to say, “you got in after all our efforts to make you desist”! 

 

The kitchen table

Water colour 2009

The good food which old Mrs Pardini and the cook made, went to waste because of the hot tempers of the recipients. Almost immediately the dinner table talks proved to be stressful and aggressive. Tension came from unexpected parts! I never imagined such problems at the dining table. I felt it was so unnecessary to be unpleasant in a gorgeous house like that which came with a hospitable Sylvia as the owner. However people are so full of anxiety as a rule that if there is no control through rational thought they can easily become unbearable and mean in the most beautiful and comfortable situations. 

D the cook kept her mouth shut and worked hard most of the time. She was a nice girl, into sports and I thought of her to be so distant from me in every way. She was on good terms with all the other young people and wouldn’t get involved in the politics of the house. 

 

The Mermaids

Watercolour 2007

Pascal was Sylvia’s best friend and much cherished by her during those days, because even though he had been involved in drugs he was coming out of it through his own efforts.

Sylvia paid him a lot of attention, somehow it felt as if she was trying to help Pascal in order to make amends for what had happened to her own son. 

Jacobo was not at all well. He was so unlike the man I saw that night sitting with Louise. I came to know that Louise was his American friend. She had been through the same problem but had somehow come through. But Jacobo was pretty fargone, deteriorated. I felt for him because he was very silent as if he had gone through a lot of hardship and no one else could help him anymore. He told me that his right arm was not working at all because of some accident which had happened some years ago. 

But, Sylvia used to hope that her boy would take up a job as a driver someday, driving with only one hand. She expressed those ideas once and I thought how extraordinary, she thinks that men are good for driving cars and that is what most of them do for a living now a days! Why hadn’t I thought of that? 

 

The Rainbow

Oil painting 1995

My own brother had driven a van around LA when he had lived there for some years. Somehow what was wrong with Jacobo was something of a heart issue (I thought). 

Once when Sylvia and some of us were sitting in the garden, Jacobo who was doing some manual work in the garden came along and showed his mother how dusty his jumper was and how it had been made dirty by the work. I thought that was a clue to what the problem was. Jacobo was still a child in a way, he hadn’t really matured at all. One spoke to Pascal and one could see that there was a whole person there and very clear headed too. 

Pascal gave the impression that he was attentive and intelligent. He had a liver problem because of all the drinking and unhealthy drug taking issues. He had survived all of it and spiritually he was a better person for having gone through those experiments. He spoke of it light heartedly as if it wasn't his own experience. He had read about the various drugs and tried them out on himself. He did whatever he did with open eyes and a mature responsible mind. 

 

Equilibrium - Oil on canvas 1988

Jacobo however reminded me of the noble red Indians who were given alcohol in order to make them drunk and keep them from doing better things.

 

Here and Now

Acrylic on canvas 1988

I had heard that drugs were given to young people nowadays to stop them from making too many demands on the controlling forces in society. He was really a small child in comparison to Pascal, even though they were both 35. Jacobo sometimes came to dinner all dopey and it broke everyone’s heart to see him that way. He would sit next to Pascal and his head would hover down on the food, he looked as if he was going to put his head down on the table for a long snooze. It was at one of these dinners that Lucia came to say some bold things about relationships at the table. She said that Sylvia seemed to prefer Pascal to her own son and treated him in a privileged manner. Sylvia was sitting there with Jacobo and Pascal sitting next to her, it was such a strong statement to make. Silence took over the dinner table it was almost a criticism that shook everyone out of their relaxed state of mind. Off came all their bourgeois niceties and high flying dinner talk, Lucia was saying let’s get real!

 

Dreamtime

Mixed media 1989

I was wondering what Lucia expected from an overworked and disappointed mother. I mean how much could she ever support Jacobo without ever getting any signs of improvement from him? Jacobo of course didn’t say anything. I really didn’t realise the depth of this statement until someone shouted at Lucia that she should shut up and get back to the kitchen where she belonged and that she had no right to say such things. 

Pascal didn’t say anything to defend himself, but Sylvia was upset and so was everyone else and everyone started to shout and get angry at each other but mainly at Lucia. Some defended her saying that she was only saying the truth and others disliked her for being disrespectful to Sylvia at her own table. Some tried to calm people down. When everyone started to get back to normal, Lucia was still trying to explain her point of view but saying that she was sorry how she put things and she was sorry about hurting anyone’s feelings. 

 

Dialogue No. 2

Watercolour 1986

I had seen with my friend Marina, that female’s loyalties of people in the south of Italy always supported the men of the family at all costs. Marina would defend (her then boyfriend) Carlo totally and irrationally. I suppose that Lucia had expected total loyalty from Sylvia. However people in Tuscany aren’t so family orientated as people in the south, I think their loyalties are for what they call “to reason” i.e. ragionare. It is very clear that Sylvia was a social individual who didn’t want to have to answer for her son who hadn’t turned out as she had expected, and at times all her frustrations were poured out on him. There was no one strong enough to give her a helping hand in those moments of weakness. 

 

People in the city

Pen and Ink

Later on after Christmas she found Maria Angelica a young Chilean woman who she had met at church. Maria Angelica was a beautiful girl with long auburn hair and a good figure, she was also a very good-hearted Christian friend. Maria Angelica started to give Sylvia all the friendship she needed to keep Jacobo and Pascal out of trouble. The question is why hadn’t God sent her this angel before. 

 

The Musicians

Oil on canvas 2008

After this dinner of contention Jacobo wasn’t feeling too good about Pascal because, Lucia had voiced the thought which was a seed, an idea which hadn’t occurred to him before. Jacobo knew that Pascal was more sophisticated, but he was confident of his mother’s love especially since she declared that she loved him in front of everybody. Jacobo being a heart person was deeply aware in a quiet way, he wasn’t stupid, he was only unable to express himself properly. Or was it because of all the pressure that he felt and all the demands made on him that he couldn’t cope?

It was in the month before Christmas when Sylvia asked me to stay with Jacobo in her apartment in piazza ciompi as his assistant nurse. 

I was to keep an eye on him through Christmas and the New Year. It was then that I got to know him a bit more and he told me what had happened to him as a young teenager. He said that he had been approached by some people when he was 16/17 and he felt that he could be powerful by hanging out with them. These people sold drugs. He tried to do everything in order to get out of it ever since, but that he suffered a lot and that at 35 he didn’t want to suffer anymore. 

It was strange that I had seen this person in a different light the first time I set eyes on him sitting on the sofa talking to Louise. He revealed himself to have a bundle of problems like everyone else. But, nevertheless he was a good person. I felt that he had been misunderstood many times and hadn’t had the medicine that he had really needed. Sometimes God can send you down exactly what you need and that is what can be achieved if he has accepted your prayers. But Jacobo hadn’t believed in God that much. 

 

It was getting close to Christmas. The day I arrived in Piazza dei Ciompi, I saw that Jacobo could only use one hand. Nevertheless, he had wanted to do the cooking for the both of us. 

After the meal he disappeared and when Sylvia asked me where he was I said he hadn’t come back. She told me to go upstairs and check if he was there (it was as if she knew what would happen). In fact he had gone upstairs with a bottle of wine and had drunk himself to sleep, poor thing, he must have felt very much alone. The next days as I got to know him better I found out that he didn’t intend to spend Christmas with his family and wanted to spend it on his own in Florence. His feelings were well intact and it was surprising to find that he was very oriental in a way that only Asians can understand.

 

Piazzale Michelangelo

Watercolour 1999

Jacobo didn’t like Viareggio at all. It was because they had given him a hard time and he was very law abiding (very adherent and aware of the law). Compared to him I was an anarchist who feared nothing more than having no money in my pocket. 

I had always like Viareggio. As a student Patrizia had bought me to a pizza place right by the seaside and we had stuffed ourselves with pizza together with a bunch of rowdy teenagers. They were on the way home from school. It seemed like the authentic Italian Viareggio life, I mean people lived this life every day, having pizza before going back home. 

 

Without a title

Watercolour 1986

 

San Miniato

Watercolour 2002

We celebrated the Christmas of 2005 at Viareggio in the white villa. When Christmas day came the table was prepared at the big dining halls where I had seen the dinner laid that first night. It was a lovely do even similar to the lunches and dinners that my family have always prepared for relatives and friends in Pakistan and Iran. Prepared with a lot of love and affection. 

Everyone got on well and Jacobo and Pascal were well behaved and good. Jacobo’s Uncle Frederico proved to be very jovial and sociable, he was sort of Irish looking with red hair and beard and wanted everybody to feel at ease. 

 

City View

Watercolour Collage 2002

His wife was a blond laptop owning lady who was looking at the business side of running their hotel and she was always busy with the emails. 

One of their daughters had married a paraplegic, who was very intelligent and very up to date, but he couldn’t move at all, his wife was a beautiful girl. One wondered about these young marriages, the other daughter was expecting with her husband they were both well settled in their life. 

 

One thing that Frederico had said stuck in my mind even today, he said, “my mother in law irons my shirts for me and I am very grateful to her for this bit of affection”. It seemed that she had won him over by doing that chore for him. As a young man Frederico had been to Iran and hadn’t met any girls there and thought that it was very strange. I thought it was strange too, because he must have been there during the Shah’s time when women were more westernised.

 

Dialogue No.3 – Watercolour

He was disappointed about this, but I wanted to tell him that Iranians as a people, are very reserved, especially the women and not very adventurous in their friendships even though they like foreigners and they usually want to practise their English – especially young people. However, men approaching women in Iran is not the done thing. 

Even though in the new post-revolutionary age, it is surprising to see that women are more outgoing and would approach foreigners just to chat to them. 

 

Visiting The Cathedral – Print Watercolour

I felt very ill at ease that Christmas, because I wasn’t really supposed to be there. 

But due to the fact that I had no money, I had ended up in this situation. Had I had my independence I would have probably spent Xmas and new year on my own as I had done in the past. But Sylvia had a way of making an occasion of this Christmas. She put her old 60s vinyl’s on an old gramophone and that’s when she announced that she loved her son very much. She said that while we were sitting around the table and everyone was much surprised. It was like a gift for Jacobo, after months of tension. 

It was good that she did tell him that she loved him dearly, I mean it’s always good for people to reveal their good feelings for each other as much as possible (instead of saying hurtful things). One never knows what happens the next day in life.  In fact, Jacobo didn’t survive the coming year, he passed away in his own bed in the beginning of March, he fell off the bed and went into a coma while everybody was sitting around him and passed away a month after that. Sometimes people recover from a coma but he didn’t. 

 

View From The Kitchen – Watercolour 2002

I don’t know why Sylvia’s house and life reminded me so much of my mother’s second cousins in Karachi. They had this house called seven bricks and they lived as an extended family back in 81.

I had seen that family live together in this big house and it seemed similar to how Italians live when they live together. They have their fights and there misunderstandings but they go on living together nevertheless. That is why people in the Middle East believe that some Italians have Eastern characteristics (because they are sociable and like to eat together). In Italy, eating in company is really important to people and sometimes, eating alone is looked upon as unpleasant. 

Indian and Pakistani weddings and that sense of the family coming together, has a similar attitude of bringing everybody together for a joyful event. Even though things are changing now even in parts of Asia, some people don’t have that much time for each other. 

After the new year lunch and dinner Pascal started to study for his exams in order to get a degree and Sylvia used to help him with his studies. I saw less of Lucia because she worked in a restaurant in Pietra Santa and as a companion of an elderly lady. 

 

Casa a Ventimiglia

Water colour

Once we were all down at the apartment in Florence in Piazza di Chompi and Louise Jacobo’s American friend was there too. That was when she was accused by one of the girls of having taken a shirt from the luggage. It was such an absurd accusation and I was sure that it was done in order to create unnecessary tension. I just couldn’t believe this girl to be so mean. It was as if every once in a while some unpleasant thing had to be created on purpose in order to sweep away all the good feelings of friendship. I saw that happening often in other situations and other countries as well. At this point I defended Louise, because I respected her and thought of her highly. She was an amazingly informed and educated African American woman.

 

Dialogue No.4 (The Enigma) Watercolour 1990

She knew about things, which weren’t about America and were about the rest of the world probably because she had gone to university in Russia. And she wasn’t even Jewish! She reminded me of Condolisa Rice the woman who was Mr Bush Junior right hand woman in government at the time.

Ms Rice’s speaking fluent Russian made me think that there were people who had followed in her footsteps and Louise was probably one of them. I will always remember the story of how Ms Rice had stood in the doorway to a merry Mr Yelstin who had had a glass too many (as far as I remember the anecdote I had read in the newspaper) she had spoken to him in Russian! I thought that was very impressive.  

 

The Uffizzi Watercolour 2002

Sometimes Lucia was very busy and she couldn’t sit with old Mrs Pandini Sylvia’s mother, she would ask me to sit with her and I would do that on Sundays. 

Sylvia’s mother was very fond of Sylvia and always said that she would defend her daughter whole-heartedly and wouldn’t allow anyone to speak badly of her. 

She had been a young girl in the late 1800’s when women use to wear big hats with flowers on them, and long romantic skirts with frilly starched tops. The type of thing that you see in films but she had pictures of herself with other girls dressed that way and she said that they were people that worked at their lace and embroidery producing factory.

Her parents who were Florentines had been pretty wealthy because of the factory; I loved to listen to the stories of how it used to be and how she had met her husband and how she had married. But more than anything I’ll remember her for what she said after each meal, “Anche oggi si e mangiato”! which intends to say, “even today we have eaten a meal”. Having lived through the war, I think she appreciated the fact that not everyone can procure the satisfying and tasty meals of the day and that is why one should be grateful for having the good wholesome meals served to us every day.

 

Without a title Water colour 1987

 

The Painting Ekstasis:

This picture came to represent my seeing the world in its smaller components; how everything is always organically and precisely mixing and mingling and changing from one thing to another in nature according to a plan.

This is a water picture, one about the two seas not mixing together.

It was Nadia who told me about the Koranic verse that and says that the sea waters are salty and fresh, but that they never mix with the currents of the freshwater that run in to the seas as if they were rivers running on land. Thanks to the mastermind who has had these systems run the world since time immemorial. 

AL RAHMAN, Chap 55, v.19, 20.

“He sent the two waters that meet each other and between them there is a barrier which is not contaminated by fresh nor salt water, pearls and coral are extracted from both waters.”

Al Rahman is the name of a chapter of the sacred Koran and means ‘The Benevolent Creator’. It is a chapter which speaks about all of God’s creations and the extraordinary things and the phenomena we find in nature; it asks the reader ‘which one of these things can you negate?’

Had heard about the rivers flowing in the seas in some of the Jacques Cousteau films about the earth’s waters. The concept of having rivers flowing in the oceans waters is still mind boggling. In this chapter in the sacred book in talks about the salty and the sweet waters which can never mix even when they are existing side by side in the seas and the oceans.

J’allais me donner picture

 

I like this painting very much, because of the balance I find it in. It is just right.

I was friends with Francesca and I think that’s where I got the poem from – J’allais me donner. One day, I was at her house and she started reading T.S. Eliot’s poem for me, ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’, which starts with:

Let us go then you and I

When the evening is spread out against the sky…

It has this tired air of dragging one’s drunken feet on the pavement, and then every once and a while it says:

In the room the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo.

Eliot’s poem is so much of our experience, I mean me and Francesca’s. We had a feeling for the literature we were studying, especially Francesca who was truly a creative person. I found this poem in some book belonging to Francesca; she was giving me her deep feelings for Eliot’s poems by reading out the love song poem to me.

It was such a gift of togetherness, but like all love and all good things, one knows that the apex is reached and then, one has to get back to reality. That’s what ‘J’allais me donner’ means for me, especially concerning love. Worldly love and attachments are destined to fly away, as William Blake’s poem says:

‘He who kisses the joy as it flies

lives in eternity’s sunrise’

‘J’allais me donner’ is the poem that was fitting to write on this image. It was even the expression of my feelings for Philippe, meaning that I had to let it go. He was never going to be mine and I was never allowed to be by his side, even as a friend. 

However, God did allow me to have a cat named Mooshie and to whom I use to give all my love, because she was always there and tolerated my ups and downs, a true friend who was always there for me. The only thing she couldn’t do was to provide me with groceries – and, I suppose, children. But even this little beloved creature was not mine, and one day we would have to part.

The poem ‘J’allais me donner’ was a prophecy about the future. Now in 2009, the fascists are in our lives, controlling our human relationships, and we have to pay ransom for everything, except for the breath we take, and this is what the poem was about;

‘I was going to tell you that I loved you

but I realised that I didn’t belong to myself’

Which is exactly what has happened ever since the year 2000 or thereabouts. Possibly, it was with breaking down of the Berlin wall that this Stasi type of control has overtaken the world. This system of hate goes directly against the JudeoChristian idea of love and fraternity, and it considers money as the only God that we have to answer to. Therefore it creates deep ditches around the individuals who don’t obey its orders. My brother, before his death, told me that he felt as if he had been thrown into a deep well and couldn’t get out of it, his voice weak, as if he were really at the bottom of the well.

Psychological pressures on him and other people.

‘Il Flusso Organico’, 1990

 

‘The Organic Flow’

I was thinking of ‘Ophelia’, the picture painted by a PreRaphaelite painter.

I really love the romanticism of the character of Ophelia. However, Ophelia was a person who didn’t fight in order to win. She wasn’t thought to fight for things. She was a receiver, as most women are taught to be. Sometimes, I think that is a middle class attitude. You complacently wait for things to be given to you. But really speaking, Ophelia wasn’t intelligent enough or experienced in the ways of life – she didn’t even have a good friend to help her out. On top of it, she had a father who was a prohibiting moralist and was a negative influence in her life. As a woman, Ophelia wasn’t a fortunate woman. Sometimes in the difficult project of ‘husband chasing’, girls get lucky and have the assistance they need from their mother, an elder sister or a friendly soul. One can’t help thinking that had Ophelia known how to humour Hamlet, she might have saved him as well as her father and brother. She could have saved everybody had she been a ‘bad’ girl. As a more experienced and cunning and materialistic woman would have grabbed Hamlet the prince as a prize and she wouldn’t have allowed him to get lost in his fantasises of revenge. How useless and negative Hamlet is as a personality. He takes the life of many innocent people and cultivates hate. So it is hate upon hate that we see on the stage. He tries to put things right and says that things shouldn’t have happened the way they did. But really speaking, his interfering only brings darkness. I suppose what Shakespeare was really saying was that one bad deed brings with it a trail of other bad deeds. Opposite to this, we can see that one intelligent capable person who can save the peace at all costs may bring better times for himself and others around him. The organic flow is life itself – trickling and flowing water always finds a way. It is invincible and has no need for principles… It is a law unto its own. The laws which are inherent in nature, even if nature isn’t kind, it automatically does what is supposed to do, showed a pretty girl who had drowned herself having suffered a broken heart. My painting is the before and the after scene. Ophelia disappears – only the flowing of the river remains and the plants that grow.

It is important that individuals are able to overcome the difficult moments of life and continue living the best life they can. It is the message that we get from Shakespeare; having the strength to continue even if life is getting us down, is the best policy and while we are trying to live our best life, helping others to live their lives as well as they can. 

Having a correct attitude – the attitude of water which is life giving in its mere existence.

Virus Invading Bacteria, Wednesday 28^th October 2009

 

The viruses and the bacteria is a painting which was inspired by my studies of biology in London in 1980.

I was very impressed with the way the virus could inject their DNA into the body of a bacteria. In order to reproduce itself, a virus would use the body of the bacteria as a resource and in a short while, its DNA would turn into many. Then lots of little viruses would burst out of the empty shell of the bacteria. What would remain of the bacteria would be only the shell. Today I realise that the Maoist policy probably derives from scientific research. It seems that ‘The Entity’ will manage to take over the world by simply following what the virus does to the bacteria.

Is there anyone to study these political events in the light of this theory?

I feel it upon my life, and even though the invasion is being carried out very subtly and seemingly effortlessly in the Middle East, the fact that The Entity would never allow a Manfazar Alzeid – the Iraqi, who threw his shoes at President Bush – type to survive his freedom of speech and become a hero. That is what makes me fear this silent takeover by ‘The Stasi Entity’. Some call it the Mongols conquering the rest of the world a second time around. But on the other hand, the wars of the white imperialists in the region are bitter and relentless. A war for resources has brought the West & its allies into lands whose people and mentality is well known to the Chinese who are Asians and are rather liked and respected by other populations of Asia. How can they ever be kept out of the race for resources by the ex-colonial powers who have also played the part of white racists who looked down at the people they conquered?

Uncle and Aunt

 

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, 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.

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

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 Nadar 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 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.

  

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.

  

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 Alevels 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 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 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.

 

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 2^nd wife, but I know it happens all the time… I mean divorces and other relationships happen all the 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 1^st 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

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, slaves, gypsies and homosexuals as well. He would drone 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, The Slavic race.

 

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 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, is the Protestantism was more understandable, and it 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.

 

The Blue Apartment in 1997

Having said that, accepting this reality also made people in the Middle East looks 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 Robin who was American, and Sarina who was Australian. Robin 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.

That summer, I had been painting my apartment blue.

 

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, Mr F, 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 upmost nonchalance. ‘Entente

Cordial’ is the name.

 

‘Entente cordial, (or Goodbye to Palestine)’ Watercolour, 1988

Robin 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 Subacquea’. Of course I showed it to her with 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 Subacques 1

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 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.

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. The servants at home in India had mistreated him as a child.

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 paid him undue attention as a child. 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 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 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.