Each time I fall in love I think of Jacques Lacan and his famous sentence “What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe? 

Then I instantly remind myself that I’m entering in to my darkness and there is nothing to do with my lovers but for the sun is setting and Culver City is getting dark. I learned the sun set in southern California is my crucial enemy. I still remember when I moved to California I was crying by each sunset, funny ha?!. Every time I think deeply and each time I’m honest with myself I found that I’ve devoted lifetime making you satisfied for I always give you more than what I get. That Tuesday I texted you to come and change the wall and the line that you have used for your installation, I argued along the negative space and some curatorial decision making. You said that you knew this all and you take responsibility for the way you decided to install all the images. I insisted that you still should come and reconsider the wall that you have chosen, Suddenly you said you are feeling turned on by those lines, those texts. You said you are not able concentrating on the images for I killed all the aesthetics in your mind. I said I’m not scared, as I know the pleasure of the text.

I thought I moved on, you are still writing to me I was also thinking if there might

Be a way that we could at least talk to each other as two civilized human beings at least for the language we still share.

After Jacques Lacan I sent you a poem by Elizabeth Bishop, I’ve used this poem in-between of the video art I made at the time I was living in Toronto. I still go back to Eglinton sometimes, below my image I wrote for you; to you “ Civilized

Society’s animal.” Then I typed the poem;

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

So many things seem filled with the intent

To be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster 


Of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. 


The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

Places, and names, and where it was you meant

To travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

Next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

Some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

The art of losing’s not too hard to master

Though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

” ELIZABETH BISHOP” The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

 Soon after we got separated I left Tehran. I don’t see Touraj any longer

I don’t know if you are still talking to him. I’ve never missed anyone in my life

The way I miss talking to Touraj, you asked me several times; “ So have you

Been with Touraj, that’s why you love him?”. I always had the same answer for

You; “I’ve never been with Touraj but I’m so influenced by him.”

I thought I was so influenced by him. You were so jealous about it. In retrospect

I feel I love him and also I’m so influenced by him.

All these days I was transforming to my new identity. I celebrated our separation

Several times. By now I should confess I could be a plain mirror in there to observe self-adornment before entering.

Metamorphosis to catharsis was curated in 2015 for the first time in Los Angeles By Shirin Bolourchi at Otis College of art and Design. For Shirin Metamorphosis to Catharsis is a center of identical and cultural change related to Iranian identity in Los Angeles. In my eyes modern society and technology defines us as individuals. We can all perceive the same concept at the same time, yet our interpretation and experience of the identity; time and space will be unique for each individual. Since we all bring our own life’s experiences to how we see a shared reality, then for me as an Iranian visual artist the question of what is identity is at the stake. Is ones identity of our own making, or do things such as media and propaganda, Time and space, society whom you socialize with, frustration and repression coming from a repressive regime like where I grew up then manufactures my identity? Is identity simply a simulation? A concept? does identity even exist? The artists in Metamorphosis to Catharsis desire to explore this concept. Each has their own vision, their own visual vocabulary to how they perceive their identical world. We have gathered together representing our honest identity in form of art. Metamorphosis to catharsis is a symbol of our dialectic. We hope for annulment of fraudulent reform in the name of fine art. Our identity has no specific image in here. We the members of the Metamorphosis to catharsis have one duty: creating a new rhythm for the benefit of our honesty. We believe in the present. What we are exhibiting here is a dance on our surfaces. We create unity within our pieces; we are criticizing the aesthetic of

Repression and isolation the frustration of repressive regimes only those who do the same shall come with us. So far Metamorphosis to catharsis had three openings and two weeks show in Otis College of Art and Design since 2015. Our group had a significant line of attention from the curators and critics in Los Angeles and as a curator I am hoping to travel through time and space with my spectacular group of visual artists.

“I don’t want to be labeled as anything I’d like to be able to express my ideas my feelings about the society that I live in. I don’t like anybody to tell me what to do, what not to do. The government of Iran doesn’t like my painting; the previous government also didn’t like my painting. I’ve been in trouble with the previous government and I’m in trouble with the Islamic Republic of Iran too, And it’s only because of the paintings. I’m not even an activist.”        Nicky Nodjomi

Ah Farid! How I wish I was just able to translate what you just told me, How I miss you, fafar, Ghazal, Roham and my dear instant doubling friend in Tehran,[the experience of self-destruction an image of whom I’ve never seen or talked to.] How I miss Khorshid in Sohrevardi street. I would say; we are the 7 wonders. To make it short: [You guys still check on me when I cry.] in 10 years I’ve never had anyone to check on me [in west] when I cry. let me strain the custard in to a bowl by translating your words in to a beautifull english language world, […] so that we can all taste something sweet, we all need some sugar in here as my blood pressure is on the floor tonight.

[Mom and Dad are divorcing after all these years,[…] eventualy

[I said; I’ve isolted myself making art. Farid said; so? you are a lunatic crazy girl, then he continues; people come, injure you and take away your wound with themselves as well.]

Just came to my mom’s, She has cooked me some lentil soup, Mom is the only creature who acknowledged It’s been a long time that I don’t eat meat anymore.

the fact that I’m sleeping in my jean, woolen hat and my gloves says Los Angeles is so cold. My fingers are freezing.

back ground music ~ Philip Glass – Methamorphosis

ps; it might be said, are based on signs, but these signs do not directly evoke things.  “Ferdinand de Saussure”

…the same way I walk in the sidewalk everyday, the old lady, the jungle behind this huge complex, the coyotes, those who are walking  with dogs…Sometimes I feel I’m so lucky for having a cat not that I don’t like dogs but for if I had a dog I could have never walked him in my pajamas, Imagine if I were your neighbour then every morning  you would have to see a female version of a [Gigolo] escorting her dog while passing by you. The more I look the more I reflect on the fact that no one really walks in Los Angeles except for homeless people, Tourists and those who has dogs.

[…] For instance I’m burning while I’m walking, […] so if you don’t see the fire and the coal you think there is no fire? […] just because you don’t see the trace, […] the trace that you are not able to see, […] what if I’m walking and burning ,[…] how far you can ignore the fire? […] how many ashes on the sidewalk been disappeared? […] or let’s imagine a few thousand ashes on the bridge  being disappeared (everyday), […] how many unicorns on cupcakes you have ignored? […] or even ask yourself will those traces ever disappear? […] so I’m burning again. […]

I smell fire.

[The Unicorn is green.]

Dad said she got rid of the heavy responsibility

I cried

 


Mom said, She has nothing to go back to Tehran for

One of my friends said he is excited

to see what happens next

Funny I cried

 


My brother didn’t say a word, my brother is disappeared

 


I paint ocean when the nights are slow

I was painting a green ocean the ocean has turned in to black

 


Mitra is right, this too shall pass

I’m struggling to pass

Sometimes when the night gets slow

I’ll take sleeping pills

No ocean is left

Funny I cry

I ditch it all to cry

Funny

Funny

روزی که از دانشگاه هنر در تهران اخراج شدم: به جرم خندیدن

ساعت ۵ صبح از خواب بیدار می شوم تا ساعت ۶متن های کلاس ساعت۸:۳۰ را برای بار دوم دوره می کنم تا ۶:۳۰ نت بر می دارم و تا ۷ وقت دارم دوش بگیرم وسوار ماشین م شوم بین ۷:۴۵ تا ۸ به مدرسه می رسم ۸ تا ۹ در استودیوی خودم کار می کنم کلاس ۸:۳۰-۹ شروع می شود ۱۱، ده دقیقه شکاف بین همان کلاس است ۱۲:۳۰کلاس اول تمام می شود و۱ کلاس بعدی شروع می شود و همین روال برای کلاس هاس ۳م و ۴م تا ۹ شب ادامه دارد [هر روز،هر روز.] ۹ شب به بعد هم باید در استودیوم کار کنم نقاشی ها و مجسمه ها و ویدیوها و نوشته ها و تصویرها… خود به خود ظاهر نمی شوند. برای کلاس بِن هر هفته باید ده صفحه آ۴ بنویسم درباره کارهایی که می کنم سیاست چرا و چگونه؟ برای کلاس کاترین هر بار یک ای-فلاکس کامل باید خوانده شود و برای کلاس رنه هر بار ۷ مقاله به جز این ها فیلم هایی که باید هر شب دیده شود و هر پنج شنبه اگر حداقل ۳۰ تا کار جدید به استادم نشان ندهم بهتر است خودم با احترام مدرسه ی هنر را ترک بکنم و دو سال شد که روال زندگی من در دانشگاه هنر به همین شکل گذشت و ۳۶۵ روزدیگر هنوز مانده است.

.همین لحظه که هیچ کُجا در این فضا کیبُرد فارسی ندارم
.نشسته ام نقاشی می کنم همین لحظه را
.زمآن آنقدر طولانی شده که همه ی کاغذهای نقاشی که خریده بودم تمام شد

تا آخرین لحظه که سوار هواپیما شد داشتیم به هم تکست می زدیم، فکر نمی کردم اون زودتر از من بره تهران نوشت میدونی که چرا نمیتونی بیای؟ فرصت نداد که من جواب بدم خودش فوری نوشت :داری روی تزت کار می کنی بعد هم نوشت

Give yourself permission to enjoy LA

Last summer as MFA

I’m a composer, who puts words together. I guide the words to dance on my surface, I’m the one and the only who let those words to be loud or quiet. I aim to create unity on my piece, Neither the translation is complete nor correct, The translation (in here) is stablished on one’s personal disposition. welcome to my “Bad Translation”.

روز تولدم، شهرام شب پره، خمینی انقلاب ایران و میشل فوکو

قلبم خیلی تند میزنه برای این که بهش فکر نکنم با دست راست تایپ میکنم به بیحس بودن پای چپ م صبح ها که از خواب بلند میشم عادت کردم چه زود سی و پنج سال تمام شد. برحسب تاریخ تهران امروز روز واقعی تولدم ه. مامان برام چایی ریخته بود، لیوان چایی رو گزاشته بود روی میز صبحانه درست وسط یک سفره ی گل گلی صورتی از همون سفره های پلاستیکی گل گلی چیپ با گل های درشت که همیشه ازش نفرت داشتم. فکر کرده بودم وسط کالیفرنیا دیگه بی بروبرگرد از دست این سفره ها خلاص شدم، اما زهی خیال باطل نمیدونم کجا رفته پیداش کرده اما میدونم همه ش آثار زندگی در پِرواین ه، چه پِرواین رو دست کم گرفته بودم. این شد که لیوان چایی رو برداشتم آوردم توی اتاق که سفره ی گل منگلی رو بیشتراز این ها نبینم،هیجان بیش از حد و اندازه ی بابا هم صبح ها وقت خوردن صبحانه عجیب برام غیر قابل تحمل شده ،میدونم اگه اونجا بشینم باید درباره بیمه یا جریمه های عقب افتادم جواب پس بدم،حتی روز تولدم هم تخفیف نمی دهد،عجیب محتاط و محافظه کار شده،بعد هم لابد اصرار دارد بداند برای نهار میمانم یا نه وقتی هم بگم نه پدر جان باید برگردم لوس انجلس کار دارم ناراحت می شود.چه به زندگی تنهایی لوس انجلس م عادت کردم. لیوان چایی برای لرزش دست م خیلی داغ و سنگینه دو بار تلاش کردم بیارمش تا جلوی دهنم ریخت روی کیبورد لپ تاپ. نمیدونم تاریخ تهران وسط جنگ و بمبارون و انقلاب چقدر میتونسته توی شناسنامه م دقیق و درست کار کرده باشه. از روزی که برگشتم کالج هنر تقریبا سر همه ی کلاس ها درباره انقلاب ایران و جنگ بعد از اون صحبت می کنم و این که من درست بعد از انقلاب به دنیا میام و از قرار نامعلوم جنگ مهمی هم همون جا برقرارمیشه.البته داستان م برای همه ی بچه ها ی کلاس مهم نیست.توی چشمهای آستین میبینم که هر بار که من از جنگ و انقلاب با لرزش صحبت میکنم با خودش میگه به تخمه م که ازوسط جنگ و انقلاب رسیدی تهرانجلس،وضعیتی ست،بعد هم فکر میکنم با خودش میگه به جای این که مدام از این تاک میری به اون تاک از این دانشگاه به اون دانشگاه برو یکم شهرام شب پره ببین قراضه شاید پای چپه ت از این بی حسی توی روز سی پنج سالگیت درومد! با خودم فکر میکنم حتما تاریخ سی و پنج سال انقلاب ایران و هشت سال جنگ توی کالج هنر اتیس وسط لوس انجلس خوب کار کرده که من روز تولدم به جای شهرام شب پره دارم به فلسفه ی خمینی انقلاب ایران و میشل فوکو چنگ می زنم.
پ.ن پِرژیَن اُرْ(پِروِرت) + اِرواین میشود پِرواین