Set in Stone, Set in Paper.

A generation passes through time so quickly, that it is often outlived by the ideals it defines and the actions it undertakes. There is something so impermanent about the few years we spend on Earth, often mostly in the same place, that some of our endeavours will be relatively speaking permanent and egocentric, in the sense that they will outlive us and only take into account the immediate and local situation, for better or worse. Our minds and hearts can change so quickly, yet what we Set in Stone develops it's own resilience. And even more so, what we Set in Paper.
Bureaucracy, Laws, Regulations, Charters, Maps... has man ever set up Walls so Grand?

What is Set in Stone and Paper must first be set in one's mind.

Beware of what your mind desires, for better or for worse, your words and acts may well remain long after you are gone; beware of what your collective mind desires or one generation may awaken prisoner to the collective mind of the generation before it.

What might seem necessary to some, today, might seem unacceptable to most tomorrow, but the cinders remain; let us hope that time will heal our hearts, bring us together and that man's collective love, reason and critical thinking will overcome man's collective prejudice, blind beliefs and dogma.
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst; but hope nevertheless.

A. (Bethlehem and Jerusalem/January 2012)

Visions of Alchemy

First and foremost apologies for the delay in posting. I have finally relocated and settled into London life where there is never a spare moment with the bustle and energy of a happening city. I am still finding myself settling into my home city again and love the fact that I am always discovering new parts of the city, and always kept on my feet; there is never a dull moment.

Last week I attended an opening exhibition of unique sculptures created by Robert Barley held at the Paul Smith furniture & curiosity store on Albemarle Street.

I am intrigued by his work and love the composition of his pieces. It is worth making the visit if you are in the city. Although quite a small exhibition space, it allows you to take time and focus on each; his work reminds me of being a small child again,  fascinated and intrigued by the constructed artworks.

Albemarle street has a great few galleries that always capture my attention as I am on my way to work. They hold my gaze in an unexpected way; the paintings on display exude a strong emotion, each different and unique-I am transported to another world, another life of carefree freedom and imagination. Just for a minute. and then the cold snaps me back to focus!

(Zen I - Fall of the Roman Empire - Magic Carpet Ride - The Bird Alchemist)

Past and Present of Tehran's Longest Avenue.

I have been asked to add a ‘piece of me’ onto this blog. It sounds a bit egocentric but I will do my best to fulfil this duty. I found this photo of my dearest country Iran, taken (I apologise) a few months (years?) ago. However, the picture is still relevant today.

Let me describe what I want to relay with this cliché.

This picture was taken on Vali Asr, an 18km long avenue in Tehran and known for being the longest in the Middle East. During the Shah’s time the avenue was called Pahlavi Avenue in reference to the ruling dynasty. After the 1979 Revolution they named it Vali Asr meaning the ‘Master of Time’ in reference to the Mahdi, the twelfth Shia Imam. This avenue was a focal point during the 2009 Presidential protests, which are sometimes argued to have precipitated the uprisings in other Middle Eastern countries.

On this picture you see Iranian society. Painted on the wall of the building is Ayatollah Khamenei, the actual Supreme leader of Iran, who holds the highest position in the country, successor of Ayatollah Khomeini and elected for life. The other two individuals pictured are martyrs from the Iran-Iraq war. This strong symbol represents the heart of the Iranian ideology; an unjust war, started by Saddam Hussein, financed by the West that lasting eight years mainly because the US was distributing arms to both sides. The government’s whole strategy is very much based on this cult of the martyr, this idea of foreign interventions, the oppression, and the loss of many sons of the revolution. Many arguments have been made around the fact that the regime owes its strength to this famous war and the national mobilization of the eight years following 1979. 

On this photo we can also get a sample of the frenetic Tehran, a city of 13 million inhabitants asking for change, for progress. Not asking for a static present fixated with the past and the pain of war. Close to 70 per cent of the Iranian population is under the age of 30. They alone represent the future of Iran; they are the one ready to die as a martyr for a free Iran, a modern Iran, a democratic Iran. That’s the face we should see on the wall of my city.

Respectfully yours,

Nazila 

P.S.: to make things clear and anticipate any rude message saying that I don’t admire what the Martyrs did to protect our country against a belligerent Iraq. This is not my message here. They were martyrs of the revolution, one which this government is not honouring. As in their memory is being exploited by the current regime. They deserve recognition and merit but not at the price of a stagnant Iran. 

"Feb 17"

I photographed this man on my first trip back to Libya after the February 17th Uprising, which blew a wind of unexpected change over my country. After months spent gazing at my computer screen, watching the news, and reading anything I could put my hands on related to this Revolution - I finally arrived in Benghazi on June 25th, 2011.

As cliché as it may sound, I could smell freedom as soon as my feet touched the tarmac - everything seemed somehow tainted by a palpable sense of rebirth and optimism, after 42 years spent under the rule of a brutal and repressive regime.

A couple of days later, I set out to the Mahkama (Courthouse) where it all started. On February 15^th, families of Abu Saleem prisonners were protesting against the incarceration of their lawyer, Fathi Terbil. Two days later, lawyers and judges, soon joined by students and engineers, doctors and shopkeepers, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons gathered in the early days of the Uprising to claim back their dignity and their most basic human rights.

As I looked around me, I couldn’t help but roam through the crowd with a big smile on my face – a new energy was buzzing through my Benghazi. Freedom.

I stopped by a small crowd that had formed around a charismatic man with a book in his hands. He seemed to be holding on to it as though it were his most prized possession. As I was trying to figure out what was going on, he carefully unwrapped the book, presented it to me, and asked me to take a picture of him holding it. The book, titled "Gaddafi and the Politics of Contradiction” (written by Mansour el Kikhia, a Libyan political science professor exiled in the USA) had, like many others, been censored in Libya prior to the Uprising. Freedom of speech, of thought, of association, to participate in civil society, just to name a few, were simply inexistent under Gaddafi’s rule.

It was only later, when flipping through my pictures, that I noticed his gaze, full of pride and hope, encapsulating the Libyan people’s expectations and excitement as they face their future in Free Libya.

ccbg (Benghazi, September 2011)

Life is Elsewhere

I cannot help but be fascinated by this building. Everyday on my way to the monorail in KL, I pass this group of derelict block of flats and I can't help but be intrigued by the life that went on in what seems like small cells, holdings of life. The colours of the balconies are the only signs of the love and happiness that may, or may not have occured. That and the broken furniture that still stands in some of the rooms when I find myself looking inside. 

There are quite a few abandoned places amongst the bustling cityscape; Passing more on the monorail, two chairs are abandoned, they are still left facing one another outside; a moment of connection now abandoned; A ghost. The physicality of a memory now lost but the shell remains.

It always seems life is elsewhere; vanished before its even realised.

Perhaps the thought is melancholic but it is a reminder at the start of the day; to breathe in life, and appreciate the small things and the kindness of people. Even the ones that push against you when its crammed rush hour and an armpit is in your face.

Mei (Kuala Lumpur, August 2011)

The games of old...

This restaurant is somewhere I stopped by when on a work trip to Taiwan..

Simple food, basic settings (as you can see from the table) but shelves full of memorabilia and images from the past.

Visuals we have long forgotten, writing that is so very faded but not lost...

Not the vacuumed packed seal of the present, but the earthy rusty smell of the past.

The things we used to have were so simple, so common.

No millions of colours or thousands of pixels.

Nor 3D worlds or virtual images.

Just the infinite resolution of our imaginations, and the endless extents of our minds..

When did we decide we needed help to have fun?

Marcus (Singapore, August 2011)

Halkan élünk - we live quietly

In Budapest, artists live quietly...
This street-art-manifesto on the wall of an old building of the 7th district, the old Jewish ghetto, is trying (quietly) to catch one's attention. Imagine yourself in the middle of the Budapest-nightlife, where the price of the vodka is playing the leadrole and the youth gets lost in the narrow streets full of bars hiding in some inner-courts. There is little place for big thoughts, not only because of the ebrious state that takes its territory every week-end, but also because the actual nationalist/right/extreme-right political environment kills slowly but surely all kind of free thinking.

Hungary has always been on the wrong side, for every significant moment in History. But today, the last hope in solidarity, optimism and a positive development of the society is killed by some crazy and selfish right-wing politicans. So artists keep on living, but quietly... Halkan élünk.

Mariann (between Vienna and Budapest, July 2011)