Events in Iran had deeply affected me; the umpteenth turn in an everlasting spiral of drama.  

As an artist reflecting on society, being reactionary to events is a trap, I have come to learn. It is inviting and part of human nature, but one can become hostage to reacting and ultimately end up with bodies of work largely shaped by turmoil. 

I had always wondered how I would develop as an artist in another environment. I have carried this question with me for years.

This time, unable to move forward, numb, I instead delved into my past. Into the memories that shaped me and what is now the history of those around me. I wanted to see why I was able to move forward then, but not now. 

In the past too there are things that so deeply affected me as a person and an artist that are not easy to pass by, or as iranians say: sweep under the carpet.

Aware of the impossibility to change the past, but the need to look deep, for my sanity - to be practical in a time of great unrest- I went back to the negatives I took from the time I started in photography. From 1996 to 1999, between 16 and 19, the closing years of my early youth. 

At the time I -like many of my generation- dove into the unfamiliar world of politics and society without knowing how cynical it can be.

I was analyzing to understand. I wanted to heal the now by understanding the past. The memory that becomes part of you and how you can free yourself from it. 

One image stuck out. To me an icon of the time. A girl is smelling a rose. That flower whose scent embodies spring; hope, love and freedom. How can she ever forget that smell? 

For this book I consciously chose a rhythm of negatives that were by mistakes by me or others, the developer in the lab or my camera not working. I collected those unwanted, imperfect, broken images as they are also part of history and narratives, you cannot delete them. They show the raw unpolished reality we cannot hide from. The changes we cannot deny and the unforgiveness of passing time. 

At the time I was not shaped professionally, my gaze didn't have weight, it was naive and that openness made me look and wander in all directions. Now, years later, and because of the passing time my gaze has become heavy, how can I get rid of that? How can I free my gaze from that weight? 

From the revisiting of these eyesore images, against the backdrop of again terrible events, what emerges is a clear rite of passage from the hope and dreams of youth, towards the disappointment of reality and the conclusion that there is only one real choice in life. 

To be drawn to darkness, or to choose to fight the darkness and go towards the light.

The female awakening in Iran has not happened overnight. My series of contact sheets had me taking pictures of girl students protesting. It was the first time I saw these bodies climbing fences because they wanted more. In Tehran’s main City theater I saw for the first time a young actress raise her hands above her head, while before that moment as a woman you were only allowed by the censors to lift your arms no higher than your shoulders on stage. We, our generation, were practicing freedom of body movement of women, I saw all of this, I was part of it.

My colleagues in the newspapers I worked for were in awe with all the obstacles they had with families, politics and culture but they wanted to work and report about what they saw was the truth of the time. 

We all wanted more, sooner, before we would fall into the abyss of age and the disappointment that comes with it. The costs were high. The politicians exploited and laughed at me, they laughed at us.

Therefore the narrative of this work starts with lots of hope, being naive, easily trusting, and then it continues into disappointment, being broken and glued together to continue again. And again having hope and again being broken and finally diving inwards into the darkness and pitfall of cynicism. 

But in Iranian mythology, in the eternal fight between darkness and light, light always wins from darkness.

This exhibition is more than just a body of work for me, it captures an important historical time of my generation, having hope many times, being shattered, and again. For the sake of being human, we glue ourselves to again go forward with hope. This is the story of us.



*The photographs selected by Karén Mirzoyan for the show are only a part of Newsha Tavakolian’s broader project.