Amak Mahmoodian - Zanjir

This book is a conversation imagined between the artist Amak Mahmoodian (1980-present) and the Persian princess and memoirist Taj Saltaneh (1883 - 1936).

This book is a conversation imagined between the artist Amak Mahmoodian (1980-present) and the Persian princess and memoirist Taj Saltaneh (1883 - 1936).

Zanjir

Amak Mahmoodian

Zanjir

Amak Mahmoodian

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Today I think about things that I forgot to remember I remind myself to remember If I am afraid of the life I have created in photographs it is because of my dreams I dream I remember With no family but memory With no land but traces My land travels within me I live in the past I have created a life A life of memories.

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Today I think about things that I forgot to remember I remind myself to remember If I am afraid of the life I have created in photographs it is because of my dreams I dream I remember With no family but memory With no land but traces My land travels within me I live in the past I have created a life A life of memories.

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“My past and present life excites both wonder and anguish, and you expect me to be interested in another’s tale?

Isn’t the review of one’s personal history the best undertaking in the world? ...The story of my life is so weighty and replete with difficult situations that I couldn’t finish recounting it even if I spent every hour of an entire year.

Besides, it alternates so rapidly between sorrow and laughter that it’s bound to perplex the listener.”

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“My past and present life excites both wonder and anguish, and you expect me to be interested in another’s tale?

Isn’t the review of one’s personal history the best undertaking in the world? ...The story of my life is so weighty and replete with difficult situations that I couldn’t finish recounting it even if I spent every hour of an entire year.

Besides, it alternates so rapidly between sorrow and laughter that it’s bound to perplex the listener.”

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I arrived home He was in my father’s room, playing Tar I asked him: Who are you?

He said: “If naught has a shadow I am the shadow of naught.”

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I arrived home He was in my father’s room, playing Tar I asked him: Who are you?

He said: “If naught has a shadow I am the shadow of naught.”

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Memories of the princess or my memories Memory is memory When it fades you rely on yourself to recreate it Because it is your memory In your heart In my mind.

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Memories of the princess or my memories Memory is memory When it fades you rely on yourself to recreate it Because it is your memory In your heart In my mind.

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I’ve created a land I’ve created a bird I’ve created our journeys I’ve created her hands I’ve created his shoulders I’ve created his voice I’ve created her look.

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I’ve created a land I’ve created a bird I’ve created our journeys I’ve created her hands I’ve created his shoulders I’ve created his voice I’ve created her look.

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My relatives are bound to condemn my freedom of language.

However, despite the fact that I belong to the same family and dynasty, I will be guided by nothing except my Persianness and my conscience, and will write my family history freely and openly.

O my homeland!

Is it possible to overlook the rights out of fear for one man?

No, Never!

The love has been etched in my heart as indelibly as the blemishes of thy enemies and the destroyers on this page.

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My relatives are bound to condemn my freedom of language.

However, despite the fact that I belong to the same family and dynasty, I will be guided by nothing except my Persianness and my conscience, and will write my family history freely and openly.

O my homeland!

Is it possible to overlook the rights out of fear for one man?

No, Never!

The love has been etched in my heart as indelibly as the blemishes of thy enemies and the destroyers on this page.

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Still in front of him (his Camera) The power that keeps her still is not inward She sitting on a chair her hair clipped to her scarf.

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Still in front of him (his Camera) The power that keeps her still is not inward She sitting on a chair her hair clipped to her scarf.

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Sometimes we step into majesty and greatness; and sometimes humble and abased as slaves we wander in the valley of forgottenness and forgetfulness and inconstancy.

And through all this ebb and flow, we remain exactly where we were, and outwardly there is no turmoil.

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Sometimes we step into majesty and greatness; and sometimes humble and abased as slaves we wander in the valley of forgottenness and forgetfulness and inconstancy.

And through all this ebb and flow, we remain exactly where we were, and outwardly there is no turmoil.

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To anticipate death for myself will simplify it But to anticipate it for whom I love makes everything unpleasant They die before they die And I am scared of that I know she is alive as he is but not with me not for me When I talk to her it feels like our last conversation And tomorrow And the day after She is there We will never meet again When these thoughts surround us hold us take us they are dreams I in my own body you in yours.

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To anticipate death for myself will simplify it But to anticipate it for whom I love makes everything unpleasant They die before they die And I am scared of that I know she is alive as he is but not with me not for me When I talk to her it feels like our last conversation And tomorrow And the day after She is there We will never meet again When these thoughts surround us hold us take us they are dreams I in my own body you in yours.

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It was Thursday evening (27th February 1914).

The afternoon was dark and overcast, gloomy as my reveries.

Sitting in a half lit room, I was busily occupied by painting.

Outside it was snowing heavily, and no sound was heard except the whiffling of the wind.

A despondent silence and strangation, heightened by the dim red glow radiating from the heater, enveloped me.

I was utterly oblivious to the melancholic youth who sat behind in an armchair, watching with an indulgent eye my clumsy and haphazard brush strokes on the young woman’s face that I was painting.

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It was Thursday evening (27th February 1914).

The afternoon was dark and overcast, gloomy as my reveries.

Sitting in a half lit room, I was busily occupied by painting.

Outside it was snowing heavily, and no sound was heard except the whiffling of the wind.

A despondent silence and strangation, heightened by the dim red glow radiating from the heater, enveloped me.

I was utterly oblivious to the melancholic youth who sat behind in an armchair, watching with an indulgent eye my clumsy and haphazard brush strokes on the young woman’s face that I was painting.

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My eyes are sea endless memories in a sea Can I swim in the sea without getting wet I was a seashell going to find the sea At nights we could hear it but we couldn’t see it Standing still our shadows moved on the sea Sea and sky met We remembered the desert He told me In the desert your shadow is on the sky Remembering the desert listening to the sea in a seashell.

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My eyes are sea endless memories in a sea Can I swim in the sea without getting wet I was a seashell going to find the sea At nights we could hear it but we couldn’t see it Standing still our shadows moved on the sea Sea and sky met We remembered the desert He told me In the desert your shadow is on the sky Remembering the desert listening to the sea in a seashell.

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He put his lips to my forehead and gave me a gentle, affectionate, prolonged kiss, all the while holding my head in his hands.

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He put his lips to my forehead and gave me a gentle, affectionate, prolonged kiss, all the while holding my head in his hands.

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I walked out of my room The night was rainy dark and crowded I walked alone I saw an angel covered in blood walking next to evil They were drinking together I found a feather My father died.

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I walked out of my room The night was rainy dark and crowded I walked alone I saw an angel covered in blood walking next to evil They were drinking together I found a feather My father died.

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If the opaque veil of oblivion did not descend over life’s incidents and blot out the hardship from the page of memory, human life would be fleeting and transitory indeed!

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If the opaque veil of oblivion did not descend over life’s incidents and blot out the hardship from the page of memory, human life would be fleeting and transitory indeed!

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O would that temple of my life had crumbled to dust at the moment, or that a propitious fate, a favorable providence, had filled the cup of my life to the brim and given me release from the burden of fatherlessness, before I had to swallow the bitter daughter of separation from such a sire.

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O would that temple of my life had crumbled to dust at the moment, or that a propitious fate, a favorable providence, had filled the cup of my life to the brim and given me release from the burden of fatherlessness, before I had to swallow the bitter daughter of separation from such a sire.

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I always see you in my dreams Mother and Father I dream of home Where we could see each other I would hide my face in you And nobody would ever know me anymore.

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I always see you in my dreams Mother and Father I dream of home Where we could see each other I would hide my face in you And nobody would ever know me anymore.

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The passage of time and grief and suffering leave their mark on the body, but the immortal soul of man is left untouched by them.

In nature, man remains as he has always been, though the world never stays the same.

So it seems that we are tied to the chain of fate, which continually drags us behind and makes us taste the changes and chances of life.

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The passage of time and grief and suffering leave their mark on the body, but the immortal soul of man is left untouched by them.

In nature, man remains as he has always been, though the world never stays the same.

So it seems that we are tied to the chain of fate, which continually drags us behind and makes us taste the changes and chances of life.

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We went to Sama* In white I entered the room the chore within me I told my father, “I have wings” He said “These people belong to somewhere else” He was one of them.

*Sama is a Sufi ceremony performed as dhikr. Sama means "listening", while dhikr means "remembrance". These rituals often include singing, playing instruments, dancing, recitation of poetry and prayers, wearing symbolic attire, and other rituals. It is a particularly popular form of worship in Sufism.

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We went to Sama* In white I entered the room the chore within me I told my father, “I have wings” He said “These people belong to somewhere else” He was one of them.

*Sama is a Sufi ceremony performed as dhikr. Sama means "listening", while dhikr means "remembrance". These rituals often include singing, playing instruments, dancing, recitation of poetry and prayers, wearing symbolic attire, and other rituals. It is a particularly popular form of worship in Sufism.

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In a dream I saw an expanse of meadow in which numerous people of all kinds were walking about.

Laden with jewels and extravagant clothes I was also taking in the sight.

Gradually the people began to descend on me, snatching away my ornaments and jewels and leaving me naked.

Like a helpless dove trapped in the claws of falcons, I was at the mercy of these people who were pulling off my feathers one by one.

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In a dream I saw an expanse of meadow in which numerous people of all kinds were walking about.

Laden with jewels and extravagant clothes I was also taking in the sight.

Gradually the people began to descend on me, snatching away my ornaments and jewels and leaving me naked.

Like a helpless dove trapped in the claws of falcons, I was at the mercy of these people who were pulling off my feathers one by one.

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Last night my mother was unwell I took her to see the doctor He told me “Your mother will die on the 28th of July” It was the 26th I woke up It was the 30th of July I called her.

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Last night my mother was unwell I took her to see the doctor He told me “Your mother will die on the 28th of July” It was the 26th I woke up It was the 30th of July I called her.

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Amid all this bewildering confusion and lamentation I went home.

In tears I began to wipe my eyebrows with vinegar and oil, but that proved to be of no use.

So I shaved them off completely.

With my eyebrows gone and my face downcast, I was a picture of ludicrousness.

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Amid all this bewildering confusion and lamentation I went home.

In tears I began to wipe my eyebrows with vinegar and oil, but that proved to be of no use.

So I shaved them off completely.

With my eyebrows gone and my face downcast, I was a picture of ludicrousness.

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Today I think about things that I forgot to remember I remind myself to remember If I am afraid of the life I have created in photographs it is because of my dreams I dream I remember With no family but memory With no land but traces My land travels within me I live in the past I have created a life A life of memories.

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Today I think about things that I forgot to remember I remind myself to remember If I am afraid of the life I have created in photographs it is because of my dreams I dream I remember With no family but memory With no land but traces My land travels within me I live in the past I have created a life A life of memories.

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‫زنجیر‬

Amak Mahmoodian

‫زنجیر‬

Amak Mahmoodian

Greetings &nd Acknowledgments

Greetings &nd Acknowledgments

Zanjir Amak Mahmoodian © 2019 Amak Mahmoodian First Edition Published by RRB Photobooks & ICVL Studio Book concept by Amak Mahmoodian & Alejandro Acín Editing by Amak Mahmoodian, Aaron Schumann & Alejandro Acín.

Text by Amak Mahmoodian & Taj Sahltane Design by ICVL Studio Printed in England ISBN 978-1-999727-58-1