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Welcome to Jamiliartnyc.com
-A place where art comes to life. As a transplanted Persian American artist living in NYC, I am thrilled to share my love of painting with you. Each of my pieces tells a unique story that is both captivating and thought-provoking. Join me on a journey of wonder and inspiration.

Discover me through my paintings and sculptures - I reveal myself

Figurative Paintings

I am not free yet. I’m an Iranian-American woman who, for the sake of freedom, has paid a hefty price and endured great hardship, but I am not free yet. Being a refugee, years away from my family and son, and never seeing my homeland again are just a few small parts of the price I paid for freedom. Now, I live alongside the Statue of Liberty, a symbol of global freedom, in New York City. However, I haven’t truly attained freedom, and for various reasons, I’m forced to censor myself and hide my art and words. Even though I live in New York, I still feel imprisoned and not truly free.
My father’s religion still follows and harasses me and does not let me be free.

I am not free yet.

I am not an apple from your garden that you can be sold at your store.
Do not hurt me if I don’t want to get married for more money. Please don’t sell me. Girls in the religious city and villages where I was born had to marry at a very young age. My older sister got married when she was fourteen. She had always been happy and content with her marriage because she married an educated and handsome man. I was almost thirteen when a wealthy man proposed to me. I was very thin and short. My mother insisted that I marry him. His family brought us sweets and flowers but I hadn’t seen him yet, and I didn’t want to get married at all. Every day, I had intense arguments with my mother, when I came home from school, she would beat me severely for trivial reasons to force me into marriage. It took almost two weeks for that young man and his family to come to our house again to see me. My mother covered me with a long veil, and I covered my face, only my eyes and my big teenage nose were visible from under the veil. The young man and his family saw me and left.
The fighting, arguments, and beatings by my mother started again, and I was almost beaten every day. I endured a very difficult and tough adolescence. I remember attempting suicide twice, which, unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, was unsuccessful. Unfortunately, due to the hardships in my life, I wished for eternal sleep, never to wake up again. Fortunately, because I can’t imagine a world without my son, I’m glad I stayed alive and brought my son into this universe. After ten days of daily beatings by my mother and my continuous screams that I wasn’t an apple from your garden that you could sell, news came from that young man’s family.
From the young man’s family, a message came that they didn’t want me, and the young man wasn’t interested in me. I felt a bit ashamed and embarrassed among my family and relatives. This caused me to completely lose the little self-confidence I had. Of course, I understood the young man’s perspective; I hadn’t developed physically yet, and I was very small and thin and I had no breasts or hips to make me attractive as a woman. When men came to propose to me during my high school days, my mother’s beatings, coercion, and harassment to force me into marriage would start again. Until, I went to a larger city for university at eighteen, and distanced myself from my mother and family.
In the town where I was born, they consider girls like fruit, apples to be exact, that must be sold. The higher the price, the better!
But I wasn’t, am not, and will not be an apple to be sold in a fruit market.

I am not an apple from your garden that you can be sold at your store. Do not hurt me if I don’t want to get married for more money. Please don’t sell me.

Please don’t tear my paintings. I am not naked and I will not. Only my paintings and my soul are naked and bare. and they are part of me. Don’t hurt my soul and heart, please!

Don’t tear my paintings.

Dad, don’t kill me because I changed my religion. When I was a teenager, I attempted suicide twice because of the pressures from my family's extreme. They were very religious, and it seemed like everything I did, like book reading, dancing, singing, writing poetry or reciting poetry, listening to music, painting, and even laughing out loud was a form of opposition to their religion and their God. I loved all these things that their God hated.
Painting was the only way to extinguish the flames of my existence, give me solace, and offer a glimmer of hope for the future. Going to the bathroom after my parents went to sleep and sketching, painting secretly under the dim light of an oil lamp from my own nude figures that I saw in the mirror on paper at midnight was the best part of my teenager. I had hidden my drawings and paintings in a corner of our basement. My father discovered my secret and severely beat me with a belt to the point where I couldn’t walk for two days. He kept the belt for when my wounds healed so he could whip me again. After two days, I destroyed all my paintings, sketching, and writings and I went to pharmacies and bought a large quantity of sleeping pills, taking them all and waiting for death. But fortunately or unfortunately I didn’t die. I regained consciousness in the hospital and saw my furious father standing over me, saying, “You always bring shame upon us! If you can’t do it yourself, don’t worry, I will kill you if you paint nude again!” I didn’t die, but from then on, I destroyed all my paintings, designs, and writings as soon as they were finished. I knew that if I couldn’t paint, I could not continue, breathe and live. Painting was the only way to extinguish the flames of my existence, give me solace, and offer a glimmer of hope for the future. Although I am an American citizen, I have not been in Iran for many years, I am still afraid of my relatives and I've been hiding my paintings under my bed for years and not showing them.

Please, do not beat or injure me because of my paintings. They are just my bare soul.

I have lost my identity. I don’t know who I am. Painting the flag of the lion and sun is not a sign of my support for any particular political group.

I have lost my identity. I don’t know who I am. Iranian or American.
My soul is frozen and I don’t know what to warm myself with. I know I am a human but I'm tired of being human too. I love to fly next to the stars.

I hate all politicians, I do not support any specific political group and will not. In my opinion, a world without politicians, borders, laws, wars, and massacres is a more beautiful and better place for children and ordinary people to live. Fewer children would be killed in the world without the policies of politicians.
I feel a sense of identity crisis and a deep chill within me. I live in New York and I am an American citizen but I don't feel American I don’t want to be Iranian either. These contradictions and profound conflicts freeze my existence and spirit! I don’t know how to cover my naked soul and identity and warm myself with what flag and ritual. I’ve lost my identity and need help. Could you please help me and tell me who I am?

I have lost my identity. I don’t know who I am.

I managed to mend and repair all the wounds, fracture, and pains of my soul, mind, and existence once again with a small needle and thread. If you tear apart my paintings and my soul, I can mend them again with a simple needle and thread. In these tough years, I have learned the art of repair and creating beauty. I will make every effort to leave a beautiful footprint on the world and the universe of existence.
At the age of twelve, I earned the highest score in a supplementary sewing course. Using my mother’s old hand-crank sewing machine, I would create beautiful clothes for myself, my sisters, and later on, for all our family members and neighbors. During the summer months, in addition to helping my father on his store and farm, I would make a decent income by sewing. At the age of fifteen and sixteen, I excelled in sewing in my city Kashmar, and our State, receiving some prestigious awards. I was constantly engaged in weaving, sewing, and other crafts. Sometimes I think that the inner strength I possess now, my boundless resilience, and my ability to overcome any challenges are all thanks to the hard work and occasional difficulties of my childhood and adolescence. Just as I could easily mend the wounds on my hands from the demanding farm work and repair the torn clothes of my family, I can mend the deep scars in my soul with a simple needle and some thread and I rise again, smile, and remain beautiful, just as I have always done.

I managed to mend and repair all the wounds, fracture, and pains of my soul, mind, and existence once again with a small needle and thread.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire. one day, I will tear all my black veils and set my soul free. I will dance with my liberated and bare existence amidst the flames. on that day, I will find joy in the freedom of my spirit and the dance amid the fiery waves. You will enjoy my burning, enduring pain, and my death.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire. one day, I will tear all my black veils and set my soul free. I will dance with my liberated and bare existence amidst the flames. on that day, I will find joy in the freedom of my spirit and the dance amid the fiery waves. You will enjoy my burning, enduring pain, and my death.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire. one day, I will tear all my black veils and set my soul free. I will dance with my liberated and bare existence amidst the flames. on that day, I will find joy in the freedom of my spirit and the dance amid the fiery waves. You will enjoy my burning, enduring pain, and my death.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire.

Dad, don’t kill me because I changed my religion. I’m an Iranian-American woman who, for the sake of freedom, has paid a hefty price and endured great hardship, but I am not free yet. Being a refugee, years away from my family and son, and never seeing my homeland again are just a few small parts of the price I paid for freedom. Now, I live alongside the Statue of Liberty, a symbol of global freedom, in New York City. However, I haven’t truly attained freedom, and for various reasons, I’m forced to censor myself and hide my art and words. Even though I live in New York, I still feel imprisoned and not truly free.
My father’s religion still follows and harasses me and does not let me be free.

Dad, don’t kill me because I changed my religion.

My name is Marzieh. I am like the ocean, free, beautiful, and magnificent. I will not be tainted by impurities.

My name is Marzieh.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom. Venus gave me her heart as a gift, and I, in turn, offered her my hands. Now, we stand together, immensely strong. I overcame what had broken and wounded my heart, while Venus turned her back on those who severed her hands or caused her harm. Venus and I will one day escape from a world full of human wounds and violence to the star Venus and flee to her house forever. We are tired of your earth full of cruelty, pollution, and injustice. In that celestial place, our souls will be free, beyond the reach of any human hands that might injure or break us again. On that day, Venus and I will be completely liberated and freed.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom. Venus gave me her heart as a gift, and I, in turn, offered her my hands. Now, we stand together, immensely strong. I overcame what had broken and wounded my heart, while Venus turned her back on those who severed her hands or caused her harm. Venus and I will one day escape from a world full of human wounds and violence to the star Venus and flee to her house forever. We are tired of your earth full of cruelty, pollution, and injustice. In that celestial place, our souls will be free, beyond the reach of any human hands that might injure or break us again. On that day, Venus and I will be completely liberated and freed. One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

Venus gave me her heart as a gift, and I, in turn, offered her my hands. Now, we stand together, immensely strong. I overcame what had broken and wounded my heart, while Venus turned her back on those who severed her hands or caused her harm. Venus and I will one day escape from a world full of human wounds and violence to the star Venus and flee to her house forever. We are tired of your earth full of cruelty, pollution, and injustice. In that celestial place, our souls will be free, beyond the reach of any human hands that might injure or break us again. On that day, Venus and I will be completely liberated and freed. One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom. Venus gave me her heart as a gift, and I, in turn, offered her my hands. Now, we stand together, immensely strong. I overcame what had broken and wounded my heart, while Venus turned her back on those who severed her hands or caused her harm. Venus and I will one day escape from a world full of human wounds and violence to the star Venus and flee to her house forever. We are tired of your earth full of cruelty, pollution, and injustice. In that celestial place, our souls will be free, beyond the reach of any human hands that might injure or break us again. On that day, Venus and I will be completely liberated and freed. One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom. Venus gave me her heart as a gift, and I, in turn, offered her my hands. Now, we stand together, immensely strong. I overcame what had broken and wounded my heart, while Venus turned her back on those who severed her hands or caused her harm. Venus and I will one day escape from a world full of human wounds and violence to the star Venus and flee to her house forever. We are tired of your earth full of cruelty, pollution, and injustice. In that celestial place, our souls will be free, beyond the reach of any human hands that might injure or break us again. On that day, Venus and I will be completely liberated and freed. One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

One day, Venus and I will escape together and attain our freedom.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.
I am filled with emotions, unspoken words, and hidden pains. I am a human.
Listen to my words, understand my feelings, and heal my pains.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.
I am filled with emotions, unspoken words, and hidden pains. I am a human.
Listen to my words, understand my feelings, and heal my pains.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.
I am filled with emotions, unspoken words, and hidden pains. I am a human.
Listen to my words, understand my feelings, and heal my pains.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.
I am filled with emotions, unspoken words, and hidden pains. I am a human.
Listen to my words, understand my feelings, and heal my pains.

I am NOT just a few dimples, bumps or your sex tool.

When I was a teenager, I was severely restricted due to my parents' extremist religious beliefs. I was not allowed to do anything, including reading books, painting, listening to music, dancing, or even laughing out loud. I was often harshly and terribly punished for these matters. Sometimes I really felt like I was buried alive, and I even wished I had been buried alive, but not born in that religious city and that religious family.

Live burial.

Dad, don’t kill me because I changed my religion. I’m an Iranian-American woman who, for the sake of freedom, has paid a hefty price and endured great hardship, but I am not free yet. Being a refugee, years away from my family and son, and never seeing my homeland again are just a few small parts of the price I paid for freedom. Now, I live alongside the Statue of Liberty, a symbol of global freedom, in New York City. However, I haven’t truly attained freedom, and for various reasons, I’m forced to censor myself and hide my art and words. Even though I live in New York, I still feel imprisoned and not truly free.
My father’s religion still follows and harasses me and does not let me be free.

Dad, don’t kill me because I changed my religion.

I managed to mend and repair all the wounds, fracture, and pains of my soul, mind, and existence once again with a small needle and thread. If you tear apart my paintings and my soul, I can mend them again with a simple needle and thread. In these tough years, I have learned the art of repair and creating beauty. I will make every effort to leave a beautiful footprint on the world and the universe of existence.
At the age of twelve, I earned the highest score in a supplementary sewing course. Using my mother’s old hand-crank sewing machine, I would create beautiful clothes for myself, my sisters, and later on, for all our family members and neighbors. During the summer months, in addition to helping my father on his store and farm, I would make a decent income by sewing. At the age of fifteen and sixteen, I excelled in sewing in my city Kashmar, and our State, receiving some prestigious awards. I was constantly engaged in weaving, sewing, and other crafts. Sometimes I think that the inner strength I possess now, my boundless resilience, and my ability to overcome any challenges are all thanks to the hard work and occasional difficulties of my childhood and adolescence. Just as I could easily mend the wounds on my hands from the demanding farm work and repair the torn clothes of my family, I can mend the deep scars in my soul with a simple needle and some thread and I rise again, smile, and remain beautiful, just as I have always done.

I managed to mend and repair all the wounds, fracture, and pains of my soul, mind, and existence once again with a small needle and thread.

Dad, don’t kill me because I changed my religion. When I was a teenager, I attempted suicide twice because of the pressures from my family's extreme. They were very religious, and it seemed like everything I did, like book reading, dancing, singing, writing poetry or reciting poetry, listening to music, painting, and even laughing out loud was a form of opposition to their religion and their God. I loved all these things that their God hated.
Painting was the only way to extinguish the flames of my existence, give me solace, and offer a glimmer of hope for the future. Going to the bathroom after my parents went to sleep and sketching, painting secretly under the dim light of an oil lamp from my own nude figures that I saw in the mirror on paper at midnight was the best part of my teenager. I had hidden my drawings and paintings in a corner of our basement. My father discovered my secret and severely beat me with a belt to the point where I couldn’t walk for two days. He kept the belt for when my wounds healed so he could whip me again. After two days, I destroyed all my paintings, sketching, and writings and I went to pharmacies and bought a large quantity of sleeping pills, taking them all and waiting for death. But fortunately or unfortunately I didn’t die. I regained consciousness in the hospital and saw my furious father standing over me, saying, “You always bring shame upon us! If you can’t do it yourself, don’t worry, I will kill you if you paint nude again!” I didn’t die, but from then on, I destroyed all my paintings, designs, and writings as soon as they were finished. I knew that if I couldn’t paint, I could not continue, breathe and live. Painting was the only way to extinguish the flames of my existence, give me solace, and offer a glimmer of hope for the future. Although I am an American citizen, I have not been in Iran for many years, I am still afraid of my relatives and I've been hiding my paintings under my bed for years and not showing them.

Please, do not beat or injure me because of my paintings. They are just my bare soul.

I am not an apple from your garden that you can be sold at your store.
Do not hurt me if I don’t want to get married for more money. Please don’t sell me. Girls in the religious city and villages where I was born had to marry at a very young age. My older sister got married when she was fourteen. She had always been happy and content with her marriage because she married an educated and handsome man. I was almost thirteen when a wealthy man proposed to me. I was very thin and short. My mother insisted that I marry him. His family brought us sweets and flowers but I hadn’t seen him yet, and I didn’t want to get married at all. Every day, I had intense arguments with my mother, when I came home from school, she would beat me severely for trivial reasons to force me into marriage. It took almost two weeks for that young man and his family to come to our house again to see me. My mother covered me with a long veil, and I covered my face, only my eyes and my big teenage nose were visible from under the veil. The young man and his family saw me and left.
The fighting, arguments, and beatings by my mother started again, and I was almost beaten every day. I endured a very difficult and tough adolescence. I remember attempting suicide twice, which, unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, was unsuccessful. Unfortunately, due to the hardships in my life, I wished for eternal sleep, never to wake up again. Fortunately, because I can’t imagine a world without my son, I’m glad I stayed alive and brought my son into this universe. After ten days of daily beatings by my mother and my continuous screams that I wasn’t an apple from your garden that you could sell, news came from that young man’s family.
From the young man’s family, a message came that they didn’t want me, and the young man wasn’t interested in me. I felt a bit ashamed and embarrassed among my family and relatives. This caused me to completely lose the little self-confidence I had. Of course, I understood the young man’s perspective; I hadn’t developed physically yet, and I was very small and thin and I had no breasts or hips to make me attractive as a woman. When men came to propose to me during my high school days, my mother’s beatings, coercion, and harassment to force me into marriage would start again. Until, I went to a larger city for university at eighteen, and distanced myself from my mother and family.
In the town where I was born, they consider girls like fruit, apples to be exact, that must be sold. The higher the price, the better!
But I wasn’t, am not, and will not be an apple to be sold in a fruit market.

I am not an apple from your garden that you can be sold at your store. Do not hurt me if I don’t want to get married for more money. Please don’t sell me.

Portrait Paintings

Jerry Saltz

Jerry Saltz is my best friend in my mind!

Larry Gagosian.

Larry Gagosian is my father in my mind.

The face of Al Pacino bears a striking resemblance to my grandfather. He lived in a village nestled among the mountains of Iran and Afghanistan, and I often visited that village with my maternal grandfather. My family resided in the city of Kashmar, close to that village. My maternal grandfather was the sole supporter during my childhood. My father harbored animosity towards him and often displayed that animosity towards me. My facial features closely mirrored his, making me my grandfather’s favorite grandchild. In my childhood, he was the only one who wholeheartedly loved me.
His personality was strong, and he had a passion for writing poetry. He would read his poems to me, tear them apart, and scatter them in a stream. He had a male donkey that, even aware of my grandfather’s affection for me. He refused to let me ride on him, and would kick me and sometimes pull my hair with his teeth! My grandfather remains alive in my heart, and his jealous donkey still brings a smile to my face. Painting this portrait was more about my grandfather than Al Pacino!

The face of Al Pacino bears a striking resemblance to my grandfather.

Turkmen women in Iran are considered among the most beautiful Iranian women, dedicating their entire lives to creating beauty. They weave carpets and rugs, even crafting their own clothing from silk they raise and produce. Turkmen Iranian women are like beautiful queens adorned in red attire and silver crowns.
One of my apprentices was Turkmen, and in 2013, I painted her portrait, thoroughly enjoying the experience.

Turkmen women.

Shepherd’s girl. I was a little shepherd for my grandfather whose
sheep loved me. My fondest and most beautiful childhood memories are from the time when I was a shepherd. My grandfather always had a few sheep, and I would take them to the mountain slopes and through the orchards for grazing. I have always loved and continue to cherish being a shepherd.

Shepherd’s girl. Oil color on canvas 2021

Mom, I am only 12 years old, I don’t want to get married. In the devout town where I grew up, girls were often wed young. My best childhood friend, Zahra, was only nine years old when she got married. I have written her story on this painting of mine. My mother driven by customs, attempted to force me into marriage through severe beatings over trivial matters nearly my thirteen age. It's been over a decade since I last saw her, yet My love for her remains profound and I love her. The memory of my teenage years in that small religious town brings tears to my eyes, leaving me uncertain if it's the longing for missing my mother's embrace or the hardship of the time that stirs my emotions.

Mom, I am only 12 years old, I don’t want to get married.

Dad, if you beat me for my dancing, I will quietly dance ballet in my soul.

Dad, if you beat me for my dancing, I will quietly dance ballet in my soul.

Dad, I don’t like hijab, the veil surrounds me like a chain. Because of not wearing a hijab, not having a cursed piece of fabric on my head, because of being different, and thinking differently, because of my family's extremist views on my art and my new religion, I have been in exile from Iran for years and I sought refuge in the West. Only God and the universe know how painful and difficult this escape has been for me and how much I miss all my loved ones in my home country.

Dad, I don’t like hijab, the veil surrounds me like a chain.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire.

Dad, finally I’m gonna dance naked in the fire.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering. Since childhood, various individuals would ridicule and punish me for my paintings in various ways. Most of the time, there was a deep fear within me when I painted, fearing that if someone didn’t like my paintings, they would tear them apart. Sometimes, even in my dreams, I repeatedly saw this nightmare of my paintings being torn to shreds. Once, I grew tired of these dreams, nightmares, and fears, so I decided to tear all my paintings into pieces myself. When I tore one of my best paintings, I immediately regretted it and cried intensely for about an hour, I loved my painting. I had become remorseful for destroying part of my soul, but didn’t know what to do. I created this artwork with torn pieces of painting and decorated it with bright colors and materials.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering. Since childhood, various individuals would ridicule and punish me for my paintings in various ways. Most of the time, there was a deep fear within me when I painted, fearing that if someone didn’t like my paintings, they would tear them apart. Sometimes, even in my dreams, I repeatedly saw this nightmare of my paintings being torn to shreds. Once, I grew tired of these dreams, nightmares, and fears, so I decided to tear all my paintings into pieces myself. When I tore one of my best paintings, I immediately regretted it and cried intensely for about an hour, I loved my painting. I had become remorseful for destroying part of my soul, but didn’t know what to do. I created this artwork with torn pieces of painting and decorated it with bright colors and materials.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering. Since childhood, various individuals would ridicule and punish me for my paintings in various ways. Most of the time, there was a deep fear within me when I painted, fearing that if someone didn’t like my paintings, they would tear them apart. Sometimes, even in my dreams, I repeatedly saw this nightmare of my paintings being torn to shreds. Once, I grew tired of these dreams, nightmares, and fears, so I decided to tear all my paintings into pieces myself. When I tore one of my best paintings, I immediately regretted it and cried intensely for about an hour, I loved my painting. I had become remorseful for destroying part of my soul, but didn’t know what to do. I created this artwork with torn pieces of painting and decorated it with bright colors and materials.

If you tear up my painting, I will make brighter and more beautiful things from the torn and scarred pieces. I have learned over the years to create beautiful things from my wounds and suffering.

I am passionate about all the children in the world and I love them, desiring peace, tranquility, and security for them globally. I am passionate about all the children in the world and I love them, desiring peace, tranquility, and security for them globally. Let’s create a beautiful and better world for children, ensuring no bullet is fired from any gun aimed at them. During my six years as an art teacher at the World Bank Children Center in Washington, D.C., I realized that children are beautiful angels sent to make our world more beautiful. This school, with students from various countries and backgrounds, reflects the diversity of their parents working at the World Bank. In those six years, I witnessed children in my classes disregarding nationality, race, religion, and skin color, playing together with complete love. They shared their food and toys, expressing love wholeheartedly. The school I taught in was next to the White House! I wish all world leaders were obliged to spend an hour with children, learning from them about the right way to love, be kind, and create a beautiful world. I am devoted to all the children in the world, wishing for peace and tranquility for them.

I am passionate about all the children in the world and I love them, desiring peace, tranquility, and security for them globally.

I am passionate about all the children in the world and I love them, desiring peace, tranquility, and security for them globally. Let’s create a beautiful and better world for children, ensuring no bullet is fired from any gun aimed at them. During my six years as an art teacher at the World Bank Children Center in Washington, D.C., I realized that children are beautiful angels sent to make our world more beautiful. This school, with students from various countries and backgrounds, reflects the diversity of their parents working at the World Bank. In those six years, I witnessed children in my classes disregarding nationality, race, religion, and skin color, playing together with complete love. They shared their food and toys, expressing love wholeheartedly. The school I taught in was next to the White House! I wish all world leaders were obliged to spend an hour with children, learning from them about the right way to love, be kind, and create a beautiful world. I am devoted to all the children in the world, wishing for peace and tranquility for them.

I am passionate about all the children in the world and I love them, desiring peace, tranquility, and security for them globally.

I am passionate about all the children in the world and I love them, desiring peace, tranquility, and security for them globally. Let’s create a beautiful and better world for children, ensuring no bullet is fired from any gun aimed at them. During my six years as an art teacher at the World Bank Children Center in Washington, D.C., I realized that children are beautiful angels sent to make our world more beautiful. This school, with students from various countries and backgrounds, reflects the diversity of their parents working at the World Bank. In those six years, I witnessed children in my classes disregarding nationality, race, religion, and skin color, playing together with complete love. They shared their food and toys, expressing love wholeheartedly. The school I taught in was next to the White House! I wish all world leaders were obliged to spend an hour with children, learning from them about the right way to love, be kind, and create a beautiful world. I am devoted to all the children in the world, wishing for peace and tranquility for them.

I am passionate about all the children in the world and I love them, desiring peace, tranquility, and security for them globally.

Please, don’t tear up my painting. They are a part of me and my soul.
Please don’t hurt my soul or my face. Let me be free!

Please, don’t tear up my painting.

Wounded butterflies fluttered delicately in my heart and soul. I believe that many Iranian girls carry wounded butterflies within their souls, fluttering and dying, that no one knows about. It’s challenging for Iranian women to be themselves because they must censor themselves and not show their pain for various reasons. Iranian girls conceal all their wounds and present themselves in the most beautiful way, shining brightly, with special skills. I had nightly enuresis until around the age of twelve or thirteen. They burned my body several times with fire to infuse its warmth into my bones, hoping it would cure my nightly enuresis, but it was all in vain. As a teenager, I tried desperately to hide the burn mark from my childhood on the right corner of my forehead with cover creams, but it was impossible. I knew everyone would discover that I wet my bed as a child and had nightly enuresis. It was a scar that carried a lot of shame and embarrassment for me. I was trying very hard to cover all the wounds or the pains of my soul in a professional and special way and put on my face a fake smile. Sometimes, when I look deep within myself and behind all my strength and beauty, I still see wounded butterflies in my soul and existence, flapping their wings in pain and they are trying to heal themselves and fly and shine beautifully.

Wounded butterflies fluttered delicately in my heart and soul.

I am still beautiful and dignified despite being wounded by the acid you splashed on my face with your claws. You etched a butterfly permanently when you marred my face with acid because I do not wear a hijab!
When I heard news about the acid attacks and injuring the girls in Iran in 2014, I couldn’t ignore it. I was a refugee in Turkey, facing a tough and exhausting life at that time. I could feel the pain and despair of the girls whose faces were scarred by acid. I’m not seeking or showcasing violence. But through a simple painting, I just wanted to depict the pain and wounds suffered by the injured girls in my country. With this artistic endeavor, I aimed to convey that the girls of my homeland are beautiful, even if they bear scars on their faces and souls. Every year, numerous acid attack cases occur worldwide, particularly in countries such as Pakistan, Bangladesh, Iran, and others.
Let's attention and unite to end this violent and cruel act forever.

I am still beautiful and dignified despite being wounded by the acid you splashed on my face with your claws.

Let me be free. Dad, your religion has wounded and captured me.
Release me and let me fly. The religion of my ancestors was like a glass that kept me confined and restricted my freedom. It was a religion that almost every day led to physical punishment from my parents due to my reluctance to perform the five daily prayers. It was a religion that forbade me from listening to any form of music or dancing, book reading, dancing, singing, writing poetry, painting, and even laughing out loud. It was a religion that forced me to wear an ugly black veil and headscarf from the age of seven. When I think back now, the excessive religiousness of my family and fellow townspeople caused so much harm in my life that sometimes I wished never to be born. I desire open and unrestricted communication with my God and universe. Please let me be free.

Let me be free.

I really love blue eyes and watermelon. Even now, sometimes when I gaze into the mirror, I still see the image of that tired and thirsty little girl who once stole watermelons from the neighbor’s farm and sometimes she was afraid of falling into hell and fire after her death because of stealing a watermelon. My favorite fruit has always been watermelon. During my elementary school days, after school and lunch, I would walk to my father’s garden and farm, helping him with the farm work. My father didn’t have a car, just a motorcycle that he used to take my younger siblings to the farm. My older sister and I walked about one and a half hours to get to my father’s farm. One hot summer afternoon, on our way to the farm, I was extremely thirsty and exhausted. My hometown Kashmar is next to the two biggest deserts and is one of the hottest cities in Iran during the summer. Midway to the farm, I saw a field full of watermelons. I don’t know how, but suddenly I found myself in the middle of that watermelon field. I distinctly remember trying to break the tough watermelon rind with a stone and devour it. I had become a little thief, and I feared that I would go to hell for stealing a watermelon and they burn me in its flames. Forty years later, I still remember the sweet and excellent taste of that watermelon, and sometimes, I still ask my God, “Will you really send me to hell and burn me for stealing a watermelon after my death?” I’m still alive, and I don’t know what happen after my death but I do know that I’m still in love with the sweet and excellent taste of watermelon.

I really love blue eyes and watermelon. Oil color on canvas 2015 Size: 110x 110cm

A kurdish girl from Khorasan, Iran. When I had a gallery in Iran, I completed many paintings like this one, and I sold them in my own gallery.

A kurdish girl from Khorasan, Iran.

A kurdish girl from Khorasan, Iran.

A kurdish girl from Khorasan, Iran.

I love children and pigeons. Pastel painting in 2010.

I love children and pigeons. Pastel painting in 2010.

My drawing black pencil. 2002

My drawing black pencil. 2002

title. project 04

date. 2035

city. Turin

size. mural painting 900m x 500m

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