The Other Modernism: Rediscovering Iran’s Avant-Garde

Overshadowed by revolution, sanctions, and outdated notions of the Modern, Iran's vibrant postwar art scene is coming into focus at the Asia Society

by Robin Cembalest, ARTnews

Back in the 20th century, everyone was talking about how New York wrested the status of modern-art capital from Paris. Nowadays, curators in the U.S. and Europe are vying to share the spotlight.

Shows this season at MoMA and the Guggenheim explore Japan’s postwar avant-garde. The Rubin is doing Indian Modernism, Part 3. In Madrid, the Reina Sofía has Latin American abstraction from the ’30s to the ’70s, part of a multifaceted collaboration with the Cisneros Foundation that launched with a conference on Latin American Modernisms. And this summer in London, Tate Modern will open a retrospective of Sudan-born painter Ibrahim El-Salahi; this too is part of a larger initiative to globalize art history.

Amidst these efforts, Iran has remained the Other Other Modernism.  Though Iran was very much part of the conversation in the in the postwar era, when its artists studied abroad, traveled freely, and gallery-hopped at home, the Islamic revolution moved the conversation elsewhere. Aside from NYU’s Grey Art Gallery, whose founder, Abby Weed Grey, purchased hundreds of Irani modernist works during the ’60s and ’70s, few U.S. institutions have committed to exploring the diverse, hybrid, idiosyncratic productions of pre-Revolutionary Iran.

“There was this kind of blind spot,” says Melissa Chiu, director of the Asia Society Museum in New York, who describes the era as transitional, influential, and overlooked.  In September the museum hopes to change the equation with “Iran Modern,” an international loan show uniting more than 100 objects from the ’50s to the ’70s. Curated by Fereshteh Daftari and Layla Diba, it’s the most ambitious survey of Iran’s pre-Revolutionary art to be staged outside Iran. Spread over two floors of the museum, the exhibition will explore the ways these lesser-known Middle Eastern modernists forged their own version of an international style, borrowing liberally from Western-art traditions as they inventively updated their own.

Earlier European modernism was a strong influence on Houshang Pezeshknia, who depicted oil workers on the island of Khark in this 1958 portrait.

 

Houshang Pezeshknia, Khark, 1958. Babak Pezeshknia Collection. Courtesy ARTnews

With their multi-hyphenated addresses; habit of changing hats as artist, curator, and art impresario; and tendency to sample from across the style spectrum, the Irani modernists might have more in common with today’s global avant-garde than the fabled New York School did.

Marcos Grigorian, for example, a Russian-born artist (and actor), studied in Rome, ran several Tehran galleries in the late ’40s and early ’50s, organized the first Tehran Biennial in 1958, and opened the Universal Galleries in Minneapolis in the early ’60s. Like most of Iran’s artists he developed a practice at once global and local. Using humble materials like sand and enamel, in common with Europeans like the arte povera artists and Tàpies, he created textured abstractions that also read as renderings of the desert.

Marcos Grigorian, Untitled, n.d. sand and enamel on canvas. Grey Art Gallery, New York University Art Collection. Gift of Abby Weed Grey, G1927.570. Courtesy ARTnews

The techniques and iconography of Islamic, pre-Islamic, and folk art were all fodder for Iran’s modern artists. Mirror mosaics and reverse mirror painting have been inspirations for Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, who took classes at Cornell and Parsons, befriended the Abstract Expressionists, studied with Milton Avery, and collaborated with Warhol.

Seeing the Shah Cheraq Shrine in Shiraz, which she visited with Robert Morris and Marcia Hafif in 1966,  was transformative for Farmanfarmaian, who in this untitled work from the mid-’70s infuses traditional forms with geometric and gestural abstraction.

Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, Untitled, c. 1975–1976. Private Collection. Courtesy ARTnews

Classic miniature painting and Persian calligraphy were raw materials for a number of artists who, with a mixture of reverence and irreverence, transformed traditional, elegant letters into nonsensical writing. In a 1982 work by Faramarz Pilaram, the dancerly forms are just that–they never resolve into readable text.

Faramarz Pilaram, Untitled, 1982. Houman M. Sarshar Collection, New York. Courtesy ARTnews

Nothing has been the lifetime theme of Parviz Tanavoli, who has incorporated the word Heech, meaning “nothingness” in Persian, in his work since 1964. This 1972 sculpture might be seen as mocking other artists’ calligraphic explorations as trivial—or not. “Heech remains open to interpretation,” Daftari says. “It can be seen as an existential statement or a political expression reducing grand official rhetoric to ‘nothing.’”

This is one of 80 works by the artist acquired by Abby Weed Grey, who met Tanavoli at the second Tehran Biennial and became a longtime friend and patron. Her Iranian, Indian, and Turkish holdings became the basis of the Grey Art Gallery‘s collection.

Parviz Tanavoli, Heech (Nothing), 1972. Grey Art Gallery, New York University Art Collection. Gift of Abby Weed Grey, G1975.54. Courtesy ARTnews

Using grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Dedalus Foundation, among others, the Asia Society has been organizing loans from public and private collections in Europe, the U.S., and the Middle East—except, of course, Iran.

Working around the restriction of U.S. sanctions against Iran became in a sense a “curatorial principle,” says Diba, a former curator of Islamic art at the Brooklyn Museum. They had to shape their story  without classic works from the Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art and Iranian private collections.

Daftari, who organized “Without Boundary: Seventeen Ways of Looking” when she was a MoMA curator, laments the chilling effect that the sanctions have on art exchange. More transparent Treasury Department regulations, she suggests, might make the possibility of applying for art loans more feasible.

“I find it highly disconcerting that sanctions should affect the representation of Iranian modern art,” she comments, stressing that the opinion is her own. “Sanctions are hurting badly the average people in Iran and now even the representation of a historical period in a museum show?”

One of the final works in “Iran Modern” is an ink drawing by Ardeshir Mohassess, the artist and satirist who was the subject of a 2008 retrospective at the Asia Society guest-curated by artists Shirin Neshat and Nicky Nodjoumi. Mohassess, who had been critical of the Shah’s regime, was living in New York in 1978, when he made this drawing commenting on Iran’s new reality. The Revolution had begun, and the era of Iran’s freewheeling avant-garde was over.

Ardeshir Mohassess, Untitled, 1978. Katayoun Beglari-Scarlet and Peter Scarlet Collection. Courtesy ARTnews

The careers of its artists, however, were not. Several figures in the Asia Society show, who had returned from abroad to live and work in Iran, continue to exhibit around the world–including at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where Farmanfarmaian and Tavoli were featured last year in a small contemporary-Iranian-art installation within the new Islamic-art galleries.

That was another sign that traditional boundaries are eroding. After “Iran Modern,” we might find that these Middle Eastern modernists–now so contemporary–will enjoy a sort of Renaissance in the West.

Via ARTnews

The Crossroads of Art and Human Rights: Sketches of Iran

by Omid Memarian , The Huffington Post

The following is excerpted from the introduction to Omid Memarian's new book Sketches of Iran: A Glimpse from the Front Lines of Human Rights:


One day in January 2003, my friend and colleague Ali Reza Eshraghi republished an old American cartoon in the Hayat No newspaper -- a cartoon the Special Court for the Clergy deemed insulting to the Islamic Republic's founding cleric Ayatollah Khomeini because they thought its character looked like him. The cartoon was actually an American satire of Franklin Roosevelt, drawn in the 1930s long before Iran was even an Islamic Republic, but that made no difference. Ali Reza was sent to Evin Prison where he spent two months behind bars; the Hayat No was banned and dozens of journalists lost their jobs.

Three years earlier, in January 2000, another cartoonist friend of mine, Nikahang Kowsar, drew a cartoon depicting a crocodile whose name rhymed with Mesbah Yazdi, an extremist cleric in Qom. The cartoon angered the powerful cleric's supporters to the point where they took to the streets. Mesbah supporters gathered for three days in Qom and other cities and did not end their protest until Nikahang was arrested and the Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei issued a statement ordering the end of the gatherings.

Ministry of Culture authorities, Iran's security apparatus, and extremist conservative media could not tolerate even the vague similarity of cartoon characters to the country's officials, much less an attempt to actively caricature them. Both of my friends received death threats, though thankfully both escaped that fate.

For me, these two incidents illuminated the power of political cartoons: the depth of their penetration, the breadth of their reach, and their capacity to cause a cartoonist or editor to face the prospect of death.

Ali Reza and Nikahang were not the only ones persecuted for cartoons: prominent Iranian cartoonists Ali Divandari, Hassan Karimzadeh, Hadi Heidari, and brothers Mana and Touka Neyestani also faced political harassment for their art. Following the government's steady imposition of widespread limitations on free expression over the last decade, apprehension about cartoons has been running high and the government's tolerance has all but disappeared. Just last May, a young cartoonist, Mahmoud Shokrayeh, was sentenced to 25 lashes when he drew a cartoon about a Member of Parliament, Ahmad Lotfi Ashtiani, who then filed a lawsuit against him.

The power of the cartoonist lies in his or her ability to take the most complex social, political, and cultural subjects and illustrate them in such a concise and powerful way that thereafter the cartoon and its message are indelibly tied to the topic in the mind of the public. Cartoons are a strong medium; they can transfer a message instantly, reaching beyond linguistic and cultural barriers to illustrate a country's current state of affairs both for its citizens and for the world.

It is because of this power that the consequences are so harsh for cartoonists who refuse to ignore the daily struggles of their society. This is especially the case when a cartoon deals with deeply human issues, such as individual, social, and political freedoms, or when it somehow challenges those in power.

In recent years, the inevitable difficulties of working in such an environment of intimidation, threats, and interrupted artistic creation have forced some Iranian cartoonists, much like Iranian journalists and civil society activists, to leave Iran for other countries. Some who still work inside Iran, in order to remain out of prison, have had to either communicate through a language of multi-layered metaphors or altogether give up drawing cartoons that remotely challenge the rulers' narrative about different issues in Iranian society. Even so, many still create brilliant works that reflect the bitter realities of Iranian society.

Many cartoonists have fled Iran's oppressive atmosphere. Both Nikahang and Ali Reza left the country after the death threats ebbed. Over the last decade many others, including Touka and Mana Neyestani and Afshin Sabouki, whose works are represented in this book, have left Iran as well.
These individuals, like those who had to deal with the Iranian security apparatus, courthouse corridors, and prison cells, were never able to return their lives to how they were before. Never. On his personal blog, Touka Neyestani wrote a few sentences illustrating how repression and limited personal freedom make a good case for emigration:

I was tired of my life of crime.... I was teaching drawing to several boys and girls, which wasn't allowed. I used live models in my sketches, which wasn't allowed. In my classes I said things that weren't allowed. Instead of watching our own TV series, I watched channels that weren't allowed. I listened to music that wasn't allowed. On my computer, I had lots of photographs of delightful and beautiful people that I wasn't allowed to have. I saw films and kept some at home that weren't allowed. Sometimes I would secretly visit Facebook, which wasn't allowed. In parties, I socialized with strangers I wasn't allowed to know. I laughed out loud everywhere, which wasn't allowed. There were times when I was happy when I was supposed to be sad, which wasn't allowed. I liked eating some foods that weren't allowed. I preferred drinking Pepsi to doogh [a yogurt drink], which wasn't allowed. None of the books and authors I liked were allowed. I had worked in magazines and newspapers that were not allowed. I thought about things that weren't allowed. I had wishes that weren't allowed, and ... it's true, I was never punished for all this criminal conduct, but there were no guarantees that I wouldn't be questioned someday for every single one of them. Worse yet, the very thought of always being involved in a crime and escaping the law disturbed me.

The cartoonists whose illustrations appear in this collection delve into issues that affect many lives in Iran every day. Accompanying each cartoon is an essay by an individual offering his or her personal experience with the subjects illustrated. The contributing writers in this book include journalists, civil society activists, and academics, most of whom have themselves faced violations of their rights and personal, social, and political liberties.

Additionally, some family members of political prisoners have sent personal notes for this book or have taken part in interviews that we then put into essay form. In these essays, they share personal perspectives beyond the legal issues related to their kin, who are now political prisoners. These families share their sorrows and joys, their fears and hopes with all of us.

These short, intimate, and at times deeply personal essays take us through situations we may have never thought about and introduce us to individuals whose life choices inspire us all. The wide variety of experiences sheds light on the pain and suffering so many Iranians endure every day.

These stories barely scratch the surface of the reality of Iran today, of people enduring wanton violations of their basic human rights, and many dedicating their lives to fighting for them. This book offers only a snapshot of the daily struggles of Iranian society, a glimpse from the front lines of human rights.

 
Omid Memarian: Award Winning Journalist, writes for the IPS News Agency. 

Via  The Huffington Post

Profiles in Cartooning Courage

How artists in Syria, Iran and India wield free-speech pens against powerful government forces.

by Michael Cavna, The Washington Post

Speaking Thursday at the Library of Congress, “Doonesbury” creator Garry Trudeau highlighted an intriguing dynamic of satire: The more the intended target reacts, he said, the more its practitioner gains the advantage. If the victim flinches or returns fire at a cartoon, the illustration only gains in power.

If you consider that cause-and-effect, then three editorial cartoonists around the map — in Syria, India and Iran — are presently among the most powerful practitioners in the world.  And this week, news involving that trio reminds just how perilous the act of satire can be in some countries.

The Virginia-based Cartoonists Rights Network International has announced that Ali Ferzat and Aseem Trivedi are the 2012 recipients of the group’s Courage in Editorial Cartooning Award. The honor is presented to a “cartoonist in great danger or who has demonstrated exceptional courage in the exercise of free-speech rights.

Ferzat, you may recall, was abducted and badly beaten last August amid the Syrian regime’s crackdown. Ferzat, 60, had become critical of the government in his cartoons; the assailants tellingly injured both his hands, breaking at least one.
At the time, political cartoonist Matt Bors — who spoke before Trudeau at Thursday’s Herblock Prize event — said to Comic Riffs that the attack on Ferzat was “a reminder that picking up a pen to draw cartoons is still a dangerous act in many parts of the world.” And when Ferzat was named to the “TIME 100 Most Influential People for 2012” list in April, Politico’s Matt Wuerker wrote in the magazine: “Tyrants often don’t get the jokes, but their people do. So when the iron fist comes down, it often comes down on cartoonists.”

[Ali Ferzat: A Call to Cartoonists to draw support for the viciously beaten Syrian artist]

In announcing that it was also honoring Trivedi, CRNI said the Indian cartoonist was mobilizing “his fellow citizens against India’s pervasive political corruption.” The human-rights group cited Trivedi’s launch of two pages on Facebook: Cartoonists Against Corruption and Save Your Voice: A Movement Against Web Censorship. The group said Trivedi has been charged with treason, and at least one Indian lawmaker has said Trivedi’s work has mocked national emblems and his nation’s parliament.

“By suppressing art, you cannot suppress corruption,” Trivedi said in January in an interview with the Wall Street Journal’s India RealTime.

[Whither Political Cartooning? A Conversation With Matt Bors]

The week also brought headlines that Iranian cartoonist Mahmoud Shokraiyeh was sentenced to more than two-dozen lashings for depicting a member of parliament (MP), Ahmad Lotfi Ashtiani, as a soccer player. Iran has a history of punishing some cartoonists who have tackled religious issues — but the nature of this sentencing was believed to be unprecedented.

“There is one little religious factor in this cartoon!” exiled political cartoonist Nikahang Kowsar, who was jailed in Iran in 2000 for his work, tells Comic Riffs. “The cartoonist did not miss the dark spot on the forehead of the MP, that is caused by too much prostration during prayer. It is a sign of devotion in many Islamic communities.”

[Nikahang Kowsar: Iranian cartoonist sticks to his satiric guns]

This sentencing for printed media libel “is very dangerous for each and every cartoonist in the country,” Kowsar continues. “Based on this ruling, from now on, politicians would be able to demand punishment for cartoonists depicting them. So if a minister or even a low-ranking official feels offended or insulted by a cartoon, he or she would refer to this judgment and demand at least 25 lashes for the cartoonist.”

Mana Neyestani, who was imprisoned in 2006, called upon fellow Iranian cartoonists to show their support for Shokrayeh by drawing Ashtiani, Kowsar says.

“It is a turning point for Iranian cartoonists, and everyone’s worried for the future of the art,” Kowsar tells Comic Riffs. “But regardless of the fear created by this judgment, Iranian cartoonists are lashing the MP with their cartoons.”

All of which adds a corollary to Trudeau’s explanation of satire’s ”unfair” dynamic: Sometimes, the more the intended target reacts, the more practitioners band together to oppose repression of free speech and rights. 
 
Some governments may carry out physical attacks on their artists, but satirists still wield the assault of laughter. And we all know what the mighty Twain once said about that.

(NOTE: The CRNI award ceremony for Ferzat and Trivedi is scheduled for Sept. 15 at D.C.’s George Washington University during the convention of the Association of American Editorial Cartoonists.)

Via The Washington Post