The situation was different before. Getting stuck anywhere in the world, you could consider the coordinates of your presence and the bendings of your movement by a bit of fresh breath and a look around or away. We could estimate throughout our assumed life since the beginning of the youth; at least its limitations, its heights. In every field of art, we had ten to twenty Iranian eminent artists and seventy to eighty foreign ones. The rest of the path was easy if you were reading, seeing or understanding their works; the task was then clear and the tools of judgment were known. With the emergence of a bit of turbulence and new wave, we could diagnose and adjust the mind and taste (within the solid framework of those specific artists) and the work was easy again. That was a relief itself. But now, the world has become thousands of times faster than my eyes and my mind. I have placed myself on the indented stairs of a doorway, watching this “tsunami of artworks” that comes forward howling and wild, destroying any belief, excuse and light and passes. I have stood disarmed and on one leg in the middle of this uproar, embodying “Us Nil, Us a Look”, so that maybe it would make a change; which is almost impossible.
In such messy situation that is more like rough Viking festivals in the middle of villages’ squares, with everyone selling something in every corner of it, the most vital issue of an artist is “to be seen”. It does not matter what the work is or how far it is from the nation’s leaders and the milestones of the land.