Last I left home, I remember, I left Iran. It was summer of 1983. Mom was helping me as I packed the garden, the mountains, the view of our home. Filling my luggage with memories of pomegranates of home, dried peaches & Gole Sorkh. Timeless.

”Home z a piece of Heaven, u know,” Mom said gently. “Remember.” 

29 years has passed, since I exiled. It was not till winter of 2011, that I left Dubai for Home. At last my plane had finally landed, now I was nearest to her, Home. Where no longer the space in between us was few continents, countries and cities apart. Rather just a few small hills and blocks down the main and only Boulevard, till reaching the right turn there at the end, where a beautiful narrow tree lined, dusty road called Sunflower began, which would be taking me deeper into wilderness, and soon I be at her door, knocking. Knocking. This was the nearest I had ever been to my nest, Fatemeh.

Yet, suddenly this one night, Fatemeh dies in her sleep. Imagine, it took me 29 years before I could come back to embrace her, that Fatemeh, who paved the way into my dreams, the place where I see her always standing for justice and liberty, always searching, creating meaning out of the chaos of our personal history and the lands, left life.

Almost a year has passed and I am still testing this very longest of all distances in between us, again. And again her sudden loss left me only with one thing, creating, standing in front of many canvases and tools, photographing, sculpting, writing, these new series of my works, titled “Landscape of Home”. These painthings are the very landscape she wished, dreamt, lived and loved so very deeply, rooted. 

I remember always, just like my grandfather Akbar the greatest, Fatemeh in all ways planting, painting, poetry, pottery, raising, cultivating all kind of seeds, in the way I see, in the form I seek, always, always watering, tearing, torn, making, nourishing me with her soul, and caring for her beloved and much wounded land. I miss her caresses across my land.