There are two windows in my room. One facing south and one east. Both with bambo. blinds. Sometimes one of the windows is brighter than the other. Sometimes one is warmer. Bottles and flower pots, dried flowers and clay bowls. Concealed in dust. The dust of every day and every hour. The dust of the winter cold and the summer heat. One room with two windows and wicker blinds. I do not paint the realities. I am more fond of my own interpretation of the reality of things. I feel what I have been through all over again and give form to this feeling in my work. Sentiments like loneliness, introspection, decline, and loss, and how empty spaces make me feel. The empty spaces and missed presence of humans or their sense and emotions./// I let go of myself in the corners of this simple square shaped room. A square shaped room with two windows. I sit and gaze at the items in front of my window for hours. These items are the characters in my story. They are all silent and watching me. I have no message. I only paint them. I am not protesting, but in silence I both suffer and enjoy this infectious disease. The disease of life. My paintings hold a certain sorrow within them, and modest joys. Tehran 2022