Statement:

A vision made of bodies and objects, installed in a box of light. An invisible prairie invites us to wait for the riderless mount. A Throne of darkness, a boat without a port, with sails made out of rags and strings of empty fishing nets hanging from all sides.Further away, there are Goddesses, helpless souls, bodies with their scared and painful legs -after the incident-, fragments of figures struggling with wounds, memory and history, with featherless wings.We reach the playground, but it's already late as if sparkle has gone out of the Carousel. And the rust and a supposedly wooden horse sit together like old friends, a four-legged creature frozen amidst a hopeful jump and glad of its fate. We don't know whether these are totems that have accepted the prayer rags of Sara or ghosts that, with the spiritualism of our ancestors, are looking down at us, from a height, from far high up.These individual islands belong to a fragile yet plural world, and it is as if they have been here for some time. As if for this tribe, the sorrow is akin to a compulsory migration, sleepwalkers that sit on the throne of judgement, eternal merchants lost in their own circle of fate, until the trumpet is blown and they are suddenly awakened.

Amirali Ghasemi. September 2022