In a thrift shop, I happened upon a discarded box of anonymous photographs from the 1370s (the 1990s). They belonged to a moalem-e parvareshi (school master) who appeared in nearly every frame alongside his young male students on school trips and field activities. In an era defined by rigid gender segregation, these images captured a dense, subversively intimate male bonding, a closed world permitted only away from public eyes. When the teacher passed away, his box of memories simply ended up on a junk shelf. The moment I found them, I knew they were my material.

But as I sat with them at home, looking closer, a profound frustration took over. These boys, being molded within the school system, were being trained to become the future gears of an oppressive machine. Looking at their faces, I felt an overwhelming urge to wipe away their identities. I wanted to commit an act of violence through a completely non-violent medium.

So, I picked up my brush and began to burn them with paint.

At first, I used a sharp stencil, creating edgy, detailed flames of red, yellow, and white. But as I systematically ruined their faces and erased their identities, my anger began to lift. A sense of calm took over. The colors bled into one another and my palette shifted; the aggressive reds softened into pinkish tones. I threw away the stencil and began painting freehand with fluid, almost fluffy brushstrokes. By manifesting this destruction through art, unlike the physical and mental violence they inflict upon us, I found a temporary peace. They set our homeland on fire; I set their memories on fire.

This exhibition is the physical manifestation of that fire, a bridge to my next body of work, House on Fire.

To enter this space, you must walk across a painted map of Iran on the floor. Once inside, the flames break free from the edges of the photographs and spread into the gallery itself. A looped soundtrack echoes through the space: a voice repeating, “Hahaha, fire, fire.” It is a mocking, haunting reminder of who is to blame for the burning of this house.

Downstairs, inside the heavy atmosphere of the Ab-Anbar, the space shifts. You are surrounded by an environment resembling a mountain enclosure, culminating in a long, vertical painting of the Zagros mountains in bright daylight. It is a journey from the domestic ruins of a burning home down into the deeper, enduring landscape of our collective memory, and back to our roots.

I stand in these ruins, torch in hand, looking at everything I have ignited, and I laugh.

Atousa Radmanesh / Atash

Aban 1402 (November 2023)

Installation view of OUTSIDER, solo exhibition at Patio Space, Tehran, Iran, 2023.