Tehran Diary was a project on my mother's life in Tehran, and while visiting her three children living abroad. She belonged to a generation of middle class Iranian parents living alone, and often continents apart from their children.
Following the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran, large groups of Iranians left the country in pursuit of a different life. The self-imposed exile of Iranians created a new pattern for their families. In the absence of comprehensive social security to support the elderly, in a culture where it is common for young adults to remain at home till their late thirties, many parents found the absence of their children difficult to deal with.
It hasn’t been easy for the exiled generation either; not shouldering your filial obligations; instead, living in different time zones, and trying to provide support for the elderly means worrying every day about unforeseen situations.
In 2012, during one of my regular trips from the Netherlands (where I live) to my homeland, Tehran, Iran, I started taking pictures of my mother’s daily life, and this became our routine; whenever we were together, either in Tehran or elsewhere, visiting my siblings. She became my muse. As if I wanted to capture her for myself, for the time she was not with me, when I was back on my solitude in the Netherlands and she was staying alone in Tehran.
A few years later, after printing the images, I sensed an urge to use black and white paint on each photo. It was as if every image offered the possibility of becoming a living moment capable of becoming a three dimensional setting for the world I was trying to create. Photographing her and spending time on each photo had a therapeutic effect on me. I realised that by going through this process I was eventually spending more time with her.
The result was a hybrid of photography and painting, giving a surreal sense to the imagery, which was as peculiar as my mother’s life.
(On a winter morning in 2022, I received a phone call from Tehran, informing me that my mother had been in a car accident. I cant recall the moments that followed…but somehow I managed to get on a plane in order to land in Tehran some 10 hours after that phone call. My mother didn’t survive the accident – she passed away a few weeks later, leaving us in an immense agony.)
Parisa Aminolahi
