Nachträglich Zurückfordern

Deferred Reclamations

In this series metaphors are used as organizers of memories in an attempt to recreate reclaimed poetry pieces that I had created as an adolescent.

Through this process of image making and staging of manipulated objects, I investigated my pre-immigration ambiguous feelings and memories of identity, community, space and fictional fantasies as an adolescent girl growing up in Iran.

As the second component of this photo project, I held photography workshops with the adolescence of age 15-18 in my hometown Kerman, Iran.

The final photographs were exhibited in Der Laden Gallery in Weimar Germany.

Photography

I say hi to my feet, sticking out of the bed every morning. My definitions can’t contain this chaotic body anymore.	I’m burying my hope, smoke after smoke, piece after piece. All around my father’s garden. My father who is still hopeful.	I want to make a robot. To put it in a playground. Play a game with a purpose and specific rules. It can win and it can lose. I know what it is going to think about. I will create some more. I can sit and watch as they play together. I will get obsessed with them and love them for sure. I created them. I gave them life. They are beautiful. Well done to me. They better be grateful... Um ...Perhaps I need to restart.
The hum of silence hurts my ears again. Today, I couldn’t find it again. Perhaps I’m forgetting that I have to look for it.	Again, as always, I sit myself in the classroom. The teacher talks about the stable laws of nature. The logic of the world. And I am still looking for magic. Looking for an exception. The missing piece of the half ladder in the yard. The problem of reaching the roof.	Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.
Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.	Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.	My mother says I used to sleep on my bent ears. My odd huge ears. That she had to straighten them under my head every night. She said people with wide ears are smart. They will want to know everything. She said I might fly with them one day. My sweet kind mother. She never thought that I won’t ever listen to this world.
My mother says I used to sleep on my bent ears. My odd huge ears. That she had to straighten them under my head every night. She said people with wide ears are smart. They will want to know everything. She said I might fly with them one day. My sweet kind mother. She never thought that I won’t ever listen to this world.	I am looking for a major force in a ragged body. In this long life of gray masks, I seek a Dervish. Someone who can lift me with a great love	I am standing in the middle of a sand storm. It looks beautiful. The world, this magnificent parade is a private show for my naive eyes. Maybe because I am its’ biggest fan.
I no longer play with dolls, I become many dolls, under this bewilderment. Polite, well behaved and graceful. I believe in all paradoxes.	I was sleeping in solitude, a deep sleep, Free from the spellbound of water, wind, earth and sun, A tigress came and licked both of my eyes, I ran into the desert, To ask the secret of my dream, A tulip from far whispered, Hush... I stood eye to eye with a Mirage Earth made a statue of my amazement from dust .... Hossein Panahi
Bury me right in the middle of my desert. When my body died. Then I will fly peacefully above it. I will forever dance, drunk with joy in the celebration of creation.

Elahe Rostami

Photography

I say hi to my feet, sticking out of the bed every morning. My definitions can’t contain this chaotic body anymore.

I’m burying my hope, smoke after smoke, piece after piece. All around my father’s garden. My father who is still hopeful.

The hum of silence hurts my ears again. Today, I couldn’t find it again. Perhaps I’m forgetting that I have to look for it.

Again, as always, I sit myself in the classroom. The teacher talks about the stable laws of nature. The logic of the world. And I am still looking for magic. Looking for an exception. The missing piece of the half ladder in the yard. The problem of reaching the roof.

Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.

Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.

Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.

I am looking for a major force in a ragged body. In this long life of gray masks, I seek a Dervish. Someone who can lift me with a great love

I am standing in the middle of a sand storm. It looks beautiful. The world, this magnificent parade is a private show for my naive eyes. Maybe because I am its’ biggest fan.

I no longer play with dolls, I become many dolls, under this bewilderment. Polite, well behaved and graceful. I believe in all paradoxes.

Bury me right in the middle of my desert. When my body died. Then I will fly peacefully above it. I will forever dance, drunk with joy in the celebration of creation.

Master's Thesis Project: Process

Photography

I say hi to my feet, sticking out of the bed every morning. My definitions can’t contain this chaotic body anymore.

I’m burying my hope, smoke after smoke, piece after piece. All around my father’s garden. My father who is still hopeful.

The hum of silence hurts my ears again. Today, I couldn’t find it again. Perhaps I’m forgetting that I have to look for it.

Again, as always, I sit myself in the classroom. The teacher talks about the stable laws of nature. The logic of the world. And I am still looking for magic. Looking for an exception. The missing piece of the half ladder in the yard. The problem of reaching the roof.

Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.

Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.

Heigh! My plastic fruits. Heigh! My plastic fruit self, We tear open. We open up only to find ourselves in another.

I am looking for a major force in a ragged body. In this long life of gray masks, I seek a Dervish. Someone who can lift me with a great love

I am standing in the middle of a sand storm. It looks beautiful. The world, this magnificent parade is a private show for my naive eyes. Maybe because I am its’ biggest fan.

I no longer play with dolls, I become many dolls, under this bewilderment. Polite, well behaved and graceful. I believe in all paradoxes.

Bury me right in the middle of my desert. When my body died. Then I will fly peacefully above it. I will forever dance, drunk with joy in the celebration of creation.

Master's Thesis Project: Process

​