2024
After all, as far as I can remember,
photographs convey something.
Through photos and the void in between those photos
and with the absence in my family’s photo albums,
I experienced something like watching a movie from a corrupted file
that glitches,
skips scenes and moments.
You know, when you have to guess what had happened in the part you missed.
My aunt once wrote to my mom in a letter in the ’80s:
“A bit of sad news we had the films developed,
but the photos from Nowruz (Iranian New Year) were nowhere to be found.
Not a single frame.
I’m not sure if we switched the film by mistake.
But it is indeed because of my remarkable photography talent
that every picture turned out completely white.”
Back in the ’90s, when I had my first social experiences in school,
I was told that I wasn’t allowed to share my family’s story with other kids.
I had to hide parts of a history I was so eager to share.
Taking photographs, or simply pointing and shooting,
became my method for capturing.
These were the archives I used to enjoy as a child
capturing, developing,
waiting for days to get the prints from the lab,
and then turning them into a photo album, with no voids.
Having a photo album in hand,
I finally found a way to communicate.
I am still the same child;
my method is still the same.
The gap in my family’s archive is still there.
So here we are,
once again hearing a part of history
that was shared only with 7 year old girls in a school in Iran.
Only for now, I like to whisper silently.
Then,
as I reflect on memory and its functions,
I return again to the words of Chris Marker, who wrote:
“I have spent my life trying to understand the function of remembering,
which is not the opposite of forgetting,
but rather its lining.
We do not remember,
we rewrite memory much as history is rewritten.
How can one remember thirst?”
I hope that you can access this vivid void.
To understand how violence not only affects the current,
but also the past and the future.
How has mankind managed to keep up with the force
to live, laugh, and love
carrying memories, no matter if printed or fluid?
I agree with my aunt
not about her talent,
but the magic of photography.
Whether on film or not,
those moments were indeed captured.
The completely white is not only the absence,
but also the presence.
It leaves traces and shapes memory,
writes history,
expresses what cannot always be spoken,
but dissolves in whispers and whites.