EXHIBITIONSNima Esmailpour
04 Feb 2011 - 14 Feb 2011



To Nima

Those days you did not even exist in your mother’s womb, leave alone knowing about Benjamin or coming to streets or reading aloud street history book by heart….
History had no time for your birth. Those days, nobody had time to hesitate a little. You had to escape from bullets, to run from one street to another, so that the bullet darting faster than you lost its way in the alleys and hit a wall or someone’s chest. If you even climbed up a tree you were not a hundred-years-old crow. Remember it was under the same tree in Bagh-e-Shah that they chopped heads off or hung the Sheik from the same branches of the same tree which withered so fast in August to make you hesitate for a short time, a very short time….
But all those years had turned into a piece of stone in the hands of people and it was thrown towards a future blocked by the hangman. Ten, twenty meters further as you bend to pick a stone from the pavement, a crow flies away: by instinct, like a man who runs away when he hears the sound of a bullet, no matter where and when it is fired, whether it is at the start of a marathon or at the end of a peaceful demonstration… You just run… which direction? Which end line? Running after which prize makes you drag history behind yourself?
In which day of which month? Is year anything more than one point increase in a number? It is apparent from the futility of the calendar made by you that you have engaged in making history. As if you are able to write while running.

The earth intends to continue its circular path forever.
The mildness of spring and winter revolution is only good for earthworms and radishes.

Homayoun Sirizi
Jan. 2011