As Time moves forward, tick, tock, tick, tock…eternity vibrates through space, mysterious and scattered like the dust on old books. We are bedeviled. What to make of this notion, Time and its philosophical adjustments. Do we dare take the journey into the essence of Time, and how it consumed Salvador Dali in his melting clocks? Jorge Luis Borges struggled mightily with his readings of the eternal, how the seconds count down, somehow combining the past and the present. He was obsessed by mysteries, labyrinths of the mind, its hidden recesses, and went to ancient books in divine libraries. He could only smell old tobacco aromas, decaying books, and crumbling manuscripts–those that contained wisdom. All is still silent. Even the laughter on lips as we sleep, the hours passing by, life unwinding, and taking its lost dances. More seconds hurtle by…the clock is powerful….sleep’s kaleidoscopic images swirl through an endless tunnel, like the howl of the wind in medieval caves. What to make of this clock, and its invariable descent into destiny? How moments blur, taking countless directions. All leading to transformation which I continue to investigate, and to picture in my humble drawings and collages.
My Clock
So many pleasures await me there.
Muses. Owls in trees. Tigers awaiting my caresses. A camel waiting for me to jump on its back, and to plod along the Sahara, past legendary palaces and Babylons.
My inspiration lies among those oases, kingdoms and libraries from past civilizations. So I venture back there to catch a glimpse of the future. In that clock I learn about my family, what they did, and how they will adjust to the current crisis. We are such a noble nation with a rich past, Persia, Iran, the Mighty One with Cyrus the Great, Xerxes, and other enlightened chieftains.Time is now moving forward. The clock whispers. So I must leave my imagination for the future is always inching towards me. But thanks to that magical clock I saw my ancestors, saw a glorious history, and now I too can go forward, upward to unknown adventures.
The Empty Chair
No one sits there anymore. Everyone is too afraid to visit. That’s the life today…taking precautions…isolation…loneliness.
It wasn’t always like this. People danced, ate sweets, and had conversations.
The Sky
With Light there is strength, resolve, story telling, music, books, wison, freedom, and love.
So I look upward, searching for the Light, its wonderful capacity to deliver us from superficiality and false beliefs.
In Light, even if it filters through a tiny crack, is hope. It inspires me. It does that for everyone.
The Museum of the Imagination
What results from War? Loneliness Shadowy figures.Ghosts Life Upside Down Emptiness How do we avoid the catastrophic? We allow our imaginations to flourish, and never surrender to fear. We trust. We put intellect before bullets and intimidation. We build new bridges, those that connect us to art, philosophy, Nature, and a shameless love for ourselves.
The Girl with a Violin
Fear It is such a limiting emotion, a chain on my heart, on the music I want to rejoice in. There was so much hope when I was 21. I could look at any clock, and see a limitless future. There were dances in flaming red dresses, men whisking me off my feet, and a parade of stars awaiting me in the cosmos. But now? Can I still expect to float through the sky? Living in a land scorned by much of the West, I am scared by my choices and my future. A woman who loves sweet music. What awaits me? So I sit, the future blurry. Will I be able to learn the violin, and play wonderfully calming sonatas? Will I meet other talented musicians in Iran who feel they can ascend the highest peaks? All is so much a question mark these days as my land of Cyrus the Great is battered by storms from the West. All is so blurry, just TV news…please shut it off…limitations on us, mirrors and faded images. When will we play our lovely music? Soon, I hope.
Written by By Marjan Samie
