Justice for Iran

In solidarity with the beautiful and courageous people of Iran.

You can find me at Kateoplis.

Posts tagged art

11 Persian-American Artists Bringing Iran to the U.S. | Vanity Fair

1. Artist, photographer, and filmmaker Shirin Neshat, named “Artist of the Decade” in 2010.

2. Nina Seirafi, named one of Architectural Digest’s top 100 interior designers in the world (the “AD100”) in 2010.

3. The bisexual writer-director-actress Desiree Akhavan, hailed as “the next Lena Dunham” by the New York Post. Her debut film, Appropriate Behavior, a comic and sexually graphic story of coming out, premiered at Sundance this year.

4. Nariman Hamed, the son of actress Fatemeh Motamed-Arya, “the Meryl Streep of Iran,” is directing a documentary, Shirin, about the artist Shirin Neshat, with animation by Persepolis author Marjane Satrapi.

5. Nima Behnoud got his start re-designing jeans that had been dropped by the Red Cross on the Iran-Iraq border during the Iran-Iraq war. Now, Heidi Klum and other celebrities wear his calligraphy-laced clothing brand, Nimany. His Web site has been banned in Iran.

6. Hafez Nazeri, the son of Iran’s most prominent classical musician, Shahram Nazeri, is a composer who brings East and West together in hauntingly beautiful orchestral pieces. His fifth album, Untold, released by Sony March 11, was recorded in five countries with more than 35 Grammy Award-winning artists.

7. Habibi, the retro, all-girl, punk-rock band, based in Brooklyn, fronted by Rahill Jamalifard.

badesaba:

Two Lovers, Safavid period, 1630, Reza Abbasi, Isfahan
Tempera and gilt paint on paper

(via catherinewillis)

film-dot-com:

CAN AN IRANIAN FILM BE MADE IN JAPAN?
A few weeks ago, Columbia University professor Hamid Dabashi wrote a provocative treatise for Al Jazeera on the state of the Iranian cinema, lambasting the Islamic Republic’s continuing campaign of censorship and repression for having created a “brain drain” that’s effectively obliterated the country’s ability to foster a healthy filmmaking practice. Of the many contentious claims made by Dabashi—including his baffling dismissal of the latest films by Jafar Panahi as “self-indulgent vagaries”—perhaps the most challenging is his assertion that Iranian filmmakers living in exile, whether of their volition or by state mandate, are by the nature of their exclusion no longer producing genuine Iranian films. He cites a number of the country’s most acclaimed filmmakers, including Mohsen Makhmalbaf, Bahram Beizai, Sohrab Shahid-Saless, and Bahman Ghobadi, and summarily ejects them from the national cinema to which they once definitively belonged, shrugging off their emigrated efforts as failures to remain culturally relevant.
Abbas Kiarostami, arguably the most important Iranian filmmaker of his generation, has spent the last decade shooting films both at home and abroad, starting with the Spanish-set nonfiction piece “Ten Dedicated to Ozu” in 2003 and culminating in his two latest international efforts, the Tuscan puzzle romance “Certified Copy” and the Japanese drama “Like Someone In Love.” “Scarce his compatriots have seen this films,” observes Dabashi (whose frequent misuse of the word “scarce” is the subject of another post entirely), “let alone have any affinity with them”. Though these last two films, in particular, represent major efforts in Kiarostami’s long and fruitful career—they’re not only among his most widely acclaimed works, but also far and away the most successful internationally—neither “can hardly be called an Iranian film”. Dabashi’s argument relies not only on a conception of a coherent, knowable Iranian cinema, within which he is free to include whichever films he sees fit, but also on a clear understanding of what exactly constitutes a national cinema to begin with.
THIS ARTICLE CONTINUES ON FILM.COM

Your filmmakers are no longer your own.
The films don’t need to be filmed in Iran, in Persian, or about the plight of Iran or Iranians. It’s helmed by an Iranian auteur. That is enough. Besides, the films of all of those directors mentioned, and especially Kiarostami, have always been centered around the universal human condition. Their local and people are just plot devices. 

film-dot-com:

CAN AN IRANIAN FILM BE MADE IN JAPAN?

A few weeks ago, Columbia University professor Hamid Dabashi wrote a provocative treatise for Al Jazeera on the state of the Iranian cinema, lambasting the Islamic Republic’s continuing campaign of censorship and repression for having created a “brain drain” that’s effectively obliterated the country’s ability to foster a healthy filmmaking practice. Of the many contentious claims made by Dabashi—including his baffling dismissal of the latest films by Jafar Panahi as “self-indulgent vagaries”—perhaps the most challenging is his assertion that Iranian filmmakers living in exile, whether of their volition or by state mandate, are by the nature of their exclusion no longer producing genuine Iranian films. He cites a number of the country’s most acclaimed filmmakers, including Mohsen Makhmalbaf, Bahram Beizai, Sohrab Shahid-Saless, and Bahman Ghobadi, and summarily ejects them from the national cinema to which they once definitively belonged, shrugging off their emigrated efforts as failures to remain culturally relevant.

Abbas Kiarostami, arguably the most important Iranian filmmaker of his generation, has spent the last decade shooting films both at home and abroad, starting with the Spanish-set nonfiction piece “Ten Dedicated to Ozu” in 2003 and culminating in his two latest international efforts, the Tuscan puzzle romance “Certified Copy” and the Japanese drama “Like Someone In Love.” “Scarce his compatriots have seen this films,” observes Dabashi (whose frequent misuse of the word “scarce” is the subject of another post entirely), “let alone have any affinity with them”. Though these last two films, in particular, represent major efforts in Kiarostami’s long and fruitful career—they’re not only among his most widely acclaimed works, but also far and away the most successful internationally—neither “can hardly be called an Iranian film”. Dabashi’s argument relies not only on a conception of a coherent, knowable Iranian cinema, within which he is free to include whichever films he sees fit, but also on a clear understanding of what exactly constitutes a national cinema to begin with.

THIS ARTICLE CONTINUES ON FILM.COM

Your filmmakers are no longer your own.

The films don’t need to be filmed in Iran, in Persian, or about the plight of Iran or Iranians. It’s helmed by an Iranian auteur. That is enough. Besides, the films of all of those directors mentioned, and especially Kiarostami, have always been centered around the universal human condition. Their local and people are just plot devices. 

(Source: truthandmovies)

sharquaouia:

Majnun Eavesdrops on Layla’s Camp - Persian, 16th century
Layla and Majnun, also known as The Madman and Layla is a classical Arab story, popularized by Persian poet Nizami Ganjavi’s masterpiece, Layli o Majnun. It is based on the real story of a young man called Majnun In (todays Iraq) during the Umayyad era in the 7th century when Arabs defeated the Byzantines and Persians, and Syria and Iraq were conquered. In one version, he spent his youth together with Layla, tending their flocks. In another version, upon seeing Layla he fell passionately in love with her. In both versions, however, he went mad when her father prevented him from marrying her; for that reason he came to be called Majnun (Arabic: مجنون) meaning “madman.

Outstanding.

sharquaouia:

Majnun Eavesdrops on Layla’s Camp - Persian, 16th century

Layla and Majnun, also known as The Madman and Layla is a classical Arab story, popularized by Persian poet Nizami Ganjavi’s masterpiece, Layli o Majnun. It is based on the real story of a young man called Majnun In (todays Iraq) during the Umayyad era in the 7th century when Arabs defeated the Byzantines and Persians, and Syria and Iraq were conquered. In one version, he spent his youth together with Layla, tending their flocks. In another version, upon seeing Layla he fell passionately in love with her. In both versions, however, he went mad when her father prevented him from marrying her; for that reason he came to be called Majnun (Arabic: مجنون) meaning “madman.

Outstanding.

(via crookedindifference)

At this time, many young Iranians all over this world are watching us, and I imagine them to be very happy. They are happy not just because of an important award, or a film or a filmmaker, but because at the time, in talk of war, intimidation and aggressions exchanged between politicians, the name of their country, Iran, is spoken here through her glorious culture — a rich and ancient culture that has been hidden under the heavy dust of politics. I proudly offer this award to the people of my country. A people who respect all cultures and civilizations, and despise hostility and resentment.

Iranian film director ASGHAR FARHADI, on accepting his Academy Award for Best Foreign Film, A Separation (via inothernews)

(via kateoplis)