Reflecting on Memories with Parastou Forouhar, My Painting Mentor
Certain individuals leave a profound impact, shaping our intellectual foundations and life paths. They guide us, even as our journeys diverge over time. I would like to write about two female artists who introduced me to the intricacies of design and the principles of painting, teaching me how to think artistically. Both possessed charisma and a deep passion for art, which they demonstrated through their interactions with the art community.
I began attending the painting workshop in September 1990. A woman, approximately our age, was already present, seated on a chair in a blue sweater, with students gathered around her. Her seriousness was apparent in her speech: direct, earnest, and kind. She was Parastu Forouhar.
The university was a two-story building located in the heart of Abshar Park, the backdrop for the film “Ganjeh-e Gharoon” (The Treasure of Qaroun), which is well-known to many through Fardin’s performance and the iconic song “Aqa khodesh khob midone ke ma oon ro az roodkhone deresh avordim birun avordim avordimesh to khone…” (Mr. knows very well that we brought him out of the river, brought him out, brought him home…). I remember approaching painting with a strong sense of intuition, and my initial encouragement stemmed from this perspective. After a few sessions, my instructor presented my beginner’s painting, highlighting the importance of integrating both emotion and intellect into the artwork. My painting depicted a chair with a dark shirt draped over its backrest, the shirt’s darkness creating a striking impact on the viewer. My early work was expressive, characterized by vibrant colors and a raw simplicity in both the subjects and the color palette.
While not mandatory, each of us produced three to four paintings per week. After discussing our work, we would practice in the workshop. During these discussions, I often found myself at a loss for words, as if I had been thrust from a foggy world into the vibrant realm of art. Rather than dwelling on my ignorance and shortcomings, I took responsibility for my growth, which motivated me to engage in further study. Even during the Norouz holidays, painting and drawing remained my steadfast companions.
The first semester was spent in the workshop, followed by a second semester dedicated to painting from nature and in outdoor settings. Occasionally, we ventured outside the city to the banks of the Zayandeh Rud River. We would settle in a small area, where Parastu Forouhar, without fatigue, tirelessly moved back and forth, providing guidance.
During that period, the vibrant and vivid colors in my paintings gradually transitioned to more subdued tones. I was composing personal reflections infused with social commentary, which I shared exclusively with close friends and occasionally with Forouhar. From her, we gained not only painting techniques but also insights into ethics, commitment, knowledge, and a profound love for others.
Every day was filled with drawing, painting, studying, and writing, leaving little time for youthful pursuits. Consequently, my friends considered me less sociable. Two semesters of painting with Parastu Forouhar passed, and afterward, I visited her home in Tehran a few times around 1991-1992. On one occasion, I arrived at 5 a.m. and always tried to bring a book as a gift for her sons, who were likely in elementary school. I waited in the alley and rang the doorbell. Her son answered and said, “Mom has left.” I then realized that they had departed earlier than I had. That’s just how life in Tehran is. I waited outside, and when they returned, I entered their home. She was preparing to take her sons to school, so I was left alone with the bookshelves, cassettes, and a still-life setup: a dark fabric swatch, a vase of sunflowers, and a few scattered fruits, along with an unfinished painting. Upon her return, her mother and I briefly discussed art and painting. Our encounter was short, and at that time, I was unaware that Parastu Forouhar was the daughter of Dariush and Parvane Forouhar.
About thirty years have passed since that time, and her efforts to cultivate a deeper understanding of art remain vividly etched in my memory. When I encountered the still-life arrangement in her home, I was inspired to write a poem that appears in my book “Hand in the Mirror’s Hair”.
A Black Cloth Patch
A swatch of black fabric
Hangs
From the chair leg to the ground.
And your gaze
A Broken Line
Between two sunflower stems
Three naturally fallen fruits.
Eight lines
Converge at a single point.
And intertwine.
With the delicate lines of the glass
Endless.
And you?
Discover a concealed presence
Within the vibrant, geometric simplicity of objects.
I remain proud to have had a teacher who guided me along the right path of thinking, even though my artistic expression has since evolved in a different direction.
