Maryam Heidarzadeh

Friday, November 30, 2018-Friday, December 7, 2018

This has always been the story ofmy life: My world with all of its autumns and springs, people and stars,mountains and months, calendars and apples, yellows and purples, loves andlosses, presences and absences, is divided by a maroon line beyond the horizonand the remote unknowns into terrestrial and heavenly lands, a geography far awayfrom the recurring thinking history ofthese insensitive days of the Earth.

It seems like from behind thegalaxies, a hand takes my pen and paint brush, turns them into a poem and fliesthem right up where it was precedently written in the mysterious universe. Thisis the story: from the tiniest to the ultimate particles of the world, they areeither terrestrial or heavenly. Alas, as the days pass, leaves fall from theheavens and join the earth every single night. Deep in my paintings, I look foran angel, a lost month from autumn descent, watercolor and my childhood, sothat I reassure myself that they are divine and do not shatter my dreams. Thisthe nature law. There have to be the most phenomenal romantic miracles afterALL THOSE REGRETS…………………………….and there will be.

Maryam Heidarzadeh

November 2018