Azadeh H
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A work in progress…
somewhere between broken and becoming…
Follow along to see how it comes together.
There is no fear left,
no hope either,
only a silence settling over everything.
This piece comes from witnessing pain,
from what was seen and still hasn’t ended.
With words by Garous Abdolmalekian.
Work still in progress…
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دیگر نه ترسی مانده،
نه امیدی،
فقط سکوتی که روی همهچیز نشسته است.
این کار از تماشای درد آمده،
از آنچه دیده شد و هنوز تمام نشده.
با صدای شعری از گروس عبدالملکیان.
این اثر هنوز ناتمام است…
#ایران
از وقتی یادم میاد، عید برای من فقط یه تعطیلی یا یه رسم ساده نبود…
یه چیزی بود که از اول اسفند شروع میشد و کمکم شکل میگرفت، با خریدها، با هفتسین، با جزئیاتی که خودم دوست داشتم انتخابشون کنم.
اما سالهای دور از خونه فهمیدم اون حس آشنای نوروز همیشه اينجا وجود نداره.
برای همین، چند ساله که خودم از اول هفت سين رو میسازمش… با دستهای خودم و نشون بدم كه چقدر قشنگه…
همیشه هم سعی کردم قشنگترین شکلش رو بسازم،
یه چیزی که نشون بده عید هنوز همونقدر مهمه.
اما امسال…
«هفت سین» ام یه شکل دیگه شد.
این ویدیو شروع یه قصهي امساله،
ادامهش رو تو پست بعدی میذارم…
02/18/2026
Title: A Face That Didn’t Survive the Dream
This mirror doesn’t promise hope.
It tells the truth.
You look into it expecting to see
the person who was supposed to be happy,
whole,
at peace.
That person isn’t there.
When the mirror breaks, the image doesn’t disappear.
It multiplies.
You see fragments of me,
and pieces of yourself.
Distorted. Incomplete. Still real.
This work is inspired by Farhad Mehrad,
an artist who lived in exile,
carried loss in his voice,
and sang about the quiet moment
when hope stops pretending.
Some things aren’t meant to be fixed.
They are meant to be lived with.
10/22/2025
Nine Windows of the Broken
Nine days.
Nine windows.
Each one a fragment, a piece of time that cracked and refused to vanish.
In many stories, nine marks the end before a beginning, a number of completion, of quiet transformation.
It began with stillness, the quiet before memory stirs.
Then came longing, the slow ache of distance,
love without a place to land,
homes that grew smaller inside the mind.
Somewhere between leaving and becoming,
the self began to fade,
a shape half-remembered,
a voice that forgot its own language.
Time fractured too,
its rhythm breaking,
its hands no longer knowing where to point.
And yet, even in that silence, something remained.
Love. Memory. The breath between what was lost and what endures.
Now the nine fragments stand together,
not as an answer, not as repair,
but as a whole made of what could not be mended.
Because time doesn’t heal.
It only learns to breathe differently.
And maybe that’s enough.
🕰 Nine Windows of the Broken
by .art
10/04/2025
𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑬𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝑯𝒆𝒓
The canvas is cut open, wounds made visible.
Threads pull across the gashes, fragile stitches
trying to hold together what violence tears apart.
Surrounded by a swarm of watching faces,
she carries the weight of judgment and double standards.
Her silence cracked, her image fractured,
yet still she endures, raw and unhidden.
I only captured the cutting in process,
because my focus was on finishing this piece in time
for my solo show “The Shape of Broken” ,
an important work I knew had to be there.
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Toronto, ON