this page: Jame Mosque, Na’ein, Iran. Winter 2002 above: basement, winter praying room middle: opening through the minaret’s staircase below: dome’s calligraphy in the main praying hall opposite page: above:Timche Amin-o-Doleh, Kashan’s Bazar, Iran. Winter 2002 below: Jame Mosque, Ardestan, Iran.Winter 2004
sun | iran by reza aliabadi + lailee soleimani
LIFE ITSELF
The dust under every fool’s foot, Is a darling’s upturned hand and a sweetheart’s cheek; Every brick that tops an arch, Is the finger of a king or a royal head. — Omar Khayyam
When dirt becomes a building it becomes a body, one that develops complex needs. The monolithic architecture of ancient Iran does not survive without making love to the sun everyday. When dirt becomes a body it becomes a mysterious woman, one that ages, with a body of beauties yet imperfections. The sun marries her with a love so passionate that it never ends. He embraces her everyday, they never stop, never grow apart. When dirt becomes a woman it becomes a lover, one that waits every night for another lovemaking in the morning. The sun gently climbs her body and explores her every curve. When she is warm inside; he enters her deeply and dances inside of her. When dirt becomes a lover it becomes a pregnant woman, one that gives birth to shadows; they grow tall, shape a character, live for a day and return to the womb. The child is perfect, pure and precise for he is the result of a passionate intercourse. When dirt becomes pregnant it falls in love, one that never ends. The sun sleeps at nights, and she waits for another day when another child is born. n
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Reza Aliabadi © atelier rzlbd
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