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50th anniversary of Seyhoun Art Gallery - 5+50 Iranian artists

Seyhoun Gallery was on 4th St., at Vozara Blvd.—it still is.  It is on a steep alley, which, at your young age, you would ascend it as easily as you would descend it.

At your right, and in the middle of the alley, a wooden thick door, with metal knockers, would open to a modest hall, with paintings hanging on the walls, a showcase facing the alley, and a floor, covered with square, shiny, brown tiles. There was a large glass table, with carved legs made of stone, on which there were placed delicate containers, in which appetizing assorted sweets were arranged.

There was a little chamber behind this hall; no a regular room, but indeed Ms. Ma’soomeh Seyhoun’s throne room!  It was well-adorned with sheer taste and absence of ostentation, which reminded us of its possessor’s illumined spirit.  There were little benches to sit on and chat on any topic.  They were facing a dainty wooden shelf and a desk, with a wheelchair in front of it, and a bunch of flowers in the vase on it—usually mesmerizing blossomed magnolias.  And Lady Ma’soomeh Seyhoun — or Ma’soomeh Noosheen, or Monir Seyhoun—was a queen residing her rightly deserved throne—like Poorandokht and Azarmidokht, the Sassanian female monarchs—who would once in a while speak in a different tone with different individuals; and at any changeable moment, from the bitterest of the bitters, to the sweetest of the sweets, she had a particular parlance, intonation, speech, and a word of commendation or malediction, which was departed along with her and was left with no replacement.

When she was in good spirit, she did not deny anybody her kindness, and she would even flatter her visitor by using a nickname or an epithet in addressing him or her—At times, me, too! But when her fury was set ablaze, you would have had better keep your distance, and pretended that you were looking at the paintings on the walls—in which case, even if you didn’t have enough concentration to know what you were looking at, at least you were safer!

How well she understood the contemporary art! For she was its foster mother, and they had lived with one another and in one another; and what an unparalleled sense of perceptiveness, discernment, and selection she possessed!  Her little room was the gathering place of the much-sought, important, and well-known artists of the time; from Bahman Mohasses, Reza Mafi, and Mohammad Ehsayi, to Afjeyi and Sohrab Sepehri—who would mostly like to sit on the floor tile of the gallery and spread himself out—and hundreds of others, and almost anybody who already was, or was going to, become somebody important by her favor and support.

Seyhoun Gallery was indeed the palpitating pulse of the Iranian contemporary visual arts; and Lady Ma’soomeh’s presence was a persisting encouragement and support. She worked and endeavored hard, and planted and entrenched such a massive tree that is still yielding fruits, and under its shades the spiritual intellectuals rest and find peace. One may not put pen to paper on the contemporary Iranian art without mentioning her exalted and decisive position. And it is thusly that each and every one of us, in one way or another, for a short time or a long one, have become indebted to her, and certain distinct years of our lives have passed in her presence, or with reminiscing on her memories.

How we—the having so unpleasantly grown feeble youth of the old days—are left lonely and void of fervor without her!  How expeditiously—but felt to the bone—we disregard the pretentious hustle and bustle and the echoes of the bugles around us; for how entirely fictitious, off the mark, void, frivolous, and hollow they appear to be—well, not “appear to be,” but they really are!

—Aydin Aghdashloo,January

2017