|
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
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