158 | MAY/JUN 2017 | ISSUE 103(Top)
View of the industrial
buildings in Khorramdasht.
(Bottom)
Work in progress for the
outdoor stainless steel sculpture
Gonbade Kabood (2012).of the 1979 Iranian Revolution.
If selected, this work will be the
biggest public piece of his career,
standing at 12 meters by 8 meters.
The blueprints suggest it will be
made of metal, mesh and glass, and
it will bear all the hallmarks of his
maturing practice—transparency,
repetition, Islamic patterning and a
Sufi-like intensity.
Nonetheless, in a city where
some 300 to 400 public sculptures
are commissioned per year and
the Urban Sculpture Biennial has
surprisingly hit cruising speed with
its fourth yearly edition, the artist
sees a shift in municipal projects
toward a “quality over quantity”
philosophy. “They care now,” he
remarks. “But we don’t have so
many good artists here to create
public sculpture.” It seems that the
era of renowned Iranian sculptor
Parviz Tanavoli and his cohort,
whose stylistic works dominated
and roused the public sphere, have
departed. In their place are earnest
technicians—artists who do little
more than execute.
However, public art is, still,
a lifeline for Hesamiyan, who is
increasingly recognized for his
signature style. “It’s satisfying
to engage both the space and
the public with a work,” he
See our website for Arabic and Chinese versions of this article.admits, adding that the dialogue
between a viewer and a sculpture
crescendos in the public space.
The artist speaks of intimacy and
cohabitation in concert with scale
and public placement, referencing
the philosophies of sculptors such
as India-born Anish Kapoor
(“Go as big as you can”) and
British artist Antony Gormley,
known for his interventions in
nature (“He brings something new
each time”).
During my visit, Hesamiyan is
focused. The meeting coincides
with his imminent departure
for Istanbul and the festivities
surrounding the coveted Jameel
Prize, for which he is shortlisted.
Although the Prize itself ultimately
went to another artist, the degree
of visibility the traveling show
will afford the young Iranian is
significant. In the confines of this
vast yet intimate studio, it seems
clear to me that Hesamiyan’s
process is a silent yet thorough one.
Driving back to Tehran, I wonder if
the studio itself is not, in some way,
like the Khalvat interior—at once a
silent sanctuary and an epicenter of
metastasizing activity.