To explore disparities in cultural representation for my upcoming exhibition/residency at AKA in Saskatoon, I take inspiration from Islamic art objects. This new body of work–a portrayal of cultural hybridity–employs a variety of mediums to reinterpret the traditional functions of these artifacts, challenging the viewer to think deeply about the history of collecting, and its role in the control and colonization of cultural narratives.
During a recent residency at the Banff Center for the Arts, I experimented with prayer rug designs, working with common motifs and foliage arrangements to interrupt their conventions, spiritual significance, and aesthetic values. My use of azure references Iranian gardens and water, each essential for their purifying and healing properties (which I have explored in my previous work). In Latin, Lapis Lazuli means “stone from heaven/sky,” originating from the word Lajevard in Farsi (which is also the origin of the word “Azure”). Famously, the pigment is used in Iranian miniature paintings, ceramics, jewelry and domes in mosques to represent sky, water and heaven. In 14th- and 15th-century Italy, painters had to grind the precious stone into ultramarine pigment to portray the Virgin Mary and the holiness of certain characters in churches. The stone had traveled far from Persia along the silk road, and in my work, it becomes a route connecting past and present, the immigrant self to the future self, and mapping the transformative journey of my artistic exploration.
In old Persia, artists of literary works, miniature paintings, and architecture underwent rigorous training to create their own pigments, paper, brushes, and calligraphy. This craftsmanship was deeply intertwined with spirituality, and the integration of artistic skill and spiritual practice reflected the belief that creating beauty was a divine act, embodying both physical and metaphysical excellence. When I began my classical painting education in Iran at a young age, I immersed myself in the rigorous techniques of oil painting (including colour theory, representation, and Iranian miniature-painting techniques). I found the physical and mental work involved in these techniques to be of central importance, and my early training underscored the vital role of labour in art-making, a theme that became more pronounced after I migrated to Canada, and I began to re-evaluate the narratives, motifs, and roles of traditional art objects.
I see creating art as a mediation between necessity and artistic expression. In one of my works-in-progress, I enlarged a scanned image of a prayer rug until it became grainy and pixelated, then printed it in a single blue tone on letter-sized papers. By placing these printed mosaics halfway on the ground and halfway on the wall, I disrupt the traditional use of prayer rugs, which are meant to be placed on the ground facing Mecca. Growing up, seeing family members with their prayer rugs gave me a sense that each piece was a special object, connecting them spiritually during prayer. By borrowing this object and placing it differently in my work, I wanted to express my feelings of belonging or unbelonging to this metaphorical form and challenge its conventions.
I see this process as a deeper inquiry into how labour and craftsmanship contribute to the significance of art. Re-working traditional Islamic art forms and objects by employing a variety of media (ink drawing, painting, printmaking, digital print, laser cutting, and video projection), I attempt to reconsider the attachment of divineness and depth in art making. I want to highlight how the meticulous process of creating art—once celebrated in ancient Persia as a symbol of beauty, precision, and spirituality—has become obscured in today’s art world.
When the labour and craftsmanship behind art-making are visible, it can profoundly alter the viewer’s perception and appreciation of the work. In my work, I bring attention to the often-overlooked effort and skill involved in creating the objects I centre my work around. This not only reaffirms the intrinsic value of craftsmanship but also challenges contemporary notions of art, where the process is sometimes eclipsed by the final product. I invite you to consider: How can making labour and craftsmanship visible reshape and deepen the significance of an artwork?
Anahita Akhavan’s Reimagine: Narratives, part residency / part exhibition, is on view from September 16th to October 25th at AKA Gallery.
The artist extends her thanks to Golbahar Hassanabadi and Zak Annette, who assisted in writing this text and poem.
Above: Anahita Akhavan, Reimagine: Narratives, 2024. Installation photo spread. Images courtesy of Morgane Clément-Gagnon, Rita Taylor, and Banff Centre.
Anahita Akhavan is a Canadian/Iranian visual artist based in Toronto, Canada. Through the thoughtful use of overlapping geometrical shapes and motifs, Akhavan adopts the symbolism and ornamentation found in Islamic architecture, carpet weaving, and tapestry to create a new visual language. She holds an MFA from the University of Saskatchewan and a BFA from the University of Tehran. Most recently, Akhavan’s work has been exhibited at Expo Chicago (2024), Project Casa in Montreal (2023), Duran|Mashaal in Montreal (2023), and United Contemporary in Toronto (2022).
This article is published in issue 41.2 of BlackFlash magazine. Get this issue
Since you're here
BlackFlash exists thanks to support from its readers. We are a not-for-profit organization. If you value our content, consider supporting BlackFlash by subscribing to the magazine or making a donation. A subscription gets you 3 beautiful issues per year delivered to your door, and any donation over $25 gets a tax receipt. Your support helps compensate our staff and contributors for their hard work.
