Gohar Dashti, an Iranian photographer and artist, weaves a visual poetry where the boundaries of humanity and nature, memory and reality, softly blur. Her work, from profound reflections on home to delicate portrayals of migration and human connection, invites us to pause and see the unspoken stories. With a blend of precision and feeling, Dashti creates images that are both intimate and universal, a quiet call to a dialogue beyond words. Let’s begin the interview.
Could you introduce yourself as an artist and tell us what first inspired you to pick up the camera?
I grew up in Ahvaz, near the Iran-Iraq border, where daily life was shadowed by war. Those memories—ordinary routines against the backdrop of conflict—stayed with me. Photography became a way to hold onto them, to question them, and to translate them into a language others could feel. The camera gave me both distance and intimacy, and I’ve been working with it ever since.
How do you maintain your creative energy and stay inspired, especially during times when you might feel disconnected from your work?
I stay connected by walking, observing, and collecting fragments—plants, images, textures. When I feel stuck, I set a small rule for myself: one meaningful action a day, no matter how modest. That simple gesture often brings me back. Nature and literature also replenish me; they remind me that stories are endless.
Are your works generally more planned and structured, or do you tend to create spontaneously and follow your intuition?
My work usually begins with research and structure—storyboards, sketches, location scouting. But within that framework, I leave space for accidents and intuition. The strongest works come from this tension: precision meeting surprise.
Your work often explores deep and complex themes. Do you ever face resistance or pushback because of the topics you address in your art?
Yes, especially when the work touches on memory, displacement, or state power. But I don’t argue directly; instead, I let the work answer through form and presence. A carefully staged image or installation can sometimes disarm resistance more effectively than words.
Do you think art can change the perception of social issues, or does it simply reflect the existing societal structures?
Art rarely changes systems overnight, but it changes how people see. That shift in perception—slowing someone down, making them feel what’s at stake—can ripple outward. For me, art is about creating that moment of awareness, where empathy and responsibility begin.
Your work often carries multiple layers of meaning. How do you decide which elements to highlight and which to leave more subtle or open to interpretation?
I highlight what can cross cultures—gestures, archetypal forms, natural elements—and bury personal specifics in the layers. If someone lingers, they’ll uncover those deeper traces. If not, the work still resonates on the surface.
How do you approach the relationship between form and meaning in your artwork?
Form is never decoration—it’s the vessel of meaning. A cyanotype on fabric carries the sun and time within it; silver and gold leaf bring questions of value and empire; a stitched collage mirrors fragmentation and repair. The medium is the message.
As an artist, how do you find balance between creating something that is deeply personal to you while also making it relatable to a broad audience?
I begin with the personal—my memories, my family, my migrations. Then I translate them into archetypes: the home, the road, the border, the flower. These images belong to many cultures, so my private story becomes a bridge for others.
What challenges have you faced while pushing the boundaries of your art and expressing complex ideas?
Securing resources, permissions, and trust has always been a challenge—whether staging work in sensitive sites or translating Iranian experiences to a global stage. But each obstacle sharpened my persistence and taught me how to protect the integrity of my vision.
As we wrap up, is there something you haven’t shared yet that you’d like to say, a thought or message that you feel is important to share with others?
If there’s one lesson my journey has given me, it’s to trust your own story. Speak from where you stand, even if it feels small or fragile. That honesty is what connects you to others. Art, at its best, is an invitation to look longer, to remember more gently, and to carry those memories forward.
Connect with Gohar Dashti:
Website: Gohar Dashti
YouTube Channel: Gohar Dashti
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