A Postcard from Tehran An Art Exhibition in Seattle
After a month in this cloudy city I realized “nice” means sunny. In juxtaposition, it’s “nice” in Tehran when it rains, or after it has just rained. A year in Seattle passed and I finally built a bridge: No matter where you are, a day is nice when you see the mountains–stratovolcanoes to be exact. Now to see Damavand in Tehran, you need a good amount of rain, enough to improve the air quality from “very unhealthy” to “unhealthy for the sensitive groups”; conversely, to see Tahoma (Rainier) in Seattle, you need a good amount of sun, enough to kill the light pollution of all those therapy lamps. A decade in Seattle and I am a bridge...
We are often attracted to people with opposite personalities and looks, opposite imperfections, perhaps to cancel out our own imbalances. Not because a tall morning person is the best partner for a short night owl but because, as the grumpy German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer puts it, the will-to-life force inside us wants us to give birth to balanced babies. Forget about how wrong Schopenhauer might be for a second and let’s extend his theory of attraction to cities. Yes, cities and not countries. Because, unlike countries, cities are not just dead myths whose agents end our romantic relationships, waste our lives with mandatory military services, reject our visas, and ban us from dancing in our friends’ weddings or holding our parents’ hands after chemo sessions. Unlike countries, cities are real; They have meanings and personalities. We can love them, hate them, live them, leave them, and they can live together inside us jetlagged immigrants who never fully leave and never fully arrive. We, like children of divorce, force cities to transform their differences into commonalities; we keep living the double life, with all its advantages and traumas, and become bridges that house their long-distance relationships.
Being that bridge for over a decade we believe that Seattle and Tehran share the requisite opposite imperfections to have strong feelings for each other. Tehran: an unintentional aimless train that is often cruel and always late; Seattle: an intentional healthy high-tech canoe that is sometimes naive and always in motion. Tehran: a concrete jungle full of hopelessness and past, wherein randomness murders tomorrow and pain and pleasure walk hand in hand. Seattle: a calm lake full of control and productivity, wherein minutes are important and tomorrow is the main object of worship. They would be strongly into each other, don’t you agree?
In “Postcard from Tehran”, ANTiPODE wants to explore this potentially charged relationship by presenting video art, experimental music, short/long films, drawing, paintings, prints and posters from leading artists who still live in Tehran (either physically or in heart) to force Seattle and Tehran to interact, so they can give birth to balance, we feel at home for a while, and like-minded artists in Tehran and Seattle create meaningful long-term connections. We invite you to join us on this exciting and challenging journey by attending our events which will include gallery visits, jazz nights, electronic music shows, and video/film events. Let’s use this opportunity as an excuse to talk about what it feels to be a jetlagged immigrant and what it takes to feel at home in a new city.
Immigrants and the Art of Transforming an Unfamiliar Space into a Home
An environment, private or public, will serve as the basis for thriving once it feels like home–safe and welcoming. But how can we transform a public place into a home? Well, when it comes to transforming an unfamiliar space into a home, immigrants have some experience:
When we move, when we break free of all constraints, lose connections with everything that reminds us of home–things we later feel nostalgic for—it feels light at first, right? But then, when the unboxing begins and the luggage remains open for days, when freedom morphs into a burden and solitude becomes loneliness, when it becomes evident that the walls no longer speak to us and the streets don't remember us—then feeling at home becomes a fundamental need. Like clean air …
What do we do to feel at home after we move? How can we transform the new place into a home?
Let’s think of a small move first. You know, like from one apartment full of memories to another full of potential. To make the new apartment home we start filling its rooms with objects. Now even if we purchase the best bed, the room is not going to feel like home with only one bed. It’ll feel half-assed, right? We need a curated collection of objects that makes sense as a whole. But even that’s not enough for generating the meaning of home. I mean, a hotel room, no matter how full and luxurious, never quite feels like home, don’t you agree? For this "whole" to become home it takes time. It must hold our past, carry our scent, resonate with our familiar sounds, and reflect who we are. To feel at home in a new apartment, we need to listen to its walls for a while and let them change us first, then reclaim our identity and project it back onto its walls; and we need to do this gradually, and not loudly, and from the heart–like it’s a form of art. And only then walls begin to speak to us.
Now let’s apply the same framing to a bigger move. Like from one city full of connections to another full of individual freedom. To feel at home in a new city as immigrants, we learn to carefully listen to its streets, and to those who lived there before us. To get adopted, we adapt to our new environment and let it change us. Then, slowly, we start to talk; we reclaim our identity and project it back onto the public space; and we know by, for things to work, we need to do this gradually, and not loudly, and from the heart–like it’s a form of art. And only then streets begin to speak to us; and only then we start contributing to our new home.
To feel at home in a city, we project ourselves into the public space, and we do it in so many ways: Kids play soccer in the streets, teenagers turn up music in their cars, dancers dance in public, ravers rave in basements, and we bring Tehran’s art to Seattle. Why? Because we might feel at home for a while.
ANTiPODE Art Gallery Statement
ANTiPODE exists to use the immigrant experience to create an “art bridge” between Seattle and other cities. We are interested in cities because, unlike countries, cities are tangible. We can hate them, love them, live in them, leave them—and as immigrants, they can live together inside us. ANTiPODE also exists to use the immigrant experience to transform unfamiliar spaces in Seattle into “art homes,” where artists can present their work and connect with each other and their audiences. Starting in September 2025, ANTiPODE Art Gallery (AAG) serves as ANTiPODE’s primary art home and bridge for the next five years. In AAG,
we are committed to presenting the work of immigrant artists. We recognize the responsibility of engaging with such sensitive material and are mindful of the fine line between raising awareness and empathy, and the risk of objectifying or commercializing pain. By centering the artistic aspects and allowing the art to speak for itself, we aim to create space for authentic, unfiltered conversations around the immigrant experience, while avoiding one-sided victim narratives. To connect immigrant and local artist communities, we also present the work of local artists alongside immigrant voices.
we aim to accommodate various art forms and ensure that the presentation of works meets artists’ standards. To this end, we designed the gallery to include dedicated features for displaying drawings, paintings, posters, poetry, video art, short films, sound installations, sculpture, and other experimental forms. With these features and our commitment to working closely with artists, we are fully prepared to adapt to the needs of both the artist and the curator.
we hope to celebrate the process as much as the final outcome. We want to record the journey of taming eruptions of thoughts and emphasize the stage on which the multi-directional chaos transforms into an artwork. To achieve this dream AAG must function as a shared collaborative space. With our studio-space tailored for collaboration and hosting space designed for artist talks, open discussions, and workshops, we are ready to serve as a space where artists are comfortable to work, present, and feel at home.
we hold a special place for artworks that evoke drawing and poetry. Drawing captures the immediacy of emotion in a way few other mediums can. It is elegantly simple, and because of this simplicity, it can capture the essence–like a distillery that transforms complex ideas into potent forms. Poetry carries only what is necessary, and because of this lightness, it travels effortlessly through time. Stripped of all that is extra and free of any agenda, there is no push in poetry, only gentle pulls. For these reasons, and because of personal love, we choose these approachable creative vehicles as unbiased, humble frames for presenting delicate narratives and recording every stage of the creative process.
Now let’s apply the same framing to a bigger move. Like from one city full of connections to another full of individual freedom. To feel at home in a new city as immigrants, we learn to carefully listen to its streets, and to those who lived there before us. To get adopted, we adapt to our new environment and let it change us. Then, slowly, we start to talk; we reclaim our identity and project it back onto the public space; and we know by, for things to work, we need to do this gradually, and not loudly, and from the heart–like it’s a form of art. And only then streets begin to speak to us; and only then we start contributing to our new home.
To feel at home in a city, we project ourselves into the public space, and we do it in so many ways: Kids play soccer in the streets, teenagers turn up music in their cars, dancers dance in public, ravers rave in basements, and we bring Tehran’s art to Seattle. Why? Because we might feel at home for a while.