The Islamic Republic, which killed hundreds of thousands of people in Iraq and Syria, killed and tortured hundreds of thousands of Iranians in the most brutal way after all these years, and which now wants to have nuclear weapons: we, the Iranian people, who have lived with them for half a century, know how ridiculous their claim to be peaceful was.
A compleat Persian Palace--there are many minor variations and lesser imitations--is distinguished by its exaggerated moldings, numberless layers of cornices, elaborate grillework and columns galore. A Persian Palace brazenly combines motifs and wantonly disregards proportion and scale.
In the face of thousands of killings, leading figures in Iranian sport have been vocal about the need for help and action. Former Iran and Bayern Munich star Ali Karimi signed an open letter to FIFA's President Gianni Infantino, calling on him to "publicly condemn the mass killing of civilians in Iran, including members of the football community." Karimi, along with 20 other signatories that include other former internationals, a coach, a referee and sports journalists, also asks FIFA to act in the face of human rights being violated.
My parents fell in love with the Islamic Revolution when I was a baby and welcomed life under its strict religious rules. The Ayatollah's face stared down from the walls at home, a daily reminder of what was expected and what was forbidden. This included being gay, but by my teenage years I knew I was different from my peers, and began hiding my sexuality from my parents and the world outside.
This targeting success surely owes much to advanced electronic surveillance and deep cyber penetration of Iran's weapons systems and infrastructure. But in this war, as in the 12-day war last year, Israel and the United States are obviously benefiting from intelligence from some Iranians themselves, who are willing to risk their lives to help bring down the Islamic Republic.
After the historical Iranian city of Isfahan was targeted by several major strikes, its governor Mehdi Jamalinejad claimed that serious damage had been inflicted even after blue shields were put on the roofs of culturally important buildings. This is an internationally recognized signal under the 1954 Hague Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict.
Distance does not soften the terror. It only deepens my helplessness. In moments like this, I realize that geography is not measured in miles, but in attachment. War rearranges distance. These days I find myself returning to "The Conference of the Birds," the 12th-century poem by Attar of Nishapur, seeking meaning through ancient wisdom about spiritual journeys and transformation.
There is a scene in "Morgenkreis | Morning Circle" (2025), a 16-mm film by Berlin-based Palestinian artist Basma al-Sharif, that unfolds at the threshold of a daycare center. A young boy clings to his father, his fists locked into the fabric of his coat, his arms wrapped tightly around him. The father gently tries to pry himself free while a daycare worker crouches nearby, attempting to distract the child and coax him inside. It is an ordinary moment, one that anyone who has ever been a child - or cared for one - recognizes instantly, as well as the gut-wrenching feeling it provokes.
The US-Israeli war on Iran is exposing deep divisions among Iranians in the diaspora and in Iran. From inside Iran to the diaspora, Iranians are deeply divided about their country's future. With Ayatollah Ali Khamenei gone and Reza Pahlavi, the son of the former shah, waiting in the wings, what do conversations about regime change reveal about the spectrum of what Iranians really think?
The poem itself is an allegory: a gathering of birds set out on a spiritual quest, each one embodying a particular human flaw or attachment. Passing through seven symbolic valleys, they face trials and moments of revelation, before realising that the divine presence they seek lies within themselves. That sense of pilgrimage carries into the gallery. You are invited to take your own quiet journey through a wide range of avian-themed artworks inspired by the poem, each offering a different response to its ideas.
"The show is about giving the pen back to the writer, giving the paintbrush back to the artist, during this time of genocide," the Ridikkuluz told Hyperallergic in an interview at the gallery. "And when there's been so much censorship, these are artists that might not have been able to do this anywhere else."