The Light of Earth

Where does this light come from? It isn’t the photographer’s own light. It seems to be the light from the photographer’s vehicle. Yes, it is the light of modernity that spills across the soil and the ground of the photograph. A light that, however, cannot illuminate the entire image. Isn’t that the nature of modernity? It doesn’t light up everything. Is there even a light that can illuminate everything? The photograph’s hazy ambiguity captivates the eyes. It’s as if we want to walk into the darkness of the picture—if we’re not afraid; the light has only lit up a few steps ahead. The horizon is slightly tilted, as if the photographer wanted to point to the instability of the moment.

To my eye, the photograph is a prime example of an Iranian landscape. It is both mythical and not mythical. Both celestial and not celestial. But it is wholly of the earth—utterly earthly. It is as if the photographer wants to step into this soil; his foot is already in it. And I, the viewer, too. I remain in the soil of this photograph.