Bād-e Sabā

Why are these photographs placed three by three, side by side? It’s as if the photographer wants to run their hand across the grass—to perhaps, finally, grasp the dance of the wind and the swaying of the blades. As if they wish to tie knots in the grass and fasten it in place. These photographs, placed together, seem to become the bād-e sabā—the gentle morning breeze. This breeze seems to have vanished, only to carry the sweet scent of the meadow to our nose and the hum of the wind to our ears. This delightful morning breeze rises in one photograph, pauses, settles into the green tresses, and in another, it simply glides and leaves a trace. In these images, there is no sky, no earth—only green above and below, right and left. It’s as if all that remains is to stay, to spin, to roll in it. The repetition of these photographs creates a constant sense of joy and playfulness. Displayed side by side, the images revel in their own presence. Whatever the photographer does with this repetition—however much they try to dance and capture it—they cannot grasp the wind; they tie a knot in it in vain. But in doing so, they compel us too, to tumble and dance with it.