Maysam Hindy: On The Way Home
I have always thought the way home has more beauty than the house itself. I was in constant motion between the city I inhabited, and the far-away home, both worn-out by the country鈥檚 鈥渟ituation鈥�. With it, I also carried a fantasy of a life probably more beautiful than it was. This applies to everything including the road.
So I left it and retraced my steps, back to my home, memories, dreams, and nightmares. As those that came before, living in their caves, I too fear the dark.
So I went in search of light, as someone trying to validate that darkness and brutality. It was there that I found myself justifying the dark with the light.
These paintings tell the tales of contradictions: absence and presence, dark and light, person and space, reality and shadow, life and death, the weight of age and flight of childhood, loneliness and wholesomeness.
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I have always thought the way home has more beauty than the house itself. I was in constant motion between the city I inhabited, and the far-away home, both worn-out by the country鈥檚 鈥渟ituation鈥�. With it, I also carried a fantasy of a life probably more beautiful than it was. This applies to everything including the road.
So I left it and retraced my steps, back to my home, memories, dreams, and nightmares. As those that came before, living in their caves, I too fear the dark.
So I went in search of light, as someone trying to validate that darkness and brutality. It was there that I found myself justifying the dark with the light.
These paintings tell the tales of contradictions: absence and presence, dark and light, person and space, reality and shadow, life and death, the weight of age and flight of childhood, loneliness and wholesomeness.
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