Artist Shahrzad Ghaffari in front of her work-in-process at Leighton House. Photograph by James Houston

Leighton House, the former home and studio of British artist Frederic Leighton, was once a lively meeting place for artists and writers who would gather beneath the domed ceiling of the elaborate Arab Hall (named after the vast collection of Middle Eastern tiles adorning its walls) to converse and listen to music. Now, a major renovation, including the construction of a new wing, seeks to reestablish the house as a creative hub by inciting a dialogue between its Victorian heritage and contemporary visual culture through a programme of events, exhibitions and artist collaborations. Ahead of its reopening later this year, Millie Walton visited the museum to speak to Shahrzad Ghaffari, the first contemporary artist to be commissioned by Leighton House, and preview her work-in-progress

LUX: Much of your work is inspired by Persian poetry. How do you see the visual medium of painting interacting with poetry?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Painting has been my passion since I was a child. Everybody always knew what to buy me: paper, crayons, paints. Then, slightly later on, I became interested in poetry and started to read a lot but the two came together when I was experimenting with trying to find my own style in painting, an honest way of expressing what’s within.

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Ghaffari at work. Photograph by James Houston

LUX: Oneness, your mural for Leighton House, is based on a poem by Rumi. What was your process for coming up with the composition?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I started with the poem in mind, but the shape of the composition took some time to develop through sketching. That said, I had a clear idea of what I wanted to do when I walked into the space. I chose silver for the background, for example, because there’s a lot of gold in the old wing of the house and silver responds to that in a modern way. In a way, I think it also works as a kind of mirror, reflecting the heritage of the house just as the shape of the form mimics the spiral movement of staircase. The textured surface, however, makes reference to the notion of history. I built it up in layers of acrylic paint mixed with mediums, but nothing is scraped away. Each layer is applied on top of the next and has its own story. Then, the turquoise I’ve used for the abstract form is traditionally the colour of hope in Persian culture, but it also pays homage to the turquoise tiles in the Arab hall while the bits of burnt orange that you can glimpse through the background are supposed to represent the red bricks of the building’s facade.

LUX: Have you painted a mural of this scale before?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: No, I haven’t and it has been quite challenging! I originally intended to project the calligraphy onto the wall, which is what you would normally do with a mural so that you can then trace it, but I couldn’t because the space is so tight. Instead, I made a grid and did everything by hand. That said, it has been a lot of fun too, especially painting the upper part near the skylight at the top of the stairs.

A render of Oneness by Shahrzad Ghaffari. Courtesy of Leighton House

LUX: In a more general sense, what role do you think public art can, or should play?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: As the name suggests, public art is for the public so it must be able to connect with its audience, which, in this case, are the visitors to the museum. I also think it needs to be loud enough or perhaps, unusual enough to make people pause in front of it, to pull them out of their everyday life and to convey its message in just a few seconds. In a way, public art acts like a bridge between architecture and the public because it echoes what the architecture wants to convey but often, in a more accessible way.

Read more: The Best Exhibitions to see in March 

LUX: Which artists or movements have influenced your practice?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: When I was younger, I was quite heavily influenced by Impressionism. When I was studying art they would make us copy classical works and so, when I first encountered the looseness of Impressionism it felt very freeing. I think that had, and continues to have a big influence on my work. Also, the light! I always try to incorporate something that reflects light, like the silver I’ve used in Oneness. I remember first seeing Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss and feeling so drawn to it for that same reason.

LUX: What is it about paint, as a material, that appeals to you?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I use paint for two reasons. The first is to create something very visually strong. I want to engage the viewer, to captivate them. But I also use it to reflect my emotions. I used to mainly paint with oil and I recently changed to working with acrylic for the practical reason that I live in Canada and oil takes ages to dry, but using acrylic has also changed the way I work because you have to paint very quickly.

Photograph by James Houston

LUX: Do you have to be in a particular state of mind to create?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Yes. I can’t just sit and start painting. For me, [the creative process] starts with a strong feeling. It could be happiness, for example. Then, I take the brush and I start to act upon that feeling, usually very quickly. The mural is different because the composition is planned, but usually I have  three or four canvases that I’m working on simultaneously and that helps me because I might not be in the mood to work with red paint, for example.

LUX: Do you paint every day?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Even if I’m not painting, I show up in my studio every day. Maybe, I’ll write something down instead, but I have to show up. That’s very important.

LUX: What else do you have coming up?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I have a show of my works here at Leighton House, when then museum reopens, and I’m also looking into exploring NFTs – mainly out of curiosity. I think as an artist, you should always be open to everything, to exploring all the tools that are on offer. That’s what it’s all about it, it’s what motivates you to keep making. Where curiosity stops, the creative process ends.

To find out more about Leighton House, visit: rbkc.gov.uk/museums/

Follow Shahrzad Ghaffari on Instagram: @shahrzadghaffariart

darvish Fakhr photographed by Hugh Fox

British-Iranian, Canadian-born, American-raised artist darvish Fakhr’s multifaceted practice embraces dualities – light and dark, play and solemnity, movement and stillness – to create a unique sense of tension. Here, Maryam Eisler speaks to the artist about the meaning of his name, cultural heritage and seeking harmony

Maryam Eisler

Maryam Eisler: darvish is a very telling name. Do you abide by the definition of your name?
darvish Fakhr: I never thought about abiding by it, but it was a name that was given to me by my parents, and it has always fascinated me. Growing up, my parents would have Darvish–related items in the house: the axe, and the hats, dolls. I was always curious about it.
[Note: A Darvish is a Sufi aspirant]

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Maryam Eisler: As a child, growing up in the United States, did you know what a Darvish was?
darvish Fakhr: No. I lived on a ranch in Texas with an uncle for about four months. And he said it’s very interesting that your name is darvish “because you have elements of a Darvish in your personality.” I didn’t understand what he was referring to.

“I gave her an octopus kite for her birthday. It never flew well,” 2020 by darvish Fakhr

Maryam Eisler: What were the personality traits your uncle was referring to?
darvish Fakhr: I don’t know. It was the first time I thought of my name as something other than a name to respond to. Before that, it was just a very unusual name. My American friends hadn’t heard of it. Even for Iranians, it was a surprise that darvish was my first name. I always loved how Iranians pronounced my name, in the way that it was meant to be pronounced, with the emphasis on the ‘e’ sound. I remember liking the sound of it because it had a very hard beginning and a very soft ending, and I felt that I had some of that in me. I’ve always had different gears in my personality.

Above: ‘Notes from the Balcony’ (filmed in Brighton, UK during lockdown)

Maryam Eisler: Do you think this idea of dichotomy in your personality also originates from a cultural dichotomy? You are half Persian, half English. You also spent 27 years of your early and young adult life in Boston, Massachusetts. I also see a multifaceted approach to your art. Whether it is in performance or in painting, you seem to live and be comfortable with these dualities.
darvish Fakhr: The dualities were confusing to me as a child. I never really felt that I belonged to any one thing. And then, because I grew up in Boston, during the 1979 – 1981 hostage crisis, there was a lot of resentment pointed in my direction. And I didn’t understand it. It was very confusing to me. Even my closest friend suddenly flipped on me. Stones were being thrown at my house. My teachers never sided with me either. I felt ostracised those years. And it culminated into a physical explosion which I remember so vividly, surrounded by these taunting kids. I went into this primordial bestial state that became a form of expression. A warning. And it made everyone back off. They had never seen that side of me. It was a very guttural reaction over what was happening to me.

Here and above: darvish Fakhr photographed by Maryam Eisler

Maryam Eisler: Was art your answer ?
darvish Fakhr: I needed somehow to come to terms with it, in a way that made sense to me. The only way to do it was through art. Art had a certain alchemy; it offered me the idea that I could take these different elements and turn them into something special. It felt like there was a secret there. And even though I grew up in America, I was fascinated with the Iranian culture. The mystical element of it. My grandmother would pray, and I would watch/be/sit with her. A ceremony in every way.

Read more: Three top gallerists on how the art world is changing

Maryam Eisler: When did you leave Iran?
darvish Fakhr: I never really lived in in Iran. I was born in Canada. And when I turned one, we moved to Boston. I also feel more American that British, even though my mother is English, by origin.

Maryam Eisler: Did you feel that duality in your family nucleus as well?
darvish Fakhr: Yes, my father was an engineer who became a stockbroker, and my mother was a playwright. I always grew up with these extremes in my life. It was the norm. We had a very open minded, somewhat eccentric household growing up. A lot was allowed that might not have been in another household. And I was an only child.

Image by Hugh Fox

Maryam Eisler: At what stage in your life, did you decide to become an ‘artist’?
darvish Fakhr: It came as a result of a slow evolution of ideas, wondering who I was and where I fit in. I started off at Bradford College in Massachusetts and then Boulder Colorado. In Boulder, my mother suggested that I go to Italy for a summer. That’s when I really got into painting, in Tuscany. I then went to the School of Fine Arts in Boston, after which I decided that I wanted to move to Europe, and so I did my masters in London at the Slade.

Maryam Eisler: You personally experienced that antagonistic attitude towards being a ‘foreigner’ as a child all those years ago. Today, thirty or so years on, it would seem like not much has changed as we move towards more polarised societal and political spheres.
darvish Fakhr: It is a worrying state of affairs, but I have hope. I hope that deep down people know what the truth is, but it is the fear that keeps them from embracing the truth, fear of the unknown, fear of change. Deep down, I firmly believe that they know what the right thing is, but there are things that get in the way and muddle up their vision: media, propaganda, fake news. We don’t know what to believe anymore. I also have no doubt that there will be an awakening, but it will happen at a gradual pace. You need to have the darkness in order to see the light, and I am interested in that lightness.

Above: filmed in Venice Beach, Los Angeles

Maryam Eisler: Do you find that ‘ lightness’ in your art? Does your art offer you a sanctuary, a state of calm? Or even a state of possibilities?
darvish Fakhr: I don’t really know where the art begins for me. It just is. Every day. I am more interested in a way of being than making art for a gallery show. I like the idea that there is an overlap. Art, to me, becomes a way of life, a way of believing, a philosophy that manifests itself whether you are painting a picture, or flying on a zip line. And the quality that I am interested in is this lightness, enjoyable and fun.

“He remembers his grandmother mostly for her egg hunts,” 2019 by darvish Fakhr

Maryam Eisler: You paint by memory. Please explain.
darvish Fakhr: That’s right. The lack of information in a memory is what interests me, rather than its high resolution. When I was younger I had a car accident, and I was hit hard on the head. My recording isn’t very good as a result, but I am interested in how I choose to remember things and all the other stuff that’s not included in that memory. Memories are always changing, depending on what your circumstances are in any given moment. It’s this idea of ephemerality in art that interests me. Something that is fleeting, something that is flying through space. Dissipation, or evaporation somehow. Contrasting ideas and concepts.

Maryam Eisler: I also see that in your performances… when you ride the invisible, ephemeral musical wave.
darvish Fakhr: Yes. You can’t control the waves but you can learn how to surf. I like that notion of surfing through your existence. When I do these movements, I often do them in public spaces because I like to feel everything that is around me. And I use that energy to shape what I am working on.

Maryam Eisler: I have noticed your hands shaping the invisible when you perform.
darvish Fakhr: I really feel what is around me. I like to be receptive to it. Some people get the misconception that I am in my own world, but actually, I am very present. I let the music dictate my moves. What I like to do is move in a way that feels natural to me. I also like to do it in public, as I enjoy the stirring up of something that I call ‘gentle civic disruption’. When I am moving, the first thing they want to know is “is he a threat?” When they can see that I am not a threat, then they somehow accept it, or maybe ignore it politely. Or alternatively, they are fascinated by it. Something that is unorthodox. I am okay with all of that. But the notion of surfing is a big part of what I do. I try not to premeditate. Nothing is choreographed. I like to do that with my painting too. What a lot of people don’t realise is that there are a lot of paintings underneath those paintings. I am fascinated by this notion of palimpsest. Where we have stories over stories over stories, but nothing gets suffocated. It is all coming through at some level, and I learned that from Iran, from the walls of Iran.

Read more: Fish&Pips co-founder Holly Chandler on the future of travel

Maryam Eisler: What you are describing to me is human history. Personal stories and bigger histories. Is it not?
darvish Fakhr: Yes. But there was something about Iran that was so ostensible. It was on the walls, and even the road signs were changing. They would bleed through. The community would cover up bits here and there, but the paint would crack and there was something underneath. Something of the past.

darvish Fakhr is currently collaborating with photographer Hugh Fox on a show entitled ‘Lightness of Being’. Image by Hugh Fox

Maryam Eisler: Where do you find your current inspiration?
darvish Fakhr: At the moment I am excited to be working with photographer Hugh Fox. We are creating a body of work for an upcoming show called Lightness of Being. We hope to show his photographs alongside my paintings along with video and performance pieces. Hugh and I have been working together for about 5 years and when we get together it’s always fun and spontaneous…we just start with a loose idea and then see what happens. The idea could be something as simple as “water” or “corners”.

We do maybe 5% of what the body is capable of doing every day. But, there is so much space there. And the body loves it. I am doing this because I know my body loves it too. And I was starting to break down when I was just painting. I was repeating myself, and I was losing my range of motion. That is when I pulled back. And I stopped painting for a little while. And I have just been working with this notion of fluidity and studying how much is part of who we are as human beings. We are 70% water. We come from water, and then we come into this world. The ageing process is this sort of drying out that happens. I am interested in containing that fluidity and applying it to my art. So that it allows more room for expression. The body ebbs and flows as we inhale and exhale. It is about living it rather than knowing it.

Maryam Eisler: Finally, do you feel that, at this stage of life, consciousness and experience, you now deserve your name?
darvish Fakhr: [laughs] I don’t know. A real ‘Darvish’ goes through a lot of formal training. They study with a master. I wouldn’t say that I can / understand what they understand on that level. I am just doing it my way.

Maryam Eisler: Maybe life has been your master?
darvish Fakhr: That is a nice idea. If it is, then I am still very much a student. My hope is that through my art, the world will see that by borrowing from different cultures, you can create something more special, more unique. I am more about celebrating these differences and combining them into something that can be possibly more harmonious.

Explore darvish Fakhr’s work: darvish.com
Follow on Instagram: @darvish.studio

Sassan Behnam-Bakhtiar’s technique involves painstakingly applying layer upon layer of paint

Sassan Behnam-Bakhtiar’s body of exuberant, multi-layered paintings, created with a signature technique that sees each point on the canvas scraped and remixed hundreds of times, tell a story of his land of birth, France, and his family homeland of Iran. Ahead of his upcoming show Extremis at the Setareh Gallery in Düsseldorf, Rachel Spence speaks to the French-Iranian artist about beauty and turbulence

With their radiant, Mediterranean palette and shimmering pyramids of brushstrokes, many of Sassan Behnam-Bakhtiar’s paintings strike the viewer as praise songs to life in all its natural beauty.

Entirely in oil, and all abstract, his signature style is the result of a scrupulous and lengthy technique; each one requires months to complete. “I work with a lot of different types of paint,” he tells me. “I have to get the consistency right, place the paints layer by layer next to each other, let them get absorbed, then scrape them off and repeat the process about 500 times.” Look closely at his paintings and you see that sometimes the paint is less scraped than shaved.

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Painted in glowing Fauvist colours – raspberry, azure, lemon, rose pink and sunset yellow are dominant, although black occasionally intrudes – the effect is that of a flickering mosaic assembled from fragments of stained glass. In many of his paintings there are shimmering outlines of shapes and figures emerging from the background, often open to interpretation – is that a tree, a boat, two women? His technique means each change of colour, and hint of a figurative shape, is the result of a slight change in layering of a spot on the canvas.

In his studio in the south of France, Behnam-Bakhtiar’s latest works, to be shown at a solo exhibition at the Setareh Gallery in Düsseldorf this autumn, “are my story in reality”, he says. Propped up on the walls, an explosion of colour and joy, they also hide symbols from his past and his countries – he considers himself a French-Iranian artist, rather than taking the identity of his cultural homeland wholesale. In one, a pomegranate tree, rich in cultural symbolism, emerges from a blaze of scraped-oil colours.

Sassan Behnam-Bakhtiar’s most recent works resemble a flickering mosaic of colour

The studio looks out over the most perfect of settings, the garden dropping down towards a view of the harbour at Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, yachts floating on the water with their wealthy owners inside, the mountains of the Alpes-Maritimes rising sharply in the background.

Behnam-Bakhtiar’s images make the spirits soar, as does the location in which he is speaking to us. But they hide a story that is more painful than might first be imagined.

Behnam-Bakhtiar’s history is entwined with his French land of birth and his Iranian roots. Born in Neuilly-sur-Seine on the outskirts of Paris in 1984, he can trace his heritage back to Iran’s ancient Bakhtiari tribe. More recently, his great-uncle Shapour Bakhtiar was the last prime minister of Iran under the doomed regime of Mohammad Reza Shah, who was overthrown by the Islamic Revolution in 1979. Shapour Bakhtiar was murdered in Paris in 1991, allegedly by agents of the Islamic Republic of Iran that succeeded the Shah.

Like many Iranians of their generation, Behnam-Bakhtiar’s parents had left after the revolution. However, his mother went back with him to Tehran in 1994. Their return was troubled from the start.

“It was totally insane. There were forces in the street all the time. There were people outside [the house] trying to break down the walls.” Though he was then just a “typical French kid” suffering acute culture shock, he did his best to embrace his new home. “I started to speak Farsi and really tried to integrate myself as an Iranian.”

Coming from a creative family – both parents being artists – he wanted to be an artist too. As he learned about his homeland, he started “recording the jewels of my country” – the textiles, architecture, patterns, motifs and landscapes which have enriched Iranian culture for centuries. In those days, his chief tool was a camera and the photographs he took influenced collages made in the early part of his career.

Read more: OMM’s Creative Director Idil Tabanca on creating an art institution

But even as he fell in love with Iran’s visual bounty, Behnam-Bakhtiar was also discovering the country’s darker side. “From the age of 13 or 14, I was having to become the man of the family in Tehran,” he recalls. As he attempted to defend his home, the young artist found himself “many times” in trouble with the authorities.

At 19, he enrolled at the American University in Dubai. He double majored in information technology and finance, but he was “always studying art on the side”. Among the first works he showed, at an auction organised by the Magic of Persia foundation in Dubai in 2009, was a sculpture entitled Mitra. Inspired by “the feminine figures of Iran, the poets and singers, important people,” Mitra marked the embryo of a journey that would see Behnam-Bakhtiar devote himself to expressing “the real image of Iran and Iranians,” to counterpoint the myriad stereotypes of “bad people, terrorists with beards who shout ‘Allahu Akbar’ on the street.”

His commitment to truth-telling unfolded through early series such as A Reason to Fight (2013) and Aftermath (2014), which focused on the Iran-Iraq war. “It did very well, but many people were confused,” he recalls of paintings that aimed to pay homage to the young soldiers who defended “our identity”, but that also trespassed on the sensibilities of those who felt the war was best consigned to the history books.

Another series, The Real Me, from 2014, used bold collisions of Iranian patterns and iconic architecture with images of contemporary young people, including the artist himself in “extravagant situations”, for example, on the beach or enjoying cars and motorbikes.

By now, Behnam-Bakhtiar was living in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat with his wife Maria Zakharchenko, following in the footsteps of a train of creative beau monde, including Jean Cocteau, Picasso and Matisse, who fell in love with the region’s spectacular light and abundant plants and flowers. Here, the couple, alongside Sassan’s brother Ali, set up the Fondation Behnam-Bakhtiar, which promotes artists of Iranian descent and Iranian culture.

Yet despite the beauty around him, Behnam-Bakhtiar was, paradoxically, turning inwards towards an exploration of his own past. In part, the shift was prompted by a downturn in his health as a result of his youthful trauma.

“I felt really bad,” he remembers now, his voice dipping towards sadness. Fortunately, thanks to “valuable advice”, he pursued healing through techniques such as meditation and Qigong. As he recovered, he had “an awakening moment”, which helped him to “understand our inner beings, how we are connected to the energy that surrounds us and how, if we understand how to use [this energy] we can live a better life.”

Out of this came his 2017 series Oneness Wholeness, exhibited at the Saatchi Gallery, and the Villa Santo Sospir (once home to French artist Jean Cocteau), alongside works by Cocteau himself. The mixed-media paintings, with their scintillating strata of colours, evoke the sensation of a late Monet or Renoir were it to be left out in the sun to melt and drip down the canvas. They emerged out of Behnam-Bakhtiar’s effort “to paint the energy network that surrounds us”.

The new paintings, part of a show called Extremis, at Setareh Gallery, are more complex in their use of colour, light and form than any the artist has done before. He hopes they will evoke his own journey from darkness to light and he likens the new paintings to “shields of humanity”, which will inspire his audience to unlock their own powers of healing. “You have so much power and will inside yourself,” he insists. “If you focus on it and believe in it, visualise it, you can obtain it.” That manifesto for a better life seems to be working.

‘Extremis’ runs at the Setareh Gallery in Düsseldorf from 24 October. Find out more: setareh-gallery.com

Five other Iranian artists to watch

By Anna Wallace-Thompson

YZ Kami
The artist explores a Sufi-esque journey into the self through large-scale portraits. The subjects are at once ethereal and yet deeply personal, often appearing hazy, as if wrapped in a dream.

Farhad Moshiri
Nobody ever made a wall full of knives look this good – the original Iranian Pop artist combines biting social commentary with tongue-in-cheek references to contemporary culture and society.

Ali Banisadr
The Brooklyn-based artist grew up on the American West Coast, yet it’s the nightmarish dreamscapes of Hieronymus Bosch that have informed his figuratively abstract canvases.

Nicky Nodjoumi
Politics and power collide in these paintings – often with fragmented, fractious results. Dealing with the aftermath of revolution, Nodjoumi’s paintings take political dialogue to a new level.

Shirin Neshat
Arguably the most recognisable Iranian artist in the world, Neshat’s iconic monochrome aesthetic dominates striking photography works, while a poetic vision and delicate sensitivity encapsulate her films.

This article was originally published in the Autumn 19 Issue.