Last spring, University of South Florida art student Nazanin Arandi, Iranian-born and a five-year U.S. resident, was approved for her first-ever solo exhibition, From Here to Breath, at USF's Centre Gallery. Her proposal projected an installation based on her "culture of memory," memories of a Middle-Eastern childhood. Between then and now has come the unavoidable surrealist baggage of a post-Sept. 11 world. Though the horrific permeates our collective consciousness, it doesn't dominate Arandi's thoughtful exhibition, a standout for this serious student-run alternative gallery.
Still, the world intrudes into the work — not overtly in objects dedicated to political ends — but with defiant feminist imagery representing personal search for identity within repressive societies.
As we publicly refocus on the suppression of women's rights in the Middle East, Arandi's imagery inevitably acquires new status. It's not only symbolically relevant, but symbolic of our own current struggles against cultural misconceptions. Though politically driven art can be as stridently dangerous as useful, in Arandi's hands it's a highly digestible aesthetic package.
Yet it's more than a smart conceptual wrapper that enables this very minimally staged exhibition to rise to the occasion.
Upon entering the small, darkened gallery we are enveloped in a contemplative space with three quiet focal areas. Indeed, the artist's reliance on minimalist forms and a commitment to the word restraint are fundamental to the exhibition's success. To one side, representing Arandi's view of nature as "inspiration," a simple square of sand on the floor. It's surrounded by henna that exudes smells of mosques. To our eyes it looks just like plain earth. Above, panels hung by meticulously arranged wires affirm the artist's predilection for conceptual architecture.
Around the walls, a slim band of poetry written and calligraphed by the artist. The text is Farsi, the national Iranian language. Exotic words lacking specific meaning for us, but acquiring power simply by enclosing the space around us.
The central focus is two large, square makeshift video screens, of plywood. Three continuous-loop videos are projected, accompanied by music hinting of Middle Eastern tones and voices. It's experimental, appropriately non-obtrusive, and melds into the fabric of text, texture and image. The composer/collaborator is Arandi's classmate Ulysses Jackson.
Two side-by-side videos are slowed to an effectively mezmerizing tempo. Angled screens force us to watch one at a time while mini-narratives unfold with a young woman on each, possibly a double self-portrait. One figure appears to be a Westerner garbed in the traditional chadour or woman's shawl. Though her face is often uncovered and she makes eye contact, she remains remote. Her hands move to the ground as if praying, and then she arches her back as the subtly striped fabric molds artfully into dunes. White Farsi text, computer-generated and choreographed, superimposes graphically over the woman, metamorphosing into hands representing the Muslim symbol for Fatima. They swirl, contaminating the figurative image with modernity. Facile but well done.
The other young woman — with dark eyebrows and black cascading hair — appears to be Middle Eastern. Immersed in water, she wears only a brazenly revealing spaghetti-strapped white dress and a locket. Unresponsive to the world around her, she rises from the water in exultation, her arms suggesting a cruciform. And then, falling backward, slowly, an arty splash dissolves her into abstraction, an offshoot of the artist's interest in evolution, in movement.
Arandi's friend Michelle Jammes performed in both videos. The startling physical differences are illusionary due to the artist's electronic manipulation of lights and darks. I came away thinking how easily our cultures are transfused as a result of our freedom to deconstruct an artist's intention.
The third projected image, seen from behind, reveals hands performing ritual washing. In one of the few missteps (beyond the artist's control), tri-colored bulbs of a last-minute substitute projector created a distracting light source. A floor mirror that adds intriguing depth also reflects the jarring lights. For that matter, one might also wish for the projector in the middle of the gallery to be covered (along with its unsightly cables). Such is the intrusion of mechanical devices that few contemporary installations can easily avoid. Nevertheless, it doesn't dampen the promise of significant video making for this young artist.
This article appears in Nov 1-7, 2001.