What are you currently working on—and what do you find particularly stimulating or challenging about it?
At the moment, I’m working on ›Soft Power‹, a site-specific, immersive sound installation that I’m very excited to present during Berlin Art Week. The project brings together sound art, feminist memory culture, and ritual practice to create a sensorial and political space. At its centre are Persian amphorae from the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries—reimagined as vessels of collective memory and female resilience. They enter into dialogue with floral interventions and a specially developed 360° sound composition.
›Soft Power‹ was conceived in response to the Iranian women’s rights movement ›Woman, Life, Freedom‹—as an artistic-curatorial answer to its transnational impact. It asks how art can make solidarity, resistance, and healing tangible, beyond linear narratives or the distance of the museum.
What excites me most is how this project takes me, as a gallerist and curator, into new territory. It breaks away from the classic exhibition format and explores new forms of collective authorship and curatorial responsibility. It’s also a step forward in how I see the role of a gallery: opening it to more installative, participatory formats that not only reflect social relevance but actively shape it.
Working with Haus der Visionäre—at the intersection of club culture and art—expands not just the audience, but also the conceptual scope of the project.
›Soft Power‹ is an invitation to rethink the gallery as a political-poetic practice, one that doesn’t simply exhibit but actively engages in shaping societal processes.
Do you have a daily ritual that gives you structure or inspiration?
In the mornings, I do yoga, simple breathing exercises, and meditate—it helps me start the day on a positive note. In the evenings, I read before going to sleep. These two rituals give my days both structure and creative inspiration.
What kind of music do you listen to when you want to focus or reconnect with your creative process?
At the moment, I mostly listen to classical or electronic music. Depending on my mood and focus, that might be Bach or Debussy, or deep, jazzy, dubby underground house sets from artists like Lakuti, Galcher Lustwerk, or DJ Dustin. Music plays a central role in my creative process; it helps me regulate emotions, process experiences, and find both strength and inner calm.
Has there been a book that fundamentally changed your perspective—and why would you recommend it?
Two books that have profoundly expanded my perspective in recent years are ›The Dawn of Everything‹ by David Graeber and David Wengrow, and ›How to Change Your Mind‹ by Michael Pollan.
›The Dawn of Everything‹ made me realise in a radical way how one-sided and reductive many familiar narratives about human history are. It dismantles the idea that progress inevitably comes with hierarchy and subjugation, opening the door to alternative forms of living together—models that have been tried throughout history but are often erased from view. It’s a book that liberates the mind.
Michael Pollan’s ›How to Change Your Mind‹ speaks to me on a different level. It’s a thoughtful and deeply personal exploration of psychedelic substances and their potential in therapeutic, spiritual, and creative processes. I was inspired by how openly yet precisely Pollan writes about altered states of consciousness and what they can mean for our ideas of healing, perception, and self-knowledge. Both books challenge the reader to question entrenched ways of thinking.
Is there a work of art you would love to have in your home?
If I may dream: ›The Garden of Earthly Delights‹ by Hieronymus Bosch. A work full of riddles, symbolism, and radical imagination—somewhere between paradise, ecstasy, and the abyss. This painting has fascinated me since childhood.
Which exhibition venue in Berlin inspires you?
I’m inspired by the James Simon Gallery’s clear architectural language and focused programming. David Chipperfield’s building creates an impressive connection between past and present.
In recent years they’ve shown major exhibitions including ›Iran. Five Millennia of Art and Culture‹ and ›Threads of Egyptian Life‹, featuring carpets from the Ramses Wissa Wassef Art Center. What I love is the combination of a global perspective, historical narratives, and sensitive curatorial work.
Another place I really value is the Haus der Kulturen der Welt—a hub for contemporary art, political debates, and performative formats from across the globe. As an architectural landmark, known for its curved roof as the ›Pregnant Oyster‹, a space for transnational, critical cultural production. I was recently inspired by their ›Sonic Pluriverse Festival: Bass Cultures‹, which connected music, sound, discussion, and performance globally, as well as the research project ›Global Fascisms‹, which examines the rise of right‑wing movements through artistic, archival, and discursive formats. Programmatically relevant and politically highly topical.
Is there an object that accompanies you and reflects a part of your identity?
I have a gold chain with a pendant symbolising Ahura Mazda, often depicted as the Faravahar. It’s a winged symbol that also represents the ascent of the soul and the harmony of good thoughts, words, and deeds. This symbol comes from Zoroastrianism, the ancient Persian philosophy and religion, and stands for wisdom, light, and goodness. It reminds me daily of my cultural roots and the ideal of aligning thoughts, words, and actions.
What keeps you going, even in moments of doubt?
Doubt is, for me, an inevitable part of creative work. It’s not a sign of weakness, but a component of a serious, reflective process. I often feel that women, in particular, question themselves more deeply—perhaps because they are met with scepticism more often from the outside. In my case, it usually helps me see more clearly: What is truly my concern? What is the essence?
What keeps me going is the conviction that artistic and curatorial work can generate resonance: that it creates spaces for reflection, connection, and change. When I sense that people feel seen or touched by an exhibition or a conversation, the doubts fade. It’s then that I remember why I do this.
Which personality would you like to have a conversation with—and what would you talk about?
I’d love to have a conversation with the Iranian poet and filmmaker Forough Farrokhzad. Her work and life continue to be a source of inspiration for me. In a time of societal repression, she articulated female empowerment, sensuality, and artistic freedom in a radical and poetic way. I’d ask her what she thinks today about the current ›Woman, Life, Freedom‹ movement, and we’d talk about how art can create spaces for resistance, memory, and transformation.
What do you look forward to when your working day comes to an end?
I look forward to spinning a few records in the evening. Listening to music, pausing, settling in. It’s a lovely ritual for me to close out the day.