Her family had to leave their home country during the Iranian Revolution of 1979, and a story about the sudden migration of artist Shirin Towfiq’s grandfather inspired part of her latest art exhibition.
“I grew up hearing about the ways my family members had to quickly leave their homeland and how different family members were imprisoned by the Iranian government, beaten, tortured, and some were killed. When my grandfather left Iran for a business trip, he thought he would return in two weeks. He packed a briefcase with one suit; he was never able to go back to Iran,” she says. “To survive, he began working as a door-to-door Persian rug salesman in Germany and later, Canada. This story inspired me to look into the folklore of Persian magic carpets as something magical that can transport anyone, anywhere in the world, in a moment. I started to think about the migrant journey through these stories and how it mirrors an exile and a bittersweet moment of having escaped persecution, but also not being able to return to your homeland.”
Her exhibition, “Shirin Towfiq: Threaded Journeys,” is on display at the Mingei International Museum in Balboa Park through Aug. 11. It’s inspired by Persian folktales, folk art, and reimagined traditions that are expressed through her embroidery, patchwork, and digital prints on gauze, according to the museum.
Born and raised in Oceanside, Towfiq, 31, is also a part-time lecturer and instructor at San Diego State University and Stanford Continuing Studies, respectively, splitting her time between Vista and Santa Cruz. She took some time to talk about her work in “Threaded Journeys,” reflections on her intersecting Iranian-American identity, and her dream of living close to all of her family again.
Q: The museum website describes your show as “weav(ing) connections between the Persian folklore of the magic carpet and its ability to transport people with incredible speed to her experience as a second-generation Iranian refugee…” What’s in this exhibition?
A: “Thinking About Migration, 2020” is a work of digital prints of Persian rugs on silk gauze fabric. They blow and turn gently, like ethereal spirits, because of a fan placed in the corner of the room that personifies the imagination of magic carpets. In old, Persian stories, magic carpets are woven with magic threads that are able to instantly transport anyone to anywhere in the world. The rugs, and their delicate, gauzy materiality, suggest bodies of Iranian migrants and the precarity of migration. Their delicate motion and scale create an ambivalent sensation of both overwhelming vulnerability and loss, while suggesting a calm freedom swaying easily in the wind. “Looking For A Sign, 2022,” is an assemblage of tea bags stitched together to convey memories, events, and visions of the future. There are two versions of the piece in the museum: one is 8-feet-by-24 feet and the other is approximately 5-feet-by-8-feet. Gold threads reference the Persian folklore of magic carpets, suggesting journeys across space and time. The translucent quality of the tapestry evokes a window, a portal, or a gestational period.
There is a poem by my grandmother, Aghdas Towfiq, called “My Iran is My Desire.” This poem reflects a deep longing for Iran, mentioning various cities and regions while also alluding to the sacrifices and spiritual heritage of the Baha’i faith. It captures a sense of spiritual pilgrimage and homage to places and individuals significant to the history of the Baha’i community in Iran. There is also jewelry on display, which was designed and made by my grandmother, Shidmehr Amirkia. My family members all had a different story of how they left Iran and she was one of the last people to leave. She used to be the jeweler for the royal family and she had created second copies of all of the designs she made for them. When she had to leave the country, she needed some type of currency to leave with, so when she was going through airport security, she put all of the jewelry in wads of tissues and blew her nose into them to smuggle them across the border. If they had noticed, this was an act that would have gotten her killed.
There are also Persian rugs on display that I grew up looking at as a child in our home, that have inspired my work today. We always had Persian rugs in our home. I remember looking at them for hours as a child. Some of them even had stories associated with figurative imagery, including people, landscapes, and gardens. Imagining the stories around these rugs was part of how I imagined Iran, despite having never been there. My parents are blacklisted from returning to Iran, and it would be dangerous for me to go there, so this relationship with my parents’ past and a place I have never been to is one that has always been mediated through domestic objects, folk arts, and cultural practices my family built as a way to feel at home.
What I loved about Oceanside…
When I was growing up, so many of my relatives moved to the same neighborhood in Oceanside, with a bunch of us living on the same street, that it was called the Towfiq street. I loved that I could visit so many of my relatives at once, especially my grandparents, who lived next door. Every day before school, I would visit my grandma and she would braid my hair while she fed me a Persian breakfast. Although many of my family members have now moved, my brother recently bought a house next to my grandma to stay close to her. That is one of my dreams, to live close to all of my family again.
Q: The museum’s description of your work also says that “Through folk art and craft and its connection to the home, people are able to go beyond geographical boundaries and create a sense of comfort and belonging.” Can you share some of your most prominent memories that center on learning folk art and craft from your family members?
A: I see my engagement with traditional crafts as a reflection of my own intersectional Iranian-American identity, as well as my family’s history, which I continue to learn about. A few years ago, I found out that many of my family members are from the village of Kashan, which is world famous for its rug production. I am using the means (materials) I have on hand to connect to that history of rug production while also questioning what this history means for me. For example, every day in my studio, I take a lint roller and clean up the sewing remnants from my textile practice and each lint roller square becomes like an abstracted rug. These “rugs” are threads to stories that I only have partial access to. When laid out together, they tell their own story of my fragmented understanding of my heritage.
Q: What do you hope people see/experience when they visit “Threaded Journeys”?
A: To remember and reflect on refugee and migrant stories, which are often lost, forgotten, and not archived. I am interested in how the traumas of having to leave a homeland continue to affect a family for generations, and I am compelled to confront this history and the generational traumas that stem from this past. I want to rethink our relationships with our families and histories while reimagining a new future for displaced communities.
Q: Can you talk about some of the reasons why creating folk art appeals to you?
A: Folk art tends to express community life. Everything I make is about my community — where I come from and how these communal histories have influenced my daily life. The art I make connects me back to my ancestors and a homeland I cannot return to. The other thing that is appealing to me is that most folk art is made by self-taught artists. Folk art often resonates with me more than other types of art because the desire to make it feels so human, it’s often not being made for an art world, or others’ consumption.
Q: What is the best advice you’ve ever received?
A: Overproduce! Make a lot of work and 10 percent of it will be good. When you are stuck, always approach your projects in the dumbest way possible to get it out in the world. Don’t let anything get in the way of you producing your work.
Q: What is one thing people would be surprised to find out about you?
A: I didn’t know what art was until I went to college. I had never really made art or knew what contemporary art was. The first time I saw contemporary art at the Ukraine Biennial in 2012, I felt like I was perfectly understanding a language I never spoke before. The second thing that came to my mind was that this has to be someone’s job and I have to find a way to get it!
Q: Please describe your ideal San Diego weekend.
A: Grabbing an iced chai from Steady State, then going down the street in Carlsbad to get a poke bowl from Yoshino and eating it while watching the waves. Going for a hike at Torrey Pines or Annie’s Canyon with my family, collecting rocks from the beach, and then going to a few art museums downtown to end the day.