Memory, Left Open explores mourning, absence, and collective memory through the language of carpet weaving. When bodies are denied burial and grief is denied its rituals, the carpet becomes a space where the missing can still be named and remembered.

Each knot becomes an act of testimony, a gesture through which what cannot be spoken can be held by the hands. The work remains deliberately unfinished, allowing memory and mourning to stay open rather than resolved.

Throughout history, carpets and handwoven textiles have not only served as artistic and functional objects but also as a language of emotions, narrating the stories of human life. This ancient art bridges tradition and emotion, color and spirit.

The workshop “The Carpet of Emotions” is designed to create a shared experience of music, color, and empathy. It goes beyond teaching weaving techniques, focusing instead on inner expression and collective creation.

Within the warp and weft of this worn-out carpet, a hundred years of silence lie hidden a century of sitting and weaving, without a single word spoken. A carpet now wounded by the passage of time, yet still alive; alive with memory, with hands, with the dreams once woven into it.

Today, with new threads but with deep reverence for the past, I stitch words upon it not to add, but to listen. These words are the silent language of the weaver. The traces of those who no longer walk this world, yet through the work they created, still speak to us.

The tattered carpet is no longer merely an object; It is a document of history, of suffering, of beauty. Not restored, but translated from weave to word, from silence to sound, from stillness to presence.

“So many unspoken words lay in my heart, yet my silent tongue has no chance to speak.”Rumi

One day, a dervish sat beside a spring, his gaze lost in the water’s depths. A passerby asked, “What do you see in this stream that holds you so entranced?”

The dervish, as if peering into the very heart of being, into the face of the Divine, replied: “I do not see my reflection in this water; I see my soul. This water is a mirror not of form, but of essence.”

And for me, just as the dervish found truth in water’s gaze, I, too look into my carpet, Not to admire its patterns, But to behold the presence behind each knot: The women, whose quiet hands, In silence, have woven a world unseen.

In this book, I explore the delicate interplay between memory, poetry and thread. Each element is interwoven to create a narrative that reflects the intangible deeply felt connection I hold within myself. The threads are used as a symbol of connection, binding the past to the present. A thought will turn into a word and memory into form.

Through the medium of thread, I evoke the fragility and strength of these bonds, reminding us how even the most fleeting moments can leave a lasting trace. The letters act as whispers of memory, flowing seamlessly along the thread. The threads and ties shape our personal histories to show the complicated experiences we carry with us.

Walking Carpet gives you a chance to physically walk through hardship without a shortcut and experience the hard situations of walking through tough situations. Eventually, the walking carpet will leave marks on your feet, same as the experiences in your life.

I want to give myself another chance to restore. None of us are similar to what we were before, but now that we have become a different but valuable person because of our fears, failures, losses and sufferings, we continue to live, even if we have lost pieces of ourselves in the meantime.

Kintsugi is the method I choose to express myself; it is not just a method of repair; it is a form of rebirth. Instead of returning a broken object to its original form, it transforms it into a treasure and gives it a history. It celebrates and honors failures, turning them into something beautiful.

I want to embrace the wounds that scarred my body and soul, using them as stepping stones to overcome and enter a new world. I want to cherish my journey of growth and transformation, knowing that each crack and imperfection has made me stronger and more resilient.

As a migrant, the first and perhaps the most persistent question I encountered was, “Why are you here?” This question is left unanswered.

I use bird feathers as a symbol of migration, freedom, and the desire to soar, unbound by past restrictions. These feathers represent the aspiration to chart one’s own path, to move freely across borders and boundaries. Yet, despite this symbolic flight, I find myself tethered to that unrelenting question. It has become a chain that restricts my movement, a reminder that my journey is constantly questioned.

I explore this paradox: the yearning for freedom and the inescapable confines of external expectations. In this tension, I express a truth that resonates deeply with me: I will never be truly free.

The greatest challenge of my life is experiencing loss, whether it be losing someone or something. I have faced numerous losses throughout my life, and during those times, I would desperately try to hold onto everything, even if it meant forcing it.

When I left my homeland and parted ways with my family and friends, I would constantly strive to keep them in my life to prevent losing them. I would wait anxiously every day and night, analysing their words as if they were a lifeline. Knots are an inseparable part of me.

I internalise every word they speak, using them as a means to hold onto them and keep them close to my heart.

“Every piece of art I create holds a piece of me forever.”

Many individuals worldwide have sacrificed their lives in pursuit of a common cause: freedom. Despite their shared aspirations, they endeavor to attain it, only to encounter obstacles erected by political constraints. In my interpretation, the red thread binds them to this realm, their lives sacrificed in the pursuit of aspirations.

Inspired by a Japanese tale of the red thread, representing the bond between two deeply connected individuals in love, I visualize those who have perished holding onto wishes and hopes that tie them to the world. Unfortunately, this cycle endures indefinitely, as many persist in sacrificing their lives for the elusive concept of freedom.

After my father’s passing, mourning took on a different form for me… I try to keep him alive by weaving. I want to tie my father to life; I want to safeguard him among the knots.

The sound of the daftin (a Persian tool for weaving carpet) resembles the sound of instrumental music used in traditional mourning ceremonies in Iran. In this video I try to communicate my personal mourning. My father may be gone, but my voice remains. I call out day and night, forever, “Baba, baba, baba…”

Watch the video on YouTube

Part of the Crying Classroom programme, Weimar, October and November 2023. Supported by Kreativfonds and the Bauhaus-Universität.

Designing traditional motifs for contemporary handmade fabrics and textile products, drawing on the patterns and symbols of Persian hand weaving.