I have always been interested in how people gather…
around a fire,
a story,
an idea,
beauty,
or
simply around a “shared meaning.”
I work at the intersection of people, ideas, and space, rooted in a practice of pattern recognition. I am interested in how meaning forms collectively—how environments shape participation, how attention is held, and how cultural value emerges when it is handled with care. My practice moves across mediums because each situation demands its own form. I do not move across disciplines for novelty. I move because a question of memory may require an exhibition, while a question of authorship may require an object, an image, or a garment.
“The medium always follows the condition.”
My work begins with initiation—not as a vague impulse, but as a repeatable act of noticing a gap, naming it, and gathering the right material, people, and structure to give shape to something that did not previously exist. I am drawn to the stage before a project becomes visible, when it is still only an atmosphere, a tension, or a fragment, and the right frame can bring it into reality. What matters to me in that process is coherence: how to hold complexity without flattening it, and how to build something with integrity before it enters the world.
This instinct was present long before it was professionalized. Early on, my projects often functioned as small social inquiries: holding a Nowrooz school gallery so artists could sell their crafts, writing and distributing a weekly school journal, organizing classmates into theatre performances where a collective idea had to become public. During university, this expanded into a more sustained cultural practice through workshops, design contests, TEDx, and inaugural initiatives such as Tehran Design Week and Tehran Jewelry Week. At the same time, stage and costume design sharpened my sense of timing, embodiment, and presence. Theatre taught me that stories are lived rather than simply displayed, and that meaning is carried as much by bodies in motion as by the objects surrounding them.
Across all this movement, the medium I have returned to most consistently has been clothing. Fashion has fascinated me not as trend or industry first, but as the first surface of human presence—as a language of mood, ideology, memory, and inner life. When I built my own clothing line, I designed selectively and relationally, responding to the energy and presence of the person I was designing for. For me, clothing was never only product. It was closer to sculpture—an intimate form that becomes complete only when it is worn, inhabited, and lived.
Alongside my authored work, I have also worked inside commercial and luxury environments where taste is tested in real time. Experiences across boutique settings, merchandising, and platform systems taught me how curation, visibility, and value are shaped—how ideas change as they move through markets, audiences, and systems, and what it takes to protect integrity when speed and commerce enter the frame. These experiences sharpened my judgment and reinforced something central to my practice: standards are not restrictive; they are protective. They are how meaning survives.
I have also worked with image as a medium. Modeling and on-camera work for fashion and jewelry brands taught me something design alone cannot: how narrative sits on the body, how presence communicates before language, and how atmosphere—light, styling, posture, distance—becomes a container for meaning. This is why I treat visual work as responsibility. Images are not neutral; they educate taste and condition desire.
Today, in Canada, I bring these worlds together in a practice that is cultural, embodied, editorial, and strategic at once. I am interested in building work—and the conditions around it—that can move across contexts without losing coherence: collections, objects, exhibitions, programs, and frameworks that gather people, hold attention, and endure. My aim is not only to make work, but to create the conditions in which work can deepen meaning and live beyond the moment of its making.