« Homme avec un visage carré, 2015 »

It is spring or maybe summer or maybe al the seasons that we are reliant upon. Whatever season it is, a cool wind is stirring the white cotton blooms and the fir trees that my village starts with. It has been a long time since these fir trees and I have been singing, thanks to the little sparrows of Tajan. I have learnt here what to be. I have also learnt to count  the breath of the people I live with since life is too short. I even know very well how many acres of land there is here to run i or how many fish that can swim against the current or how many cows that low in the Panbe Chuleh paddies. It is not too much.It hasnever been too much, whatever its is, is the rythm of the devoted and lovely songs of my mother that encourage me to play a new song on the iron worthy to listen. the present collection is the fruit of the romps of being still a ten year old child in heart. I have just tried to engrave my new experiences I have got from my motherland and the flux of my life river second by second on these scraps of iron because nothing satiates me better than the things get me closer to what is called I. I am very happy that I have not failed the trial. Aref Roodabri 2015