90 Works by Ardeshir Mohassess

LACMA’s New Acquisition

Ardeshir Mohassess, Census 1, 1986, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, gift of Ardeshir Babaknia, M.D., M.2026.24, © Estate of Ardeshir Mohassess, photo © Museum Associates/LACMA, by Sarah Newby. Courtesy LACMA Unframed.

Art of the Middle East Department, LACMA Unframed

LACMA has recently received a landmark gift of 90 works by Ardeshir Mohassess, significantly expanding the museum’s modern and contemporary Iranian art collection and positioning LACMA as the leading international repository of the artist’s work. Created between the 1950s and the 1990s, these drawings and watercolors span transformative decades in Iran, observed by Mohassess first from within the country and later from the diaspora. They document the final years of the Pahlavi regime (1925–1979), critique its rushed modernization and expanding bureaucracy, and ultimately bear witness to the authoritarian forces surrounding the 1979 Revolution and the repressive years that followed under the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Colour Me Beautiful

Fierce and political, ‘The Chromophiliacs’ explodes like a paint factory demolition. And it’s glorious.

Moozhan Ahmadzadegan, Ruth Paul’s Drag Race: Iran, 2025, UV screen print. Courtesy of the artist and The Tyee.

by Dorothy Woodend, The Tyee

The Pantone 2026 colour of the year is a whiter-than-white shade called Cloud Dancer. When the colour was revealed at the end of 2025, universal derision popped up across the internet as pundits rolled their eyes and hooted about the tone-deaf — or, maybe more correctly, colour-blind — choice.

The idea that colour is political isn’t new, but in the year 2026 it’s taken on even greater resonance.

The controversy over Cloud Dancer did not come as a surprise to Zoë Chan, curator for the Richmond Art Gallery’s new exhibition The Chromophiliacs.

The exhibition derives its title from David Batchelor’s Chromophobia. Published in 2000, the book addressed the fear of colour in western culture. The manifestations of this are myriad.

The idea that white, grey and beige are synonymous with good taste is everywhere, from Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop empire to the so-called quiet luxury of fashion houses like the Row.

Absence, restraint and minimalism are still regarded as high culture, whereas colour is tarred with associations of gaudiness, cheapness and lower culture, Chan explains.

In his book, Batchelor makes the case that this extinguishment serves a couple of different functions: “In the first, colour is made out to be the property of some ‘foreign’ body — usually the feminine, the oriental, the primitive, the infantile, the vulgar, the queer or the pathological. In the second, colour is relegated to the realm of the superficial, the supplementary, the inessential or the cosmetic.”

Islamic Art, Rewritten, The Modern Islamic Artists Reshaping Contemporary Culture

Maha Malluh, Food for Thought 'Al-Muallaqat', 2014. Courtesy the artist and A&E Magazine.

by Nour Jarmakani, A&E Magazine

Modern Islamic artists are redefining how cultural heritage operates within contemporary art. Rather than preserving tradition as static history, they engage with Islamic visual language as a dynamic system, capable of responding to questions of identity, memory, power, and modern life. Across the Middle East and its global diasporas, these artists draw from calligraphy, geometry, repetition, and abstraction not as symbols of the past, but as tools for shaping new cultural narratives that resonate far beyond regional boundaries.

The foundations of Islamic art, such as geometry, calligraphy, repetition, and abstraction, remain central, yet their meaning has expanded. Where these elements once served primarily spiritual and architectural purposes, today they are tools for exploring identity, memory, and modern life. In studios across Dubai, Beirut, Doha, and Riyadh, artists draw on these forms not as fixed symbols, but as flexible systems capable of expressing both continuity and change.

Calligraphy, in particular, has taken on renewed relevance. Contemporary practitioners often push Arabic script beyond legibility, allowing it to function as form and rhythm rather than text alone. The Tunisian-French artist eL Seed exemplifies this shift, merging classical calligraphy with the scale and immediacy of street art. His monumental works—found across the Arab world and beyond—transform language into a visual experience, challenging perceptions of Arabic culture while preserving its poetic essence.

For Hearts in Exile,

at Summerhall Arts Edinburgh

Taraneh Dana, A Heart in Exile, 2025, stoneware, glaze. Courtesy Summerhall Arts.  

by Omur Sahin Keyif, Artmag

Summerhall Arts is hosting four solo exhibitions in its galleries by artists whose work calls for social, political, environmental, or cultural change, presented under the theme of CATALYST: Art as Activism.

Scottish multidisciplinary artist Eilidh Appletree’s sculptural installation addresses the great contradiction of the global capitalist economy: with its industrial agriculture and aquaculture techniques for maximising profit, often described as ‘efficient’, it’s driving biodiversity loss. What Eilidh emphasises with her artworks is that animal life is interconnected with human life; an end to one means an end to the other.

As you walk into the room, a tall sculpture made of woven steel wire greets you. The resemblance to fishermen’s nets and the fish-like form of the sculpture together reminds us of the reality of ‘bycatch’ in industrial fishing, and Appletree connects these nets with the lives being taken by industrial fishing.

Every year, millions of sea animals die as an unintended capture in industrial fishing methods. These animals, which are thrown dead into the sea, are represented in the exhibition by the striking artwork Mother and Baby. Two fish-like forms, woven from steel wires, remain side by side: the baby was caught as a bycatch in the net – we can see the baby’s flesh. The surface on top of the wire net is completely dry, while the wall surface has been deliberately kept moist, under transparent plastic.

Who Can I Dance With?

From sneaking into underground basements in Tehran [...] to learning to dance with almost no words in Northern California, I had done everything I could.

“Dancing Couple (Tanzpaar)”, by Ernst Ludwig Kirchner. Courtesy Guernica.

by Arash Dabestani, Guernica

After the 1979 Iranian Revolution and the rise of Islamists under the leadership of the Ayatollah Khomeini, dancing and singing were banned by his decree. People were divided: Khomeini’s supporters believed they could see the Ayatollah’s image on the moon, while others, by contrast, were captivated by Michael Jackson’s invention of the moonwalk.

All the dance clubs were repurposed after the revolution. One former Tehranian nightclub and restaurant-bar, Chattanooga, was well-known and featured in many films. But after the revolution, it became a storage place; its doors and walls all plastered over, it was now filled from floor to ceiling with cables and wires. This was my workplace for years. I would walk through tangled spools to the back of the hall, where I’d sit in a small room behind a computer, doing accounting for the company that sold the wires around me. There was no sign of music, and no sign of dancers. The only smells were of plastic and dust.

Tape players existed with the justification that they were for listening to the Quran or religious prayers. The Hezbollahi—religious vigilantes who acted as moral enforcers—would set up checkpoints on the streets and ask to pop the trunks of vehicles to look for good speakers or sound systems. It was easier than checking inside houses. If someone had a tape player that was clearly high quality—suggesting it could play non-religious music—they would stab its surface with knives.

In order to stay safe, families who didn’t align with the government would hang up thick curtains during their parties, so the insides of their homes couldn’t be seen by the Hezbollahi. They would nail rugs to the walls so the sound wouldn’t escape. One or two people would be stationed outside the garden or house to warn others if any officers showed up. There was always an older sober person at the party keeping watch, ready to pay off the authorities if needed so the gathering could go on unhindered. Others were in charge of hiding alcoholic drinks—possession of which could lead to lashes or imprisonment.

“to arrive is never to arrive”

Skyline’s art gallery explores themes of displacement and reclamation

Guest artists present ‘to arrive is never to arrive,’ an exhibition examining immigration and identity through art

Woven pillar by artist Sanaz Safanasab showing intricate details and weaves in the form of an eye hiding within the cloth. Courtesy The Skyline View.

Aileen Bucog, The Skyline View

The Skyline College Art Gallery held the opening reception for its latest exhibition, “to arrive is never to arrive,” on Feb. 7 from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.

Art by Javier Roberto Carlos, Lorena Molina, and Sanaz Safanasab cohesively explores themes of political rupture, displacement and reclamation in the context of immigration. 

Art history professor Kathy Zarur runs the art gallery, typically curating exhibitions herself; this time, she invited guest curators to put a show together.

“It’s a wonderful opportunity to bring in new people,” Zarur said. “People who know the curators and the artists will come and pay closer attention. By bringing in guest curators, we’re highlighting this gallery even more.” 

The opening reception greeted visitors with opening remarks from Zarur and Off Hours — a curatorial collective that spotlights emerging Bay Area artists — who introduced the featured artists.

Zarur’s gallery practicum class and Off Hours installed and curated the exhibition together.

Katherine Jemima Hamilton, Shaelyn Hanes and Ebti — all working and practicing artists — formed the collective in November 2023, after first meeting at California College of the Arts.

“Shaelyn [Hanes] and I were in the curatorial practice program at CCA, which no longer exists. Ebti was in the MFA [masters of fine arts] program,” Hamilton said. “We’ve always curated in other people’s spaces. That gives us a lot of unique challenges, but also opportunities to work with artists in lots of different types of ways.”

Forbidden Music:

Iranian Musicians Push Back Against the Islamic Republic

A Conversation with TarantisT, Justina, and DJ Ali Pink

Issue #74 - The Protest Issue with Kathleen Hanna and Bartees Strange 

Improv session. Tehran, Iran. 2013. Photograph: Jai Brodie. Courtesy Jai Brodie and The Guardian.

by Lily Moayeri, Under The Radar Magazine

Imagine a society where music is forbidden. A society where listening to music is an offense punishable by imprisonment and lashings. Accessing music is only possible through illegal means. Sharing music is a risk you take with your life. This dystopian-like society is not the stuff of an extreme YA novel, it’s what’s been happening in Iran for the last 47 years, under the dictatorial rule of the Islamic Republic.

It hasn’t always been this way in Iran. An ancient civilization going back to the Persian Empire from 550 B.C., Iran was built on the arts. Persian poets Ferdowsi, Rumi, Hafez, and Khayyam have been translated and read in multiple languages for over 1000 years. Traditional Persian instruments tar (lute), santur (dulcimer), chang (harp), and ney (flute) have been played for centuries.

More recently, prior to the Islamic Republic’s takeover, popular Iranian musicians ruled the airwaves in the country, as did Western artists such as Donnie & Marie. Music stores stocked cassette albums from Europe and the U.S. and did excellent business. Nightclubs, cabarets, and discos featured live entertainment and the hottest tunes, both Western and Iranian. All were packed.

The extreme turnaround after the Islamic Revolution in 1979, which bases its constitution, in large part, on the most fundamentalist interpretation of Sharia law, that is the religious law of Islam as commanded by God, came down particularly hard on music. Initially, all music was banned, but Iranians’ love of music, and the need for it, couldn’t be denied.

Iranian Artists Keep the Spirit of “Woman, Life, Freedom” Alive

Over three years after the suspicious death of Jina Mahsa Amini sparked a nationwide protest movement in Iran, artists continue to fuel creative resistance.

A digital illustration by Forouzan Safari echoes the defiant spirit of Iran’s “Woman, Life, Freedom” uprising in September 2022. Courtesy Roshi Rouzbehani and In These Times.

Alessandra Bajec, In These Times 

The 2022 ​“Woman, Life, Freedom” protests erupted in Iran following the shocking death of 22-year-old Jina Mahsa Amini, in police custody. Like many Iranians in the diaspora, illustrator Roshi Rouzbehani was filled with grief, rage and a profound duty to speak out. She felt compelled to create art that echoed what so many were experiencing, and to share the images online to help bring global attention to her people’s struggle.

“Art became both a personal coping mechanism and a form of activism for me,” Rouzbehani tells In These Times. Now based in the UK, she left Iran in 2011 to seek safety from political pressures.

In the year of the women-led uprising, the Iranian regime’s security forces killed hundreds of protesters and threatened the lives of numerous journalists, and detained, tortured and persecuted thousands more. Artists, musicians and cultural workers in Iran — particularly those involved in protest art and human rights activism — continue to face escalating repression, including arbitrary arrests, jail sentences, concert bans and strict censorship.

“Raised fists, flowing scarves and bold female figures,” Rouzbehani says. ​“All these elements reflect the movement’s core spirit: autonomy, resistance and hope.”

‘Octogone’

 Interview. Chalisée Naamani

Protest, fashion history, training equipment, resistance, children’s toys, the search for identity, and the cultural circulation of images. Chalisée Naamani’s ‘Octogone’ is currently on view at Kunsthalle Wien until 6 April 2026; the exhibition moves fluidly between personal and collective histories; clothing, images, and gestures become carriers of ideology, belonging, and power.

Chalisée Naamani, Who claims love? (Detail), 2025, Exhibition view Palais de Tokyo, 2025. Courtesy Ciaccia Levi, Paris/Mailand and Les Nouveaux Riches. © Bildrecht, Wien 2026. Photo: Aurélien Mole.

Interview by Kristina Deska Nikolić (KDN), Les Nouveaux Riches

The exhibition space of the Kunsthalle Wien feels as if it is framing your works. The built–in structure of the changing room, and lockers with mirrors became stations for your work to lean and hang. How you embraced the space and how the idea and the Zurkhaneh (House of Strength) is visible in the exhibition design.

The exhibition ‘Octogone’ first took place in 2025 at Palais de Tokyo, also titled ‘Octogone’. The exhibition traveled to Vienna and is now on view with new works I did specifically for the show here in Austria. When I was invited to do a show in Palais de Tokyo, the space that was given to me had an octagonal shape, which immediately reminded me of my grandfather, who was a wrestler and a boxing fighter.