Nothingness
Hich in the Creation of Sepehri ̗ Kiarostami ̗ and Tanavoli
Mir-ahmad Mir-Ehsan
Farairan Quarterly ̗ No.8 ̗ summer 2001
Attempting to hear the dialogues in the poetry of Sohrab Sepehri, the films of ‘Abbas Kiarostami, and the sculptures of Parviz Tanavoli is an awe-inspiring, perplexing and mysterious experience. When we focus on the concept of heech, or “nothingness,” in this three-way relationship, our wonder is intensified. But “nothingness” here is not “nothing,” that is, without anything. It is rather the essence of a riddle and the root of their art. It is nothing, and the source of man and life.
Why have I chosen these three artists as my subject? In my view, all three are in some way the leaders of a unique artistic style which is connected to life and our roots; and they are brilliant mirrors of a special style in the modern world. When contemporary man has an inclination to “pay a visit to his father’s house,” he becomes nostalgic about the things he used to have. He returns to his childhood and becomes engulfed in the question of nothingness—a nothingness which is not nothing, but conscious of man’s view of the world.
No doubt, in ‘Abbas Kiarostami, this return to childhood arises from post-modern influences and not nostalgic ones. By relying on the purity of childhood, he brings on a new wisdom, a modern inquiry, new horizons, freedom from tradition and superstition for the child, and makes a point to the “adults” who have not yet grown up. He begins with nothing, the re-evaluation of everything, and asks questions with a new wisdom.
Here, I do not intend a comparative examination of the special characteristics of Sepehri’s poetry, Kiarostami’s films, or Tanavoli’s sculptures. I do not want to critique the general characteristics of their art, or deconstruct the basis of their work and, from every aspect, discuss their differences and similarities. Rather, I wish to speak of the presence of “nothingness” in the works of all three artists—its meaning, affinity and dissonance between each artist’s nothingness. These are merely suggestions worth thinking about.
Most of us have read Sohrab Sepehri’s An Oasis in the Moment:
If you are coming to see me,
I am beyond the land of nothingness.
Behind the land of nothingness is quite a place,
Behind the nothingness of the veins of the air,
Dandelion seeds carry a message from the blossomed flower
Of the farthest bush on earth.
On the sands, too, are the hoof-prints of horses with delicate riders
Who went in the morning to the foot of the hill of the ascent of the poppy.
Behind nothingness, the umbrella of yearning is open:
The moment a breath of thirst touches the stem of a leaf,
The alarm bells of rain are sounded
One is alone here,
And in this loneliness the shadow of an elm tree extends to eternity.
If you come to see me,
Tread softly and slowly,
Lest the delicate china of my loneliness
Crack
***
Let us not forget that Sepehri’s last book was entitled Ma Heech, Ma Negah (We Nothingness, We Glance). Every reader of Sepehri is conscious of the influence of mysticism and spirituality of the Far East in his poetry.
But what has not been carefully observed is that that insight is reflected in the mirror of his existence. Sepehri, a contemporary poet who, whether he liked it or not, faced the positive and active Nietzschean idea of nihilism. He lived in the modern era, and, as an Iranian poet, experienced modernity, whether in writing poetry, or in following the rules and viewpoints of ancient poetry (be it Iranian or Eastern mystical). He breathed, thought, painted, and created poetry under the influence of modern European experiments. With this source of mysticism, Sepehri has created a special “nothingness.” This nothingness is not emptiness; rather, by passing through it, we arrive at a new meaning, an awakening, a unity of being.
Sepehri’s “land of nothingness” has something “behind” it. “I am behind nothingness,” and behind that is a place where dandelion seeds are floating in the air, are awake and observant, and are aware of the farthest blossomed flower on earth. This “place” imparts to the other side of nothingness a detachment, an interval—form exists, the physical essence of this side of nothingness remains,people pass through these forms and experiences, riders go to the foot of the hill where the poppy ascends—everything returns to its pure natural state. The umbrella of yearning is open, and as long as the veins of a leaf need water, the rain will satisfy their need and quench their thirst. In this place, man is “alone.” Rendered abstract and immortal. But this aloneness is not the destructive loneliness of the real world. It is the quiet silence of the mystic. This is why the poet says, in this realm, if we pay him a visit, we must tread softly so that his loneliness does not crack.
To be sure, in this depiction, a natural mysticism has an obvious place. We come to discover that this land of nothingness is not in the heavens, rather, it is here. When you pass through everything and arrive at nothingness, your soul is purified, you become pure, dust and masks fall away from you, you achieve unity with all Being. Your eyes open up to the farthest bush on earth, the ascent of the poppy, to the prophecy of water.
This awakening in Sepehri’s poetry is achieved through attaining nothingness and passing through it. This experience of nothingness is much like the experience of Buddha:
“Buddha sat under a tree, which thereafter was called the Tree of Enlightenment and Awakening, facing east. He said to himself,
until I have reached the truth, I will not move from this spot. Thus, he proceeded to think and concentrate on his spiritual energy and inward state.”
Buddha overcomes the temptations of the demon Mara, and, finally, during the Night of Truth, he removes the mask from his radiating visage, and, gradually, by degrees, becomes a poet with greater awareness. An eternal brilliance enters the depths of his being, and, with an experiential knowledge, concentrates on the depth of the mysteries of the universe, freeing himself from all impurities; the feeling of freedom rises within him as he attains emancipation and unity.
“For seven weeks, Buddha remained under the Tree of Enlightenment and derived pleasure from its tranquillity and freedom in utter silence.”
We may now reach a better understanding of the special meaning of Sepehri’s “nothingness.” Behind this land of “nothingness” is an “awakening” with respect to the earth and flora, water, the surrounding nature, the pleasure of tranquillity, the connection between thirst and rain in a leaf, the silence of being alone. Sepehri’s “nothingness,” however, has a modern spirit. His emancipation is an invitation to his father’s house, a modern sensibility, a renewed access to a tranquilizing wisdom, becoming one with nature, the spirit of natural objects surrounding him, and freedom from the crowd. By resorting to the treasure of enlightening knowledge, Sepehri attempts to portray a pleasant image in a world filled with too many things, suffering from materialism, narrow-mindedness, lack of insight, lack of pleasure, and lack of tranquillity. He invites man to freedom and oneness with nature, to flowers, streams, birds, the vast sky, rain, and light.
What does this spirit have to do with the art of Kiarostami?
The films of Kiarostami are considered to be the peak of modern wisdom, realism, perception, the mirror of modernity and the conveyor of the values of the modern world. What relation is there between Kiarostami’s films, the enlightened, poetic mysticism of the spirit of Sepehri, and the abstract modernism of Tanavoli?
In my view, in spite of all outward differences, the concept of
“nothingness” is the common thread between them.
I remember a scene from the film, Life and Nothing Else. The actor who plays the role of Kiarostami, has traveled with his child in search of the Ahmadpours to a natural and real event, and from a humanistic point of view, a dreadful phenomenon—the documentary scene of the Rudbar earthquake.
Many have interpreted Kiarostami in this film as being heartless, even with intense, inhuman feelings, for he and his camera and the actor who plays his role have a view of the scene that is objective, quiet, apparently cold and without emotion. However, the documentary scene of the earthquake, Kiarostami’s depiction of it, and his deep inner reaction to it, depicts “nothingness.” We pass through this nothingness and come to understand that, nevertheless, life goes on. However, after this passage, life is no longer the same as before. We have now emerged from neglect, tumult, and the multitude of things. We have arrived at an “awakening,” an enlightenment, and life has a greater meaning for us. It is here that in the midst of the dreadful bewilderment, Saba sits on the threshold of an abandoned house, amidst the rubble and fallen walls, and, suddenly, his attention is focused on the frame of an unhinged door, presenting the most magnificent view of nature, trees, flora, and life under the brilliance of the sun. This tree as a symbol of nature, this feeling of unity of man and nature, is the same experience as that of Sepehri and Tanavoli.
The connection between Kiarostami and Sepehri is not so latent in Kiarostami’s works. His interaction with Sepehri’s poem, Neshani (Address), has been made into a film entitled, Where Is the Friend’s House? The mystical elements of Sepehri’s poem, which depicts the kingdom of heaven in the same objects of nature, as interpreted by Kiarostami, becomes alive with simplicity and purity. In a pure and simple poetic language, the lofty expression in Kiarostami’s Where Is the Friend’s House? becomes an earthly reality. Contrary to Sepehri however, Kiarostami does not keep a distance from a criticism of superstitions, painful ignorance, old traditions lacking insight, and an indirect critique of the regressive elements of life and his society. Rather, with enthusiasm, he carries that social inquiry in his natural and earthly mysticism.
What are the connecting elements between Sepehri’s poem, Neshani, and Kiarostami’s film, Where Is the Friend’s House?
First of all, an obvious connection exists between the title of the film and the text of the poem.
The title of the film, Where Is the Friend’s House? is a reminder of the essence of Sepehri’s poem, Neshani:
Where is the friend’s house?
It was twilight when the rider asked.
The sky paused.
The passer-by bestowed the branch of light which he held between his lips
on the darkness of the pebbles
and pointed his finger at a whiteness, saying:
“Before you reach a tree,
there is a garden path that is greener than God’s dream,
where love is as blue as the feathers of truthfulness.
You go to the end of that path, which comes out from behind puberty,
you turn toward the flower of loneliness,
two steps before you reach the flower,
you remain at the foot of the eternal fountain of the myths of the earth
where you will be overcome by a limpid fear.
In the fluid intimacy of space, you will hear a sound:
You will see a child
who has climbed a tall pine tree to take a chick from the nest of light,
and you ask him,
Where is the friend’s house?”
Kiarostami’s film is a reference to this child, so that with simplicity and childlike purity, he tell us where the friend’s house is, and what friendship is.
Secondly, the interconnection between the film and the poem is prevalent in all its segments. The poem raises us to heaven, whereas the film brings us down to earth. However, the signs and the address are one and the same. One must pass through a road, pass a tree, which is a sign, and climb it. In the film, too, we pass a garden path, and step into the domain of truthfulness and a simple love; we experience the maturity of a soul; we are drawn toward a state of aloneness, a passage of responsibility whose experience we must personally put behind us. With Ahmadpour, a limpid fear overcomes us. Finally, from this child, who is the personification of light, awakening, and enlightenment, we learn where the friend’s house is.
At all these stages, there exists an inward connection between Sepehri’s divine poem and Kiarostami’s earthly film. We experience the exalted spirituality of the simple experience of a child. With a return to childhood and a poetic existence, we put behind us all chains and darkness. By experiencing an awakening and enlightenment behind the land of nothingness, we can refine our being and arrive at an understanding of friendship.
However, gradually approaching the films, The Taste of Cherry and The Wind Will Carry Us, Kiarostami’s “nothingness” transforms into a more Nietzschean nothingness than a mystical one—one which existed in the echo of the prophet of modernity, whose call was to be heard by the man of the future (the Übermensch). It now it appears that that echo has been heard in great depth and splendor, instinctively, perceptibly, and simply, through the films of ‘Abbas Kiarostami. Like Nietzsche, himself did, his films conceal a mystical preoccupation at the deepest level. For example in Nietzsche’s The Antichrist, Christ is concealed in the depth of a philosopher, but as a motivating force which calls an artistic work to destroy the shrouds, lies, ignorance, and superstitions, inviting one to a new evaluation, new inquiry, and new thinking.
In The Wind Will Carry Us, the shin bone of the dead man’s body, which is thrown in the river, leads us to ponder upon an eternal “nothingness” even better than the bone in 2001: Space Odyssey, which a primitive man threw into space and was transformed into a spaceship.
***
I think that among the three artists we are considering here, the most manifest implications of “nothingness” are in the works of Parviz Tanavoli. He has bestowed a special meaning to sculpture; with spatial matter and by means of creative shapes, he has given meaning to a “nothingness” which lacks materialism. To be sure, in the poetry of Sepehri and in the films, photographs, and poetry of Kiarostami, beyond the meaning of the word “nothingness” is the experience of a living nothingness, the foundation of a natural drive.
The “emptiness” of Zen is the foundation of Sepehri’s poetry and painting, and to a sublime extent, nature embraces our experience. In the films, photographs, and poetry of Kiarostami, the perception of life and beauty in nature compels us toward the experience of an instinctive, Dionysian art, blended with a critical wisdom, with hidden traces of Eastern-Iranian philosophy. In his poetry and photography, Kiarostami approaches a Zen experience, pleasure in beauty, the void of being, and nothingness:
A white colt
Comes out of the fog
And disappears
Into the fog
Unfortunately, the lengths and meanings, the avant-garde and post-modern aspect of Kiarostami’s poetry has not been understood in an atmosphere of narrow-mindedness, prejudices and old habits of defining poetry. Kiarostami’s poetry is a new structure, a new event, a sudden cleansing of all repetitive and experienced forms of poetry, a freedom from metaphor, a natural use of language, a poetry which vivifies for us the experience of the haiku.
I have much to say about the meaning of Kiarostami’s simple poetry, which is deeply bold and rebellious against the tedious conventions of poetry, but that is beyond the scope of this article. Now, let us return to the repercussions of nothingness in the short poem, A White Colt. In this poem, it is as if the whole universe, all of non-existence, and the passage through existence has manifested itself to the poet in an instant. Between two fogs of nothingness, there appears a young horse. But the poem is such that we cannot be certain whether this white colt materially exists or is made of fog and nothingness. Kiarostami’s poem is deep and, as the most perfect poetry, is brimming with meaning. Exactly at the point where meaning would be impossible, it depicts meaninglessness and nothingness. Kiarostami’s collection of poetry, Along with the Wind, his collection of photographs, and his films are avant-garde art, blended with the experience of nothingness. This experience of nothingness attains perfection in the sculptures of Tanavoli. In reality, Tanavoli is the forerunner of the manifestation of nothingness reason, it is apt to discuss at length the meaning in Tanavoli’s art.
Tanavoli’s nothingness is based on a personal experience of the emptiness of the history of sculpture in Iran, its repercussions in the mind of the sculptor and its influence on the sculptor’s art. A young avant-garde Iranian from the 1950s, in the face of a frightening repletion of Western visual creations has the following choices: to surrender wholesale and follow “the foreign order”; or by being conscious of the modern sensibility and language of the new art, seek the living experience in his own history.
Tanavoli has said that except for Farhad the Mountain-Carver, he has not found any sculptor; though of course, the ancient goddesses and archaeological artifacts do exist. In any case, with Farhad and the existing three-dimensional elements in the history of urban civilization—shrines, tombs, locks and talismans—he carves his own path. This void in sculpture and his searching become the cause of an ingenious discovery. The form of an Iranian-Islamic art, calligraphy, comes to his aid.
He creates sculptures from the shapes of Iranian letters; that which has roots and a history. When he searches all the words, his personal experience of the void in the form of nothingness, reveals its secret. After this spark, the halo and various layers engulf his creation. The poetry of Khayyam, the nothingness of Iranian mystics, and naturally when Nietzsche was being translated, modern thinking, had influence in Iran. We dealt with Sadeq Hedayat, Albert Camus, existentialist and nihilist questions… all of which imparted a richness to Tanavoli’s play with nothingness.
Kiarostami begins with a new realism, and by giving depth to his realism, arrives at pragmatism, Dionysian art, Nietzschean nihilism, the emptiness of Zen, and communion with Sepehri. Sepehri begins with a turnabout from the experience of the ideological poetry of the 40s and 50s and, in search of roots, arrives at Eastern philosophy, Islamic mysticism, especially Eastern mysticism, Buddhism, and Taoism. Tanavoli begins with Farhad, locks, and shrines, and arrives at nothingness, calligraphic sculptures, the history of nothingness and concepts of the void. It is here that a bond is formed between his nothingness and Kiarostami’s nothingness. On the boundary where the nothingness of modernism is transformed into an active, positive, generative nothingness, and carries echoes of a Nietzschean nothingness, a natural art is formed that is prophetic. Tanavoli’s nothingness is the most natural, for it is the natural and identical visualization of a word that is transformed into man, a caged being, intertwined in itself, that has turned into a corpse, has fled the cage, mated, and…
The period of Tanavoli’s nothingness exists between the period of the sculpture of the poets, prophets, and locks, all of which have come into existence by blending with Western avant-garde art and meaningful indigenous elements and signs, and has gradually taken on a better form, a solidity, novelty and uniqueness. And the period after nothingness is the period of walls and tablets, which ends with ceramic works. Enthusiasm, passion, innovation, creativity, and a considerable diversity in forms can be seen, which become apparent in working on the structure of one word. The power and motion of the voluminous word and its powerful rendition catch the eye. Nothingness on the bench, nothingness intertwined in itself, nothingness broken, two elements of nothingness transformed into two closed cubic spaces next to each other (and incidentally without any relation to each other), nothingness outside a cage next to nothingness inside a cage, nothingness intertwined in a cage, nothingness standing, nothingness transformed into humans, an empty cage and another cage alongside it, from whose grating nothingness has protruded its head, nothingness in a poet’s cage, nothingness and a chair… An abundance of work done with patience and persistence on nothingness. It is during this period when Tanavoli’s inspiration takes on new dimensions. His nothingness becomes entangled with history, philosophy, politics, language, and imparts a magnificence to the modern history of our sculpture.
Tanavoli puts nothingness into a piece of sculpture, and constructs a piece of sculpture. Empty space is a meaningful aspect of his space, as are the eyes and the empty spaces of a living body. With nothingness, Tanavoli constructs an opening for connecting tradition (calligraphy) with modernity (modern abstract sculpture). Tanavoli’s nothingness is active, meaningful and generative. His nothingness is not vain, trite, and empty. He is the creator of aesthetic values and the producer of hope for a zenith in new sculpture. Tanavoli brings with himself fresh leaping from a void, backwardness, and old tendencies to the potentials in our sculpture which is miles apart from our history, and shoulder-to-shoulder with the experiences of the West, he takes us to the arena of new experiments, such as the passing of space within himself, the splitting of space, and the transformation of space into a part of oneself.
No doubt, Tanavoli’s nothingness exists at the peak of modernism in those years but, again without doubt, it has deep roots in the ancient Iranian spirit, collective memory and even viewpoints in classical literature and ancient Iranian literature. Most importantly, this nothingness, which is perpetually entangled in Tanavoli’s work, is in some fashion grounded in the common culture. It visualizes common perspectives so as to doubt them. As Dr. Mirfendereski said, “Why not get entangled with nothingness?” Tanavoli accepts the influence of the most modern Western works of art, however, he adds something of himself to the global modernist style, for the structure of his works, their solid principles and his innovative and powerful rendition, are a new and unique experience.
Nothingness in Tanavoli’s work is not a dead and passive nothingness. It is actively transformed into consciousness. That is, his forms begin to produce a certain consciousness. The form of nothingness creates emotion in us and forces us to think. Tanavoli’s nothingness, as Sepehri’s emptiness and Kiarostami’s empty cavities, has many voices, resists certainty, and is allegorical. One can consider all three artists as ingenious leaders; and even if they are of average intelligence, their works belong to genius. By refusing to surrender to blind modernism, by inquiry or “visiting a father’s house,” the revival of traditional elements in a modern mold, they have been vanguards of post-modern art in Iran, presenting fresh interpretations. By calling upon elements from the past, they have put an end to the broken myth in modernism and the antagonism between modernism and tradition. In reality, through many voices, they have blended ancient wisdom with the achievements of modern art.
Like the nothingness of Sohrab Sepehri and ‘Abbas Kiarostami, Tanavoli’s
nothingness has something “behind it.” (“I am behind nothingness.”) And in that area “behind” it, there isn’t nothingness and death, but a universal inquiry, a new perspective and a fresh life. With nothingness, he has negated the blind encounter between tradition and modernism, and in its place has presented a unified expression of various voices. From this point of view, Sepehri (in his dialogue with the Far East), and Kiarostami (in his dialogue with Nietzsche and Persian philosophy), as well as Tanavoli (in the realm of Islamic-Iranian philosophy), are leaders in a global oneness and prophets of a global dialogue. With bronze, foundry, and by looking inward, Tanavoli creates nothingness, which changes the world’s outlook toward modern Iranian sculpture. Tanavoli’s nothingness takes modern feeling, modern inquiry, and modern thinking to the common people, because looking at a word with which we are familiar creates the opportunity for viewing modern creation for all. This is what the art of Kiarostami and Sepehri does with more common viewers, access to life and documentary elements, their language and culture for creating understanding, a taste for beauty, and reflecting upon it.
Sepehri with colloquialism and the mysticism of his poetry; Kiarostami with a pragmatic and documentary approach; and Tanavoli with the objects and elements familiar to the people—locks, the gratings of shrines, and with the word “nothingness”—work to elevate the viewer of art.
All three, it seems, are leaders in the realm of art, which in time, was transformed into a historical event, popular action, and the common hopes of a popular revolution; that is, passage from tradition to modernism in reconciliation, and intercourse, not in a state of discord, controversy, and blind negation.
I must say that, coincidentally, the significance of nothingness and emptiness is in the works of all three artists, which acts against ideological certainties and never wants to have a material meaning. For this reason, the art of all three artists, both for tendencies towards nature, and tendencies towards the beyond, are attractive, open to interpretation, and possessing the capacity for a vast and multi-dimensional relation. They each have a searching view of tradition. They benefit from the traditions of the people and elevate popular taste.
Tanavoli’s nothingness contains the soft experience of arabesque lines, the dance of calligraphy, and modern, life-giving elements. On the one hand, his work imparts unity to Islamic culture, and on the other hand, to the experience of Western avant-garde and visual art. Tanavoli’s nothingness creates faith in the divine; the nothingness of every existing thing is pure. As he has said, he has created his nothingness on the boundaries of being and nonbeing; thus, it possesses all the advantages of such circumstances—negating certainty, open to interpretation, and containing numerous voices.
