No matter where I stand, I always find myself drawn back to my culture. It lives within me; in the patterns I remember, the environments in which I have walked, and the symbols that still guide me. Before becoming an artist, I studied urban planning and learned how we carry the shape of space and symbols in our memory long after we have, or a place has, physically changed.

When I work with clay, I reflect on those ideas. Clay grounds me. It connects me to the earth and to the deep traditions of making what has shaped Iranian culture for centuries. It gives me room to build, to add, to transform. In my hands, clay becomes both the body and the story.

Every detail, every line, every texture is an act of remembrance and care. Symbols are never just decorations, they are carriers of identity that hold personal, cultural, and collective stories that resist erasure. I honor what survives, what adapts, and what endures.

My background in urban planning continues to shape how I think about space. My sculptures, intimate in scale, invite viewers to move around them and notice the balance between structure and fragility, presence and absence. In dialogue between form and space, I explore how memories take shape in the world.

I draw inspiration from artists like Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, whose mirrored geometries capture the soul of Iranian art, and from the anonymous women whose rug weaving, stitching, and making have preserved stories for generations. Clay, like textile, is a language of the hands, a quiet resistance. It carries the politics of labor, gender, and value, transforming what has been seen as craft into a powerful act of creation. Ultimately, my practice is a weaving of time. Through clay and texture, memory and form, I bring ancestral stories forward, reshaping them with my own voice. Each piece becomes a space for reflection and connection, where the past and present meet, and where personal memory becomes a shared language of belonging.