Plinth

The exhibition moves the viewer through a day in the life of an unknown protagonist. The journey isn’t spelled out by the artist, instead, the works go from domestic to broader cultural motifs; the bed to the fast-food diner. These moments are expressed in an abstracted, disjointed manner, inviting the viewer to piece together various components of the work while conjuring an overall sense of uncertainty that permeates the show.

It begins in bed, with framed paper and sculptural wall-hung pieces mirroring the form of a human. At the top, two framed paintings in the shape of pillows feature miniature pairs of faces – bald and androgynous – alongside small images of poppies, carnations, and lobsters. Using these motifs, the artist weaves together ideas of comfort and death. The beautifully rendered, miniature poppies that puncture the pillows hint at both the violent misery of the opium trade and the drug’s soporific effects on the mind and body. The delicate lobster claws evoke the refined luxury of expensive food and its inherent connection with killing, as these creatures are torn apart for human pleasure. This work also features two pieces that suggest trouser patterns – the clothes our protagonist might wear when they get up and go out into the world – as well as metal-cast washing up gloves, a row of framed buttons, and a pair of cowbells. These items, in their neatly ordered compositions, call to mind the cattle-like drudgery of domestic and corporate labour, in contrast with the dreamy paradise of the bed. In its entirety, the piece is titled ‘Sleep, wake, wash, task, check, work, panic, task, check, scroll, work, retreat, wash, sleep, wake’, summoning a monotonous and mind-numbing rhythm.

Next to this work, a pair of mirrors lean towards the viewer from near the ceiling, referencing the Iranian policy to show the image of supreme leaders in public spaces and the CCTV cameras that follow our every move around the world. This eerie piece sits next to ‘Entry Point (Convincing Power of Yum)’, a wooden framed work featuring two metal burger buns which sandwich three disembodied heads, inspired by an unnamed dictator. The piece reflects the Golden Arches Theory, posited by Thomas L. Friedman in 1999, which suggested that no two countries that both have a McDonald’s have ever fought a war against each other. That McDonald’s, a symbol of heightened capitalist control, could be a harbinger of peace is of course laughable – but this theory highlights perhaps more than anything else the deep connection between global corporate interest and political agenda. It might just seem like a comforting burger, but it’s so much more.

The exhibition also features multiple exit signs, rendered in the same wooden frames and metal cutouts as some of the other works, but placed near the ceiling and almost passing as the practical visual instructions of the gallery. Once their status as artworks become clear, these pieces create a chilling warning, get out, get out, get out, at various places across the room. They are simultaneously screaming for action and blending into their surroundings, easy to ignore for the absent-minded.

‘Pour’, a lone sculpture in the middle of the room, consists of a metal cone hanging from a chain with a neat pile of salt forming on the wooden structure below, which formally reflects the storage rooms that sit at the top of some of Tehran’s buildings. The piece connects with the artist’s experience of watching social unrest unfold in Iran while she was living in the UK and explores the superstition of throwing salt over the shoulder for good luck. This action highlights the longing for magical solutions in the face of powerlessness.

A balance between control and chaos runs through the show. In the artist’s refined miniature painting, there is an intense level of restraint. Her faces, icons, and bursts of flame are all tempered by the calmness of their rendering. Her world is on fire, but it is kept in strict check, happening in tiny ruptures all over the paper. This might at first seem like a normal life, but it is unravelling at the seams.

By Emily Steer