Flashback
A swing, a childhood memory, a symbol of innocence, laughter, and the carefree joy of floating between the sky and the earth. The rhythmic motion, the wind brushing against a child’s face, feet kicking higher, reaching for something beyond.
A rope, a lifeline, a thread of connection, but also a tool of oppression. Flashbacks, the same motion, the same suspension in air, yet the meaning shifts. The body no longer moves by will but by force. Feet no longer push against the ground; they hang, weightless, caught in the final moment before everything fades.
This piece reflects on the fragile line between life and death, between play and punishment, between freedom and fate. The mind of the condemned might slip back to childhood, remembering the sensation of swinging, the fleeting feeling of flight. But now, there is no return, no second push to keep the motion going.
Where once was laughter, now is silence.
Where once was a game, now is a sentence.
A single rope holds both joy and sorrow, reminding us that systems of power can turn even the simplest moments of life into instruments of death.
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In Iran, over 1,900 people were executed in 2025, and by early April 2026, reports already range from at least 200 to over 500.
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Meaning Behind the Elements:
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Each part of Flashback carries something personal, something that existed long before this work was made.
Metal Hook: The metal hook on the lower left side of the swing is the original hook from a swing my father built for me when I was a child. It is around 40 years old and the only object I still have from him and from that time. It holds a memory of care, of being held, of a moment in life when things still felt possible.
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Rope: The rope carries two realities at once. It is the same kind of rope used to build simple, homemade swings, but it is also the kind used in Iran for executions by hanging. It exists between play and death. The difference is not in the material, but in how it is used.
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Wood: The wood comes from a Mulberry tree, the kind of tree that once stood in our yard in Iran, where the swing was placed. That space held moments of escape, even while life outside it was shaped by fear and uncertainty. The tree, the swing, and the ground beneath it were part of a childhood that existed alongside the sound of war and the weight of constant loss.
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Canvas: I sat on the swing, applied paint to my feet, and allowed the movement to transfer paint onto the wall and floor. The splashes are not illustrations but physical traces of gravity, rhythm, and weight. They record that a body was once present.
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