A talk with visual artist Shima Salehi

Shima Salehi is an interdisciplinary visual artist and activist from Iran based in Oulu.

This conversation was happening in between two of her exhibitions and two dramatic contexts for Iranian people: mass protests and massacre of protesters, and the war – taking away thousands and thousands of lives, leaving thousands and thousands people injured, all in an informational vacuum as Iranian government shut down the Internet and most means of communication.

Working on this text was not easy. The home of my father, just as Shima’s, became a war zone. Hers is in Iran, and mine is in Ukraine. Worrying about our fathers – and accepting their choices to stay where they are (and then their inability to flee) – has become the constant, inevitable, draining background of grief and anxiety.

While this text was being edited, Shima’s father faced serious health issues due to the stress of war, requiring urgent treatment and surgery, and the family struggled to receive medical aid, because the houses were literally blocked by pro-governmental crowds chanting their support to the Islamic regime (often for money from the regime, which is a common practice for dictators and authoritarian leaders).

This is one of the reasons we talked a lot – before this interview, during it and after – about how to live through this grief and terror, how to recharge the resilience and resistance and how to not completely lose the joy.

Non-verbal answers were suggested in Shima Salehi’s art. Her solo exhibition Love Between the Lines happened in Oulu Literature House earlier this year, dedicated to connecting the tradition of contemporary Iranian calligraphy with poems by Persian poets Jalal ad-Din Rumi and Omar Khayyam.

Deconstructing letters and forming abstract images somehow allowed capturing love’s presence beyond the language – and beyond the pain of a person and a whole nation.

The calligraphy theme, inspired by poetry, continued in Shima’s solo exhibition in Oulu Vox Galleria in April and a group exhibition in Kemi (Meän Periferia Kulma Galleria, 14.3–3.5.2026).

Here are some of the poems Shima Salehi got inspiration from for her artworks, as she kindly shared and translated them:

Do not dwell on yesterday, for it is gone.
Do not cry out for tomorrow, for it has not yet come.
Do not rely on what has passed or what is yet to be.
Be happy now, and do not waste the foundation of life.
(Omar Khayyam)

Be happy –
For the one who knows the secret
Knows that happiness leads only to happiness.
(Jalal ad-Din Rumi)

If you are drunk with wine, be happy.
If you sit with a moon-faced beloved, be happy.
Since the end of all things is nothingness,
Be happy –
As if you do not exist, while you still do.
(Omar Khayyam)

The calligraphy of Iran seems so different from calligraphy of Japan, for example, celebrating absolute impreciseness, freedom of form & interpretation. Why did you choose it?

I use Persian calligraphy in my art – but not the traditional. It is contemporary, it is abstract. Traditional Persian calligraphy is also about following strict rules for each verse and letter. It is very famous and wide-spread in Iran.

These days many artists combine a mix of traditional calligraphy with abstraction and deconstruction of rules, usually through painting. They bring emotion to words, and add their own emotions.

I was inspired by poems about love and life by two most famous poets of Iran – Jalal ad-Din Rumi and Omar Khayyam. They come from different intellectual traditions of Persian culture.

Rumi was very mystical, writing poems about inner transformation and letting go of ego.

Khayyam was more about philosophy. He talked about the shortness of life, of love, and how one should enjoy life without paying attention to things that distract you from that.

Both of these poets’ poems relate to these days. Life is very fast and uncertain, and you need words reminding you that you should enjoy life. And that you should let go of the ego.

Your recent exhibitions, starting with ”Love Between the Lines”, have been happening in one of the most tragic days for Iran, when tens of thousands of peaceful protesters were murdered by Iranian war criminals at power. And these were not the first – or the last – tragedies for Iranian people.
How can you enjoy life, as Omar Khayyam suggested, in the contexts of loss and grief? And how do you find courage to remind yourself and your audiences of his wisdoms through your art?

Iranian people are very resilient. Now they have been handling a lot of pressure, it is extremely difficult to manage. Yet the people keep that strong hope for the better future and they try to enjoy life even in very, very bad situations. It comes from our culture, our poems, with their essence: life is short.

Within just two days, the government killed at least around 8 thousand people, according to AP News. The actual number could reach tens of thousands people, because the Iranian regime tries to hide information about its victims. It is a huge trauma for all the Iranian people, me included. But when I am in a bad mood, I am angry or I can’t do anything, I read a poem. Especially Khayyam and Rumi. This helps me remember what is important for me and how I should continue my life.

If you can’t handle a situation and it seems nothing can be done, you collapse, you can’t continue. But you have to – and you have to reach the power within yourself to do that. Poetry gives you power to continue living. With joy.

Tens and tens of thousands of Iranian protesters died, killed by the government, having left some amazing death notes beforehand. They had been encouraging their families and friends to dance and sing at their funerals (not to hold a grief-oriented traditional funeral ceremony which the government had been approving).
Their dearest honoured these wishes, even with the risk of being persecuted. Through tears, they were dancing and singing around coffins with the clear message: ”We’re here to stay, life continues”.

Exactly. These kinds of rituals are a big part of Persian culture and have been forbidden by the Iranian government. Yet people perform these rituals and continue living and showing the people at power: we can. We can pass these. We can pass the problems, big of which is the Islamic Republic.

Many of my friends say: we are angry, we’ve had enough. The size of their trauma, however, is the same size as their hope. It is big.

Poems, dance and songs help us balance all the traumas through hope.

It seems that words can be easier censored than abstract art – since abstraction can be perceived in so many ways, with zero tolerance to framing, labeling or any kind of limitation. Have you been feeling that contemporary Iranian calligraphy, celebrating abstraction, can win over censorship? Books can be banned and burnt after all. But not the abstract art based on them.

Indeed (smiles). Yet luckily books by Khayyam and Rumi were not burnt during Islamic regime.

There is another important thing: abstraction boosts engagement.

In Europe, for example, few people can read a poem in Persian. But when you translate a poem into contemporary Persian calligraphy, it becomes so much more than words – it is a collection of emotions and a story that anyone can visualise and have a connection with.

Abstraction helps transform and translate the idea to everyone, opening the boundaries of reading.

Abstract calligraphy helps me feel freer. Freedom is something people in Iran are seeking in all the contexts, and there are so many brave conceptual artists in Iran currently mixing traditional and contemporary in the struggle for freedom – everywhere, far beyond calligraphy. Their work is amazing. Yet it is not a typical protest. It is an artistic, abstract protest. I like it a lot that I can be a part of that.

Another trait of abstraction is that interpretations can be anything – something not possible in totalitarianism where everything is decided and directed for you. At the same time, interpretations of abstractions, though stipulating so many different reflections and comprehensions, hardly lead to bloodsheding conflicts. How does freedom of interpretation inform peace, allowing even contradictory perceptions to coexist?

When I work on visual art pieces, I never expect the audience to have the same opinion as me as an artist. A finished art piece is not that related to you anymore – it is related to a person who sees it. And each has a different perspective.

”Imagine an art piece which is completely red. One would feel fear, the other would feel love looking at it. Completely different perceptions are based on completely different perspectives.

And none of them is wrong.

That’s the power of the freedom abstraction gives.

No description of the artwork encourages the freedom of perception. A person should be free to feel it.

One of the reasons people use abstraction is also the context of no mistakes. Nobody can tell you it is made – or perceived – in a wrong way. It can be of course labelled ”nice” or ”ugly” – but the only general word for describing it is ”free”. That is what expressing emotions implies.

Tradition also can limit one’s self confidence to express, but abstraction encourages your personal self expression and personal self perception.

It is good for people to learn that they can have different ideas about the same things. And not fight.

You are not just a free spirited artist from Iran, you are also a female and feminist artist from Iran. What did you have to face in these statuses back in Iran?

Islam is a big part of the Iranian regime. It implies different rules not allowing a woman to do many things.

Singing is forbidden.

Dancing is forbidden.

Free hair is forbidden.

You are basically forbidden as a woman.

At the same time, over forty years since those bans, women in Iran have been trying to stand for their rights…

And they have always been free-spirited, women of Iran, supporting the change – and betrayed by men in power. The revolution of 1979 was supported by women, and then the first thing the new power did was shut women down.

Precisely. As an Iranian woman, I experienced many things that are hard to imagine.

When I was a child, I couldn’t do things my brother, just two years older than me, could, like going out and playing with others. Because I was a girl.

When we were teenagers, he could be at home around 10 pm, and I had to be at home by 5 pm. Because I was a girl.

I was a tall child, taller than kids of my age. In Iran, when a girl turns 9 years old, she must cover her hair according to Islamic rules. When I was 7 and 8 I looked older because of my height, and many people on the street would tell me off for not having a scarf on my head, or address my mother and father with that complaint.

If you are a woman wearing trousers shorter than the length of your leg or very tight, the police will arrest you.

I was arrested four times in Iran for the hijab, which was ”not completely covering my hair”. In detention they took pictures of me and I had to wait till someone brought me ’proper clothes’.

When I was arrested for the third time, they made me go to the course about Islam and read a book about Islam, then I had to pass the exam…

How long did you spend in jail?

The arrests lasted less than a day, until I got ”proper” clothes and put them on. But the pressure of getting to jail, again, and again, was constant. Still, when I say the word ”police”, my body becomes alert, I start to shake.

In my first year in Finland I was kind of afraid of the police – I started automatically checking my clothes, thinking ”Is everything okay with how I look?” (Laughs.)

Do you remember the sensation when you first didn’t have to cover your hair? Did it happen in Finland? On a plane?

I grew up in a family which was not very religious, and I didn’t have to cover my hair at family gatherings. It inspired me to rebel against rules. (Smiles.)

The first time I didn’t have to cover my hair outside my home happened in another country, when I was sixteen or seventeen. We were travelling to Dubai in the Arab Emirates with my father.

I remember that sensation of wind touching my neck. I felt it for the first time. (Laughs.)

Iranian women never feel it, because they have to wear a scarf covering their neck and hair.

When my grandmother and my mother came home and put the scarf off, I remember their necks being so white – the sun never touched it as well as the wind.

When my mom first came to Europe, she was so surprised to see suntan on women’s necks. (Smiles.)

Why do you think dictators and war criminals are so afraid of women?

Because everything comes from a woman. Women are mothers, and mothers grow up children. If you are a strong powerful woman, you grow up strong and powerful children.

If a mother is a weak(ened) person, always saying ”yes” to everyone, not being able to say no, question and protest, children would be weak performing in the community – and in the government. That would make them easy to control.

When a mother is powerful, her children are powerful enough to say no.

It is also curious how the almost total control of a woman’s body specifically involves covering the hair – the only part of our body we can’t really control. The one that plays with the wind whenever it wants.

Yes! Iranian women say: we die many times. Meaning many times before the actual death. Controlling how a woman looks is like many little deaths. Any man in Iran can tell a woman they are wearing too much make up. And to kill a woman because of that.

So many women killed in protests in Iran lie there in the cemeteries, and nobody has been coming to look for them. I know of at least fifty of such women – abandoned by their families after death.

This abandonment happens also during life.

”If you go outside, and they kill you, you are not my daughter anymore.w

”If the police arrest you, you are not my daughter anymore.”

This is the truth for many girls and mothers in Iran.

How do many generations of Iranian women, in spite of those literal and metaphorical deaths, manage to preserve the belief that one day the wind will once again play through their hair? Poems bring hope, but what brings confidence?

Repetition and rebellion.

We should repeat every day of our life, that we should enjoy life. But also – fight for the wind being able to touch our hair and neck. Iranian poems and my mother’s wisdom also taught me that every moment is big while you keep fighting for freedom – even if it may seem small on the outside.

No ban can block the ways of enjoying life – we should just find them. Even the dark moment can have joy in it. We should enjoy the life no matter what by doing what we want.

We should also remember that there was a time in Iran when a girl couldn’t go out freely. Many women and girls have been keeping trying. Many were killed by the government. But they knew: next generations can have more freedom. Every person has the power to change the rules.

We cannot just sit and be sad thinking how bad the situation is. We should keep trying. Every action counts.

The poems which have inspired me tell: there are a lot of problems, but life is short, and you should enjoy it even through the darkness. Or do you really want to have a long stressful life with no joy? Rather have a short life full of joy…

Finland has been named the happiest country in the world many years in a row, at the same time it is the country with the highest depression rate (both laugh). Have you been feeling yourself as an outsider here, with that ”rejoice no matter what” vibe? Have you been feeling people here not appreciating life and hidden joys of it enough, choosing to be unhappy?

I think in normal situations Finnish people enjoy the moment and they are happy with small things and life in general, not demanding too much from life. But in a difficult situation, they sometimes don’t have enough resilience to pass the problem.

And what is ’difficult’ varies for me and some of my Finnish friends.

Does grief affect us to the extent we allow it to affect us?

It is related to our perspective on what a problem is. In Iran, or in Russia, losing a job is not the worst problem. When I talk with my parents, they don’t know what will happen to them the next day. But they always choose to be happy and enjoy life.