For the second phase of the Sun Sets Eight Times A Day project the artists were supposed to create and implement a performative experience through physical or non-digital space while remaining in their hometowns. They were to meet the audience/participants in person and stream live videos for interested viewers from other parts of the world.
I soon realized that I'd like to carry out the second phase inspired by the process and mechanism of the first phase, a participatory approach developed through online meetings and conversations within eight months, leading to a memorable experience. I wanted to test what I learned from my foreign-speaking fellow artists and friends with those who speak my language; I have known them for years and have worked with them before.
I have always been curious about each of the three artists I invited for this shared experience from various perspectives. I have collaborated with each of them on different projects, from newspapers and magazines to theater, books, and research-based projects. Based on our friendly conversations and companionships, I had noticed that they had plans and projects in mind that they hadn't begun for whatever reason; the proper time didn't come, it was not realistic... Any shortcoming is quite usual where we live, so I was not nosy why they hadn't followed their projects. Besides, I more or less knew the reasons behind it.
Meanwhile, I had spent a busy year and needed a relieving start, a co-creation in which all work is done with the help of all those involved and the division of labor. It was as if not only my brain but my body could not operate without assistance any longer.
So I planned to hold a series of two-month meetings leading to a one-week intensive lab program and a three-day live performance. I shared this plan with Leila, Isar, and Mahdi, and they accepted this collaboration. We began our work in the last week of November, full of curiosity and enthusiasm.
It is the third day of the "Transient" lab as I write this. The time flew by, and we arrived at four distinct works. We worked on our own project but collectively fulfilled most thoughts, practices, and trial and error processes. We worked together. But each of us developed a separate project that, while entirely independent, each project has a kind of correlation to the other ones.
We agreed on the overall concept of playing with the "play" from the very beginning. In Persian, "play" has multiple implications and connotations, and blending it with other words creates stimulating and, at times, contradictory expressions. Though we distanced ourselves from the "playing" concept during our weekly or two-or-three-times a-week meetings, now I see that playing is the cornerstone of all four works. Our approach and practice are consciously related to playing, performance, interaction, participation, pleasure, and care. What has been formed so far, and what is yet to come...
Azade
**Immemorial**^^Azade Shahmiri^^
**Ney-Dancing**^^Mehdi Mirmohammadi^^
**Unofficial**^^Leila Ahmadi Abadeh^^
**Killing the Odist**^^Isar Aboumahboub Collaboration with Rita (Fatimah) Ahmadi ^^
Azade Shahmiri
(*1982) is a theatre director and performance maker, based in Teheran. Her artistic practice oscillates between theater, performance, lecture, and elements of the installation. Her performances are research-based and closely interwoven with personal narratives, the notions of reality, and documentary. While the text in its unconventional sense is central in her work, the collaboration between performers’ presence and the visual and sonic aspects is also crucial in her aesthetic approach.
→Azade Shahmiri's Website
Leila Ahmadi Abadeh
(*1994) is a Tehran-based multidisciplinary artist, working in theater, animation, visual arts, and as a web designer.
They have participated and attended several festivals as a playwright of plays such as "They live in us" (2013), "The womb house", (2016), and “I failed anyway"(2016).
Since 2017, they have started creating various solo projects based on their narratives of the reality of society’s events. Their performances are mostly through exploring a meaningful connection between storytelling and objects that they selects from her environment. "The neighbors think nobody is here" (2017) and "Moving story" (2020) are among them. "The neighbors think nobody is here" revolves around the experience of living with bipolar disorder. The play is a sort of documentary event of their personal life narrated by a child living in a house which every member of it wants to leave there for different reasons. In "Moving story", Leila tells the story of a small town in Iran and narrates its unofficial history. They were interested in performing in unconventional and small places with a limited audience since, in their plays, she looks for a close and personal connection with the audience. In their two other projects "Digger" (2018) and "Depth" (2021), they tried experiencing unrealistic stories through the live-animation format and using materials that have movement in their nature. Thier works were performed in Tehran, Prague, and Osnabruck.
They graduated in Puppet Theater from Tehran University of Art (2018) and in Cinema from Iranian Youth Cinema Society (2016). They also were selected for "Watch and Talk Residency" as a part of Festival Belluard Bollwerk International (2019).
→Leila Ahmadi Abadeh's Website
Isar Aboumahboub
(*1980) is a Tehran-based author and theater artist. He has a BA in Theater Studies and MA in Theater Directing from the Art University of Tehran.
From 2005 till 2013, he worked as an art critic and a freelance journalist. The idea of social and political improvement is at the center of his interest. He directed five theater pieces that were written by his contemporary writers including Asghar Abdollahi, Azade Shahmiri, and Mehdi Mirmohammadi.
He wrote a one-person piece "This time of the Honorable Ones" (2011) was a rearrangement of events that happened on August 19, 1953, in the office of democratic Prime Minister of Iran, Dr. Mohammad Mosadeq. "This time of the Honorable Ones" was published in 2021 in Tehran.
He made a site-specific performance is called "Antigone" after the 2009 uprising in Tehran about people who were shot on those days and their families were not allowed to bury them publicly.
Since 2008, He teaches Creative Writing, Literary Theory, and Art History as an adjunct lecturer in literature and theater university departments.
He received Jean Jacques Rousseau fellowship (Akademie Schloss Solitude) in 2017 and grant holder of Festival Theaterformen (2014).
Mehdi Mirmohammadi
(*1978) is a playwright, performer, and journalist based in Tehran. He graduated in Theater Studies from Art and Architecture University in Tehran. His life in theatre began when he was a teenager studying theater in high school when five of his plays have been staged and one has been published.
Much of Mehdi’s life in the last 18 years has been devoted to cultural journalism. During these years, he has worked with various newspapers, news agencies, weekly and monthly magazines.
Working with these many newspapers and magazines was because either they were banned at some points or their policies changed or went bankrupt in the middle of the road. Essay writing has been one of his main interests during these years and has led him to conduct research on Iranian art throughout the year. He has also been involved in multimedia journalism for some time. he made a series of online programs on Iranian theater, cinema and music. Another part of his life has been devoted to performance art, Installation, and Video art.
He exhibited his photographs for the first time in 2002. In 2004, among a team of young artists, they initiated a section at the Iran Fadjr Theater Festival entitled Video-Theater and created a piece. He also exhibited his first installation performance at the Iranian Artists’ Forum in 2005.
With the accelerating closure of the newspapers, he refocused on his artistic creations in the past years. He created several performances to name a few “Simple Fragments” (2010), “Inexpensive” (2011), “Rial to Rial” (2012), “Two Brothers” (2013) that were presented in Tehran Leev Festival, 30 Nights, 30 Performances Festival, and at the Annual Sanandaj Art.
Day#05
I kept boasting that I was going to write today's report the day before yesterday, the same day that we were going to test the game with Rita, Leila, Azade, Mehdi, Amin, and Roya the zoom platform. During the day, I wrote things that, if connected, I could extract a report text from, but things turned out differently.
The charging cable made me lose track of things. I had to turn on my cellphone to arrange a necessary appointment, but the cable was damaged. I should have resolved this issue months ago, but I hadn't.
Everyone had their own troubles, and I had to disarrange the data that Rita had already distributed among the game characters so that the equations would not be decoded instantly. I had a few other important tasks that I do not remember now. Those tasks required two hours to finish, and I did not have enough time. And like a hound that chooses to buy a charging cable when hunting, I made the worst choice; to have some fresh air and buy a charging cable.
Since working in the lab, I have kept going out and walking on one pretext or another. I revised some parts of the work while walking around the lab. I walked and talked to myself and sometimes wrote notes on my cellphone to check later. The method was not very productive, but occasionally it worked.
People looked at me strangely when I used to talk to myself in public, especially in my adolescence. But since hands-free technology came, I am less likely to shock people. They guess you have placed the headphones in that ear that they don't see. I have worn headphones a few times to talk to myself comfortably. However, I don't say a word as long as I am attentive. As I get distracted, I suddenly notice that I have been talking to myself for half an hour. Without paying for a therapist, some issues have proceeded to critical spots.
I always rent a house with nested living rooms that I can walk around like a square or a long narrow house that I can walk back and forth. The dimensions of the house do not matter. The potential routes are important. The best house can be a house that is a whole circle of two meters wide. But when I went to buy the charger, I did not intend to talk to myself; I went to feel a cool breeze to come back quickly and accomplish my job.
But I was distracted. And I talked to myself, and as I could not find a charger, I kept moving away from the lab so that the conversation would not be interrupted. When I returned, I did not have the two necessary hours. I did not even have an hour. That is how I lost the thread and blamed others for not owning the charging cable. Everyone helped, and the testing of the game went well. I was focused during the test. But it was too late. I had ruined everyone's mood, and after a few days of satisfaction, everything seemed terrible. We were tired. No one was willing to do anything to make things as before. Azade came later. She has told why in the previous report. The atmosphere gradually improved from the next day on.
Rita from one side and each of us from the other side got connected to play the game. The game turned into a good one with the new suggestion and rearrangements.
***
Now let me add the texts I wrote before:
"After the beginning of the global lockdown," I had written that "this was my first experience participating in a genuinely collective event in Tehran. Last year, I performed in Azade's project, and we had a long rehearsal in Tehran. But it was a small group detached from the world. We cautiously avoided any social interaction that might bring the virus to rehearsal space. But this time, it was as if by being in a small community in Tehran, I was experiencing the metropolitan space again. It was more amusing and enticing than I thought it would be, but it was not as easy as it might sound. One of us had no clue why he couldn't stop talking. Another one didn't know from where to begin writing? One of us didn't know at whom to look. Now we wondered whether we would endure seeing so many new faces after the opening."
I had also written that "I was in a Snapp Taxi. The leather used in the car seat upholstery was crimson, old, and dirty. The upholstery of the car was not of a typical kind. As a child, I thought I would appreciate the charm of the crimson and brown when I grew up. The crimson color reminds me of my aunts' makeup and furniture in her youth. I remember admiring the colors she used to choose. The colors were too mysterious and robust in my eyes. There was something antique and authentic about her choice of color. Her husband also had a Pontiac and played the violin. He was lefty and grumpy and always kept switching between jobs happily.
He looked so neat and virile that I had no idea that my adulthood would be like his life in one part or the other. He and I were not supposed to be alike. Still, we are and unfortunately, doesn't include either Pontiac or a real violin. I am also bad-tempered. The difference is that everyone knew he was bad-tempered from afar, but mine would appear after a while. The careless driver abandoned the Peugeot 206 on the online map and rested his cellphone between his neck and chin like a violin. I'm not too fond of banal similarities, but sometimes it is out of my control. The driver's aunt was on the other side of the line. The driver was going to take his CT scans to his aunt. Or his aunt had asked him to bring something. In short, someone wanted someone else to handle a medical issue. I still had not listened alertly till then. When I listened to the dialog carefully, the driver impatiently asked where his aunt was and promised her to take her out that night. He wanted to do something in return and make his aunt happy. But how could one entertain their aunt? I didn't believe he could handle it. It was not fair. Being a good person should become a more feasible job in Iran."
I had written, "Though we had gathered to work closely together, we needed a different space to work on some days. One had to have some fresh air and walk around the building. One had to go home. One had to arrive later. Sometimes, we gathered to meet, and then everyone went their own way. Then we said goodbye, and we continued to work together in the WhatsApp group until we saw each other again. That means despite the physical presence of each other, we still needed to work remotely to maintain the train of our thought. This is not a symptom. It is the route to salvation, a way for gradually overcoming the addiction to working in isolation."
I wrote the report when all my attention was solely on my project. I only remembered the things directly related to me. I feel ashamed. I will undoubtedly write about others later.
Isar (January 21, at 10.40 am)
Day#04
We had evaded writing the fourth-day report. It was as if all of us were too exhausted to write down anything. We had three hard days back and 24 challenging hours ahead; the next day, the public audiences came. So we avoided writing about the fourth day. The fatigue and stress of the fourth day had made us a little nervous.
Since the internet speed is better at home, I spent most of that day at home playing the online game made by Isar and his colleague Rita. Still, Mehdi, Isar, and Leila went to the lab. Each was in one of the three rooms of the lab to play the game. In the meetings where we talked about our ideas, Isar's ideas were exciting but complex. I did not know how to collaborate. I thought I could not help him much. Our conversation about the Community Garden I saw in Berlin, the other one in Vienna, my friend's strange commuting route between home and university in Toronto, and the memory of another friend of mine squatting in Amsterdam sparked heated discussions. I saw the eyes of Isar shine. In a word, I want to write about the fourth day on the sixth day.
At 3 pm, the game started on the zoom platform. Mehdi, Leila, Amin, Roya, and I played together. Isar and Rita moderated the process. The slow Internet interrupted the game. We closed the zoom and went to WhatsApp to continue to play without a VPN. The game gradually got engaging, and two hours passed fast. I cannot speak about the game's content because it is still under construction. The game had no winners or losers. It was analytical and cleverly designed. I was amazed by Rita and Isar's brainpower.
After the game, I printed the posters designed by Afra and my descriptions for the audiences. It has been three years since I last got something printed. The prices were breathtaking. I rushed to the lab. The distance from my house to the lab is very short—one of the benefits of living in the city center.
Mehdi and Leila were in the studio. Leila was sitting, and Mehdi was standing as usual. They were silent. They were not like the previous days. Isar had gone to walk. They had played for two hours and had worked on their projects for several hours.
Leila lives in Karaj and commutes to Tehran every day; the route is about 70 km long and takes about one hour. It is tiresome, but she never complains, and sometimes I forget that she comes from such a long way. One of the disadvantages of living downtown is ignoring my friends' effort and time to reach long distances.
Mehdi and I went to the institute's yard, smoked, and talked about his day. He was tired, so we talked about common issues. Something had happened. But he did not say anything explicit about it. When we returned, we talked about the game. Each of us made some suggestions, but everyone's mood was low. Isar was going to buy paper. I went to the yard with him to talk in private before leaving. He was tired. We talked about the overwhelming pressure of the work. He did not clarify anything to help me find out what had happened. Leila and Mehdi also came to the yard. It was nine o'clock at night. Leila was going home. Isar also went to buy paper.
Something had happened in my absence. I didn't insist on knowing. But I wanted to know. I didn't find the opportunity to talk to Leila individually. Isar returned with the papers. Mehdi went to the video editing room to work on the video of his performance. Isar and I talked about the next day (the fifth day and the coming audiences.) That day was an important day for him. It was the first time he had shown and tested the game. It was like after rendering a project in Adobe Premiere. When Mehdi's work finished, we all went home.
Azade (January 20 at 10.17 am)
Day#03
This morning, Isar picked me up to bring the sound system of my performance to the rehearsal room in his car. This sound system has been in the storeroom for at least five years. I received it as a gift. But because we live in a small house, we could not use it. When the idea of featuring the "Neynava" track came up in the meetings, I thought of this sound system. It could finally come out of the storeroom. Isar helped me to install the sound system. A flawless sound system is a blessing indeed. As soon as the sound system gets ready, I play one of Samin Baghtcheban's compositions, the one I craved to listen to with an exemplary sound system due to its polyphonic chorus. It is called "Ladybug" (translit. Pinedooz.) Baghtcheban wrote this piece after his obliged immigration when feeling homesick in Istanbul. Far from his homeland, there was no orchestra to perform his works. This piece seems to be a happy song for children, but halfway through, the bitter sound of the exile days is bound to the piece, leading to a peculiar contrast. His son recorded this piece after his death.
What do all these have to do with today's report? Nothing! You know, I talk a lot, especially when I'm happy, and these days I'm happy about my performance and being with my friends, and that's why I talk more than usual. I only talk; non-stop and all the time.
Leila updated the project's website last night. I am grateful to her. The project wouldn't have a website if it were not for Leila. We had neither the required knowledge nor enough patience.
Today is the first year since one of my fellow journalists died. Since his death, I realized that I shouldn't hesitate in expressing my fondness or gratitude to people because no one knows about tomorrow. What does this have to do with today's report? Nothing! I said I talk a lot.
Today I am going to get the scanned negative films. The young employees of the old atelier are very respectful to me. They probably think somebody who deals with negative films must be from an older generation. I was curious to see the old photos.
When I was back in the rehearsal room, Azade was about to examine her work with Leila. They had put the video projection behind a half-full aquarium. Bahram Beizai's film "Downpour" (translit. Ragbār) was screened. They held the glass orbs before the video projection lens and dropped color filters and mirror pieces into the water. They were happily playing and trying new things out. The lights and images got so exciting and spectacular that I started recording.
Isar was out to buy some necessary small items. I needed an audio jack, which he bought for me as a gift. These days, we value each other more than ever, and we are exceptionally kind to each other.
Before lunch, Isar and I went for a walk. We happened to pass by the Association of Iranian Journalists. How many years have passed since its closing, or to put it better, since its closure? Ten years? Twelve years?
After the lunch break and finalizing the timing and the performance areas, Azade began writing the final program. Isar and I tested the video projection for my performance. I think the arrangement of the audio channels and the projected video has got intriguing. At least, I'm pretty content.
Isar says goodbye and goes to prepare for tonight's meeting. After finishing our work, we will play the online version of the game designed by Isaar and his colleague Rita on the zoom platform for the first time. I want to practice more with the new sound system. Its peculiar sound quality is weirdly captivating. At some points, I unconsciously tend to utter eloquent quotes and aphorisms, which are pointless for my work, and I should avoid it. At some moments, I lose contact with the music. I ought to pay attention to it the whole time. Isar calls and says: "Are you all as tired as I am?" He wants us to play the game tomorrow. He says that our first experience with the game is vital, and we cannot play well when tired. Isar and Rita are supposed to review the game again tonight, and we will have the first collective try-out tomorrow.
Today, we also met with the institute administrators, MohammadReza and Omid, to talk about how to record and document this workshop. Azade and I attended the meeting and talked about our thoughts. We strongly emphasized that our work was a performance project; we would not perform for the camera or interrupt the performance. Tonight, was Omid's birthday. They had brought a cake, which was a superb idea. Let our hearts be always cheerful.
Azade tidied up the studio. Leila had to go to Karaj and record the sound of her work. Leila checked the weather forecast. It might snow. In the last few years, it hasn't snowed in Tehran. So, it would be a unique and stunning occurrence. But whenever they say snowfall is quite possible, it often results in rainfall in Tehran's heights or northern parts.
What does this have to do with today's report? There is no direct relation. Well, I talk a lot, especially when I'm delighted. I only talk; non-stop and all the time.
Mehdi (January 17, at 11.30 pm)
Day#02
This morning I was a bit (?) late again. I was preparing here, that is, this website. The lab door was shut. I rang twice, no one opened the door. Azade opened the door a few seconds later. She was going out. I went upstairs. Isar was not there. He stayed home today. He had worked on his project last night and early in the morning. It was hard for him to come to the lab and concentrate on his work. Mehdi was walking in the studio. He was looking for a shop with a device for scanning old negative films. Mehdi decided to go to the street and find a place to scan his films by chance and memory.
I was left alone for an hour, and in the silence and darkness of the studio, I began to eat lunch after a complete breakfast I had eaten at home; Mirza Ghasemi sandwich and salad. I remembered that last night I had ruined my hair with scissors in the middle of the day. Azade is back. She has bought new materials for her work. We touch on the exciting material of her work. Azade calls them her children and praises their cooperation. Mehdi returns. After walking for a while, he has finally found an old spot for his films.
I show the site to them. Mehdi introduces a composer named Mahin Zarrin Panjeh, and we listen to her Iranian waltz several times. I have sent a message to Niloufar that if she comes to the institute; let us know to ask our questions.
Before leaving for Break, Niloufar arrives and mindfully suggests some hints on recording the performance days. Then, I ask her some questions about the lighting of my work. Attentively, she draws some small lights out of the drawer and explains how to work with them. I choose my lights. Isar says that he and his colleague Rita want to try their game's first series. Tomorrow they need three people, Mehdi, Azade, and I, plus two others. I called one of my friends who love games, and my request was accepted. We still haven't found our fifth playmate. At break time, we listen to two more pieces of Mahin Zarrin Panjeh.
I'm going to take my objects home tonight and wash them in the bathroom. While writing this report, when I mentioned that my hair got ruined, I showed my hair to others. I explained that while styling my hair, I realized that the sound of scissors was approaching my ears. But I did not realize that I was cutting my hair crooked.
We saw some of Azade's videos on the Sun Sets Eight Times A Day Website. We have been thinking about the resemblances of our works since yesterday. Today, we noticed the negative films in Azade's videos and Mehdi's work. Mehdi said something about the films and their development methods. Yet, the Internet speed did not let us watch all the videos. We failed to see the videos. Azade went to her belongings and started making new things with them, and Mehdi recorded them aimlessly. I guess, today, it would go on like this for an hour and then ends. I will add it here if something new happens.
Leila (January 16, at 6.30 pm)
Day#01
The Transient Works lab, the new phase of the Sun Sets Eight Times a Day, begins on a rainy day. The weather is not sunny, but the morning air in Tehran is clean after a while. That's why we sit in the institute's yard for the first hour. Our appointment is at 10 am in the lab space, Pelart Institute, but Leila arrives with a delay. Mehdi says something must have happened. He is right. Leila was in a taxi accident on the way, a minor one.
We begin by dividing the laboratory rooms between us; a 35 square meter rehearsal room and a 30 square meter studio at the Pelart Institute. We will also have the game room in the last three days. We talk for a few minutes about who will work where. In the end, we conclude that anyone can work wherever they want each day. Mehdi works in the rehearsal room. He has been rehearsing his performance there over the last two weeks. Leila, Isar, and I settle down in the studio.
I place the things I brought from home on the floor and wait for the materials themselves to come up with an idea, but nothing happens. I simply play with them. Today is the day of mirrors, ice cream sticks, playing jellies, siphons, kitchen sink drain pipes, and the broken glass pieces that Leila brought me. NeyNava music (by Hossein Alizadeh) and Mehdi's voice, rehearsing in the next room, have overlaid my play with the objects. Isar is typing on his laptop; he writes his text and chats with his project collaborator, Rita, in Oxford. Leila shows us the objects she made for her performance. She is dissatisfied with their forms. She has covered them with a concrete coating, but she wants to scrub the coating one by one. She also starts working on her material and text.
We have lunch and go to the rooftop to take some photos. Niloofar and Mohammadreza, directors of Pelart, are talented photographers in addition to being proficient light designers. After lunch, we see Mehdi's rehearsal with them and the downstairs' Café manager, a light designer too. They offer suggestions for using their hand-crafted lights in the performance. Leila is looking for small-size lights, like the phone's flashlight. She wants to consult with them tomorrow. Our friends' creative hand-crafted lights are right on for my work. Mehdi, Isar, and Leila agree with me.
We spend the rest of the day exchanging views, discussing our plan and the order of works for the last three days, and playing with the small things that are not yet formed.
Azade (January 15, at 8 pm)
Transient Works was initially created as the new season of THE SUN SETS EIGHT TIMES A DAY project. In
the SUN’s collective digital garden, Azade Shahmiri established “a Kariz-Workshop for the lost, discarded
and forgotten things” and experimented with the found objects in video format. Transient Works now is
an organic and evolutionary follow-up to the Kariz-Workshop in the SUN's digital garden.
In this virtual project, eight artists from eight timezones share their work and may invite audience to gently participate, to add their own questions and thoughts if they wish. the artists were active in the garden from July 21-31 2021, uploading new creative responses to their chosen themes and the participants personal contributions. The digital garden brings together a potential coexistence in artistic dialogue, in interchange, in resolutions, debate and juxtaposition.
Direction and performance Youness Atbane (Morocco), Zarif Bakirova (Azerbaijan), Amitesh Grover (India), Abdalla Daif (Egypt), Lucy Ellinson (Cymru/Wales, UK), Daniel Hengst (Germany), Azade Shahmiri (Iran), Maya Zbib (Lebanon), Lydia Ziemke (Germany)
Idea and concept Lydia Ziemke/suite42 and Abdalla Daif | Dramaturgy Amitesh Grover, Daniel Hengst and Lydia Ziemke | Media art concept and realisation, programming: Daniel Hengst | Programming and hosting: Alex Hof
Premiere: July 2021
→The Sun Sets Eight Times A Day Website