The Artistic Resistance, Determination, and Resilience of Monir Farmanfarmaian
Caroline Giddis shares insight on Monir’s path to artistic acclaim.
By Caroline Giddis, Curatorial Research Associate, High Museum of Art
Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian’s life and career can be characterized by three pillars of her personality: resistance, determination, and resilience. Despite the challenging obstacles of international wars, revolution, personal losses, lack of artistic resources, motherhood, gender restrictions, the siege of her art and collections, racial and ethnic preconceptions, and the cloud of doubt and illegitimacy that fogged the clarity of most women artists of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Monir created. Instead of crumbling under every blow dealt, she achieved great successes as an award-winning artist, a high-fashion illustrator, a gold medalist at the 1958 Venice Biennale, an artist with a retrospective exhibition at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in 2015, and the first woman artist with a monographic museum in Iran. Monir lived what seemed like a thousand lives with a thousand opportunities for failure or obsolescence. Despite everything, she became one of the most prolific and revered women artists in Iran, and her renown has continued to grow around the world even after her death in 2019. To highlight the fascinating anecdotes found in A Mirror Garden, Monir’s memoir with coauthor Zara Houshmand, here are some defining moments of resistance, determination, and resilience in Monir’s artistic life.
Resistance
Monir’s subtle subversion of her society’s expected role for her as a docile woman, dutiful wife, and devout Muslim began early with her rebellious spirit and was continually encouraged by her father, who founded the first school for girls in Qazvin. [1] As a child, she shaved her head, climbed trees, played the class clown, and established her place as an equal to any boy her age in academics and athletics. In A Mirror Garden, she emphasizes how shaving her head became an equalizing moment for her: “I had always been just as brave as the boys, and now I knew that nothing really stood between us.” [2]
Living within the constructs of an Islamic culture, even a progressive one, came with restrictions. Eventually she could not leave the house unaccompanied by a male family member or a designated chaperone. Other than a few years living as a single mother in New York, she was primarily accompanied in life by a man who acted as protector, husband, or counselor. This even carried into her career as a collector of the decorative arts and crafts of Iranian nomadic tribes. One of the many objects she collected were narrative paintings found in coffee and tea houses that depicted epic scenes from Iranian folklore. Through her strategic methods of acquiring these paintings, which she discovered in 1958, Monir rebelled yet again against the gender restrictions in place by using her driver, Mostafa, as a dealer to go where she could not to buy them. She explained, “As I scoured the city in search of these paintings, I soon realized that no one would sell to a woman in the unwaveringly male environment of coffeehouses. So I would make an initial visit to scout the scene, under cover in a chador and escorted by Mostafa, who took some pride in his new role as art critic; then I would send Mostafa back alone to negotiate.” [3] Over time, Monir acquired enough to exhibit the paintings at the Iran-American Society in 1967. Despite criticism of the work as primitive and of low quality compared to Qajar paintings, Monir brought to light the cultural heritage of the work and made the paintings accessible and for the viewership of women. “That first exhibition shattered the elite prejudice against folk art, and the coffeehouse paintings suddenly became fashionable.” [4]
As a woman artist, Monir could have wanted audiences to refrain from labeling these paintings by unknown Iranian artists as “primitive” or “amateur,” terms that were often attributed to women’s artwork. She also fought to draw attention to the cultural and aesthetic value of Persian decorative arts, which is what drew her to the craft of ayeneh-kari (or Āina-kāri). Primarily used in architectural interiors, mosques, and shrines, ayeneh-kari is a centuries-old, traditional mirror-mosaic technique. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, through trade and commerce, sheets of mirrored glass made their way to Iran, mostly from Europe. On occasion, the sheets would break in transit. Due to the rarity and cost of mirrors at that time, craftsmen sought to still create something beautiful from the broken pieces by forming the fragments into a mosaic — and this resourcefulness blossomed into an art form. In the 1970s, Monir took advantage of the visual power of ayeneh-kari with the help of master craftsman Hajji Ostad Mohammad Navid, who served as her teacher and facilitator, as the craft was reserved for men alone. “He was a very religious man and wasn’t comfortable working for a woman. His usual clients were men of exceptional wealth and old-fashioned tastes. Hajji Ostad was puzzled, to say the least, by what I wanted him to do. I quickly gave up on the idea of asking him to teach me to cut the mirrors myself. This was master’s work [. . . he] could cut it like butter.” [5] Monir requested the designs, and they worked together to develop an epoxy plaster that was light but strong enough to hold pieces in place within a steel frame. Despite being barred from apprenticing and mastering a craft, Monir found a way to create the work she wanted to by using her disadvantage as a tool for a better outcome. Masterpieces like Untitled (Muqarnas) (2012) and her Family series are examples of her brilliant vision, executed at the highest level of the craft, and additionally display her quiet rejection of gender-restrictive traditions.
Determination
Monir’s steadfast determination to become an artist is worth reflection. In the early 1940s, her studies at the Fine Arts College at the University of Tehran left her with an overwhelming desire to study art in Paris; however, due to the continued Nazi occupation in France in 1944, she diverted her trip to New York to wait out the war. [6] For a young woman to leave the country and travel overseas, the Shahroudys required that Monir be accompanied by chaperones, so her brother Hassan, her fiancé Manoucher Yektai, and his friend Assad all joined. After Monir completed all the required paperwork and fees for herself and her chaperones to go, they traveled by warship to Los Angeles. [7]
Although seemingly undeterred by the extensive effort that it took to arrive in New York from Iran (two ships and two trains), based on Monir’s recounting of the journey, New York did not enthrall her right away. Instead, as she made friendships with Arthur Upham Pope, Francis Henry Taylor, Abe Chanin, Joan Mitchell, Alexander Calder, and other major art-world players at the time, the glamor and possibility of the city slowly revealed itself. [8] Determined to learn more about the American art world, she attended social events and openings, often noticing that her appearance and nationality made her an interesting invitee for most parties: “By the time I figured out that I was supposed to be exotic and even, in some unforeseen way, beautiful, I also had plenty of evidence that these qualities opened doors. So be it. Once a door had opened and I stepped inside, there I was. Whatever luck had launched a friendship, it would survive — or not — on its own merits.” [9]
In the 2015 documentary Monir, directed by Bahman Kiarostami, while being interviewed by Chris Dercon, then director of Tate Modern, Monir confirmed that during her time working and creating art in the male-dominated New York art scene, her male contemporaries of the Tenth Street Club and beyond did not think of her as a serious professional artist. During her studies at the Parsons School of Design, some of this lack of external professional confidence leaked into her practice, specifically when it came to her color mixing. She wrote, “My turquoise, purple, emerald green, shocking pink, and poppy red were evidence of immaturity, childish splashing on the shore of the dark ocean of the subconscious where the others plumbed the depths.” [10] Her instructor provided reassurance that her use of color was unique and showed her connection to the brilliantly colored Persian art: “Monir, listen to me. Do you know how many times the teachers have shown your work to each other? Do you know what we say? We say, ‘Look how different her colors are! How happy! How beautiful! You can see that her color sense comes from a different culture.’” Reflecting on this moment of renewed confidence, Monir wrote, “It was the first inkling I had that Iran has something to do with my art, or that I had something unusual to offer.” [11]
As her career waxed and waned, she won her victories primarily due to her self-advocation. After meeting gallerist Marcos Grigorian, her work was shown at the 1958 Venice Biennale, although her pieces were attributed to an “Iranian artist.” [12] After approaching the École des Beaux Arts at Tehran University with her floral monotypes in 1963, she was given a show. The inclusion in both group and solo exhibitions continued from there, although periodically. Frustrations emerged, as well, from the lack of devoted collectors of her work while she acted as a patron for other artists. She received commissions — from family and friends, from major organizations such as the Intercontinental Hotel and Farhangsara Cultural Center, and from two luxury hotels built for the 2,500-year celebration of the Persian Empire — but she was rarely, if ever, paid for her work. [13] Her role as a wife and socialite also concerned her: “It was as if my marriage automatically conferred on me the status of a dilettante, and I feared my art would never be taken seriously.” [14] Despite every cultural obstacle, professional preconception, and sly exploitation of her work, Monir continued creating work and steadfastly positioning herself as a serious artist.
Resilience
Based on her writings, Monir’s art acted as a therapeutic grounding practice for her during and after times of great trial. In 1979, she drew calligraphic meditations on the unfolding events of the Iranian Revolution. Following the death of her husband Abolbashar Farmanfarmaian in 1991, Monir found solace in scrapbooking, which later developed into her three-dimensional sculpture Heartache Boxes. After twenty-five years of living away from Tehran, she returned in 2004 at the age of eighty-two to set up a new artistic practice, beginning what would become the most prolific years of her career and the resurgence of her mirror work. She tracked down her old artistic partner Hajji Ostad, who helped her start a new studio with two assistants. [15] Despite all this time away, she never lost her affinity for her homeland and its cultural heritage, which informed her work in an idiosyncratic manner that became a magnet for admirers.
After a few years of producing new mirror installations and geometric drawings, attention from major institutions grew, and the Victoria and Albert Museum (2007), The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (2013), and the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (2015) all held solo exhibitions to celebrate her prowess as a professional artist, further cemented by the opening of the Monir Museum in Tehran in 2017. Reestablishing her life and career in her eighties in the homeland she was separated from for twenty-five years would have sufficed as an incredible accomplishment, but to produce more than one hundred works in her eighties and nineties — that is extraordinary.
To learn more about these stories of Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian’s inimitable resistance, determination, and resilience, pick up a copy of A Mirror Garden: A Memoir in the High Museum Shop. And to learn more about our exhibition Monir Farmanfarmaian: A Mirror Garden (on view through April 9), join us for the following events:
· Candlelit Reading with Zara Houshmand (coauthor of Monir’s memoir, A Mirror Garden) — February 23
· Monir in the Mirror of Contemporary Art — February 23–March 16
Notes
[1] Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian and Zara Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, paperback (New York: Anchor Books, 2008), 34.
[2] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 44.
[3] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 173.
[4] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 176.
[5] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 186–187.
[6] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 77–78.
[7] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 87.
[8] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 91–103.
[9] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 95.
[10] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 101.
[11] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 102; The instructor who spoke with Monir is not named, but it is possible that it was Margery S. Knight (1906–1994), who taught figure drawing and fashion illustration at Parsons School of Design from 1946 to 1969. Monir attended Parsons from 1946 to 1949, so it’s likely that she was taught or knew of Knight, regardless of if she was the one to share this encouragement.
[12] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 179.
[13] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 223.
[14] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 190.
[15] Farmanfarmaian and Houshmand, A Mirror Garden: A Memoir, 313–314.
