I was born and raised in Tehran, a city that teaches you early how to feel many things at once — pride, weight, beauty, restraint. I studied pharmacy there, and later moved to Canada, building a life around precision. But I’ve always needed something less explainable — something not made of answers.

Painting became that space.

I’m a self-taught painter. I don’t begin with plans or sketches. I put the brush down and let it move — sometimes slowly, sometimes all night. The painting shows me what I’m carrying before I know it myself.

Since I was young, whenever something felt too hard to say, I would either paint or write. The writing was too exposed, too close to truth, so I destroyed it. But the paintings stayed. In them, I could hide the feeling, shape it, and let it breathe — without offering it up for judgment.

My work is not meant to persuade. It doesn’t follow the rules of narrative or logic. I don’t believe in many of the rules we’re told to live by — especially the ones set by others without consent. But I try not to harm. That’s the line I do not cross. And so, I stay quiet. Until I paint.

In 2025, I submitted my work to a gallery for the first time. From 250 artists, I was chosen for a group exhibition. That moment reminded me perhaps it’s time to let these pieces speak for themselves .

What I make is not resolution. It’s tension, rhythm, memory — fragments of something honest trying to form.