Tulips took shape in the row-by-row knitting of my mother’s
hands, along the border of my childhood jacket. On
Delshad Dead-End, hearing the voice of the Nowruz street
vendor, I would run after him just to gaze at his paper
tulips—their leaves crafted from children’s discarded
homework papers, carrying the scent of Eid and spring!
I used to trace my fingers along the tulip patterns
etched onto iron doors, which were rapidly replacing
the old double-knocked wooden ones. To me,
the tulips of childhood meant renewal and hope.
Yet, the thousand paper tulips I crafted during
forty days of bombardment now narrate the pain
and suffering of contemporary humanity in today’s
world—a world experiencing war in various forms
due to the absence of dialogue and interaction.
The present collection of paper tulips, made entirely from scrap
paper with photos and images plastered onto their exaggerated
leaves, is a protest against the outbreak of wars! Let us not allow
pain and suffering to be the ultimate definition of humanity in
our contemporary world and our homeland. May tulips bloom
in our gardens in celebration of peace and the absence of war.
Vajiheh Fakor
