Artful Anarchy In A Classical Frame
Darvish Fakhr
DF 14, Darvish Fakhr
Darvish Fakhr is an Iranian-American known for blending diverse cultural influences through painting and movement art. His work, which fuses beauty and destruction, is marked by a balance between classical techniques and his alter ego—“The Urban Sufi.” Through ritualistic performances and Eastern-inspired poetry, Fakhr merges spiritual and physical realms, paying homage to both Western painting traditions and Eastern Sufi wisdom. He has exhibited internationally, including at The Armory Show in New York, and is part of the National Portrait Gallery collection in London. DIVAZ was lucky enough to connect with the otherworldly artist and get a piece of his enchanting mind.
How have your cultural experiences shaped your identity?
I was born the same year man landed on the moon. Flying through space was celebrated, going against gravity was the modus operandi. Evil Knievel was jumping school buses on his motorcycle, and basketball slam dunk contests were invented. There was a sense of doing the impossible in the air and through the air. Rebellion was a big part of my childhood. We would get fireworks illegally downtown and try blowing up suburban neighborhoods. I had foreign parents who made assimilating into the culture very challenging. My mother was British and my father was Iranian. We never knew normal; it wasn’t part of my upbringing, which was both crippling and liberating. I was always creative but not necessarily artistic. I didn’t start drawing until I was in my early 20s. My mother was a playwright and gave me a lot of creative freedom and encouragement. When I was 13, she gave me permission to paint my own bedroom. A friend and I painted it all black, including the ceiling, then dipped tennis balls into neon-colored paint and threw them as hard as we could. It came out well, and I remember lying in bed tracing the splattered trajectories.
Talk to us about your studies; how have they influenced your creative approach?
In college, I first studied film and even worked as a script reader in Hollywood one summer—(I read Total Recall and pushed it forward). There I learned that the film industry wasn’t for me— too much reliance on others. Back at university in Massachusetts, I took drawing as an elective, and that’s when I fell in love with realism. It felt like magic. I decided to become an artist because I didn’t like the idea of retiring. I wanted to keep evolving. Actually, I want to evolve so hard they have to get to know me all over again. My parents gave me a very Sufi name, and my art has somehow aligned with my name. Apart from the obvious reference of finding a spiritual connection through movement and music, I’d say the biggest similarity is my interest in the “healing arts.” Though influenced by Sufism, I’m more of a “bad Sufi” or, as Osho puts it, a “Spiritual Materialist.” I’m an arena of contradictions. My credo is “everything in moderation, including moderation itself.” I’m always seeking artistic freedom within my lifestyle. I don’t see family life as a hindrance to that—in fact, it gives me a solid ground to jump off and soar upwards. Growing up as a half-Iranian in America during the 80s was filled with shame and confusion. I didn’t understand the hate directed my way. I’m sure now that becoming an artist was a way of alchemizing my early shame into a kind of celebration.
DF 15, Darvish Fakhr
DF 11, Darvish Fakhr
Would you say your work and style reflect your cultural heritage? If so, in what way?
The epiphany of recycling my identity arrived with the flying carpet. For most of my life, I had two strands of passion: extreme sports and art. I’ve done parachuting, hang gliding, kite surfing, snowboarding and motocross. Counter to this, I sought solace in the paintings of the great masters—artists like Veronese, Velázquez and Chardin. About 10 years ago, I made my first electric longboard, and it felt like flying when I rode it, so I attached a Persian carpet to it. While obsessing over this invention, I realized this is my art! I took it to The Armory Show almost 10 years ago, and that same year, a YouTuber ripped off the idea and went viral. At first, I was upset, but then I realized he did me a favor because it challenged me to go deeper than being a one-trick artist and really question what the carpet symbolized. For me, it symbolized the convergence of politically opposing cultures through humor and stereotyping—a way of celebrating differences through a collage of icons. Since then, I’ve done the same thing in ten thousand other ways, through fashion, dance, performance and painting.
What’s the next chapter in your journey?
I’m interested in the concept of being “an interpreter of music for the hard of hearing.” Rather than being a dancer, I’m a conduit for harmonies. I’ve been focusing on my hands lately, combining Persian dance with hip-hop. My hands need this attention after so much painting. As for painting, I’m moving into a new direction inspired by “hypnagogia,” the state between waking and sleep. It’s one of my favorite mind states because life and imagination blur beautifully. There’s a playfulness I’m attracted to, where life becomes expansive and full of possibilities.
Who is your diva?
My 3 main divas would be Edward Said, author of Orientalism, who said that solving the Middle East’s problems requires creativity, Storyboard P, a NY dancer who showed me a way of bringing freedom into all that I do, and my mother, my primo diva, who instilled in me her joie de vivre. Sadly, she passed recently, and I miss her terribly.
