My personal style signifier is wearing hats. I have been wearing them for almost 20 years, every day. For me it’s a strange mix of wanting to be hidden but also seen, as they are not “quiet” hats. Then somehow it went beyond that, and in recent years they have become tools to cheer others up. I get so much from seeing someone walking down the street and suddenly notice these colourful, silly things and smile, or just wake up. I love observing how people react to the hats in different cities I travel to. Italians by far get the most joy from them.
I met my husband, Ali, at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam. We were on the same flight back to Toronto; he was connecting from Italy and I was coming back from Tehran. Of course I changed my seat to sit beside him. So our first date was an eight-hour flight.
The last thing I bought and loved was a box of red clown noses. I just started clown school, and loved the one they gave us so much that I ordered a whole assortment. Some are held by a string, some spongy ones pop right on your nose. The school’s story is that once you put on the nose you know if you have a clown or not [inside you] – they call it “the birth of a clown”. The first time I tried it on I just started weeping. I guess my clown is a sad clown. But it was magic to meet her.
My favourite room in my house is our bedroom. I sleep a lot, and going to bed is my best therapy. It was always like that for me as a child, in a heavier context; I would escape the drama of my life by going to bed. That association has stayed with me, but we’ve made peace, and can even be friends. I often work from bed, and no longer look at that as a sad relationship, but one that I make work.
The best book I’ve read in the past year is The Diary of a Gambler by Reza Shafahi. It’s a beautiful true story about an Iranian man deeply lost in a gambling addiction; his son [artist Mamali Shafahi] offers him an escape, to make daily art, and out of this exercise comes this wonderful collection of paintings. I find the images close to home. They’re soft and relatable, and I love the idea that an Iranian man made them.
My style icon is any character who dares to be ridiculous. Like Miss Piggy – I adore her. She is very brave, that girl.
In another life, I would have been a circus director. An elegant circus. Or something to do with theatre and costumes. I would really love to never think, “Is what I’m about to make too much for humans?” I’ve built my entire career around making things for dreamers and poets. But still; it would be nice to disconnect from reality even more than I normally do.
The best gift I’ve given recently was a family cat. I got her as a gift for the kids, but she ended up being my gift. (Everyone in the family thinks she is “their” gift.) As an artist, you spend so much time alone in the studio, and it’s the best; but sometimes it’s nice to have a little hit of life around. Cats are great studio companions.
In my fridge you’ll always find Persian pickles, which are sour, not at all sweet; I buy them at the Persian grocery store in west Berlin. And champagne. I don’t drink wine or cocktails so it’s only champagne, which can get expensive for those around me so I try to be cool about it. Ruinart will always do me nicely, but I recently had a Larmandier-Bernier and it was definitely a sparkler, a real hit to the veins.
The last music I downloaded was a circus theme, because I’m all about clowning at the moment, but I listen to a lot of Persian music. Googoosh [Faegheh Atashin] is still the queen, and if you watch old videos of her, the style, stage, lyrics – they’re all so magnificent. And Hayedeh; I both dance and cry to her songs – she’s versatile, and can hit your heart in all the different ways.
The place that means a lot to me is my studio-shop in Berlin. Every time someone comes in and is lifted up, it lifts me up. So I should really go more often. When I got the shop, I thought “if it’s beside the house I will go often”, but that was not the case. I even went as far as taking my actual bed over there, to trick myself into going; but that failed. The bed is now used as a display, and I’ve been sleeping on a mattress since.
A souvenir I’ve recently brought home is an old artist palette from a flea market in Berlin, with a landscape painting on it. Every time a thing arrives [in my life] I feel like it has magically found me. As if it was never a transaction, but that we finally meet, that these things are voluntarily showing up.
I’ve recently rediscovered the feeling of not being dependent on something. I have just come off anxiety medication after six years. Although the pills were a real gift when I needed them, it has been nice to know I can do without them.
The grooming staples I’m never without are a hat brush, because it’s a terrible sight to have fluff on beautiful hats. Lip2Cheek tints from RMS Beauty; and deodorant, because thanks to wonky hormones I sweat outrageously. I’ve been using the same one from Aesop for years; it’s strong but natural, which is still kind of a miracle to me. RMS Beauty Lip2Cheek, £35. Aesop Herbal Deodorant Roll-On, £25
The work of art that changed everything for me is Florence, where I went to art school, and which is basically one giant museum. I had never lived abroad or travelled much before that; it was a real high. My incredible art teacher [there] always said there are two kinds of beauty, the kind that gives you pleasure and the kind that is so overwhelming it scares you; I was terrified most of the time. To be confronted with so much of it on a daily basis changed something inside me.
And the most romantic thing I’ve ever done was at art school in Florence: I would have Ali come for the weekend and stay with me – in a tiny house, with five girls. We would spend days wandering the area around my school, and sleep together in my little single bed. It was the most carefree time of my life.
The things I couldn’t do without are my dress-up things: hats, gowns, capes – things I can hide behind but that also bring happiness to others. I love the confirmation that, at the end of the day, adults are just big kids, and we all need little hits of silly. Living everyday life in costume allows that hit. Of course it is not always positive; there are times people point and laugh. But even that is fine – you wake people up and get to their hearts, however it might come out.
The last item of clothing I added to my wardrobe was a candy-shaped dress I made myself. In the end it took so many hours to make, it didn’t make sense to sell it; so now I have a very expensive candy dress I can’t sell. Happily.
I’m getting really good at asking for gifts; I’m hard to buy for. I recently asked Ali to gift me a breathwork retreat, which started this lovely, difficult and important journey of going inwards. I never knew the bliss that can come from simple things like tapping into your breath. It was, in the end, a gift of realising we have the entire universe inside us; should we like to visit it, it’s possible to do so.
The objects I would never part with, besides my hats, are my drawing pads. They are sacred because they make me feel safe. If I see that I have my notebook and pencil close by, my nervous system is automatically in a better place.
My grooming gurus are older Italian ladies – with the hairdo, the lipstick, the nails. It’s like, here are people who can hardly walk, but they went and got their hair done. That energy is contagious.
The apps and podcasts I use and listen to are Insight Timer; I find the live meditation sessions helpful, because of the collective energy. Katy Hessel’s The Great Women Artists podcast is great. And the BBC artist interviews are always lovely, and endless, especially the older ones.
Some of my best ideas have come from, honestly, travelling. I feel at least 30 per cent more alive; my system is on! But that can’t be done all the time, especially now with kids at school. I also work super-well around kids because of their inherent tendency to be real, in the moment and joyful.
My favourite building is an imaginary one: a hat house or a drawing room shaped like a hat. One day I will make a public one, for kids and grown-ups to go “inside their head”. In the real world: Azadi Tower, in Tehran. It marks the place my heart is still tied to.
The best bit of advice I ever received is a line from the poem “Unfold Your Own Myth” by Rumi: “Chase a deer and end up everywhere”. Because play has saved me; even, maybe especially, when we don’t feel like it, it comes to help. Chase a deer and end up everywhere; be light and allow yourself to let go and play. What a gift.
