i ask you to imagine the following scene: the two of us. you’re drinking a beer while teaching me how to dance. you say, “this is where i come to dance around every sunday.” a flamenco fills the air and you dance. i feel shy, i don’t know how my body should move and i want to do everything properly. you say: “come dance with your father, my daughter.” you open your arms and dance a little sideways, half not caring, smiling.
i move toward you, but i trip and fall in são paulo. with you i feel so uptight, father. i’m too aware of everything around us and i feel uneasy with you calling me so cheerfully: “dance with me, daughter, just one more, with those big eyes of yours.”
i try to follow your rhythm. “two steps either way, see how easy it is, daughter.” but i stumble. i can’t keep up with you, father. we are so different.
when i arrived in this land of birds, after three years without seeing you, it was as if it were just another day, the same old misunderstandings. i thought, how are we going to make this work, father? the two of us… i think you thought the same. you can be rough. i ask you not to say so many stupid things. you ask me not to turn everything into politics. but it is, father, and what we’re going to do, i don’t know. so we keep trying to dance together, each in our own way.
i remember: i was little and you no longer slept at home. we were saying goodbye when you told me, “serenity, daughter, that’s what i wish for you.” now i think about that word all the time because of you. it’s so beautiful, serenitas, what a quality. You have it, father. i’m still learning.
we walk along part of this lilac island. a tucked-away, grayish, rocky beach. you were surprised. later you confessed that’s where you go to pray. we don’t believe in the same god, but there’s a way of looking at the beauty of the world that we share. that’s enough for me. it was you who taught me to see ants as the earth’s own stars. and now i find myself searching for fireflies because of you, which values insects more than airplanes.
come on, father, let’s do this last one. i don’t know how to do it this way, but let’s go. i figure it out, you can do it however you like. yes, like that, that’s perfect. you smile. i raise my arms and jump while you keep calling the world to dance.
Shirin Abedinirad, House in the Wind, 2017. Land art, Marrakesh, Morocco. Created in collaboration with Nikon and BMW Mini, the work imagines the desert as an open studio where, in the artist’s words, “the ceiling is the sky, the walls are horizons, and the door is open to everyone in the world.” Bringing mirrors, clouds, wind, and sand into conversation, the installation becomes a meditation on nature as collaborator, refuge, and boundless space of belonging. Artwork courtesy of featured artist Shirin Abedinirad.
