I was born in Tehran and live there still today. I took this on my way home from work after a tiring day. I work for one of Iran’s news agencies, where my duties include editing other photographers’ reportage and shooting on assignment. On the bus that day, the women around me, as you can tell by their closed eyes, were also exhausted.
I took it discreetly with my iPhone, and I knew straight away that it was a powerful image. It speaks to a sense of loneliness – the isolation that comes with working in the capital, an issue for all workers regardless of gender. The black and white accentuates that feeling. Its formal composition, the sense of movement and strong diagonals also make it striking. Behind is the Chamran Expressway against the Alborz mountain range and the Milad Tower – one of the city’s most recognisable landmarks. The tallest tower in Iran and the sixth tallest telecommunication tower in the world, it has become a symbol of Tehran. Although initial construction plans began in the mid-70s under the last Shah of Iran, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, it wasn’t built until long after the 1979 revolution, when Iran became an “Islamic republic”.
Since the revolution, it has been mandatory for women to wear the hijab in public. Religious women wear the chador, a full body-length veil, but even if you are not religious, all women over the age of nine are required to cover their hair with a veil. The law is enforced by the government and morality police.
My photography attempts to give Iranian women visibility. It is likely that many of the women on the bus are civil servants or clerical workers, but also wives and mothers. This shot signifies the central presence, yet alienation, of women in Iranian society. The weight of their situation can be read on their faces. I truly believe women in my country must be superheroes to overcome some of the rules and restrictions they face every day at home and beyond.
Unveiled, my first European solo exhibition, brings together photographs of women and girls across Iran, in private and public spaces. It includes works from my series Lost Paradise, taken in the holy Shia city of Mashhad, one of the most conservative religious sites in the country, where most women can only be photographed if their faces aren’t shown. I captured women of that region from behind in patterned chadors standing before intricately designed Persian rugs. They appear to merge into the tapestries behind them – a metaphor that signifies women’s presence yet invisibility in Iranian society.
The show’s title alludes to the wearing – or not wearing – of the hijab in public, but also my attempts to expose a different side of life in Iran, at a time when the country is becoming more insular and veiled from the outside world. My primary concern is not to be controversial but rather to represent the varied experiences of women in my country, to pay homage to them.
Iran is a beautiful country with a rich and diverse cultural and historical heritage. I am so proud of my roots. But to be a woman and also a street photographer here isn’t easy, and since the civil unrest and protests last year, photographing in public comes with even more difficulties. Even Iranian news agencies must follow government policy – few photojournalists have permission to photograph in public, let alone the protests. I have some permissions as a photojournalist but, to be discreet in my personal work, I often photograph on my iPhone rather than use a larger camera.
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Questioning what it means to be a woman in Iran is what first encouraged me to pick up a camera aged 16. It gave me permission to observe the world in a more profound way, and to make sense of my position within it. I had the courage to become a photographer because of the positive feedback and support of my friends, in particular, my female friends who recognised my talent. Women should support and help each other to be heard in the world.
My mother, who is also an artist, has always supported my ambitions. I am always struggling with my fears, yet she always has my back. Since last year I have been living alone, which is not commonplace for women before marriage. But she has supported my decision to be independent and to put my work first – an opportunity she wasn’t afforded by her parents. She understands what I’m trying to achieve, to show that photography is about a deeper sensitivity with the world around you, whether you are capturing cities or the remarkable individuals who shape those places.
Farnaz Damnabi: Unveiled is at 29 Arts in Progress Gallery, Milan, until 30 September, and also online in a viewing room of the show
Farnaz Damnabi’s CV
Born: Tehran, 1994.
Trained: BA in graphic design; MA in photography.
Influences: “I prefer to rely on my personal instinct. The greatest photography teacher I ever had is experience.”
High point: “Communicating with people is one of the great advantages of being a photographer.”
Low point: “Safety is crucial. Unfortunately there are no guarantees for either my camera or my personal safety when walking along the street. Because you might come face to face with a person who is not a fan of the camera.”
Top tip: “Every moment of life is worth capturing, so we should open our eyes wide and be prepared to press the shutter.”