"One Flower, Ten Flowers, Hundreds of Flowers"

Resistance to Censorship in Chupan Mehraneh Atashi's artistic practice

Written by Katayoon

Edited by Jose Rosales and Maxe Crandall

The Tasvir Archive is dedicated to collecting and publishing texts on contemporary image-based art in Iran and on Iranian image-based artists whose work holds historical and critical significance. We collaborate with independent writers from Iran and the diaspora in lifting up this work. These commissioned writings aim to shed light on the lives and artistic practices of global artists, offering researchers and art enthusiasts a deeper and more nuanced understanding of the artwork. Through this engagement, critical dimensions embedded in artistics practices can be more thoroughly explored.

The following essay is the first in a series compiled after the Tasvir exhibition, held in September 2024 at Northlight Gallery & Step Gallery in Phoenix. As part of the exhibition, the book Only the Morning Bird Treasures the Flower Garden by Chupan Atashi was presented.

Mehrdad Mirzaie, April 2025

Introduction

The following text is based on my interview with Chupan Mehraneh Atashi (they/them)—an artist who was arrested without explanation just days after the protests of 27 December 2009 in Iran. This story of Chupan’s arrest and torture unfolds within the context of the Green Revolution, also known as the Green Movement—a people’s uprising sparked by a fraudulent election in which the Supreme Leader’s favored candidate was declared President.

Chupan was transferred to Tehran’s notorious Evin prison, where political prisoners make up the majority of the incarcerated population. During their detention, they endured both torture and interrogation.

Before their arrest, Chupan had been preparing for an exhibition of self-portraits—images they had taken while walking the streets of Tehran over the course of two years. These portraits became the focus of intense scrutiny in the interrogation sessions. Again and again, government security agents attempted to force Chupan into false confessions—an all-too-common tactic in the treatment of political prisoners in Iran.

After 50 days of detention and interrogation, and despite baseless charges, Chupan was released on bail. Before they were let go, their interrogator issued a warning: they were no longer permitted to take photographs of themself. If they insisted on continuing photography, the state agent said, they should “take pictures of flowers instead.”

Thereafter their release, Chupan continued to endure fear, pain, pressure, and censorship, frequently being called to court as they attempted to process what had transpired. Ultimately, Chupan left the land of their birth, forced into an exile that would undo everything that bound artist to homeland and homeland to artist. Rather than succumbing to exile’s decay, Chupan transformed their body into their new land and home. What is more, by virtue of the novelty of their lived experiences, Chupan has given “growth” a new meaning as well.

In this piece, I retell the story of Chupan’s arrest to reveal the Iranian state’s fear of artistic agency, particularly its fear of a woman artist who centers the body in their practice. Chupan’s story is just one among countless others: stories of censorship, oppression, and the state’s relentless attempts to erase our collective memory and consciousness.

This writing is an effort to record untold truths and unheard narratives. It is an act of remembering the oppression we have endured, the blood that was shed, the concepts we must reclaim. It is a gesture toward rebellious bodies and the blood that adorns blooming tulips. A refusal to forget.

Consequences of Presence

At 28 years old, and already living and working in Tehran, Chupan attended an art residency in South Africa, where they would meet artists from different countries and cultures in an entirely new environment. During this trip, Chupan found inspiration in their encounter with people’s resistance against apartheid (South Africa) and returned to Iran with new ideas on how to continue their artwork.

Chupan’s series Tehran Self-portraits was launched in 2007, coinciding with the first term of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's presidency. A stupor had set in across the whole of Iranian society, leading to a decline in social activities, widespread depression among the young generations, and a surge in the rate of emigration. And yet, just as this period was defined by a stagnation that was both economic and social in nature, so too was it defined by the accelerated rate of change. For instance, Tehran's old buildings were soon demolished and even sooner replaced by ugly apartments and new construction projects. For Chupan, to witness such rapid changes rivaled only by the crippling effects of societal stasis was tantamount to seeing the destruction of all those places that housed their life's memories. The house, the school, and all of the other places associated with past lives were now awaiting their shared fate: gentrified erasure.

Tehran's Self Portrait, 2008-2010, c-print, 76x76 cm, photography

With a pinhole camera in hand, Chupan began photographing Tehran in the process of fashioning a new image for itself, taking long walks around the city. These walks lasted for two years, during which time Chupan traced a circuit from Tajrish Sq (in north Tehran) to Enghelab [Revolution] Sq (downtown) and from Enghelab to Azadi (Freedom) Sq; walking back and forth along this path and an innumerable number of times.

The memories of these walks were engraved not only in Chupan’s memory but in the photos they took along the way. The photographs were taken using the techniques of double-exposure and multi-exposure, with different places being superimposed on each other in one photo. Every day would end with a reel of twelve frames of used film.

During these walks, Chupan began noticing the absence of any representation of feminine bodies throughout the city. Not only was there no trace of women in the city’s murals and sculptures at that time, but the only female statue in Tehran was the Mother Statue in Mirdamad Square, erected in celebration of motherhood. In response, Chupan’s self-portraits capture their face as it is exposed to the camera’s strong flash, and using facial expressions and gestures would make them look like sculptures. With urban elements, people, and events in the background, these photographs record Chupan’s body-as-monument within Tehran’s landscape. Thus, the series considers the impact of urban spaces on memory and the body’s entanglement with historical events.

These images are manifestations of the artist’s agency in the fight against erasure. However, along with the heightened security and oppressive crackdown on the Green Movement came the intensification of the State’s fear regarding expressions of agency by individuals like Chupan. This fear on the part of the State eventually led to their arrest and subsequent incarceration.

Chupan’s project of walking photographs of the city continued until 2009. Due to this timing, when the Green Movement protests started, they participated in most of the rallies that year. Chupan, who was also a documentarian, recorded their observations on a daily basis, which put them on the radar of security forces.

During the Green Movement, thanks to increased access to the internet and the popularity of social media platforms, people started sending videos and photos of their peaceful demonstrations to satellite TV channels that beamed into Iran. This visibility, in turn, provoked the anger and terror of the regime and led to a violent and brutal response from the police and Basij militia forces.

The photos and videos exposed the ugly face of repression inside Iran, making it more difficult for the government to cover up oppression. Therefore, the Intelligence Ministry was trying hard to identify people who had sent videos and photos to international media. To that end, and also to arrest protesters, the regime had intensified surveillance and policing of public spaces and streets.

Security cameras installed throughout the city had recorded the face of Chupan repeatedly, and their continuous presence on the streets became an excuse and evidence for their arrest.

Chupan took the last photos for the series on 27 December 2009. Most of the photos were confiscated after Chupan’s arrest, and to this day, no one has access to them. Outraged by the regime’s brutality, people took over the streets on that day. Public rage changed the face of the peaceful protests. Many places were set on fire. One of these places was a bank on Hafez Street. Chupan took a photo of the scene, a photo that later became the subject of their interrogations.

On the same day, Chupan made their plans for holding a photo exhibition, a move they had been thinking about for months. One of their friends who worked as a curator with the then-recently launched Mohsen Gallery pitched Chupan's photo collection to the gallery. And the gallery expressed interest in hosting the exhibition.

Two weeks later, on 11 January 2010, Chupan went to the gallery to finalize details for the exhibition. During the meeting, the gallery’s manager encouraged Chupan to consult an individual familiar with the practices of the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance, which oversees censorship in Iran.

The day after, Chupan went to see the person linked to the ministry. After reviewing their photos, the person pointed out that there were no photos of the state-organized pro-establishment rallies on December 31 to display Chupan’s impartiality in recording the events.

Chupan explained that they did not attend those state-organized rallies. They then tried to explain the importance of their role as a documentarian. However, the official suggested that the exhibition should be canceled.

That evening, Chupan and their then-partner hosted two friends at their place to discuss the exhibition. The gathering lasted until midnight. As soon as the two friends left, the doorbell suddenly rang. The house was full of photo negatives.

On several occasions leading up to this fateful moment, Chupan had felt that they were being tailed by security forces. They had even seen a security agent around their house. Therefore, when Chupan answered the apartment’s buzzer and heard the tone of the person, they immediately knew what was happening and immediately started destroying and hiding the negatives. They hid some of the photos under the carpet and even in the oven and tore others. But there was little time and too many photos.

The apartment door swung open, and several men rushed in with radios and guns. Some of them took Chupan’s ex-partner to their bedroom and beat him while asking where the guns were. When Chupan complained about the violence, a fist landed on their face, which left a bruise on their eye for two weeks.

Meanwhile, one of the officers took a printed copy of the book Nonviolent Struggle from the table and radioed to their base: "Haji, the operation has been successful!" At that moment, Chupan knew that the situation was very serious.

The officers searched the house. They did not hesitate to search anywhere, from emptying the soil in the pots to checking the frozen vegetables in the freezer. They confiscated all their personal belongings: computers, hard drives, books, and money. They even removed all the telephone sockets from the wall. Meanwhile, they suddenly brought several of Chupan’s friends to their house and questioned them until the morning.

The intelligence officers, who were apparently still looking for weapons, eventually seized a decorative samurai katana sword hanging on the wall of the house, filing it as a “weapon.”

Tulip Head

After hours of searching, threats, and humiliation, Chupan and their ex-partner were arrested, blindfolded, and taken to prison. For a month, Chupan thought that the rest of their friends were also in prison, but later, they found out that only they, their partner, and one of their friends were detained.

It was near sunrise when they arrived at Evin Prison. The sound of crows could be heard. Chupan, who was arrested in their house clothes and slippers, was shivering in the cold breeze before dawn.

They took them inside the prison and started the process of transferring them to cells. This entailed dehumanizing treatment that all detainees were exposed to. They were stripped naked, and their bodies were searched. After taking their picture, they were transferred to the cells.

The regime had arrested so many people in relation to the protests that they did not even have enough prison uniforms. Chupan was transferred to a cell in the women’s section of Evin Prison, 209. Several other people were already in the cell.

While Chupan was in that cell, many people came and went, even people with criminal and murder cases. There were also people who helped the new detainees. Their presence encouraged the newcomers.

In all the time that Chupan was in that cell, they were only allowed once to go to the prison yard. The lights remained on round the clock. The cell was lit with white light all the time.

Chupan’s first interrogation took place on the first night after their arrival. Although, according to the prison law, interrogations should not be carried out past the afternoon call for prayers, almost all of their interrogations took place from night to morning.

On the first night, Chupan was taken, blindfolded, and placed in the backseat of a car between two male security officers. Having been driven around for quite some time, Chupan could no longer tell whether they had actually left the prison or whether the officers were driving them around to simply disorient them. When the car finally stopped, the officers took Chupan to a room.

From the sound of their voices, Chupan realized that there were four interrogators in the room with them. Soon, the interrogation began. The interrogators accused Chupan of being both a “pawn of the Mossad” and had received training during their time at the residency in South Africa. Moreover, Chupan’s interrogators claimed that the 2009 protests were planned by foreign states, and its “perpetrators” were people like Chupan, whose acts of treachery ultimately precipitated the “riots” later that year. From the outset, the interrogators’ singular aim was that of coercion; namely, to coerce Chupan into confessing to their false accusations. During each session, the interrogators would frequently say: “It’s a pity that our hands are tied. Otherwise, we know well how to make you talk.”

Chupan’s interrogators employed tactics whose intended effect was that of terrorizing and scaring them into obedience and cooperation. For example, on Chupan’s very first night, their interrogators told them that they were being sentenced to death and kept reiterating that their sentence would be executed before the anniversary of the 1979 Islamic Revolution (February 11). Despite all of this, Chupan refused to capitulate to these accusations and, rather, inquired into the health of their partner and friends.

The first interrogation continued until morning. When Chupan was escorted back to their cell, they started bleeding intensely; and would continue to do so for three more weeks without access to either sanitary items or menstrual pads.

Interrogations were conducted almost every night. Each interrogation session lasted for hours and each time they focused on a topic or a period in Chupan’s life. For example, on one night, the topic of Chupan’s interrogation dealt with the protest gatherings they had attended; while, on another night, Chupan was questioned about their childhood and time at elementary school. On other nights, and in order to simply exhaust Chupan, their interrogators continued asking questions until they were completely drained of all their energy.

Even in their cell, during the hours between interrogations, Chupan was without a moment's rest. For example, when Chupan had not been taken for questioning for several days, they woke up to terrible sounds of screaming, torture, and crying.

However, when Chupan knocked on the door in order to grab the prison guard’s attention, the guard told them they were simply hallucinating. Then, as soon as the guard left, the same sounds resumed. After enduring an entire night filled with the sounds of torture, Chupan, exhausted, was taken in for an interrogation session after the morning call to prayer. It was only then that Chupan realized that the sounds were actually recordings that were purposefully played over loudspeakers in order to instill fear in them prior to their interrogation on the following morning. Instilling fear and maintaining a level of exhaustion are among the most common tactics employed by interrogators and are designed solely for the purpose of absolutely wearing down prisoners.

During these interrogations, Chupan experienced verbal and physical violence from their interrogators and was exposed to different forms of harassment and torture. Sometimes, their interrogators would gently but repeatedly tap Chupan’s temple with the tip of a pen to get the answer they wanted. At others, they would angrily throw the chair against the wall or push Chupan to the ground.

Mental games were also part of the interrogator's repertoire of tactics. For instance, their interrogators would sometimes claim to have arrested and detained one of Chupan’s close friends who had left Iran, adding that their friend was, in fact, being tortured in the cell adjacent to the interrogation room. Such tactics belong to a repertoire whose single aim was to pressure detainees and elicit both cooperation and false confessions from prisoners themselves.

Chupan’s interrogators knew almost everything about their life. During several sessions, their interrogators spoke of the details of their personal life, in order to demonstrate that there was nothing they didn’t already know about Chupan. Moreover, their interrogators had no qualms and made use of every possible form of verbal abuse: from curses, insults, violently sexist language, and humiliating comments to disturbing discussions of sex and the recounting of the most private details of Chupan’s life (which they had learned from their computer, writings, and private photos). For Chupan, the worst aspects of their interrogation were the moments of the interrogators’ boundless invasion of their privacy. And all of this took place while Chupan was blindfolded, their only companions these voices hell-bent on humiliating them.

Every night, Chupan had to listen to what came to the sick minds of these men who reproached them with contempt. They also mocked and put pressure on Chupan’s then-partner for being a feminist and insultingly told him: “What kind of man are you to let your wife travel alone?”

A major point of contention for the interrogators was Chupan’s residency in South Africa, often comparing Chupan to a mouse caught in a cat’s mouth. These interrogators wanted Chupan to confess that the residency in question was part of a “Mossad-backed project to create unrest” in Iran. Chupan, however, never succumbed to the pressure from their interrogators and never confessed to these baseless accusations. The only “evidence” their interrogators offered were bills of USD currency they had uncovered during the night their home was raided. According to the interrogators, these dollars were evidence proving that Chupan was being paid for their “cooperation with Israel and the United States,” or as they put it, “hostile countries.” Mockingly, they asked Chupan: “Did Uncle Obama send you some money?”

In reality, the money in question was the result of Chupan’s sale of an artwork to the British Museum. However, due to the sanctions against Iran imposed by the United States, Chupan was forced to request the British Museum send their payment to a friend’s bank account. It was only after having received the British Museum’s payment, that Chupan would receive the payment in the form of cash via the friend in question. Chupan had kept the money at their home and planned to exchange it into (Iranian) Rials later. Meanwhile, Chupan had no idea what was happening outside the prison, especially since they were deprived of visitation rights. This void of information continued until February 11, the anniversary of the 1979 revolution, when Iran’s security forces arrested a large number of people. On that day, the prison became so crowded that detainees in each cell didn’t even have enough room to sit down.

Among those arrested that day was an acquaintance of Chupan’s and who would go on to inform them that a campaign had been launched calling for their release. Moreover, this was how Chupan came to learn that the campaign was organized by art galleries, artists, and writers; all of whom were collecting statements and signatures calling for Chupan to be released from prison.

Hearing of the artistic community’s response, Chupan’s interrogators became even more interested in their artwork and began asking questions along these lines — regarding the conceptual underpinnings of their work, about the way Chupan made money, and about the artists with whom they had collaborated. With suspicion, the interrogators obsessed over Chupan’s photo series in the Zourkhaneh, a hypermasculine traditional sports space. Thus, they asked Chupan: “How did you manage to enter this space? A completely masculine and traditional place where women’s breath and presence are considered forbidden?”

In the end, they had to bring an “expert” from the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance to interview Chupan about the concepts of the works and interpret their responses for the interrogators.

In one of the final interrogations, they informed Chupan that they were banned from taking self-portraits. The interrogator told Chupan to photograph “flowers” instead of themself. He continued by suggesting that they could photograph a red rose that has a drop of dew on it and use a green background to take the pictures.

When they returned to their cell after the interrogation, Chupan could see before their eyes the images of every flower they had been shown throughout their life: the single flower that filled the screen of state TV while Bach music played for hours until it was time for news from the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s, or flowers used instead of photos of deceased women in their obituaries for religious reasons. As images of flowers flashed before their eyes, Chupan decided to make this the subject of their next work of art. A process that, after their release from prison, helped Chupan heal the traumas of those days. But this project went even further and became a collective work with an element of solidarity.

A single flower would last only a day or two, but this garden will last an eternity.

Only the morning bird treasure the flower garden,calligraphy by Iman Raad. photo by Bahman Jalali

Only the morning bird treasures the flower garden

Chupan did not bend under pressure from interrogators and did not give up any names or confess to false accusations. Ultimately, they were released from prison with heavy bail, although they were frequently summoned to court for hearings. Meanwhile, Chupan told some colleagues and friends who had campaigned for their release about the project evolving around flowers. Many of them showed interest. And finally, Chupan’s idea turned into a collective project. Various artists participated in the project to protest the suppression of art and artists in Iran. By depicting flowers as a metaphor for censorship, the artists tried to address different dimensions of the issue. Chupan's arrest had impacted the entire visual arts community and inspired campaigns against the wave of political arrests, precisely because they could see that each of them could have been in Chupan’s place. Therefore, cooperation in this project was a symbolic act of solidarity.

While organizing this collective project, Chupan was working on their individual research to find traces of flowers in Persian literature. They started with Persian poet Saadi and with the beginning of his book of poems Golestan: “I went to the garden one night with a friend, the trees were intertwined like a canopy, the earth covered with star dust and galaxies hanging from the branches.” Chupan interviewed contemporary writers and poets such as Brahni. After literature, they turned to history to explore the various uses of flowers by oppressive systems. From Saddam and Mao to Stalin and Hitler, all of them used flowers in a strange way for their propaganda. The common denominator of all those flowers was one thing: a curtain to cover the bloody truth, a beautiful image to distract from the ugly realities.

Along with the research, Chupan started photographing flowers, including the thorny flowers that grow on the hills near Evin Prison. The photos later became a collection that reflected the suppression Chupan faced. Other artists also created art revolving around the concept of flowers. At the end of this collaboration, the works became a collection that five galleries agreed to present, including Azad Art Gallery in Tehran, which had earlier called for Chupan’s release from jail. This level of solidarity and unity was unique at the time. But before the exhibition, once again everything went wrong. Just two weeks before the opening night, the New York Times published a report on the exhibition. Publication of the report, in turn, led to the exhibition being canceled.

Flowers, 2010, print 30x30 cm, Photography

At the time, Chupan received many messages censuring them for talking with the media ahead of the exhibition and not considering the sensitivity of the issue. But Chupan had nothing to do with the report. After asking around about how the story had found its way to the New York Times, Chupan found out the source of the news. In a conversation with Aran Gallery, an American journalist had learned about the details of the exhibition, although the said gallery was not even involved with the project. Thanks to that article, a project that was the fruit of a year of work and was shaped by the collaboration and efforts of dozens of people was shelved before it could see the light of day.

Making matters worse, not only was Chupan still without access to their cameras, computer, and other belongings (as they had been seized, along with their savings, by the authorities), the cancellation of this collaborative work happened at the very moment when Chupan was struggling with pressure from the court and faced various offers that encouraged them to bribe authorities to shorten the legal process. However, the exhibition was very important for Chupan. Therefore, when the members of the group realized the danger of holding an exhibition, they decided to collect the photos of their works and texts related to them and publish them in a book.

The book was named Only the Birds of Dawn Know the Worth of the Collective of Flowers. It was then sent to the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance to secure publication permits. The ministry’s response was a long list of “edits.” Exhausted by these conditions, Chupan found continuing the work grueling. The hurdles set before their feet grew in numbers by the day and their patience and appetite for fighting back waned. Chupan felt deep mistrust toward their environment and was not in good mental and physical condition. All of this made them decide to leave their country. Chupan left Iran, but never stopped creating art, since art was their way of life and healing.

Upon leaving Iran, Chupan took the book with themself as a memento from that year. Abroad, they showed the book to some art institutions, and many of them showed interest in displaying the work as an exhibition. However, at the time, Chupan could not find a good reason to display the art in an exhibition. This situation would continue until Donald Trump’s first presidency, which saw the US’s intensification of its already severe sanctions against Iran as well as the introduction of new laws that worsened the systematic discrimination experienced by people from Muslim-majority countries in the US. During this period, Red Cat Gallery invited Chupan to host an exhibition of their recently completed, collaborative artwork. In light of all that was happening, Chupan thought displaying the names of Iranian artists on the walls of a gallery in the US could be a political statement. The collection was displayed as an “Un-Displayed Archive” [2011]. The exhibition happened during an era of severe sanctions and US laws did not allow the transfer of artwork from Iran to the US. Therefore, the exhibition was held with videos and photos of the works, and only a few small pieces were already outside Iran and were sent to the US.

Only the morning bird treasures the flower garden ,RedcatGallery, Los angles,USA, 2018

The presence of flowers continues in Chupan's artistic path and can still be seen in their works. According to them: "Flowers are present everywhere. They even decorate the podiums in front of generals to soften the atmosphere and cover violence. But flowers have gained different meanings for me over time. After the “Women, Life, Freedom” Uprising [in Iran] in 2022, I have seen flowers in a new light: Like the flowers that are placed on the graves of the victims of the state violence, a symbol of mothers and fathers demanding justice for the killing of their children by the state. A flower that still sheds blood.”

Conclusion: Sprouting is the beginning, a growing center

Chupan’s relationship with flowers became strained; in fact, they hated flowers for some time. But migration also had its effects on their views and made them see flowers from new perspectives.

Their eyes were opened to viewing flowers divorced from their symbolic meaning, tied to censorship (for instance, the white rose, which is a symbol of censorship in Japan). Within this journey, Chupan reclaimed forms of beauty that had been ruined for them. At the same time, Chupan rediscovered their own body and its blooming. This has led to deeper insights into their identity, a journey of discovery that is still ongoing in their life. Just as in their creative process, Chupan views this path of transformation as an unending cycle of rebirth and growth.

As Chupan walked Tehran taking photo after photo, they were unknowingly planting seeds of solidarity beneath its surface. They weren’t fully aware at the time that each photograph was a seed that would one day bloom: a seed like a time capsule, carrying life within it.

Chupan’s photographs are seeds of solidarity, planted so we do not forget to remember every flower that was torn apart, and the garden that still endures. Chupan’s life and work help us to remember that this continuity of blooming unsettles the very structure of oppression, an oppression that fears the inevitability of growth.

The state moved to uproot Chupan’s practice and erase the way they represented themself due to their liberatory spirit. The proposal to substitute an image of a flower in place of their portrait was, in fact, an endorsement of the state’s power to suppress and censor. As if, through that replacement, the authorities could reduce Chupan to a beautiful but perishable bloom, a lone flower, cut off from the rest and stripped from the soil of the garden.

For those in power, the garden signifies the collective, and it is precisely the power of collectivity that they fear. The state and its institutions attempt to portray the individual as fragile, to sever them from their community, and in doing so, to ensure that both the struggle and those who struggle will be short-lived. A lifespan they imagine they can control. But nothing can stand in the way of the seeds. Even if a garden is set ablaze, the soil, the light, and the water remain.

Chupan’s migration brought these seeds to other lands, on a journey that is reflected in recent works. Their agency and efforts for scattering seeds in the city planted liberatory truths in our collective memory. Like all acts of remembering, this was a quiet defiance against erasure. Chupan’s resistance carries a fertile force that constantly reminds us of the cycle of life that overcomes death: Like flowers that grow from the seeds of previous flowers, Chupan was able to reclaim flowers in their art.

Chupan’s steadfast awareness of self and environment generate a fertile force: the reminder of life’s persistence over death, flowers blooming from the seeds of those that came before. Through their art, Chupan retrieves the flower, not as an aesthetic gesture, but as a living symbol of resistance, regeneration, and the continuity of struggle.