Source

Pablo Palazuelo, Untitled, 1986 [Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Madrid]

In 1998, I found myself in Aparan, a large town an hour’s drive from Armenia’s capital, Yerevan. A local dance troupe was performing that evening, in the open air, with most of the suburb in attendance. The old, the young, everyone was present, sitting hunched on stools or cross-legged on the floor, transfixed. In the background, small mountains and jagged cliffs framed the scene.

As soon as I took my first shot, an old man approached me. Tears streamed down his face. He told me that his son had died. That he had been electrocuted, that he was his pride and joy, and that I looked just like him. He broke into sobs and moved towards me with outstretched arms. His name was Ishran.

I asked if he would dance for me, and he began dancing. The troupe paused and perched on an outcrop of rocks in the background. It was beautiful, not because the man is beautiful, but because he represents something deep inside the collective consciousness of the Armenian community: a celebratory resilience in the face of overwhelming loss.

Antoine Agoudjian, “An Armenian man dances for his lost son”

rop van mierlo, illustrations for wild animals, 2010

Alison Friend

Never Want to Hurt Again

Over one hundred years ago, everyone, even the children were killed. Many were scalped, and the scalps were more or less traded for money. I say this not to make a spectacle. Or to pretend that I understand the kind of pain felt. This is to acknowledge a difficult truth, because it is so much worse than my words could ever describe. And then, over a hundred years later, I was born on that land. So I never want to hurt again

Over one hundred years ago, but now also; children, young adults, adults, and elders are being hurt again. In a cycle, that the most violent, most foolish want fixed in place. A Wheel Within a Wheel that they worship as themselves and the evil they do unto others. So I never want to hurt again.

If it could be true, I would wish pleasure and love for you. A simple life, free of distraction, from the terrible world we must participate in. I still wish this for you, although, we both know it cannot be. I hope that if you hurt again, you learn and get better. This goes for me in turn. What flows from our grief; alienation, desperation, deprivation, whatever it is. I hope we feel the sweet relief that we may never hurt again.

Eleni R

Sadamasa Motonaga (1922-2011) [Japan] ~ ‘Untitled’, 1968. Watercolour on postcard (14.5 × 9.5 cm).

Palestinian ButchFemme wedding, 2022, @/leilanations

Tô Ngọc Vân, Les Brodeuses, 1932