Darvish is a UK-based American Iranian artist who incorporates performance and painting to challenge preconceptions about multiculturalism and cross-pollinate aspects of his Iranian heritage with his Western upbringing. With his persona as an “Urban Sufi,” he creates gentle civic disruptions, both planned and spontaneous, inspired by the practice and image of the whirling Dervish. Throughout all his work, he fuses Western techniques with Eastern philosophies, such as incorporating Persian poetry into oil paintings or converting a skateboard into a flying carpet.

I studied painting in Boston, then continued my studies in London. My mother is originally from Brighton, so after I finished my studies I came to live here. It suits my temperament. It has a very strong creative energy with changeable weather patterns; ideas and objects are always flying around here.

Tell us a bit about your creative process.  

It’s very physical. What I mean by that is it includes a lot of movement work which I use to access my paintings. I will start the morning very productively by putting a lot of marks and colors on the canvas, but in a rough way, a kind of approximation of what I want. After a few hours, I put the brushes down and put my music on. I move my body to the music in waves, shakes and stutters. By doing this I get a clear idea of where I am locking up, then I stop and attend to those areas. I have a lot of inventions at the studio to release fascia and target inflammation in my body that are the result of either injury or repetition. This kind of work takes time though and needs to be sipped like tea. Toward the end of the day, I turn my easel back around and see the painting with fresh eyes. Because of all the flow work I’ve done beforehand, I am able to finish the work efficiently with a kind of directness and honesty that I seek in all that I do. 

You refer to your paintings as Sufi Vandalism, marking them with text and abrasions. Is this act of “vandalism” of your own work a way of destroying or creating something new?  

It’s both. Destruction has always been a part of creation.

The three Hindu gods of creation include Shiva, God of destruction. Even painting on a pure white canvas could be seen as a form of destruction. My studio caught fire some ten years ago and my work was partially destroyed (yet somehow improved). Since then, destruction has been a big part of my practice.  There is a certain flower in California that only blooms after the complete devastation of a forest fire (Bakers Globe Mallow). Death and destruction is an aspect of life that gets glossed over a lot in the West. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with gold to make it look more beautiful. It’s exciting to take something precious and roll the dice on it; I enjoy the adrenaline. It’s like throwing myself high into the air just to see how I may land.

Tell us more about your photographic / movement art collaboration with photographer Hugh Fox.

We started working together about five years ago. There is a certain quality of suspension, or lightness, that we look for in our work together.  It's not premeditated. We get together and look around and the world becomes our playground, the town our canvas. I’m pretty sure I became an artist so I could get away with things I could not if I were a kid. 

What do you hope people take away from these “gentle civic disruptions”?  

It’s about making the road of expression wider for everyone. I am offering different modes of behavior, movements and pace. It’s not about dancing, it’s more about finding the essence of the moment. I try to ride inside the music rather than on top of it. I like to incorporate the things around me, to integrate it all. That’s the hope: to be creative with everything and everyone around us as a statement of joy and tolerance.  It feels like surfing because I have to be aware of the waves around me. I don’t want  others to feel threatened or angry, but at the same time I want to expand the parameters of social norms. I’ve discovered that by moving very slowly, I am not only mindful and unthreatening, but I can conserve my energy and move for hours. Some people just think I’m on drugs and that I’m oblivious to my surroundings, but it’s very much the opposite. It's less about dancing in the room and more about dancing with the room. I’m trying to match the frequencies of my surroundings like a surfer paddling to match the speed of an oncoming wave.  

Do your painting and movement art practices inform one another in any way?   

Definitely. Through painting I discover nature's rhythms which then enters my movement practice. Through movement I find joy and play, which then enters my painting.   

What are your inspirations or influences? 

• Although I am not a formally trained Sufi, I find a lot of inspiration in Sufism. Their main precept is love and tolerance, and they use movement practice to connect to the divine.  My parents must have know my path when they named me Darvish (the Persian translation for Dervish (i.e. Whirling Dervishes).  

• I get a lot of inspiration from extreme sports. There is a presence required in doing things that are dangerous. If I zone out while I am riding a wave or skiing down a rock face then the consequences could be deadly. It teaches me to be present in a similar way that my meditation practice does.

• My influences used to come from classical painters like Velasquez and Manet. They showed me how to paint form and use it as a language of expression. Lately though I’ve been studying the flight patterns of starlings. In my town they fly over the sea in large groups that morph into waves and shapes that are mesmerizing and teach me a lot.  

What does well-being mean to you, and what do you practice? 

Well-being means putting on my roller skates, playing my music and floating through a crowd of people on smooth concrete. I practice this every day by the sea.

What’s next for you? 

I’m excited about my new charcoal drawings depicting the deserts of Iran. The forms are made up of Farsi calligraphy from Sufi poems that weave in and out of the rock formations. Persian poetry comes from an oral tradition and when you are there you can hear it in the wind, see it in the land and feel it in the people.I’m drawn by deserts and vice versa.

LINKS

Website: https://www.darvish.com/ 

Instagram: @darvish.studio

Cover photo by the talented Mr. Hugh Fox