Hypoxia
Azim Morakabatchi, painter, designer and illustrator, was born in 1977 in Ardabil. He started his career in 2013. He has had 5 solo exhibitions and participated in more than 30 group exhibitions. His international activities include participating in Profili D, Artista Satura Art Gallery exhibition, 100 Iranian artists in Genoa, Italy, and illustrating Fereydoun's sad poetry book, published by Naakojaa Publishing in France. His collection titled "Hypoxia" was exhibited in Mojdeh Art Gallery.
The cornerstone for the formation of these pieces is the fragile border of dream and reality, of madness and reason.
A tangibly unclear border which exists in between, can be placed in any template, and embodied in different forms. This seemingly reachable atmosphere propelled me to avoid imagining dream and approach, and in line with a greater understanding of this realm.
The Hypoxia I had in mind from the beginning rose from a mass mania. A madness which grew outwards and became the origin of foulness and hatred.
Azim Morakabatchi/ May 2022
Lost
Years ago an oracle, from beyond the cliffs of mount Yamut, set foot on a rocky plain. The dogs howled and the sheep miscarried and a year’s storage of wheat and barley vanished in the granary. The people sought resolve and brought their problem before the oracle. Each man fastened four saddlebags to one side and to the other rings from which camel bells hung and set upon the oracle. As the oracle saw the men, without uttering a word, he took from each their four saddlebags and rang the camel bells and poured a bucket of spring water on each man and said unto them that they should go to mount Yamut on all fours as dogs do and shall not look back for a day, for if they do so, a greater calamity than which they endured shall await them, and as they approach the mountain they shall see an enormous bell which they shall ring with toil. The men did so and leaped on rock, thorn and dust like newborn pups till dusk and each of them searched a corner following the man’s command till it was dawn again. Yet they found nothing and went straight back to the plain helpless, whimpering, with bent backs and bruised bodies, to bring complaint to the oracle. Perversely, the oracle was opening the saddlebags by the spring one by one and pouring their contents which were four maunds of wheat and two maunds of barley each unto a pan and put the pan into the spring whilst whispering. And he did so twenty four times before the men arrived.
