Persona

Persona for me was never just a photography project; it was a journey into the hidden layers of the lives of women whom society has chosen to ignore. My curiosity to begin this series started in 2019 and continued for three years—wandering the streets, encountering faces that held my gaze, and silences that spoke volumes. Gradually, this series turned into an effort to see the women my society deliberately erased: transgender women. In Iran, being a woman outside official, controlled frameworks is either not accepted or met with violence. Trans women in this environment cannot receive legal protection; they are not only unseen but are expected to hide themselves—like shadows moving beneath the city's skin, deprived of the right to a fair social life. They are often driven out of their homes and usually seek refuge in paths such as migration or sex work. Since prostitution is also forbidden in Iran, they end up facing dangerous circumstances and live in fear of social exposure. Yet something inside them remains undimmed: the desire to be seen, the desire for beauty, for womanhood, for life. My camera in this process became more than a tool—it became a listener, a companion, and a means of dialogue. Every photograph I took was the result of a trust slowly built between us; a mutual seeing, without judgment. Gradually, I moved beyond the limited street spaces into their homes, private spaces, and even their secret parties, quickly becoming captivated by their astonishing beauty. Along the way, I met drag queens—artists who boldly create and perform themselves, turning womanhood into something creative, alive, and free. But drag art in Iran is not only illegal, it is fundamentally taboo. They perform in their homes, under lights they made with their own hands. Their performances—even if only for a mobile phone camera—are acts of courage and resistance; feminine, artistic, and silent resistance. They have absolutely no right to fame in this realm, and their art remains anonymous; after drag, they become unknown to the world. In the end, Persona is my attempt to narrate what has always been suppressed: non-biological femininity that, despite all restrictions, denials, and pressures, strives to endure. Persona is not about masks but about the layers a person must negotiate to live, survive, and be seen in the world. It is impossible to officially exhibit this series in Iran, yet one cannot deny this bravery, this beauty, and the undeniable right to visibility.