In a surprising turn of events that grabbed headlines in the last week of May, the Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art (TMoCA) in Iran found itself at the center of extensive discussions on various social media platforms. The catalyst for this sudden influx of attention was the transformation of a lawn, adjoining the exteriors of the gallery, into a vegetable garden. This unconventional fusion of art and agriculture, in a space usually reserved for manicured lawns or outdoor sculptures, sparked an outcry that eventually led the museum to remove the garden. Some critics saw this development as a continuation of what they perceived as poor museum management that has persisted over the past four decades, manifesting itself recently in insect infested works And damage to existing permanent art installations.
TMoCA, a prestigious institution founded by Farah Pahlavi, the former Queen of Iran, is renowned for housing the most valuable collection of Western modern art outside of the United States and Europe. The collection includes masterpieces by prominent artists such as Pablo Picasso, Francis Bacon, Jackson Pollock, Paul Gaugin, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and Andy Warhol, as well as works by prominent Iranian artists. The inauguration of the museum in 1977 took place just 15 months before the Islamic Revolution of 1979, which led to the exile of the royal family and the establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
Located on Kargar Avenue (originally Amir Abad), TMoCA shares its block with the upscale Laleh Hotel (formerly the InterContinental), the Carpet Museum, and the spacious Farah Park (now known as the name of Park-e Laleh or Tulip Park). The building’s nine exhibition spaces, characterized by quarter-barrel skylights reminiscent of Iran’s traditional adobe structures, are extended to the green perimeters of the structure. These outdoor spaces are adorned with works of renowned sculpture by artists including Alberto Giacometti, René Magritte, Henry MooreAnd Arnaldo Pomodoro.
Despite efforts to maintain the museum’s stature over the decades, it suffered from intermittent shortcomings in effective management under the direction of conservative directors. These periods were characterized by many shortcomings that remained intact even during the extensive pandemic-induced renovations of the museum. These developments have drawn criticism from professionals in the field, including the museum’s exiled architect, Kamran Diba. The most recent manifestation of administrative shortcomings is illustrated by a controversial decision taken by the administration concerning the management of the museum’s green space.
Hamid Severi, a prominent art historian who served as head of the TMoCA Research Center in the early 2000s – a flourishing period under Alireza Samiazar and crucial to the president’s reform movement Mohammad Khatami era – is one of the voices criticizing the horticultural transformation. outdoor areas of the museum.
“I don’t view art as a sacred entity, nor do I view the museum as a temple…I find great joy in growing vegetables, I derive immense pleasure from them, and I have a profound respect for those engaged in this endeavor,” he told me. . “However, consider looking at a tragic piece of art in the museum, and out the window large orange pumpkins and bright red tomatoes catch your eye! Isn’t that an affront to the work of art? This, among other events, fostered a sense of diminished trust in the museum on his part.
Others have linked the growth of vegetables on the museum grounds to broader Islamic Republic ideologies relating to culture and the arts, particularly in light of the extremists who took over the management and staff of the museum. museum since the start of Ebrahim Raisi’s presidency in 2021. After last year Woman, Life, Freedom uprising – a movement sparked by the death of 22-year-old Mahsa (Zhina) Amin, in the custody of the vice squad due to his little-worn scarf – there was a noticeable increase in tension between visitors to the museum and the security personnel. On May 29, photos of unveiled women enjoying Picasso’s “Open Window on the Rue de Penthièvre” (1920) sparked a wave of passionate responses on social networks.
These incidents reveal the tense link between cultural activities and individual freedoms, especially in the face of the recent difficult political climate. Shahin Seyghali’s remarkable 2017 sculpture ‘Ma’ (which translates to ‘we’ or ‘we the people’ in English) drew a wave of criticism following its unexplained deletion from the museum grounds in July 2020. Since the women-led protests last fall, the statue has become a canvas for inscribing anti-establishment slogans. But in early May, without Seyghali’s approval, unknown individuals – potentially linked to the government – painted the sculpture, originally designed to retain its natural concrete color, with a shade of orange, concealing the hand-painted slogan. “Death to the Dictator” bomb. This change further highlights the dynamic and often contentious interplay between art, the public spaces adjacent to the museum, and the politics inherent in institutional management.
With some sarcasm, concept artist Homayoun Sirizi told me that turning the lot into a vegetable garden might be the museum’s most notable achievement in the recent past. Others have speculated that the small farm could potentially be an artistic intervention. Following the Woman, Life, Freedom uprising, the boundary between art and reality gradually blurred. This was exemplified when graphic designer Majid Kashani designed a montage of traditional vegetable market banners at the museum entrance, mockingly converting the space. This artistic commentary was executed so convincingly that some social media observers believed it to be real.
Jinoos Taghizadeh, an artist who has intimately observed the museum’s fluctuating fortunes since the Islamic Revolution, told me in an interview that “the farmhouse is a succinct metaphor for the mismanagement of the museum for most of its operational history.” The museum often seems to be on its own, “lacking a lead curator or dedicated audience engagement team,” Taghizadeh continued. She concluded that “without the intermittent but impactful interventions of a discerning group of scholars and artists, the museum’s exhibition programs would have been deprived of some notable highlights, such as the 2004 showcase of eminent British sculptors or the retrospective 2015 by the distinguished Iranian artist, Farideh Lashai.
These remarkable curatorial examples seem ephemeral, a sentiment that resonates with a considerable number of Iranian artists; when in fact it found a visual echo in 2002 when the sculptor and performance artist, Amir Mobed, installed 12,000 plaster mushrooms in the museum’s sculpture garden. This unexpected installation, nestled in the heart of bustling Tehran, has sparked public curiosity and speculation. Although attracting many onlookers, only a few recognized that the sudden mushroom bloom was not a natural occurrence, but rather an art installation. While captivating, “the installation sought to emphasize both the transient nature of effective management within the museum and its glaring absence,” Mobed told me. This sentiment is reflected in the recent emergence of the kitchen garden, which, according to Mobed, “does so with an ironic, even unfortunate tangible authenticity”.
Is it detrimental to cultivate a farm adjacent to a museum? While the museum’s concrete foundation could effectively prevent the minimal water used for lawn irrigation from seeping into interior spaces, growing vegetables with deeper roots, which require more water, could present a risk to the foundation of the building. Whether we view it in a positive light or not—as a source of food production or as a manifestation of the creative vision of the museum gardener—over time, the foundation can suffer damage.
Earlier in May, a more effective and imaginative exploration of the connection between food and the museum was brought to light by an artist. Reza Monjezi placed a table outside the museum and engaged in the humble act of selling bread. Steeped in simplicity, the exhibition offered a poignant commentary on the intersection of everyday life and art.
Deeply disturbed by soaring food prices in today’s Iran, the result of international sanctions and the devaluation of the Iranian currency, Monjezi meticulously designed dozens of pieces of pita bread, inscribing them with inscriptions calligraphics indicating ‘oil’, ‘halal’, ‘haram’, ‘rental’ and ‘free’. All the terms were linked to idioms or expressions referring to bread as a metaphor for broader societal concerns. Monjezi was fascinated by the range of reactions he observed.Similar to an ethnographer, he studied people’s emotional reactions and feelings amid Iran’s current economic and political turmoil.
Unfortunately, the vegetable garden itself only underscored shortcomings in museum management and contributed little to the interpretive richness. Museum authorities quickly took down the garden once it flooded social media platforms. However, with the kitchen garden now gone, a crucial question remains: will the museum persist in its substandard management model by employing less conscientious staff, or reformulate its administrative policies?
Even if the kitchen garden could be interpreted as the museum gardener’s attempt to produce at a lower cost food in today’s harsh economic climate, it was an ill-advised choice. By leveraging greater expertise in Iran, it is hoped that the museum will circumvent controversies surrounding its management strategies and ill-considered actions and interventions. We can only look forward to better days.
