NAHÂN
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NAHÂN — The Bloody Chamber, by Naser Nahân

NAHÂN

The Bloody Chamber

2025—Present

The body as language,
the surface as wound,
the image as space.

What cannot be spoken
remains visible.

I

The Bloody Chamber

The Bloody Chamber — I
The Bloody Chamber — II
KIERU photograph
The Bloody Chamber — IV
KIERU photograph
The Bloody Chamber — XII
KIERU photograph
The Bloody Chamber — VII
KIERU photograph

In the year my name slipped from my head
and went into hiding,
I sat down in every wound to search—
in solitude. در سالی که نامم از سرم افتاد و پنهان شد
در هر زخم به جست‌وجو نشستم—
در انزوا.

KIERU photograph

Wounds remain in memory untouched;
the skin however
conceals them. زخم‌ها در خاطر دست‌نخورده می‌مانند؛
پوست اما
آن‌ها را پنهان می‌کند.

KIERU photograph

The body has never been my language—
yet it bears witness
to yesterday's presence. تن هرگز زبان من نبوده است—
اما به حضورِ دیروز
گواهی می‌دهد.

The Bloody Chamber — XIII
The Bloody Chamber — XIV
The Bloody Chamber — XV
The Bloody Chamber — X
KIERU photograph
KIERU photograph

Each photograph
is like a breath I have held—
not for comfort,
but for refusal. هر عکس گویی نفسی است
که حبس کرده‌ام؛
نه برای تسلّا—
برای امتناع.

Whatever I bury
in the heart of images
rises again from their dust.
The body is not a good liar. هر چه در دلِ عکس‌ها دفن می‌کنم
از خاکشان سر برمی‌آورد.
تن دروغگوی خوبی نیست.

The Bloody Chamber — XVIII

What appears here before your eyes
is the place where the walls collapsed
and the body, for the first time, defenseless—
outside of clothing and names—
told the truth. آنچه اینجا هویداست
جایی است که دیوارها فرو ریختند
و تن برای نخستین بار بی‌پناه—
بیرون از لباس و نام
راست گفت.

In the year my name slipped from my head and went into hiding, I sat down in every wound to search— in solitude. Wounds remain in memory untouched; the skin however conceals them. The body has never been my language— yet it bears witness to yesterday's presence. Each photograph is like a breath I have held— not for comfort, but for refusal. Whatever I bury in the heart of images rises again from their dust. The body is not a good liar. What appears here before your eyes is the place where the walls collapsed and the body, for the first time, defenseless— outside of clothing and names— told the truth.
در سالی که نامم از سرم افتاد و پنهان شد در هر زخم به جست‌وجو نشستم— در انزوا. زخم‌ها در خاطر دست‌نخورده می‌مانند؛ پوست اما آن‌ها را پنهان می‌کند. تن هرگز زبان من نبوده است— اما به حضورِ دیروز گواهی می‌دهد. هر عکس گویی نفسی است که حبس کرده‌ام؛ نه برای تسلّا— برای امتناع. هر چه در دلِ عکس‌ها دفن می‌کنم از خاکشان سر برمی‌آورد. تن دروغگوی خوبی نیست. آنچه اینجا هویداست جایی است که دیوارها فرو ریختند و تن برای نخستین بار بی‌پناه— بیرون از لباس و نام راست گفت.

II

Tender Violence

Tender Violence — I
Tender Violence — II
Tender Violence — III
Tender Violence — IV
Tender Violence — V
Tender Violence — VI
Tender Violence — VII
Tender Violence — VIII
Tender Violence — IX
Tender Violence — X
Tender Violence — XI
Tender Violence — XII
Tender Violence — XIII
Tender Violence — XIV
Tender Violence — XV
Tender Violence — XVI

III

Witness

Witness — I
Witness — II
Witness — III
Witness — IV
Witness — V

The wind
can be understood
from the trembling of curtains,
the unrest of hair باد را
می‌شود فهمید
از لرزشِ پرده،
آشوبِ موها

Witness — VI
Witness — VII
Witness — VIII

I wish
it could carry everything away,
even these words
that, like a pendulum,
keep striking
inside my head
without pause. ای کاش
همه‌چیز را با خود می‌برد،
حتی این کلمه‌ها را
که مثل آونگ
در سرم
بی‌وقفه
می‌کوبند.

Witness — IX
Witness — X
Witness — XI
Witness — XII
Witness — XIII
Witness — XIV
Witness — XV
Witness — XVI

I witnessed my sister's blood.
One of her eyes went blind,
and I continued seeing for her.

Since then, the female body has become my language —
not as an object, but as a metaphor.

In my work, I sometimes burn, cut, tear,
and manipulate Polaroid photographs.
For me, the photographic surface is like skin —
a wound that carries memory.

I am an Iranian photographer
who was forced to leave his country.
Living far from home, I have experienced
the feeling of being uprooted.

The women of Iran are part of my visual memory.
Their presence, suffering, and resistance
have shaped the way I see the body and the image.

نهان · Nahan

Brussels, Belgium

Polaroid SX-70 · 600 · I-Type
2025 — Present

CONTACT

Brussels, Belgium · @nahan.room

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I The Bloody Chamber
II Tender Violence
III Witness
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