Homa Mansoori

Worn miracle In the struggle of pain, they are born long and cross the upper path and reach the ups and downs of the path. Mature and in Occasionally they fall to the ground at short distances, are crushed, but do not stop and leave. Are formed. Take shape. Full be. They rise and fall in beautiful ruined waters. They waited for the eyes of the seeker to reach the point of emergence. Sometimes on the water They come and sometimes take refuge in the darkest water levels like fish. Appear and disappear. Clear and ambiguous. Because the vortex goes up and down- To be. They spin and twist in layers and sink and rise and stand suddenly. And they stare into the eyes of the beholder, waiting for the ancient miracles from behind the worn-out suffering. To an uncertain point. Where no where is it. To nowhere. I am an artist and I was born that way, I have nothing to go back but the path I am now taking and I do not know, my feeling is that I am a body to create and perform what comes to me and chooses me.