A Heightening Conversation with Ashley Hajimirsadeghi

Photo credit: André Chung (achungphoto.com)

Ashley Hajimirsadeghi is an Iranian-American writer and artist. She is the author of the chapbooks cartography of trauma (dancing girl press) and cinephile (Ghost City Press). She is the co-Editor-in-Chief at Mud Season Review, co-Editor-in-Chief at Juven Press, and a poetry reader at EX/POST Magazine. A four-time Best of the Net and two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Ashley has received scholarships and fellowships from Brooklyn Poets, the US State Department, COUNTERCLOCK, the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa, and the University of Arizona, among others. Ashley currently is a writer for Movieweb and works with New Perspectives Theatre Company in New York City. I had the pleasure of asking Ashley what are some of the benefits of being both a writer and an artist,  along with what are some of the differences between being an artist and a writer, and the need for more literature and arts being spotlighted by the Iranian authors and artists in literary and art world.

UZOMAH: How do you transform the many forms of trauma into a creative expression that helps others understand trauma and help those who also deal with trauma?

ASHLEY: When I first started writing and making art, I considered it a selfish act. I was quite centered on my trauma and was stuck in my head, so when you look at my early work, specifically my poetry, you’re going to spot entire poems where I’ve used first-person “I” and have fictionalized some events or occurrences that happened in my own life. I never took a step back when I was younger to consider the roots of all of this, which is why I think it’s selfish.

I knew I loved poets like Sylvia Plath because they were unapologetic about who they are and how they felt, and it was because of this love I shielded myself from the misogynistic take that has fallen on these female writers and artists (Plath often is reduced to a Tumblr girl of the 1950s/1960s, a certain type of mocking reserved for women dubbed “emotional,” which is sexist).

It wasn’t until college I started delving deeper into mediums and contexts previously inaccessible in my education that I linked the ripple effect to all areas of life. Trauma comes from many different places, and I dug deeper in literature and cinema unfamiliar to me. I realized that there was so much left unknown about my own and the world’s trauma, so creative outlets helped bridge the gap in my understanding and built empathy. I also think it’s also important to distinguish the boundaries of trauma appropriation; I prefer to consume narratives that I cannot identify with as a form of self-education and respect. 

I’ve had quite a few people message me telling me about how my work made them feel seen, that they chose a path of poetry, writing, and art because they were inspired by me. Just the other week I was visiting my relatives in San Diego, and my cousin, an immigrant from Iran, was telling my mother that reading my work was the first time he had seen what he felt as an Iranian, new to this country, put into words. 

U: What are some of the benefits of being an artist and a writer?

A: You really do see the world differently if you’re an artist and a writer. My writing education began in high school when I attended a free public school in my county for the arts. I was majoring in literary arts there with fourteen other young writers, and in the first week of classes, we were told to make the ordinary beautiful in our writing. I never forgot that, and it kind of became my artistic philosophy. Whenever I was sad, I would tell myself that there is such beauty in sadness, and while I could not find the words to express myself now, I one day would get over this and articulate what I was feeling through something.

You also become a really good storyteller after a certain point. For me, everything I write and do I interrogate about what its overarching story or purpose is. It’s perfectly okay to make something and not have to think about what it means in the grand scheme of things, but I find my practice deeply rooted in history and study that I have to take a step back and think about it. Everything in life has a story—and you might not realize it immediately when you make something, but art is an expression coming from somewhere.

This might just be unique to me, but being a creative person also made me so much more open-minded about trying new things. When I finally embraced the fact I can’t ignore the fact that this is my life’s calling, it opened up so many new doors for me that I had subconsciously ignored. I think you are your biggest enemy when it comes to creativity. If you limit yourself to one thing, you may never unlock your full potential.

U: What are some differences between an artist and a writer?

A: I find making art to be a much more tedious process than writing. Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent so much time and energy in the writing world, editing and writing come so much smoother to me. Ironically, I did not have access to an arts education until college. I went to an arts high school, but because my major was writing, I pretty much was denied the opportunity to try theatre or any kind of fine art class. Then in college, I took courses on fashion, history, and theory, which opened my eyes to the creativity out in the world. That’s what finally pressured me into permitting myself to stop limiting my work.

Both art and writing are highly subjective, but I think in my work writing is a medium that opens up a specific pathway easier. I like to think I have a blunt style of writing, and because of that, it’s much easier to interpret. A multimedia piece, photograph, or digital work of art tends to be less structured and more ambiguous with how the viewer can interpret. But, then again, this is all semiotics studies, so I guess I can say to take the word “interpretation” and use it loosely too. 

U: How have art and poetry helped you communicate societal problems and situations to other people?

A: Art and poetry help humanize people we never knew about. You can say you don’t like “XYZ people,” which must be pretty easy if you’ve never confronted an image of their suffering or a narrative piece about how they’ve been treated. In real life, I have a really small voice and I prefer not to engage directly. I prefer solitude, too, so writing and art made a platform that never really existed for me before. I also realized art and writing can be combined: cinematic poems, choreopoems, theatrical pieces incorporating art. A goal of mine is to make something truly experimental because I believe life can’t truly be depicted through a singular medium in the way I see it.

U: Can you describe your writing routine?

A: If this helps, I am an INTJ, Enneagram 8, and chaotic neutral. Very big on systems, logic, and repeated patterns over here. I often find myself starting the writing process after getting obsessed with a certain word or phrase. The other day the word I became obsessive over was “snare.” I write exclusively on my computer, so I turn it on airplane mode, make my room silent, and start writing. I’ve gotten to a point where I edit as I write, so I tend not to need heavy edits after the first draft. Some pieces I know right away if they have publication potential, but others I sit on for a month or two before returning to it.

I don’t think I’m capable of sitting down and saying, “Alright, I’m going to write about birthday cakes today!” I have to be inspired to write, but discipline also plays a key role here. I write every day for about three to four hours, whether it’s for work or creative writing. Even when I don’t feel like it, I force myself because I know I’ll fall into a rut otherwise. Watching movies also plays into my process—they make me feel so inspired.

U: What question would you like one of your favorite artists or poets, living or dead, to answer and why?

A: My favorite artists and writers are all women, but if I had to pick just one, I’d say the photographer Francesca Woodman. I’d only ask: “Why?” It’s an open-ended question, not intended towards her tragic ending, but I guess as a creative almost at the same age as her, I feel a particular sense of empathy. I love to learn about creative origins and processes, so hers is a mystery for me. Why did she make art? Why did she make the decisions she did? We lost her too soon.

U: Iran has a rich literary history of authors, poets, and artists. How can arts and literature create more understanding about the Iranian people that often get left out in mainstream media?

A: When I think about Iranian representation in its current form, I think of Shirin Neshat and Asghar Farhadi. Neshat was one of the only Iranian women artists that actually gained widespread acclaim in the West. Neshat is actually from my family’s town; I remember I told my father there was a famous woman artist from Qazvin, and he was shocked when he found out it was her—Neshat’s father was my grandmother’s doctor, and he knew her brothers. But when she went back to Iran after the revolution, she was compelled to make for the art for the first time in so long, thus she made the Women of Allah series. She ultimately was exiled from Iran because of her art, but I think her series revealed something very important: women wanted the power to choose. Western media often depicts Iranian women as oppressed, but, in actuality, Iranian women were prominent in the revolution. When traditional attire like the chador and hijab was banned by the Shah, women were upset because they didn’t have a choice, so they marched for the chance to choose their destiny, but, unfortunately, they found themselves in a situation even worse.

Asghar Farhadi has two Oscars for his movies (A Separation and The Salesman). His films are praised for genuinely depicting Iranian society and life, which is now a tradition in contemporary Iranian cinema—Abbas Kiarostami was known for doing this. Iranian cinema has continued the tradition of poetry, although in a visual form, and bringing it to the global stage creates a unique visual experience for those unfamiliar with Iranian culture. Amazon picked up The Salesman and his newest film A Hero, which is a good sign for global distribution.

At the end of the day, we need more Iranian voices in mainstream media and culture. I have faith in the younger generation, the rebels who say they won’t be a doctor or engineer and make art, instead to show us the way forward.

For more information about Ashley’s writing, please visit her site. Please follow her on Instagram and Twitter.