Mitra paints the dreams, she is an artist of dreams, those dreams passing through the mind in the full noon, when the weight of the light is so heavy for the eyes.
Mitra’s mastery with the brush allows her to translate at the best the sparks of life playing with our fantasy ….into lines, colors, volumes in one dimension only but vivid, rich in words dialoguing directly with our waiting heart. No one of Mitra’s painting is selfstanding, no one of Mitra’s work tells us a scene, they are all parts of a life and, as in life, they search for each other also if limited in the sealed space of a frame, a frame they evidently try to expand from.
Mitra is born and grown in the Magic Esfahan and it’s evident: since ever a cosmopolitan town where the softness of silk has been woven into carpets and style of life. Mitra is child of this sweet strength made of uninterrupted changes, by the same stream of the River of the Life’s waters, by the ZayandehRoud crossing the town, its antique gardens, its illusive perpections: maybe Mitra has learned in Cehel Sotoun, the Garden where 20 columns know how to become 40, its exquisite escape of lines, of magic views, of words interrupted because not required.
Each of Mitra’s work is, in reality, an extraordinary theater scenario where with extreme mastery each scene knows how to be alive by itself also if all connected each other.
No way, you must be an Iranian to be so deeply proud of your History and weave it with present, you must be from Esfahan for bearing in the eyes and in the hands such a superiority transmitting to you this extraordinary technique product of an unrepeatable mélange of cultures, the same cultures carried during the centuries by the caravans, by their lords of the spices, of the silks, of the dies.
Yes, Mitra is an artist of dreams, the same making our life to be lived in full because, we know, who does not dream….does not live.