ROHAN GOLESTANI: WEAVING NARRATIVES
Initially coming across Rohan Golestani’s digital archive of collective expressions through daily narratives, we were captivated by the ways in which he constructs a reality that belongs at once everywhere and nowhere. Capturing images mostly on his iPhone, his visual practice is rooted in the patience required for hours of archival research, a discipline that has shaped his training and work as an architect.
With a foundation built upon this archival practice, Golestani dissects his cultural becoming, weaving together the loose threads of family history with the curatorial eye of someone who deeply understands the fundamental secrets behind cultural gridlines —a practice he observed within his Bahá'í family and the extended narrative of their lived history in the Iranian diaspora in Australia. What makes his work unique is that he does it all with a gentle romantic outlook that is full of color and compassion.
This practice of documenting, researching, and archiving culminates in the design and creation of unique carpets that bear the iconography of Golestani's worlds, both real and imagined. His carpet designs reimagine the weaving and hand-dyeing techniques of traditional Persian rug-making, adapting them to produce contemporary motifs and scenes. These range from the detritus of meals at Parisian tables to Moka pots and G-Wagons, blending tradition with modernity in a poetic style seldom done before.
Rohan Golestani is an architect and carpet designer currently based in Paris.
What does storytelling mean to your work?
I have two branches of informal practice that are distinct yet converge on the concept of storytelling. On one hand, my focus on carpet design follows the tradition of contemporary carpet artisans from Afghanistan and Iran, who, as both artisans and folk artists, documented the world around them through their creations. The Afghan War rugs from the 1970s onward taught me how powerfully contemporary imagery and motifs can captivate when rendered in a traditional medium. On the other hand, my work in spontaneous street photography takes the form of a social interaction.
In my photography, recurring themes emerge, turning the work into a kind of social and psychological document that reflects my vision—what I notice, how I respond to people, and how I engage with my environment. In a way, my inability to maintain a daily journal or engage in consistent writing is replaced by an incessant desire to document the individuals I encounter every day. Over time, patterns begin to surface, revealing what captivates me about these people and how my perspective shapes the narrative.
What’s the role of beauty in our private lives?
It is undeniable that humans—and living creatures in general—are drawn to beauty, whether it’s the symmetry of a paradise garden or the vibrant feathers of a potential mate. When I think of beauty in our private lives, the first thing that comes to mind is the domestic sphere: the home.
In many cultures, the home is a sanctuary—a private oasis of peace where we are born, grow, and often spend our final moments. Beauty in the home is expressed through lighting, form, texture, scent—anything that engages the senses and shapes how we experience the world.
The Baha’i teachings remind us: “...we cannot segregate the human heart from the environment outside us and say that once one of these is reformed everything will be improved. Man is organic with the world. His inner life moulds the environment and is itself deeply affected by it.” This connection applies just as deeply to the homes where we lay our heads each night and greet each morning.
What’s the usefulness of nostalgia?
Nostalgia is powerful because it simplifies the past, making it feel warm, idealized, and comforting. It denies nuance and detail, which is exactly why it’s so effective—it gives us a version of the past that feels more meaningful than messy reality.
Not to get political, but look at America: nostalgia helped Donald Trump win a second election, tapping into an idealized version of the past that resonated with millions, whether it was real or not. On a personal level, nostalgia takes us back to moments and spaces that felt safe or beautiful—the light of your childhood bedroom in the morning, the sound of your father’s car coming back from work, the scent of your grandmother’s embrace.
It’s useful because it connects us to what we value, even if it’s not the full truth. It inspires reflection and shows us what we might want to recreate, not just remember.
More Rohan here.
