"I must continue until I die": Inside the struggle to bring Iran's thriving art scene to the world

In the midst of economic sanctions and ongoing conflicts, a new initiative is bringing Iranian artists back into the international spotlight. When the call came early one morning, Tehran resident Elham Ithari knew it had to be urgent. Voice over the line offered something precious. "Miss Inspiration, I have a tube of white paint!" he said excitedly. The price is high and I know it's expensive, but if you want it, you should buy it now, because this man is a pot.

When he got the call early one morning, Tehran resident Elham Ithari knew it had to be urgent. Voice over the line offered something precious. "Miss Inspiration, I have a tube of white paint!" he said excitedly. "It's expensive and I know it's more expensive, but if you want it, you have to buy it now, because there's this other guy in this other town who wants it, and you have to tell me in the next five minutes."

He remembers that the price of the white tube was 5 million Tomans (about $36) Isari. I don't think so, because it's overpriced, and the next thing you know it's 4 in the morning and I'm watching YouTube on how to whitewash lead in your backyard without getting lead poisoning.

This is a clear slice of life in Iran these days. Thousands of visual artists have been plunged into economic and professional uncertainty since the US and Israel launched joint airstrikes and combat operations on February 28, crippling Iran's economy.

The sudden onset of the war closed commercial galleries in central Tehran, canceled planned solo exhibitions, cut off transportation channels, and destroyed the fragile domestic market that allowed creators to pay rent and maintain studio activities.

But it was out of this systemic collapse that Continuum: Artist Relief for Iran was born. This initiative connects contemporary artists living and working inside Iran with audiences, collectors and international institutions through a dedicated platform in .

When the war started, he found himself directly in the crosshairs of the war. This 38-year-old man from Shiraz in Iran explains: "I was displaced. My mom and dad came from Canada and we had to flee from Shiraz because Shiraz was hit hard every day. The conditions were unbearable. We went to the north of the country, where the weather was relatively quiet.

In the north, Duran encountered dozens of other displaced cultures who had fled from bombed urban centers such as Tehran and Isfahan. There, he connected with Maryam Rasti, one of the founders of Duran Art Projects, who had also fled the capital.

"We were in constant contact with the artists," Doran recalls. "What we saw over and over again was that artists were losing hope like never before. Exhibitions were being canceled, galleries were closing, they couldn't find materials, artists were being displaced—every single person was faced with the same uncertainty of what tomorrow would bring."

My contemporary art world operates within a structural bubble, separate from international banking networks. Typically, an artist works for a year or two to prepare a body of work, and relies on a gallery showcase to generate enough sales units to survive the next two years. When the conflict stopped the internal cycle, the builders faced immediate destruction.

"We realized that at this point, exhibiting, curating, archiving—those things don't matter. It's more about selling than anything else," Duran says. These artists were not able to pay their rent.

“One artist put his brushes and tubes of paint up for sale on [the classifieds site] wall to keep going. Another artist told me, "Right now I want to work in a coffee shop because I don't know if this art works for me."

Determined to make a difference, Duran bought a few gigabytes of internet access so he could log into WhatsApp. Through his laptop in the North, he wrote an open letter to international collectors, museum directors and gallerists throughout the diaspora and revealed the plight of creators inside Iran.

The answer was immediate and decisive. Gallerists and curators in London, New York, Paris, Dubai, Toronto and Mumbai wrote enthusiastically for help. What was originally planned as a simple PDF catalog featuring dozens of at-risk acquaintances quickly became a nationwide initiative.

Duran, Rasti and a coalition of local galleries built Continuum over five months of intensive development. This digital platform brings together more than 500 original works of art by more than 200 contemporary artists living and working inside Iran.

11 commercial galleries across Iran agreed to voluntarily waive 100% of their sales commission. Duran Art Projects does not charge any fees for the platform. As a result, 100% of the sale of completed artwork goes directly to the artist. To make purchases realistic for global buyers during an economic downturn, prices were capped at three accessible levels: up to $500; $500 to $2,500; $2,500 to $5,000

"The logistics of it — we thought of this ad nauseam," Duran says with a weary laugh. Currently, this is changing hourly. "Obviously, the sanctions have been very damaging."

Initially, Continuum relied on two domestic courier services that were able to fly art packages from Tehran to shipping centers in Dubai and Istanbul, where international carriers could take over. But with the increase of geopolitical tensions, the airspace of the region was closed and commercial flight routes were dissolved.

"Flight connections via Emirates were cancelled, so the couriers told us that Emirates was off the table," explains Doran. But the second Emirates is off the table, they find another way. There is a man who had a courier company that had to close down. To continue his work, he now uses land borders, sea ships go from Iran to Armenia. From there with full insurance.

To manage expectations, Continuum informs international buyers that delivery may take three to six months. However, collectors around the world, from private clients in North America to major European institutions, have shown tremendous patience.

For Duran, the real tragedy of the current crisis lies in the wanton cruelty of international economic sanctions that target ordinary citizens while doing nothing to change political outcomes. He says: "These sanctions do not put much pressure on the government. "It's more of a punishment for everyone who tries to live here. Everyone complains, but we're trying to find solutions."

One artist trying to find a way out of nowhere is 43-year-old Mehrdad Jafari, who grew up in northern Mazandaran province, where his relatives worked as sculptors and painters. Speaking from Tehran through a Persian translator, he says, "When I grew up, I always dreamed of one day being in Tehran and having an art studio in this city to create work and fully identify my potential."

"All my life has been dedicated to my work and is still dedicated to my work. In fact, my existence is connected to my work. I have no other way to be, I have to continue until I die."

As the father of a three-year-old child, Jafari filters the war experience from the worries of parenthood. His artworks, which focus on the complex emotional tableau of human relationships and social interactions, have to adapt to extreme material deprivation.

"Because of the impact of sanctions, we have to be more imaginative in deciding what materials to use," explains Jafari. "It's very difficult to find the material now. But what I had to do, and what others do, is to replace this lack of material with imagination. "We are using alternative materials to continue."

Jafari sees improvisation as a double-edged sword. In one way, we use our imagination more and create a more creative space and ways of thinking. But on the other hand, of course, we like to be part of the global system and have access to things that others have access to. It's just not available to us right now.

For Jafari, launching Continuum at a time of active military conflict has symbolic resonance. This is an extraordinary moment. It is a bridge for us to connect with an international audience. For me personally, it brings a sense of comfort – that we are not forgotten. Because of Continuum, I have more energy to work than ever. It gives us hope that life can go on."

Doran and Rasti insisted from the start that the initiative would not function as an exhibition about war, nor would it force artists to turn their pain into visual entertainment for foreign viewers.

Duran argues: "Iranian contemporary art is not like anything else. Iran is not a style and Iranian identity is not a medium. An artist living in Shiraz should not make a work that visually declares "Iran" before the international audience wants to take it seriously.

While some participating artists choose to address the conflict directly, Continuum refused to make political commentary or suffering a requirement for inclusion.

"There is a difference between giving artists a vision during a crisis and asking artists to show a crisis. Context should deepen our understanding of a work of art. It should not imprison the work of art."

Funding created by Continuum currently provides critical support to Iran's arts ecosystem. In a country where devaluation has wiped out savings, a $500 sale of artwork can provide substantial income for studio rent or much-needed pigments.

"It creates a chain," says Ithari, 38. If an artist is not too worried about his income, he might be able to continue teaching. If they can keep teaching, kids can keep learning. The whole chain does not stop and we do not fall into this pit of absolute despair."

In the first weeks of heavy bombardment of Tehran, Eyshari could not come to work. I was here for the whole show. Hearing an explosion five times, six times a day, every day - you need to gather the cats and run to safety and count to 10. Then, as soon as it's over, pick up the phone, check if your father is alive, if your mother is alive, or not. It does a number on you in repetition."

The impact was as much physical as mental. "I didn't touch a brush," he recalls. “Actually, I did it once and my hands were shaking so bad I literally dropped it. I was like, "I'm not doing that right now." And that's okay, because I'm not the only one there."

While Issari, who studied art in London, hopes his Continuum paintings will find homes in international collections, the initiative's main gift is emotional validity. "Even if you don't sell, it's the feeling of being seen," he says with determination. "For me, it's wonderful. It's easy to feel sidetracked and invisible. "Just the fact that you're seen means a lot."

"I always believe in the fact that art will live on, no matter what and everything," he adds. Artists are the best. If problem solving was an Olympic sport, we would win gold medals every time. We will find a way."