Hemad Javadzade, an artist born in Bojnourd, northeastern Iran, and now living and working in Istanbul, describes himself as a surrealist painter exploring cosmic identity, ritual, and myth through dreamlike narratives — and the description couldn’t be more fitting. His works feel like windows into a parallel world where past and present sit side by side, and where memory, myth, and imagination constantly intertwine.

For Hemad, the visual heritage of his homeland is a foundation. Traces of geographical identity appear in almost every collection he creates. The colours, figures, and symbolic language of Iranian culture shape the emotional core of his paintings, giving them a sense of timelessness — as if “yesterday is being seen in today,” as he writes in his manifesto.

You will also notice the presence of the cosmos throughout his work. Or animals painted with striking anatomical precision — the result of years spent studying animal anatomy. And there is often a recurring figure: a bearded man, a darwish, who appears again and again, always in new forms. Who is he? Why is he there? And what is Hemad ultimately trying to say through all these symbols and stories? Let’s find out.

— Hemad, your artistic journey began in childhood. What did you draw back then?

— During childhood, the representation of animated characters was the most fascinating thing for me. I used every opportunity to create a new cartoon character. In an era where the world of visual data was much more limited than it is today, every new image was exciting, and the effort to reproduce it brought me joy.

— And what kind of child were you?

— My childhood was full of mischief and fun. I grew up in a relatively busy family; we are five brothers, and I am the second child. My interest in drawing was welcomed by the family from the start, and I was always known as the child who drew funny pictures and was very mischievous.

— Since your creative path started so early, was there anything that shaped what you drew back then?

— The encouragement from those around me was very influential in shaping my motivation. In our small town, there was no professional art scene, but I used every opportunity to learn and see the wider world: studying art, meeting painting masters, and hearing their stories about the professional art world. Over time, as opportunities arose to participate in art events and competitions, I was exposed to more professional artists and new events. During high school, where I studied graphic design, the encouragement and professional guidance of my teachers were crucial, as were the friendships that formed and the rivalries prevalent among my peers. But more than all of this, after high school, I had a friend who was a very skilful artist, with a creative design style and a very honourable character, and who had a great impact on me. Unfortunately, he passed away too soon, and after the tragic incident of losing him, I put down painting for five years.

— How would you describe your artistic journey now? Was it a difficult one?

— It was a difficult one. After years of working in advertising and graphic design, I made a decisive move to pursue a new artistic path. I had painted before then, but it wasn't my main profession. Simultaneously with my migration and getting acquainted with a new world to live in, I had to double my effort to become a painter, and this process was very turbulent and challenging for me.

— In your works featuring horses, they often appear as broken, wounded beings — their bones visible, sometimes intertwined with the skeletons of other creatures. Why do you portray them this way? What do these fragmented bodies represent for you?

— This series is, in fact, a continuation of the works I was creating before migration. Horses, as the most symbiotic animal alongside humans, have always been a captivating subject for me. However, during that period, influenced by the style of Surrealist and Expressionist paintings, I tried to create a personal language that reflected my inner emotions. Horses and humans, as two species that were together during the most important events and occurrences, such as wars and migrations, took on a very exciting and intertwined form for me. It is as if, after years of coexistence, they are merging with each other's souls.

— You created two series under the title Disturbance. What made you decide to return to this concept and continue it?

— This series is actually a single body of work that has been developed over different time periods. In fact, the subjects and spaces I work on continue in different periods of my career, and their ideas live somewhere in my mind after they begin. Only sometimes does the opportunity arise for them to be transferred onto the canvas. This is true for all my work ideas.

These works allude to the impact of modern humans on their living world. Humans and their selfish actions are seen in the image, symbolised by red stones, attacking animal figures and creating this tense atmosphere. The piercing gaze of the animal catches the viewer's eye, striking them and seemingly reprimanding them.

This series has been, and remains, part of my concern as someone who considers nature and the environment to be extremely important. I studied animal anatomy for years, and this collection provided the opportunity to build that emotional and expressive world around this theme. This series has continued in a newer format, and I have completed two frames from the new collection in the past six months.

— The man with the beard appears very often in many of your works. When did he first come to life in your paintings, and how has he changed through the years?

— Working with characters has been fascinating to me since childhood. In recent years, this process led to the formation of this character amidst my sketches. I had been drawing something similar in previous years, but as my painting practice became more serious, this character entered my world of paintings.

A character who carries all the mischief and curiosity of my childhood, seeming to emerge from the miniature paintings I saw since I was a child. To understand him, I always wanted to incorporate themes of Eastern mysticism and my own perspective and worldview, along with humour and a light-hearted atmosphere.

This character has changed a lot over the years and remains a fascinating subject for me, capable of conveying many untold stories.

— Around 2017, space began to appear in your works. How did this happen? What first drew you to the cosmos, and what continues to fascinate you about it?

— The cosmos and the night sky have also been subjects I have been very interested in, as a space where I could fantasise to the extent of its unknown depth and immerse myself in it. At the same time, in the lived experience of the people of this region, the night sky and astronomy have played a very important role in life. Travelling to the past world in my mind creates very fascinating images of a world where everyone has a deep, emotional connection with the night sky. All of this has been a source of inspiration and ideas for me.

The night sky in my paintings is a symbol of the endless world of the mind, its boundlessness, and its supernatural allure; a place where humans, in contrast to it, reach a meaningful conceptualisation of themselves and an awareness of their own origin.

— The Old Paper series! Why did you choose to work with aged paper? What stories do these surfaces already hold before you draw on them?

— This series is actually a complement to the "Night Sky and Darwishes" collection. Here, the type of text graphics alongside the images achieve a harmony to create a picture with a specific identity load, in a way that recalls miniature books from the past. The written text in these ɻooks' is not important to me; it is used solely for visual enhancement and to construct a good graphic composition in combination with the image.

— You have illustrated many books — is there one that stands out as your favourite? What made that collaboration meaningful to you?

— I have illustrated more than 25 books. But among all of them, the book The Blind Owl (Boof-e Kour) by Sadegh Hedayat has been very important to me. In 2017, this book was published with 15 frames of my illustrations by YKY Publishers in Istanbul, and it was very well received. More than anything, it is the surreal atmosphere of this novel that had a profound impact on my adolescence and led to the formation of a particular visual space in my mind during that period. I always wanted to create a special collection for it.

— And how do you usually approach the process — do the images appear as you read, or only after you have absorbed the entire story? How does a text transform into a visual language for you?

— Imagining the scenes and characters while reading the book is the most captivating part, which always enthrals me. However, the execution process begins with some research and sketching after finishing the book, a point where the story is reviewed in the mind, and the characters and settings appear one by one on paper.

— Colour plays an important role in your work. Is there a particular shade that feels especially symbolic to you — and what does it express?

— All colours are special to me, and recently they have become an enjoyable part of my work. My main focus in using colours is their companionship and harmony with the subject matter. Of course, I never neglect studying the works of past masters and masterpieces, and I learn colour theory and colour harmony from them.

— You have written that “traces of geographical identity can always be found” in your works. Why is that so important to you? What does a sense of place mean in your art?

— This is actually a two-sided issue. When the identity and context of the artwork are clear, the audience receives the message more directly, and many feelings and messages are implicitly conveyed and understood through a reference to this subject. Just as I believe in a specific language for music and other arts, I believe in a specific language for image. On the other hand, I feel that this is exactly the best way for me to fully express myself and create a dialogue between the image and the audience.

— You were born in Bojnourd, Iran, and now live in Istanbul. Migration is always a complex experience. Has it influenced your art in any way?

— Migration is one of the most complex experiences. Yes, without a doubt, I have been greatly influenced by this event. The biggest impact I can point to is regarding the recognition and exploration of classical arts, as being here made the opportunity for close contact with this style of art very easy for me.

— And finally, if you were asked to depict the life you are living right now, how would you paint it?

— In fact, the atmosphere I am currently drawing in my paintings is not far from myself. It is a sense of peace and a lived experience that coincides with self-knowledge and deep exploration of identity and the mind.