Maryam Lamei grew up in a forest, surrounded by the Aras River, red wildflowers, and the dense Moqan Jungle of northwestern Iran. Nature was her entire world. She would climb the apple tree in the backyard just to feel the wind and the light on her face, swaying with the branches.

At thirteen, she first picked up a brush and began learning Gol-o-Morgh — the Persian tradition of “Flower and Bird” painting, a branch of classical miniature. She was not a diligent student at first. But one day, determined to prove herself to her teacher, she created a meter-and-a-half drawing in coloured pencil. That was the beginning.

Many years later, Maryam's paintings continue to captivate. Her birds sleep, wake, and sometimes have no eyes at all. Her flowers unfurl across the paper in palettes she does not so much choose as intuit. The compositions are spare — never more than three or four colours — and yet they carry a weight that resists technical explanation.

We talked with Maryam about where that weight comes from: about Dostoevsky (she has listened to The Brothers Karamazov twice), about how she paints most freely when she is in pain, about the images she carries around for years before she lets herself make them, and about why, for her, the whole thing comes down to a single word: love.

— Maryam, you loved nature so much that you even studied your lessons while sitting in the apple trees at your home. That sounds beautiful! Could you tell me more about those days?

— Nature played a very important role in shaping my identity and who I am, because I grew up in a forest, and urban life felt completely different from that experience. When we moved to the city because of school and my father’s job, it felt as though a part of my past, a part of my childhood, had been left behind in the forest. The apple tree in our yard was the only thing that connected me to that past and made me feel that I was still not separated from nature.

When I climbed the tree, the air felt freer up there. Sometimes the wind would move the tree, and I would sway along with it. When the sunlight touched my face, I would close my eyes, and with the movement of the tree, I felt deeply free and experienced an incredibly pleasant feeling. I would close my eyes and feel the light on my face, and I loved that sensation within the gentle motion created by the wind moving the tree. That is why I used to climb the tree and study there.

Even now, at forty, whenever I see a tree, I feel as if I am seeing very old friends again.

— You spent your childhood surrounded by amazing nature — red flowers, the Aras River, and the Moqan Jungle. Did this environment influence your art?

— I believe that the environment influenced me one hundred per cent. From morning to night, I was surrounded by flowers, plants, birds, and trees, and all my childhood games were deeply connected to this natural world. Even when we wanted to swing, we would go to the middle of the Aras River, where my father had built a swing by tying ropes between two trees. We would sit on the swing and move above the flowing water—something that still feels magical when I think about it today.

My father also had a profound influence on me. He is a distinguished expert in the field of plants and has even registered a plant under his own name. He taught me the names of flowers and plants, to the point that sometimes I could close my eyes, smell a plant, and recognize exactly what it was.

— Was it obvious from the very beginning that you would become an artist?

— Honestly, it wasn’t completely clear to me from the beginning that I would become an artist. I was interested in many things, and I still am. I have always had a desire to learn something new, so as a child, I couldn’t say with certainty that I would become an artist.

But I do remember that I was drawn to drawing from a very young age. I was around eight or nine when I made a colored pencil drawing of my aunt, trying to capture every detail of her face even the small moles on her skin.

Looking back now, I feel that this tendency was always within me. Even today, if I had to choose a profession again, I would choose art without any hesitation no matter the field, I would still become an artist.

— Is anyone in your family involved in art?

— Yes, I have an older sister who is a highly skilled dancer, and a younger brother who is also a very accomplished musician. In fact, both of them are active in the field of art, and all three of us are involved in artistic practice in different ways.

— You have been inspired by the Iranian tradition of “Flower and Bird (Gol-o-Morgh)” paintings. Do you remember when you first encountered them? What fascinated you the most? What did you feel?

— I became familiar with this art around the age of 13. In our city, there was a very good teacher named Seyed Reza Najafi, who is still a highly accomplished artist today. My mother took me to him. I remember that I was quite playful at the time and didn’t really want to attend the classes, as this art felt difficult to me. But my teacher, with great kindness and patience, kept me engaged in the classes and would even sometimes come to our home to see my work.

To be honest, I was not a good student for him at all, but he put a lot of effort into teaching me. One day, to show him that I had learned what he had taught me, I created a large drawing about one and a half meters by one meter using colored pencils, and it turned out very well. I still have that piece, and one of my friends has even kept it on the wall of their home.

That was the beginning of my path. This art is a branch of Persian miniature, and I practised its different fields, including Tazhib, Tash’ir, Gol-o-Morgh, and miniature itself. In the end, however, I felt that my spirit was much closer to Gol-o-Morgh, and it was in this field that I realized I could truly develop my own artistic signature.

— I know that you listen to audiobooks for hours while painting, especially works by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Why his books in particular?

— Dostoevsky is deeply impactful to me because of the depth of his philosophy. He presents everything in a layered, multidimensional way and draws you into history as well as the complexities of the human mind. He constantly challenges your perception of things and awakens a sense of “why” and “how” within you.

His strength in character development is also incredibly inspiring to me; the precision and detail with which he builds his characters make them feel completely alive. One of my most important experiences was reading The Brothers Karamazov. It was so profound and beautiful that I stopped halfway and started it again from the beginning. Even after finishing it, I remained immersed in its atmosphere and characters for a long time.

For me, Dostoevsky’s writing is a unique blend of philosophy, psychology, and literature a penetrating insight into the human soul that continues to stay with me.

— You once said, “Sometimes what I leave unpainted carries more weight.” Could you give a few examples of such works? Why do they carry more meaning?

— Sometimes an image forms in my mind, but it is not yet ready to be born. This unfinished state keeps my mind constantly engaged — wondering when and how it should come into being. I never force it or try to create it before its time, because I believe that when the moment arrives, it will naturally flow onto the paper.

That is why I say what I have not painted carries more weight, because it stays with me, continuously drawing me into questions of why, when, and how it will take shape.

— What do you hope viewers feel when they look at your work?

— The only thing that matters to me is that when a viewer looks at my work, they can see a part of themselves in it, something within them is awakened, something they may not have noticed before.

— In some of your works, the birds appear to be sleeping, while in others they are awake. Why?

— And sometimes they have no eyes at all! This choice comes from the idea that each bird carries its own character, and these details become a kind of body language. The eye plays a powerful role in expressing emotion, so I choose these variations based on the concept I want to convey. For me, the eye is the window to the soul, which is why I carefully decide whether to show it, close it, or leave it out entirely.

— How do you choose your colours? Do they hold specific meanings for you? What influences your colour choices?

— When I create a work, I fully surrender myself to it and to the feeling I have in that moment. I usually don’t decide in advance which colour to use; it is something within me that guides me toward a colour. This process is completely intuitive, and it is not easy for me to explain.

Once I choose one colour, the others naturally follow, one after another. At the same time, I tend to work with a limited palette, usually three or four colours. For me, creating within these limitations is both meaningful and inspiring.

— How did your collaboration with Starbucks come about? You created three artworks for three different countries — could you tell me more about them? Why do they look the way they do? What meanings did you incorporate into each one?

— I had the honour of collaborating with Starbucks. This collaboration began with an email from their U.S. office, and after a video call, I was asked to create artworks for three different countries. I needed to research the coffee plants in those countries, as well as the native birds in the regions where coffee is cultivated.

Based on this research and my personal interpretation, I started developing concepts. I created several initial sketches, some of which were selected, and then I was given the freedom to continue the process. In these works, I reinterpreted the native birds of each country through my own artistic style, creating a connection between nature, coffee, and my visual language.

It was a very positive collaboration, and I am truly happy and satisfied with this experience.

— I feel that many of your works are about love. Why is that? Does it come from personal experience or something else?

— Yes, exactly. I consciously try to bring love into my work. I feel that the world is in a constant state of exchange; everything is about giving and receiving. And within that, I have always had the desire to offer love, as if I want to give it as a gift to everyone.

For me, the essence of life comes down to loving. That is why I think deeply about it and study it from different perspectives, from Rumi to Freud, Erich Fromm, and other thinkers. These viewpoints have had a profound influence on how I see the world.

The concept of “love” is so vast and layered for me that I feel I could spend my entire life creating work around this single theme.

— I believe that most artists create their works for a reason. Could you share the story behind a few of your pieces? Why did you create them? Were there particular events in your life that inspired them?

— If I am honest, one thing I can say about myself is that I create much more easily when I am under emotional pressure, when life feels difficult, when I am going through pain or dealing with external stress. In those moments, my hand moves almost effortlessly, and ideas flow naturally into sketches.

But when life is calm and easy, I usually find that I don’t have much to create.

— How has your art evolved over the years? Were there distinct periods in your artistic journey?

— To a large extent, yes. When a person begins their path, they naturally encounter new experiences along the way, grow, and are influenced by what they see, read, and live through. All of these contribute to one’s personal and inner development.

For an artist, this process is even more profound because the work comes directly from within. Whatever a person nurtures inside is what eventually flows outward. That is why my art has evolved alongside my inner growth.

If I were to point to a specific moment, about ten years ago was a turning point for me. Before that, I was mostly practising, learning, and following existing approaches. But from that time on, my own path became clear, and I began shaping the style that I now recognise as my personal artistic language.