In many parts of Tehran huge wall murals commemorate Iran's Islamic Revolution and its war with Iraq, but they are losing their appeal to the young, writes David Orr.
Their stern and bearded faces dominate so many vistas in Tehran that one not only has the sense of being watched but, occasionally, of being judged. Situated high up on the sides of office buildings and apartment blocks, they return one's stare or - equally unnerving - gaze dreamily out into landscapes of their own imagination. Like the stark mountains that ring the Iranian capital, these massive murals represent an intrusive and sometimes disquieting presence.
The images draw their inspiration from two main sources: the 1979 Islamic Revolution, which brought about the overthrow of the Shah of Iran, and the bloody Iran-Iraq War of 1980-1988. These crucial events have helped to define the national consciousness of Iran and still determine the political choices made by the authoritarian clerics who run the country. The paintings serve as constant reminders of victories won and sacrifices made.
The iconography of the Revolution, and of the war that followed, consists of a cast of easily-identifiable figures, both real and symbolic: mullahs (Islamic clerics), war "martyrs" and grieving mothers. Blood-red roses, doves of peace and weighing scales also feature in murals, some of which bear inscriptions urging the faithful to continue on the path of righteousness.
The totemic power of these huge murals cannot be denied. During the invasion of neighbouring Iraq by Anglo-American forces, among the first acts performed by both invaders and inhabitants was the destruction of public images of Saddam Hussein - crude smiling portraits were riddled with bullets and saluting statues toppled. Unable to get their hands on the object of their anger, his opponents took out their rage and frustration on icons of his rule.
Tehran is, in many ways, a modern European city. Walking down one of any number of streets, past the shops selling electronic goods and designer watches, the overall sense is one of familiarity, not of strangeness or exoticism. If one limits one's field of vision, somehow blocking out the Arabic script of Iran's Farsi language and the tent-like figures of the women in their black "chadors", one might think oneself in some half- remembered provincial town in France or Germany. There are apartment blocks and office buildings, tree-lined avenues, sweeping flyovers and, everywhere, traffic. Tehran must be one of the most congested and polluted cities in the world.
In this context, the visitor is all the more struck by the sudden, looming presence of Ayatollah Khomeini - architect of the 1979 Revolution - or of an adulterated American flag emblazoned with the words "Down with the USA".
To a Westerner, accustomed to the benign visual landscapes of publicity and advertising, the impact of such paintings is all the more forceful. More than any monuments, these murals govern one's sense of space and place in the city.
The style is principally that of Islamic Socialist Realism, though occasionally elements of abstraction or surrealism creep in to create visual statements that engage rather than challenge the viewer. While not all pictures are well done, some are very accomplished.
The murals are commissioned by a variety of bodies: in some cases, the Mayor's office, in others the elite Revolutionary Guards or Martyrs' Foundation, which helps families of victims of the Iran-Iraq conflict. Those done at the behest of the Guards or the Martyrs tend to be more overtly political and propagandist than those ordered by the Mayor's office, which has its own committee to advise on design and content.
"A lot of these paintings have little artistic value," says Iradj Eskandari, a Tehran-based artist who himself painted mullahs and icons of the Revolution until 13 years ago. "But about a dozen of them have a style and execution which set them apart as real works of art."
As an art student, Eskandari had been experimenting with large wall paintings before the outbreak of revolution in Iran. Caught up in the ideological fervour of the times, he decided to put his craft at the service of the new regime. To a style that borrowed heavily from Mexican political art and the Socialist Realism of the Soviet era, he and his fellow artists introduced Islamic themes, creating a new visual language that found favour with the mullahs, and struck a chord with the people on the street.
"We were aware of the propaganda potential of such paintings, we had studied their use in other cultures," says Eskandari. "At that time, I was the main advocate of creating such paintings to deliver a message. We used our techniques to advocate the ideas of the Islamic Revolution, but soon, we became prisoners of our art. We got conned into using our art to put forward political views that were not our own and, gradually, as this realisation dawned on me, I started to see this way of thinking was a lie. I became disillusioned with the Revolution and the men behind it. I'm no longer afraid to say this because even the people in the street are now saying the same thing."
His hair and moustache have turned grey with the passage of time, but his eyes shine with the sort of intensity that is born of either great conviction or relentless self-questioning. Having once been a political and figurative painter on a grand scale, Eskandari now immerses himself in the abstract and the minimal. Today, his preference is for muted colours and stark themes. In his studio hang two pieces composed of hundreds of four-inch nails affixed to flat surfaces and painted gun-metal grey.
Many of the more striking images relating to the Iran-Iraq War were erased by the municipal authorities of Tehran, in an attempt to eradicate some of the grief associated with half a million Iranian deaths. But some of these pictures were subsequently re-painted and other commemorative works were commissioned. As revolutionary graffiti was cleaned away, efforts were even made to introduce some more colourful and aesthetically-pleasing murals to the urban landscape. Today, the city's murals must vie for attention with the blaring banality of consumer commercials and advertising billboards. Inevitably, the mullahs and their cult of personality seem to belong to another dimension, to an age whose political currency is, slowly but surely, being devalued.
An amazing 60 per cent of Iran's population is under the age of 20. Most of the population had not even been born at the time of the Revolution, and many are too young to remember much about Ayatollah Khomeini, who died in 1989.
In Revolution Square, the populace is still urged to chant "Death to America" after Friday Prayers, but, somehow, the exercise feels half-hearted, a petulant pantomime performed out of habit rather than conviction. In chic areas of northern Tehran, women are wearing designer sunglasses, their veils far back on their heads and ankles fully in view.
Couples stroll about holding hands in defiance of the morality police.
Iran's "Supreme Leader" Ayatollah Ali Khameini and his clique of conservative clerics maintain their stranglehold on power. But the younger generation is slipping from their grip and, in government, reformist elements are pressing for change. Before long, the murals that have dominated the urban landscape for a quarter of a century will appear as outdated as the agitprop art of Cold War socialism.