The most sorrowful songs of humans would be composed when your are hanged on the rope of time, between the ground and the air, yesterday and today, with a cold smile on your face and with a distressed mind to look upon the events that happened in the past and fearfully waiting for the coming events that will happen in the future.
Does Samad Ghorbanzadeh stricken with sleepwalking? or this is just his midday wanderings to be freed from the turbulent dreams which are not letting him go.
His works represents his inner side that takes us to a mysterious and obscure mind and they leave us there alone, with our apprehension. First charactered person in many of his photos is a teenager who became younger and smaller, like a person that is not getting maturer by the time that stopped for him, and he is involved with a luggage of wishes, imaginations, feelings and atrocity. Samad Ghorbanzadeh in facing the world with putting his model or subject in an unknown places is showing the destruction and disappearance of a lost and forgotten world which is just a wasteland and nothing more.
The simple creation of photos with less elements and with centering them in the photos without any twisting and connecting them to visual games, makes the viewer to receive and understand his mysterious mind so easily. The photos don’t belong to any period of time, neither to past nor to future, but at the same time they look like the remnants of mankind’s destroyed memories which are just forcing to bring back a past in front of their faces and to impose the evanescence of human values and sometime beyond the time and the place it makes you to fall in a trap of fear that is like a massive punishment for your indiscreet sin, and for you to fear the falling into the time’s darkest potholes.
Masterly implementation of his works, takes the audience so much close to the reality that even with being sure that they have been illustrated and causes them (the viewers) to get closer to a subjective and tangible reality which is like a swaying pendulum of a clock between dream and the reality.
text by Samad Ghorbanzadeh