Tell us a little bit about yourself and what you do.
My name is Kamyar Mohsenin (b.1998) and I am an Iranian-American multidisciplinary visual artist, filmmaker, and educator. Currently, I am based in Seattle, Washington, by way of Santa Cruz, California, and Pāhoa, Hawaii.
How were you introduced to the mediums that you work with?
Photography was one of the first art forms I was introduced to, thanks to my grandfather, who spent his life capturing our family’s history with analog photos. Paired with the narration of my matriarchal grandmother, the memories they’d shared over tea and fruit-laden tables, instilled an early experience of art as an intimate and collective act of bridging the past and the present.

Are there any influences that are core to your work?
My art practice has been primarily inspired by themes of identity, faith, migration, memory, family, flora, fauna, and anthro-environmental systems. As of right now, I am interested in recontextualizing my diasporic heritage by creating work that examines the spiritual resonance of cultural memory within symbolic and material vessels.

Can you describe what it means to work horizontally?
Working horizontally means to collaborate as equals, where it’s less about hierarchy or appealing to people who may be higher up in status or class, and more about collective creativity and working with those on your latitude. These types of collaborations are positively charged, where individual strengths contribute to a greater whole, bringing out the best work as a result. I’m also a big proponent of work trades, where instead of monetary exchange, you trade skills or crafts equal to what you are receiving.

Your recent film with Saihaj Bajwa, The Rug Dealer, premiered at safariiiCAMP in Oakland. How did this collaboration come to be?
While listening to Saihaj’s new music, we organically developed the idea of creating a narrative silent film, with each song constructed to embody the tone and context of a corresponding scene. Working from a rough storyboard and soundscape, we produced the project over three days across the Bay Area between May and September 2023. The creative alignment we shared throughout the process, particularly during post-production, was both affirming and inspiring. Saihaj’s range of talent and passion brought incredible depth to the project, elevating every aspect of the film. We both consider this project to stand as a testament to the power of genuine collaboration, showcasing what can be achieved when two mystical artists work in harmony toward a shared vision. Given Saihaj’s role as one of the original members of safariiiCAMP, hosting a premiere screening there was a fitting choice.

How did you and Saihaj conceive of the narrative that unfolded in The Rug Dealer? Were there any formative influences in your approach when writing and directing this film, whether that be certain genres or past filmmakers?
Both Saihaj and I draw inspiration from mid-to-late 20th-century Iranian, Afghan, North African, and South Asian cinema, which inevitably influenced the archetypes and stylistic choices in The Rug Dealer. The film’s narrative itself could be considered as an interdisciplinary exploration of diasporic narratives, mainly within the conceptual East and West.
A particularly meaningful moment for me occurred during production when I shared the story’s synopsis with my mother. She shared with me a family fable about my great-grandfather, Mizra Quassim, whose rugs were supposedly stolen during his voyage to America in the early 1900s. Realizing I was unintentionally telling a story connected to my great-grandfather felt profound and imbued the project with a deep sense of ancestral resonance.

Your previous film, Adhan (2023), is an interpretation of the Islamic public call to prayer and explores the multifaceted relationships between the African diaspora, Islam, and selfhood. What was the genesis for this film, and how did your collaboration with Samira and Hanan (aka: dsrt flwr) come to be? Are there any ideas surrounding this film that linger with you today?
The genesis of my film Adhan stemmed from new explorations of faith, identity, and belonging, and was created as a research project funded by the Mary Gates Research Scholarship within the academic framework of Black studies. I used this project to inquire how the Islamic call to prayer may be considered as a religious tool of testament and an apparatus to deepen one’s connection with the divine while existing in the conceptual category of “the West”.

Collaborating with Hanan—a gifted musician, writer, filmmaker, poet, and creative partner—and her younger sister Samira, an aspiring artist, provided invaluable authenticity to the project. Featuring a Muslim woman reciting the Adhan, an objection against religious norms, remains one of the most powerful aspects of the film for me. During recording, Hanan and I acknowledged the act of resistance of this project and realized a women’s voice recitation was something we had never witnessed nor heard put to film.

Is there a moment you look back on as being formative to your identity as an artist?
One particularly formative place for me was Seven Directions, a youth art studio that combined art and science through alternative education workshops. It was also home to over 50 or so rescued exotic animals, like tortoises, parrots, hedgehogs, snakes, chameleons, geckos, toads, and even a tarantula. I practically grew up there, attending as a student from the age of five, and eventually landing my first paid job as a teacher’s assistant till I graduated high school. One of my favorite projects was a stop-motion animation I made called “Home Sweet Pig”, about two pigs watching TV, only to be interrupted by a wolf in disguise as a pizza delivery man. What started as a whimsical project when I was eleven, sparked a lasting passion for animation, film, and storytelling!

You’ve worked as a youth arts educator at Coyote Central and the Northwest Film Forum, as well as elsewhere. Has your work with youth influenced the way you work?
Since 2019, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to design and lead over a hundred youth art courses in film production, animation, illustration, photography, and ceramics across historic nonprofit organizations like Coyote Central, Northwest Film Forum, and other K-12 private, charter, and public school classrooms. The shared experiences between my students, colleagues, and mentors across these various institutions have formed an evolving foundation of principles centered around the encouragement of self-reflection, creative expression, constructive communication, independent thought, and horizontal collaboration. I believe this has, and will continue to, enrich all aspects of my life, beyond the classroom or studio.
How do you manage tending to the variety of responsibilities in the work you do, and mitigate burnout or exhaustion?
I’m blessed that all aspects of my work—personal or professional—are art-related, so they naturally feed into each other, keeping me engaged and motivated. Burnout used to hit when I focused on work purely for the sake of making money. Since then, I’ve learned to balance my efforts and say “yes” to projects that better align with me, which has made a huge difference. Energy is finite, but love is infinite—thus, I’m learning to lean into what I love!

What is your experience as an artist living in Seattle?
I consider Seattle as a great incubator for artists—a small-town/big-city kind of place where creatives from all backgrounds can establish their footing and hone their craft. That said, sustainability here is a challenge (MoM is an unfortunate example), where low expectations can limit opportunities for groundbreaking art to thrive. While it’s often easier to stand out here, staying afloat can push artists to seek opportunities in larger, more competitive markets. This cycle can hold back the local art scene from reaching its full potential, which is a shame given the incredible talent and promise this city holds.
What is one of the larger challenges you and/or other artists are struggling with these days and how do you see it developing?
One of the biggest challenges for myself, and I assume other artists today, is marketing ourselves—especially for those of us who work across disciplines and/or prefer to keep our personal lives private. Funding projects is always an ongoing struggle, as is finding the balance between creating honest work that aligns with one’s values and the need to make a livable income. It’s a constant balancing act, yet I have faith that consistency, paired with courage, is what ultimately leads to one’s own definition of success.

What is something you want to see more of in your world or in your community?
I’d love to see efforts toward creating safe, constructive, offline spaces for artists of all identities and mediums to connect, bridging and building a stronger sense of collective purpose.
Interview conducted by Luca Lotruglio.