The sorrow we carry throughout our lives sometimes overflows at the slightest trigger. At the beginning of the New Year, while much of the world was immersed in celebration, young Iranians were in the streets, raising their voices for the most basic of human rights. In response, the Iranian government plunged the country into digital darkness. For ten days there were no phones, no internet, no lines of communication—an imposed silence over an entire nation.

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When limited connections were gradually restored, the scale of the tragedy began to surface. Within the span of only two days—January 8 and 9—nearly thirty thousand young Iranians were killed in the streets. The magnitude of this loss is almost beyond comprehension. In just forty-eight hours, an unspeakable human catastrophe unfolded. With each passing day, new dimensions of the event emerged, deepening the collective grief. The entire nation of Iran was in mourning.

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During those days, my entire being remained in Iran. Every fiber of my body felt the pain. The emotional rupture was so intense that it demanded expression. I had no choice but to bring it onto the canvas—to reveal how the geography into which one is born, a place not chosen and beyond one’s control, can shape and wound so profoundly that it threatens to undo the self.

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From this moment, Veins of Sorrow – The Rupture emerged. As a continuation of the series, it reflects how grief coils within the body—twisting, tightening, pulsing—while one stands seemingly powerless before it. And yet, beneath the layers of violence and suppression, another truth persists: the more lives are taken, the more voices rise. The more they attempt to silence us, the more we multiply.