It was after midnight, hard to distinguish sky from stars. The moon was hidden behind darkness. There was no living soul even in the furthest abysses. Except for a lonely bird with its coarse mean face, demanding wide eyes, big feet, curved beak and bold temper that had grown two horn-shaped bunches of feathers on both sides of its head, sitting on a branch of an old tree. In the heart of the heavy silence, suddenly , a weak, weary voice was heard.

Something had broken loose from the night, something previously interwoven with night as a part of it. I went closer and closer, asking its name. It said: “Ashozosht”.* I asked again. It said more distinctly: “Ashozosht.” I asked: “who are you?” it said: “Ashozosht.” I asked: “what mastery you own?” It said “listening.”

I asked: “what else?” it said “watching.” I asked: “what else?” it said “nothing.” I asked: “what do you know?” It said: “everything.” I asked: “what you are here for?” It said: “I am reading this epigraph.” I said: “read it out for me.”

It said: “Peace will rise from silence, in the universe. Silence will rise from seeing a lot. So peace will rise from seeing a lot in the universe.

I am seeing a lot and hearing a lot. Therefore I am the peace- bird. Peace will be born from me, since I am residing in peace.”

*Ashozosht is the name given to owl in Persian mythology.
Sohrab Hosseini

“The Salad was a collection of artworks of all things! With all subjects , And with a variety of techniques.