The Persian word for God—Khoda, and its related phonemes, figure prominently in the work of Angela Larian. While its use predates the Islamic period in Iran, written in the Persianized Arabic alphabet first adopted in the later seventh to eighth centuries, it comprises the consonants kha’ (distinguished by a point above the letter) and dal, and the long vowel alif, a single vertical shaft. The letters kha’ and dal are traditionally written connected, followed by the unattached alif. In Larian’s renditions of the word, the letters are often detached from one another, while still retaining the coherence of the word. Larian’s Khoda has a different vitality, a new presence. In this large-scale version, the words cluster and unravel; the colorful letters become abstract forms, modular units of architectonic design. The negative void between the letters achieves its own visual primacy. And yet, for those who read Persian, the kha’-dal-alif are endlessly reconstituted and comprehended as the word Khoda, in much the same way as the deconstructed letters G-O-D will always be understood as God (or dog).
Born in Iran, Angela Larian left her home country as a teenager and currently resides in Los Angeles; she has exhibited locally as well as in New York, where she recently had her first solo exhibition. Words and even texts, largely stripped of any narrative context, made brazenly abstract and yet intuitively felt for the Persian literate, are key to her work. This duality in which the physical letters simultaneously signify and visualize, serving both to decorate and to enlighten—intellectually and spiritually—is also integral to Iranian art from early medieval times until today. Persian culture, felt as much as imagined, remains as a palpable presence in Larian’s art.
