I would like to think that in order for Ardeshir to create the unjust, ugly, and cruel world it was necessary for him to rise above it rather than to come directly from the world as Brown pointed out earlier. Otherwise, he had to take a position in favor of one and against the other, defend the good and moral against bad and evil. Thus, he could not have been an innocent observer, free from normative judgment and commitment to an ideal world. Like all great artists he lived with vanity, vastitude and largeness. Although Ardeshir never saw himself any different from the folks that he drew, he would often say that he mostly drew himself. He was right. With a closer look at his drawings you can easily detect the similarities between Ardeshir and what he had created, people with the very narrow legs, larger in midsection, sharp feet, elongated noses, and bald heads. To be able to see Ardeshir beyond the disturbing reality requires a peek at his life from within, from inside his everyday life, not from without or from another culture as Brown points out in the beginning of his article. What follows is a report from Ardeshir's inner life and its relation to his art before the onset of his personal war with the monster of Parkinson's disease and the challenge it placed upon him to remain an artist to the end. Parkinson's disease interferes with normal life, that is, playing multiple roles in everyday living. It cripples its victim physically and mentally by increasingly limiting the freedom of his movement, and weakening his will power. But Ardeshir prevailed instead and crippled the monster, even though he did not stop the monstrosity of its physical damage. To dominate Ardeshir, Parkinson's had to kill the art within him. The oneness of Ardeshir with his art was his shield against the monster. His art (spirit) was never beaten. He played only one role in his life, the role of an artist. His inner self always shone through and never changed. There was always an authenticity to his being.

Despite the fact that Parkinson's had effected the free movements of his body, one thing remained unchanged: the passion for life as well as his art. He was in love with life, because in it he lived his art. His essence was his art. He breathed his art. He would rise up with his art and begin the day with art activity. The love for life and for his art had become unified in Ardeshir in the best sense of the word, as it may be so in any great artist. He was an embodiment of his art. He looked at every thing from the artistic point of view; for the simple reason that he was the expression of his art. Drawing empowered him by enabling him to express the fantasies of his mind. It was the creative power which gave him an exceptional authority. He illustrated the reality of life not in order to condemn it or to transform it. He was an artist. He was neither judge nor jury.

Ardeshir was neither a politician nor a revolutionary. He was in a journey to become what he was in this world. Longing vastitude and largeness for himself, had located him beyond good and evil. He was free from enmity and hatred. He never clashed with anybody nor did anyone clash with him. He was a candle that shed light and brightened his environment.

When I first met him in 1976, in order to help him to settle in New York, he was deceptively healthy. He was very agile. Not being one to stay at home, he dined out, went to the theater and movies, but was never without his sketch book and sharp pen. He was drawing at all times. In this period he fell in love with great circuses which came to New York. He was deeply inspired by the circus. He saw the circus as the microcosm of life. He produced a collection of drawings whose main subject was the circus.

Despite his healthy appearance in this period, he was in danger of going blind. Doctors in Iran had told him that he eventually would go blind. Actually he had come to New York primarily to care for his eyes. Ironically his sight was fully restored while he was engaged in the war with monster of Parkinson's.

Against the monstrosity of Parkinson's disease, Ardeshir fought constantly and heroically. It goes without saying that he tolerated devastating blows every day. But he would rise up again and again victoriously laughing in the monster's face. Parkinson's not only did not take his art away from him but intensified his will to power, that is, his will to live and will to draw and to create. The war of Ardeshir against Parkinson’s disease was an epic war that involved every moment of his life. In this war his art was the only weapon he had in his possession. It was his defense as well as his offense. In other words, his art was his lifeline.

To sell drawings meant that Ardeshir had to command a ship in a stormy sea, sometimes riding a high wave and at other times descending to the bottom of the sea. But the sharp fluctuation of the demand for his art, never caused Ardeshir to stop wanting and obtaining what he desired and longed for. He wanted the best especially for his art. He always admired the chic and elegant, that is to say he had expensive tastes. To say that he lived like an aristocrat would not be an exaggeration. Money came and left his hands as if he had momentarily captured a bird. Nobody could ever figure out his expenditures. He was the man of art and not that of accounting. He spent all he had and sometimes what he did not have. He had no fear of tomorrow to which some friends tried hard to call his attention to in no avail. One may attribute Ardeshir's fearlessness to his humor. In the world of humor there is no room for gloom and doom, or for hate and hostility.

Despite his financial difficulties, he kept himself under the care of the most famous Parkinson's disease specialist, Dr. Fahn of Columbia University. His relationship with Dr. Fahn was a real source of his joy. He was always looking forward to seeing Dr. Fahn. Whenever he visited with him, he returned with a lot more energy and vitality.

It was in this period (1988) that the French published a book of his drawing about Iran titled "Commentary on Iran." Also his "Closed Circuit of History" was published by Mage publishers (1991). He illustrated a new edition of Sadegh Hedayat Vagh Vagh Sahb (?), as well as a book of a famous humorist Obaid Zokani (?). During the same period, he created a collection of drawings about the tragedy of the Holocaust, as well as another water color collection depicting the traditional Iranian musical orchestra and a series of Hagi Firouz in the same style. These were done while he remained engaged in a war with the monster of Parkinson's. This successful experimentation with water color led him to experiment with oil painting. No matter what his tool, pen or brush, he created a world of fantasy which was a reflection of the real world.

From the very outset of being invaded by Parkinson's, many people arrived in Ardeshir's life to serve and to take care of his needs. They usually came through a chain. Each new comer left Ardeshir as an old friend, and in return would bring another friend to help Ardeshir, the best. Everyone was proud to be in contact with such a great artist and great man and served him wholeheartedly. Parkinson's, indeed brought many new friends, companions and care givers to Ardeshir's life

I believe that it would be difficult if not impossible for an artist to reach the pinnacle of his art if committed to a particular perspective or a persuasion. Ardeshir was political without being committed to politics. The political arena was for him the same as the circus arena where the clowns, contortionists, and magicians play fundamental roles. He had an intense interest in the political history of Iran particularly the period in which he grew up, the period of Dr. Mosedegh', Ayatollah Kashani, and Dr. Mozafar Baghai. Of the journalist of that time he loved and admired the plain, bold language of Mohammed Masuod. On many occasions heated political discussions would flare among Ardeshir's friends who were of different persuasions while they were in his presence. He never took a side. He opened to enjoy those heated discussions because as they took place, he would smile, and draw.

For him the political world was a fantasy world, the world of the sister Dabogh, a character of his creation in a poetry piece he wrote and was published in Rowshanai in 1988 under pseudonym Potkin, titled "the epic of sister skinner at 5 o'clock: a woman wearing a chador or veil, squeezing a knife between her teeth flying toward Salmon Rushdi to kill him in order to carry out the Imam Khomaini's fatwa. She would kill Salmon and she would stuff him with straws. She flew back while she held stuffed Salmon in her mouth. She would return to serve the rule of the Sharia and that of Imam Khomeini once again. In other words, the world of politics was the world of violence and retribution for him, the world of hate and revenge. I like to believe that Ardeshir's illustrations all point to the existence of an extraordinary man who was one with his art. That is why he was someone like no one.

Firoz Nodjomi, New York 10/03/2010