His Step, Her Land, in the Sanatorium, 2025,
Acrylic on canvas 36 x 48 in.
Photograph by Robert Ventura ©Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

The Pickle Room of Time, 2025,
Acrylic and alcohol ink on canvas, 16 x 20 in. Photograph by Robert Ventura ©Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

Without the Voice Box, 2025,
Acrylic and alcohol ink on canvas, 36 x 48 in. Photograph by Robert Ventura ©Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

Kissing Her at 11 PM, 2025,
Acrylic and alcohol ink on canvas,47 x 53.4 in. Photograph by Robert Ventura ©Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

Last Petals at City Hall Station, 2025,
Acrylic and alcohol ink on canvas,16 x 20 in. Photograph by Robert Ventura ©Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

The Bathers, 2025, Acrylic and alcohol ink on canvas, 40 x 44 in. Photograph by Robert Ventura ©Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

memory/

Your painting “His Step, Her Land, in the Sanatorium (2025)” has such an evocative title. What inspired this piece, and what story are you telling through it? How does the concept of memory, perhaps through a place, a person, or an environment—shape the creative narrative in this work?

This piece actually began with a real place – an abandoned Rodon bathhouse sanatorium in Tskaltubo, Georgia. I was struck by how a once grand healing resort could fall silent and be reclaimed by nature. In my painting, I imagine what endures when a cultural landmark is left forsaken and nature creeps back in.

The title "His Step, Her Land…" hints at a little narrative in my mind: perhaps each human footstep (“his step”) left on that ground becomes part of the land’s memory (“her land”). In other words, the place might have been built by people (mostly men, historically), but ultimately Mother Nature takes ownership of it – she’s the “her” in Her Land.

I painted the sanatorium’s architecture in fading detail and let the forest and water dissolve the edges, creating an eerie, tranquil scene. If you look closely, you might even notice that swans are my most consistent subject – I often add swans as silent witnesses in these landscapes. Their presence adds a gentle life to the emptiness, almost like the site has new caretakers now. On my sanded, layered canvas I’ve “marked points of no return,” balancing these weighty themes with a light-hearted undertone.

I know the subject is a bit melancholy – a grand sanatorium left to ruin – but I always sneak in a touch of hope or humor. Even in abandonment, there’s a quiet playfulness: traces of life persist in the ripples of water and the creeping vines. The landscape feels alive in its own mysterious way. I wanted viewers to sense that paradoxical comfort: something is lost here, yes, but something gentle and new is born in its place.

His Step, Her Land, in the Sanatorium, 2025

Image credit: Robert Ventura

line/

The exhibition’s title “Forsaken with a Side of Pickles” is intriguing, and the piece “The Pickle Room of Time (2025)” especially stands out. Can you share how you conceptualized this painting? How do motifs as small as pickles, or as big as architecture, fit into your creative process, and how do they relate to the theme of line in your art, particularly in how you research, sketch, and visualize?

I had a lot of fun painting The Pickle Room of Time (2025) – it imagines time as a pantry where moments are preserved like pickles in a jar. I’ve long been fascinated by how we preserve memories and snippets of culture, tucking them away to savor later, much like pickling cucumbers. In The Pickle Room of Time (2025), brushstrokes and lines are vital tools for structuring space, time, and narrative. The line appears softly—more like a whisper than a command. It guides you through surreal interiors, where architecture seems to melt into the space like fleeting memories.

The subtle lines in the painting feel like pathways, inviting the viewer into a dreamscape where objects like a giant mushroom, a camera, and swirls of color contrast playfully with the muted background. These smaller elements are connected by larger, flowing lines—suggesting that memory and time can be fluid and intangible.

I usually start my process without sketches; it begins with fluid paint on the surface and a few brushstrokes. This spontaneity allows the composition to emerge organically, as though the painting itself decides how memory takes form. Architecture takes center stage in Last Petals at City Hall Station (2025). The columns and arches are drawn with deliberate, bold lines that carry historical weight. These lines create tension between the monumental and the fragile.
The lines of the NYC City Hall subway station stand in stark contrast to the looser, more ephemeral lines of modern elements—like the streetlamp entwined with vines. The heavy lines of stone become symbolic of permanence and history, while the lighter, wandering lines hint at the passage of time and nature’s reclaiming of space.

For me, line is not just about creating boundaries; it’s about making connections across time and space. Whether through the flow of an object, the rigidity of architecture, or the soft wash of color, line structures how I want the viewer to experience the painting – as both a journey through space and a reflection on its deeper meaning.

Despite the deep themes of time and loss in my work, I maintain a tongue-in-cheek humor – hence the “side of pickles.” The idea of pairing something “forsaken” with crunchy pickles makes me smile. It’s me acknowledging that even as we confront decay or an uncertain future, we shouldn’t lose our ability to laugh or find joy.

Pickling is preservation, and art is also a form of preservation – of feelings, ideas, moments in time. So in this The Pickle Room of Time (2025) painting, I tried to create a cozy, dreamlike inventory of preserved moments. The swans, the embroidered fabrics, even little mushrooms and trinkets floating around – they’re all part of a gently surreal ecosystem that’s evolving on its own terms. I often think about nature’s resilience and how it might reorganize itself when we humans step back. Here, that idea comes through not as a wild jungle but as a quirky, almost fairy-tale space where human artifacts and nature live in harmony.

It’s my way of saying time can transform tragedy into something oddly beautiful – and we might as well have a laugh and a pickle along the way.

The Pickle Room of Time, 2025

Image credit: Robert Ventura

color/

Finally, “Without the Voice Box (2025)” is a striking title. What is the concept behind this painting? It seems to tie together themes of silence, time, and perhaps even historical sites. How does color play a role in conveying these themes, and how do you use it to sculpt, paint, and visually express ideas through material in this piece?

This painting is indeed about silence and the passage of time. The phrase Without the Voice Box (2025) makes you think of speechlessness – and in a way, that’s how I imagine these grand places when humans are long gone. I bridged an ancient Persian ruin with a quiet present-day moment, creating what I like to call a poetic dialogue across time.

On the left, you can see I painted an iconic fragment of Persepolis (Takht-e Jamshid) – the ruins of a once-mighty empire’s ceremonial capital. Those stone columns and reliefs are magnificent but mute; without people, they’ve lost their voice. On the right, under a modern streetlamp entwined with vines, there’s a lone golden swan. That swan is like a guardian of the ruins, or perhaps a messenger between centuries. By juxtaposing the two, I wanted to create an “uncertain, poetic bridge” between a storied past and an eerie present.

For me, coming from Iran, the silence of an empty monument carries personal echoes. I think of places like Tehran’s Azadi Tower and imagine what if one day it stood abandoned, its meaning lost to time. Without the Voice Box (2025) channels that bittersweet speculation. The painting asks: “When the voices of civilizations and cities fall silent, what remains to speak?”

My answer is that nature and the uncanny will speak in our place. You might notice, I often animate my ruins with fleeting figures or creatures – be it a swan, birds, or hints of human shadows – to suggest that life finds a way to persist and offer hope, even in ruin. There’s a Romantic streak in me that loves the beauty of ruins, but I’m also critical of how we humans build big things and assume they’ll last forever.
This piece gently reminds us that nature ultimately outlasts our ambitions, reclaiming our grand stages once we’re gone. Yet, it isn’t meant to be grim. The colors in this canvas are almost sunset-like, giving a dreamy tranquility. I want viewers to feel curiosity and wonder, not just loss. It’s as if you’ve wandered into a sacred, quiet place where you can almost hear the echoes of the past. And perhaps in that hush, there’s a new kind of voice – the whisper of wind, water, and yes, maybe a swan’s wings.

In the end, Without the Voice Box (2025) imagines that even without us, the world will continue to sing its own subtle song. And if that sounds somber, remember – I did invite everyone to bring some crunchy pickles while contemplating these 300-year-old questions! After all, a little humor and a snack help the contemplation go down.

Without the Voice Box, 2025

Image credit: Robert Ventura

Written and interviewed by Serena Hanzhi Wang.

Published October 20, 2025.

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

Saba Farhoudnia

Saba Farhoudnia (b. 1987) was born in Tehran, Iran. She currently lives and works in New York. Farhoudnia received her BFA and MA from the
University of Science and Culture in Tehran, Iran. She also received a second MFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore.

Farhoudnia is an Artist in Residence at Wave Hill (New York, 2025), an Artist In the Marketplace fellow at Bronx Museum of the Arts (New York, 2020), an awardee of the Queens Arts Fund Grant (New York, 2024) and an Artist in
Residence at the Fashion Institute Technology of Art (New York, 2023). Farhoudnia’s work has been seen worldwide, including Rossi & Rossi Gallery (Hong Kong, 2025), Make Room (Los Angeles, 2024), Fou Gallery (New York, 2024/2025), Bronx Museum (New York, 2024), Jamaica Center for Arts and Learning (New York, 2022), Reza Abbasi Museum (Tehran, Iran, 2002). Her work can also be found in such periodicals as Widewalls, Dovetail,
BoldJourney, Tussle, Studio International, Art Spiel, Thalia Magazine, and Words Without Borders among others. Her work is in the collection of Spring Bamboo Group (Shanghai), Wind Collection (Singapore).

Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery

Saba Farhoudnia (b. 1985) is an artist based in Brooklyn, New York. She received a BFA from China Academy of Art and an MFA from China Academy of Art and School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Liu is a 2025 MacDowell Fellow and a 2022 grantee of the Roswell Artist-in-Residence Foundation. She has received multiple awards from the City of Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events (DCASE) and was awarded the Illinois Arts Council 2020 Artist Fellowship. Her past residencies include MASS MoCA, Vermont Studio Center, ACRE Projects, and Hyde Park Art Center. Her work has been exhibited nationally and internationally at institutions such as The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum (CT), Roswell Museum (NM), Lubeznik Center for the Arts (IN), the Chicago Cultural Center, and the National Grand Theater in Beijing.

His Step, Her Land, in the Sanatorium, 2025,
Acrylic on canvas 36 x 48 in.
Photograph by Robert Ventura ©Saba Farhoudnia

Courtesy of Fou Gallery