About Abbas Mehran

Photo Abbas Mehran

Abbas Mehran was born in a modest mud-brick house in a secluded town in Iran. Despite his parents’ illiteracy, he pursued higher education. He has earned a bachelor’s degree in Management, a Certified qualification in Internal auditing, and an honour degree in Visual arts. 

He has lived in Iran, Argentina, the USA, and Australia, embracing new languages and cultures. Mehran has demonstrated remarkable resilience and adaptability, a testament to his unwavering spirit.

Though he had higher education qualifications, circumstances compelled him to work as a cook, a salesman, an accountant, and an auditor. He began painting on canvas as a hobby in 1972, and he moved permanently to the arts in 1992.

In Adelaide, he studied visual arts at the University of South Australia. He then actively pursued an art practice and exhibited in Australia, Iran, the USA, Germany, China, and Taiwan. Mehran stopped painting in 2014 when his daughter, Marsha Mehran, died in Ireland while working on her third book. He then began to write. He published his first novel, Alley of Scented Roses, in January 2024.

Today, Abbas Mehran resides in the serene Gippsland in Victoria, where he continues to lead a life filled with creativity and exploration. He remains active in various pursuits, including walking, biking, swimming, reading, and writing. These activities keep him physically and mentally engaged and serve as a testament to his enduring passion for life and creativity.

Abbas Mehran Childhood Story

A mud house painted by Abbas Mehran

I was born in a small house constructed with mud and hay bricks. This cosy abode consisted of a single room that served as our lounge, bedroom, and dining area. Additionally, we had a storage room where we stored dried figs, nuts, grains, and other essentials. Our donkeys, goats, and lambs were housed in a stable, while a small corner near the toilet was designated for the delightful task of bread baking. 

A pregnant Iranian woman holding her baby and carrying a clay jug

My mother, a petite housewife, possessed a remarkable memory. Although she couldn’t read or write, she had committed various sections of the Quran to memory. She could also recite numerous folk poems and anecdotes. She perpetually carried a child within her womb and another in her arms, having given birth to a total of eight children.

Among six sisters, I stood as the sole brother. At home, my mother adeptly managed the chores, cooking, and cleaning while also assisting my father in both the farm and garden. 

A painted Simple Persian Garden fruit trees and people by Abbas Mehran
A painting of a Persian garden at night

 

 

 

We lived in a garden my father had created, not for himself, but for a landlord. This oasis was nourished by a constant flow of water from distant mountains. The water was delivered through a remarkable ancient Persian irrigation system known as Qanat. The genius of the ancient Persians is evident in this intricate network of wells and underground channels that efficiently manage water resources in Iran’s arid climate. The garden, became a haven for picnics, camping, and relaxation, earning the title of “Paradise on Earth” in my heart.

In Iranian tradition, the garden’s door was always open to kind-hearted souls. It was within these enchanting surroundings that my father’s love story unfolded as he laid eyes on a captivating young woman riding a donkey alongside her father. Love bloomed, and after overcoming obstacles and persisting in his pursuit, they married, resulting in my conception in this garden. My father could not read or write either but insisted that his children should be educated.