Marz (مرز) means boundary. In Sheida Soleimani’s version, it’s a paper road, falling from the sky and splitting the desert in half, one parent on each side. The artist is recounting a period of separation, when they both lived in hiding, unable to meet for fear of political retaliation. This danger is hinted at by the screenprinted backdrop of hands and stars, revolutionary graphics borrowed from the group her father wrote for. A scattering of petals crosses the marz, tracing a line between two cups of tea. Against all odds, some things remained soft; in this violent world, a couple survived.