Satrapi's Persepolis, Sadness as a Scar

There is something utterly sad - there is no other word for it - when you learn someone having died 'of sadness'. Iranian-born French graphic novel artist-filmmaker Marjane Satrapi's death at 56 - caused by grief after the death of her husband and love of her life a little over a year ago - makes the world feel doubly smaller. While her grief was 'personal', it would have been impossible for Satrapi not to have felt the weight of sadness that can come over entire peoples. The US war on Iran has left its people, already burdened by a repressive regime, in dull despair. But Satrapi understood that sadness is not weakness but a condition of survival, a scar that demands to be spoken, shared - and drawn.

Best known for her 2-vol Persepolis, Satrapi carried the bruised soil of Iran she left behind in the late 80s into the global imagination. In stark B&W panels, she chronicled her childhood under the Shah, the suffocating grip of the Islamic republic, and the exile that followed. Her work is a reminder that history is lived in the body, in the individual who is an integral part of silences of women as well as laughter of children. Satrapi's politics were never muted. She was a fierce critic of authoritarianism, patriarchy and hypocrisies that hollow nations from within. Yet, she resisted being reduced to a symbol. Almost-arrogant humility - and sheer talent as a visual storyteller - made her voice stronger, resonating across continents where repression wears different masks.

Her later works - Embroideries and Chicken with Plums - expanded her canvas. But the themes remained: love, loss, dignity, and the stubborn persistence of memory. Things we all deal with during our own wars and times of peace. But especially when we sit down with sadness.