On our first day in Iran in the Glass and Ceramic museum, we saw these strange vessels. Their purpose was to collect the tears in funerary processions in ancient Persia or later on of women whose men had departed for war or other purposes. The shape of these vessels is somehow affecting, crouched and bending as if in grief, the better to signify the pain for which they provide evidence. They almost talk. A friend at home dubbed them lachrymals, a (very well) made-up word, as far as I know. I rather like how they would translate to Irish as tear-jugs or crúiscíní deora. The contents of these vessels would indicate to the returned husbands or lovers how much they were missed while away. (It was pointed out to us that ladies did sometimes cheat, adding a little water to better show the depth of their devotion.)

As time has gone by they have somehow become emblematic of our trip. Not only do they fit with the turbulent history of Iran, but they might be fitting receptacles for aspects of current everyday life there: things that were hidden, that we didn’t see, might have glimpsed, guessed at or intimated, but didn’t know about and didn’t understand. Also things that cannot be recounted here. There is a secret life and it is said that almost everybody in Iran leads a double life. It seems a necessary condition.

So I show them as our bow to a sad as well as a glorious history, in shame for our lack of knowledge as passers-through but also to show our awakened interest in this marvellous and magical country. They are crúiscíní deora forthe dead soldiers, victims of the Iran/ Iraq war, who are pictured in banners everywhere;

for the fate of lawyer Nasrin Sotoudeh who has been handed a barbarous sentence for defending women’s rights; for the curious and charming people of Iran who so often exemplified ‘the kindness of strangers’; for mná na h-Iran who deserve ‘a pity beyond all telling’; for the young waiter who whispered his fear as he made me a coffee ‘they kill us… it will not change; for the cheerfully sad Jennifer Lopez fan in the park; for those who hang on to the secret life of making and listening to music under the arches of the Khaju bridge in Isfahan; for the Afghan man who shared his bread; for all the artists who are silenced or exiled; and for the fate of the Iranian people as US sanctions bite.