In Conversation: Esther & Ali Alinejad
Cluster of sculptures showcased across the front lawn of the studio.
Clay Studio + Gallery Inc. located in Old Thousand Oaks, sits amongst many cottage businesses that line Paige Lane. This tight-knit, residential community is how I first came to discover the works of Ali and Esther Alinejad over five years ago. Tall, ceramic structures carefully constructed on steel rods glisten along the two-lane road leading to the studio. My best friend from high school lives just next door. Colorful words and phrases of varying languages are spelled out vertically, one glazed letter stacked on top of the next, standing eight to twelve feet in height. The pieces in scale alone force those just passing through to slow down to get a better look.
Years gone by subconsciously awing at these pieces, admittedly viewing the art as a sign that I have reached my friend’s driveway, some of those signs in vibrant yellow, green, and primary shades turn a hauntingly familiar red, white, and blue. An unexpected display of the American flag. Later I found out those pieces were names, the ones our community tragically lost to gun violence in a place known for unapologetic dance, closeness, and unabated joy. I felt disconnected to what happened that night in 2018 at the Borderline dance hall; I was away starting my freshman year in college trying out a different bubble from my own, one I thought to be less protected and guarded. So many here in Conejo have tried to forget the day their bubble burst on the night of the shooting, but Ali remembers it like it was yesterday.
Ali Alinejad proudly stands next to a couple of his sculptures that stand taller than 7 feet.
Selflessness is the beating heart of Esther and Ali’s work. I caught the couple finishing up after a long, sweltering day of teaching classes in mid-July. We sit down at their kitchen peninsula, a small bowl of pistachios and some of their smaller works dot the countertop. I am offered a glass of water, and all of us begin to cool down... Sinking into our barstools and the late afternoon.
Currently, Ali has been working on the Peace Project. It is a collection of his signature sculptures spelling out “peace” in different languages. When he starts a project it sweeps him off his feet, but the backyard introduces limitations in creativity like a lack of space to display their work. The Borderline Memorial took him roughly a year to complete; never mind the exorbitant, financial cost he shared with me. Ali’s large-scale projects consume most of his time at the studio, leaving him little space to do much else.
While Ali spends what seems like most of his waking hours working on his installations, Esther manages much of the day-to-day studio operation. During the summer, camp is in session; long days spent teaching children of all ages how to throw, trim, glaze, and fire clay. I came back to Clay Studio the day after my interview to take some pictures, and found a room full of kids in various stages of their current project. Small space fans working to combat the heat of the day.
Esther and Ali are a constant fixture in the lives of the kids they teach, something that their students appreciate even now. Working around each other in a choreographed dance only taking breaks from their focus to raid the popcorn machine, just another thing the Alinejads got just for the kids.
An archway in the backyard displays square tiles created by students.
When the on-site Memorial at Borderline was first taking shape, it was a scene overwhelmed by candles, flowers, and framed family photos, Ali brought just a few pieces to pay his respects.
“It is not enough,” he recollected his conclusion.
It was as simple as the sight of the memorial that Ali knew what kind of project he had on his hands.
For the larger part of a year, Ali worked on the installation while Esther gathered information for the biographies. She shared with me that once parents found out more about the Memorial, they began submitting details so that their child would be remembered by those who loved them most. The Memorial represents a collective effort by the community to bring a semblance of healing to the families and loved ones left behind.
On the barstool, Ali looks at me, making a hugging motion. Embracing himself, then closing his eyes.
“I was melting,” he confessed. I paused for him to bring the memory to mind.
Justin Meek’s sculpture stood quite tall, painted like the American flag in red, white, and blue. It took a grand presence among the names, very quickly catching the attention of his mother.
“You made him as big as he was,” Justin’s mother shared with Ali.
A glimmer forms in his eyes each time he reflects on her words. He grieves alongside the families, channeling that daisy-chain of pain into his work.
My feet approach a pathway in the backyard scattered with ceramics in the pavement. Some pieces include angels and butterflies of all different colors.
Moving to Thousand Oaks in 2000, Esther mentions that only recently did this place start to feel like home. Their early hope was not only to make a name for themselves in the Conejo Valley, but rather build an art community that had yet to exist. Passionate about her work and educating the youth, Esther shares that being an artist to her means possessing the ability to make a living as an artist. After the Twin Towers fell, their dreams for a career in art hung suspended in the air. Anti-Muslim sentiment and the fear mongering that followed the catastrophic attacks of 2001 forced people like Ali, who fled from Iran during the Revolution in the late 1970s, to close his doors. Hate crimes against Iranians and Muslim places of worship skyrocketed. Though, police practice of entrapment stings at the time left Iranians little places to turn to for help. The Alinejad’s were left buying time, scrambling to make ends meet and survive. After decades of countless exhibitions, temporary teaching jobs, and press, they were finally able to get their feet off the ground.
When Borderline was set to be demolished in early 2021, the question came up of where the Memorial would go. Their mission to find a permanent memorial site was met with silence from the Thousand Oaks Cultural Affairs Commission. Dwindling hope leaves Esther and Ali relying on outreach from the people in their community. Today, Kristina Morisette’s name stands proudly on East Thousand Oaks Boulevard in front of Tarantula Hill Brewing Company. Ali, speechless for a moment, told me how much Kristina’s father means to him, sharing that he has helped him insurmountably over the years. The names sounding more like a dark memory than a place of honor and remembrance. The victims and their families deserve more from their hometown leaders. Curiously, I asked what Esther and Ali wanted to see from their community in support of their work.
“Be more open minded to art and culture,” she simply said.
A blue and yellow, ceramic sculpture in the front yard of the studio shows support for Ukraine.
The Alinejads have spent much of their life entrenched in art education, serving on art councils and working places like Hawaii, Arizona, Iran, and so many more. They have witnessed first-hand what creative expression can do for the lives of children and adults from their small studio in Thousand Oaks to the rest of the globe. They merely ask that their community steps up to meet them at this intersection of art and healing.
Fundraising is vital for the work. Their summer camp requires many resources for them to accommodate kids at their studio throughout the season. Many of the children in her program are on the Autism spectrum, and it is the Alinejad's focus to give these children a safe and nurturing environment to explore their creativity. Art Through Action is a tangible way to help Clay Studio Inc. make a difference here in the Conejo Valley.
The non-profit goes directly to funding classes for young artists with limited resources as well as raising money for the permanent Borderline Memorial. Funding is the catalyst in bridging the gap between their work in the studio and action from the local leadership; so that future collections like the Peace Project can be exhibited proudly in our parks and public spaces.
As the early evening sets in, Esther asks if I have any other parting questions for her and Ali. I ask what would be her words to young artists looking to become just like them.
“Separate yourself and don’t give up”
I take a tour of the backyard through the kiln room, wheel studio, and storage room full of any glaze color one could think of. I think about what a fun place this would be to grow up, and how many more kids deserve the opportunity to learn in a space like this. The studio invites careful curiosity, a sense of adventure, and nurtured creativity. My final stop is the shop inside a small shed; a citrus juicer catches my eye. It is lime green and speckled, giving it a satisfying texture in my hands. My parting purchase to round out my afternoon with the Alinejads. The juicer holds pride of my place in my space, a reminder of two, wonderful people.
