“Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I assure you it is much more serious than that,” once declared Liverpool’s legendary manager Bill Shankly. Known as ‘The Saint,’ Shankly recognized in the world’s most universal sport a force capable not only of shaping individual lives, but of marking the rhythm of entire communities and nations: elevating itself to a cultural phenomenon of primary importance, far from incidental.

Whether aesthetic, let alone artistic, considerations were part of the Scottish icon’s reflections remains unknown. Yet, in listening to Faramarz Gosheh, the connection feels almost inevitable: between the absolute centrality of football—its rituals, its details—and a sense of beauty, sometimes overt, sometimes latent, that has intrinsically defined it since its origins. A beauty that, in turn, shapes the lives of those who fall in love with the game.

‘Field Rituals’ stands as a manifesto of this rare and extraordinary power. A series of sensory compositions suspended beyond time and space, finding their fullest meaning within the personal history of their Swedish creator: a story we set out to uncover.

Let’s start from the relationship you’ve built over time with aesthetics, visual storytelling, and football: how did these elements come together as you were growing up?

“I think it starts at home. My mother is both an artist and a nurse, and there were always paintings around: acrylics, watercolors, quite abstract and often political. At the time, I didn’t fully understand them, but looking back, I can see how they shaped me. I grew up surrounded by texture, by images, by this sense that making something was part of everyday life. She never pushed me in any particular direction, but that environment made me feel that a creative path was possible. As a kid, I was drawn to architecture and design: I remember sketching football boots, imagining how I would design a Nike shoe. I’ve always been a dreamer. For a long time, though, my main dream was to become a professional football player. Around sixteen or seventeen, I realized how difficult that would be, especially in Europe. Still, I kept playing. I progressed through the system in Sweden, playing for Örgryte IS from youth teams to the junior squad, then reserves, and eventually the first team. I played semi-professionally for a couple of years, moving between the second and third divisions. Interestingly, the club has since reached the first division, which I’m really happy about.”

What role did football play in shaping you, not only as a player but as a person?

“It had a fundamental impact. First of all, it taught me how to function within a group. You learn very quickly that you’re not the superstar: you can’t be. You rely on others, and they rely on you. That understanding translates directly into filmmaking and photography. You need a team to make anything meaningful happen. It also instilled discipline. Training several times a week, taking care of your body, eating well, sleeping properly… those habits stay with you. As a freelancer, that structure is incredibly useful. I often think about my work in terms of a ‘season’: how I prepare, what I want to focus on, how I sustain myself during busy periods, and then how I reset afterward. Football also exposed me to different environments. Traveling for away games, seeing small towns and unfamiliar parts of Sweden definitely broadened my perspective. Thanks to football, I had the chance to meet people from different backgrounds, different cultures, even within the same country. That stays with you.”

Given your natural visual sensitivity, did you ever perceive football, during your playing years, as an aesthetic or creative source?

“Not consciously at the time. Back then, it was more about development and competition. But in retrospect, I can see how certain visual elements stayed with me. The colors of the kits, the way players wore their socks, how they tucked in their shirts… those details were always there, even if I wasn’t thinking about them as ‘aesthetic’ in a formal sense. Now, they come back as a kind of visual memory, almost like texture. There’s something very beautiful about that, but I think I only fully understood it later.”

How did photography, and later directing, enter your life?

“It started very simply. My mother had a DSLR at home, and I picked it up. I began taking photos of my friends, and it quickly became something more than just a hobby. The camera also gave me a way to position myself socially. When you’re young, it can be awkward entering a room, but if you have a camera, you have a purpose. You’re there to observe, to capture something. That felt natural to me. Over time, I became interested in capturing moments as truthfully as possible. But then I realized that sometimes those moments don’t just happen: you have to create them. Especially when working with clients, where you’re asked to evoke a certain lifestyle or feeling that isn’t naturally present. That’s where directing in a broader sense came in. This all developed over several years, while freelancing across different types of work: events, weddings, food, anything I could take on. I didn’t have a formal education, so I relied on curiosity and discipline. I made a lot of mistakes, but I also learned by surrounding myself with people who knew more than I did. At some point, people started telling me, ‘You have a voice.’ That pushed me to think more critically about what I like and why.”

How do you navigate the balance you mentioned between commercial work and artistic expression?

“I’ve never been a purist about it. I don’t see commercial work or fashion as something inherently ‘lesser’ or compromised. Some of the photographers I admire most are able to take a brand and create something deeply artistic: something with a strong narrative or conceptual depth. That’s what I aim for. Ideally, the work lives beyond the campaign itself. It should have its own integrity, its own longevity. At the same time, I maintain a separate space for more independent storytelling: short films, personal projects. But I’m always interested in that intersection between art, commerce, and fashion. I think that’s where a lot of interesting work happens today.”

Let’s talk about Field Rituals. How did this editorial project come about?

“It came at a moment of frustration, to be honest. I had just lost two commercial jobs, and another one had really drained me creatively. I felt disconnected from joy. I remember sitting somewhere and thinking: what do I actually want to make? I realized I love football, but I hadn’t explored it enough in my work. At the same time, I knew I would be traveling to South Africa, where my girlfriend is from. That became an opportunity. I wrote down an idea and started reaching out. I wanted to explore the intersection of football and fashion in a way that felt playful and accessible, not overly heavy. I collaborated with stylist Robyn Agulhas, who brought a deeply personal perspective: her father was a footballer in South Africa, so she had a genuine connection to that world. We approached it without the constraints of a client. It was about making something we genuinely cared about.”

How did the production and the project itself unfold?

“It was very organic. We cast people who were open, who had some connection to football. Not everyone was a player, but there was a shared energy. We had ideas going in, but we also allowed space for spontaneity. Some concepts were discarded on the spot; new ones emerged during the shoot. That kind of freedom is rare when you’re working commercially. When I look back at the images and the film, what stands out is that atmosphere: playful, intuitive, collaborative.”

Was the project driven primarily by an aesthetic approach, or are there deeper thematic layers?

“It was more intuitive than conceptual. I tried not to over-reference or over-research. Instead, I focused on memory: what football felt like when I was a child. That sense of seriousness, especially at a young age, where every small game feels like a Champions League final. The rituals, the intensity, even when the stakes are objectively low. I wanted to bring those textures into an adult context: something slightly nostalgic, but also playful. There are subtle references to 90s football and early 2000s ‘Joga Bonito’ culture, but they’re more like echoes than explicit citations.”

Why did you choose to work with analog?

“There are several reasons. First, there’s the inherent beauty of analog: it’s very difficult to replicate digitally in a convincing way. But beyond aesthetics, it’s about process. Shooting on film forces you to slow down. You become more intentional. You don’t just take endless shots, you wait for the moment that feels right. It also affects how you direct. You have to be clearer about what you want. In this case, we also had a practical opportunity: our cinematographer Reezo Hassan had two rolls of Super 16 film. For both me and him, it felt right to use them, even though it was a personal investment. There’s also something about imperfection. Dust, scratches, light leaks… these are not flaws to me. They’re traces of the human hand. In an era increasingly shaped by AI and generative imagery, analog still carries a certain resistance. It reminds you that someone was physically there, making decisions. In a way, it connects back to my mother’s paintings: the visible brushstrokes, the sense of presence.”

One final, essential point in relation to this editorial project: how do you see the relationship between football and fashion today?

“I find it exciting. Football has traditionally been very uniform, both literally and culturally. But now, especially through social media, we’re seeing players express themselves more openly. What they wear off the pitch, their collaborations with fashion houses… it reflects a growing intersection between these worlds. There’s a kind of hunger for it. I don’t think it’s as developed everywhere, certainly not in Sweden, but globally it’s becoming more visible. For a long time, basketball was ahead in that sense. It had a certain swagger. Just think about Allen Iverson, for example. Football is catching up now, and I think that evolution is really interesting to observe.”