Yasra Pouyeshman, a graduate in engineering from Iran, came to Italy to study archaeology in Rome but ended up discovering the country through its food and wine. After moving to Venice for work, her passion for food led her to become a sommelier and specialize in wine and olive oil tasting. However, the pandemic disrupted her plans. She didn’t give up on her dream of running her own business: today, she manages Kooch, a shop specializing in artistic craftsmanship, offering unique pieces that she personally selects from artisans and artists in Iran. She chooses items that embody the philosophy of slow living, a concept she embraces both in her life and in her work. In this interview for Gli Incurabili, Yasra shares her journey, her memories of arriving in the lagoon, and her critical yet deeply affectionate perspective on a city that continues to surprise her.
INTERVIEW BY VALERIA NECCHIO
PHOTOS BY YASRA POUYESHMAN // PORTRAITS BY VALERIA NECCHIO
VN: I’d start with your arrival in the city. What brought you here, when, and why?
YP: I arrived in Venice in April 2019. Before that, I had been living in Rome for 11 years, since 2008, and for nine of those years, I worked with a group of wine shops. In the last few years, I was responsible for managing their shops, but at a certain point, I decided to make a change and seek new experiences. I had been thinking about moving to Venice for some time, so when an interesting job opportunity came up, I accepted it enthusiastically and moved straight away.
VN: So you came here for work. Was it something you had always wanted to do?
YP: Yes, I love creating, planning, experimenting, and solving problems. Aside from my curiosity about Venice, what really drew me here was the job offer. In 2019, after starting this new adventure, I went through a period that was both challenging and stimulating: I had a goal to achieve, and I managed to reach it. We made significant progress with the project, but then the high tide arrived, followed by the pandemic, which brought everything to a standstill. At that point, I decided to change direction again: I left my job to embark on a new adventure—working, for a very short period, in the vineyards— which has always been one of my dreams.
VN: At that moment, did you consider leaving the city?
YP: No. In that situation, the last thing I could have thought of was leaving again. I had already left Rome, I had just started getting to know new people… The idea of starting over again was unthinkable. I believe I would have stayed anyway. I never felt the urge to leave.
VN: What were those first few months like? How did you find the city?
YP: I moved to Venice mainly for a work project, so I was very focused on that. I can barely recall those early days outside of work. However, I do remember that on my second day here, there was an extraordinary high tide. Following the advice of a Venetian friend, I went to St Mark’s Square to see what was happening: I found it incredible and also a little frightening, at least for me, as it was my first time experiencing high water. On my way back to my accommodation, the water was so high that you couldn’t tell where the canal ended and the pavement began.
Being new in the city and knowing very few people, I spent most of my time with my colleagues, so I didn’t have many chances to socialise or explore new places. Then, when Covid arrived, everything became a blur in my mind. My memories of those months are jumbled, hazy. However, I do remember Carnival in 2020: I had been here for a year, and it all seemed so fascinating. It was the only Carnival where I really tried to take a break from work and enjoy the city.
VN: Which area did you live in?
YP: I lived in Santa Croce and worked near the station. But I soon started exploring the city, especially because, working in the wine and food industry, I wanted to discover it from that perspective as well—what people drink, where to find the best places.
“I live all of the glories and beauty, the sorrows, the fights, the losses, the victories, the history, the art, the past, the present and the future of my motherland, right in the heart of my second home.“
VN: Have you always worked in the food and wine sector?
YP: In Italy, yes. I started somewhat by chance, because I wanted to work and was fascinated by the world of enogastronomy. I began as a sales assistant, but I was always keen to progress, so I trained myself. I took sommelier courses for both wine and olive oil, and eventually, I became an expert. However, even though I have some experiences as a host at a wine bar, I always enjoyed selling way more than serving.
VN: Let’s fast-forward to today. How did the idea for your shop, Kooch, come about?
YP: When I arrived in Venice from Rome, I asked myself: why are we so behind here? Even now, I don’t understand why, in such a unique city, there are so few equally unique projects. If we count them, they wouldn’t even fill two hands. To have a good breakfast, you have to walk a lot—most places only offer frozen croissants, or the coffee is most of the time nothing special. To drink well, there are only a few places, and they almost all sell the same wines. A jazz club? There isn’t one. A good ice cream? Very few. A place to buy quality pasta or olive oil? Few existing projects or places or details, as special as Venice.
At first, it was a shock. So, since I had also become an olive oil sommelier and used to source my supplies from specialist shops in Rome, at a certain point, I thought it would be great to open an oleoteca—a shop with a curated selection of olive oils, along with other Italian specialities. I already had everything ready—from suppliers to a product list, even a business plan.
In the meantime, I had a bag I had bought in Iran from a designer with whom I now collaborate a lot. One day, a former flatmate from Rome came to visit me and, while we were out and about, so many people stopped me to ask about that bag. In the end, she said to me: “Why don’t you open a shop and sell them?”
Thinking back, before moving to Venice, I spent a year in Iran. I returned home because I had lost my mum and needed to be home with my family for an extended period. I wanted to be close to my siblings (I have two sisters and a brother). After that, I returned to Italy, but during that year, I worked in a boutique in Tehran—one of the first and most important in Iran to showcase modern and contemporary craftsmanship. So, the bag, my flatmate, and that past experience planted a seed in my mind… Especially because I felt the need to showcase a different side of Iran, which is different from how it is typically portrayed. Iran is often discussed solely in political terms, while contemporary art, artists, artisans, and designers—who continue to create and move forward despite the country’s isolation—are rarely acknowledged. This is what I aim to showcase with Kooch.
Then I found the perfect space. I had spotted it in the summer of 2021, there was a phone number on the door, and a friend, seeing my hesitation, called straight away to set up a viewing. I went to see it and fell in love. I signed the contract, with plans to open in March 2022, so I had a few months to organise myself and decide what to put inside. It couldn’t be a food shop due to permit restrictions, so I let go of the oleoteca idea, also because I had decided to move away from my previous work.
And that’s how Kooch was born—a place where I feel less of a stranger than anywhere else. Here, I live all of the glories and beauty, the sorrows, the struggles, the losses, the victories, the history, the art, the past, the present and the future of my motherland, right in the heart of my second home.
To be honest, I don’t even know where I found the courage to take the leap. I wasn’t completely inexperienced—having managed a chain of over 20 shops, I knew the business well, so I can’t say I was jumping in blindly. But straight after the pandemic, no one really knew what to expect. That’s why I say I was brave—it was a bit like playing poker. Some things were out of my hands, but for the rest, I was well prepared. The one thing I had never done was import-export—that was a real learning curve. Imagine this: for my first shipment, instead of using a broker, I went to customs in person to clear the items that were shipped to me from Iran. Then, Iran has been under sanctions for 16–17 years, so everything is complicated, even paying the artisans. But despite all that, I did it.In the wine world, I’ve always supported slow wine. And Kooch perfectly embodies slow living and slow fashion. Whatever I do in life will always follow that path. In a way, Venice is the perfect city for this way of life and mindset.
VN: Tell me about the curatorial work you do in the shop. How do you choose the artisans you work with or the pieces you sell?
YP: I always make the selections myself, except in some cases where I give artists free rein. With some—especially ceramicists—I prefer not to impose anything: I just say, “Do your thing, send me whatever you like,” and let them decide. In Iran, we have a saying: if you make something with heart, that energy stays in the object, and whoever looks at it will feel it. That’s why I don’t want to interfere too much in the creative process—I don’t want to risk losing that energy.
So, part of the objects in the shop aren’t directly chosen by me. Sometimes I decide on the shape but not the colour, other times vice versa. I work closely with my siblings, who are my team in Iran, and that’s one of the things that makes me happiest.
VN: In Venice, how do you find the exchange with both locals and visitors?
YP: I built a great relationship with locals right from the start. This city has emptied out over the years, and when I opened, many people were simply curious to see this countertrend move. Then, just three days later, I received a letter from the municipality of Venice giving me five days to shut down, accusing me of selling trinkets! It was so nonsense that I panicked—I found a lawyer, but in the meantime, so many people wrote to the municipality, attaching photos of the shop and defending me. I ended up in the local newspapers and, unintentionally, the council gave me huge publicity. My neighbouring shop owners were fantastic, and the area where I’m based is full of wonderful shops and special people. They’ve become like family to me.
VN: Have you found a way to share the story of Iran as you wanted?
YP: When people come in, they often ask about me, my story. I talk a lot about politics—because people ask me about it. The information that reaches the media is always partial: even I, despite having family in Iran, only have a limited perspective—but it’s certainly different from what’s shown on TV. It’s important to listen to different viewpoints.
That said, my goal is to be a bridge between those living in Iran—isolated from the rest of the world due to sanctions and political circumstances—and the outside public. Of course, there’s the sales aspect, but above all, there’s an exchange of ideas. I’ve had customers who are well-known designers, artists, actors, journalists—all of which I owe to Venice, a unique gem that continues to attract people who seek and love beauty.
I work only with artists and artisans who currently live in Iran. But I’m not the one who should teach Persian culture—I don’t even have the credentials for that. However, through the objects and stories I bring, I share a vision of contemporary Iran. And let’s say that an Iranian boutique in Venice isn’t out of place at all—on the contrary, it fits perfectly with the city’s history. Venice has always been a meeting point between East and West, a crossroads of trade, art, and architecture.
“When someone arrives in Venice, they should be left speechless—and that already happens. But they should also immediately understand how to respect it.“
VN: It’s as if you’ve restored a fragment of Venice’s ancient vocation—its openness to the world.
YP: I truly hope so. It makes me happy when people tell me I have one of the most beautiful shop windows in Venice, but at the same time, it’s bittersweet—because this entire city should be beautiful from start to finish. There are some wonderful shops, but it’s not enough. Tourism is suffocating creativity.
At the beginning, many people told me I wouldn’t last more than a year. There’s this widespread belief that in Venice, only businesses catering exclusively to tourists can survive. The problem is that in cities overtaken by mass tourism—when left without a clear vision—creativity fades. There’s no competition; you can do whatever you want. The city has become a place of transit, where customer loyalty doesn’t matter because “they come and go”. You can afford not to care. Venice fills up and empties out every day—just look at what happens during Carnival, when people come to celebrate a historic tradition… wearing masks made in China! The local government doesn’t even bother to educate visitors about the history of Venice and its Carnival. That infuriates me.
We need to get back to working with passion. Money is important, but it can’t be the only driving force. I work with passion—otherwise, getting up in the morning would be torture.
VN: When you have a day off, is there something you love doing in the city?
YP: Before opening the shop, I used to go to San Michele, to the Laguna nel Bicchiere association. It’s a special place—a vineyard and winery inside the cemetery, where you can make wine and take part in activities. Now I have less time, but for me, it was paradise.
I also love leaving Venice. Staying here all the time can be suffocating—the longer you stay, the harder it becomes to leave. So, I try to get away whenever I can. And to have new ideas, you need to see new places, travel. It’s like a sport—it’s tiring, but you have to do it. When I have time, I take long walks in Sant’Erasmo or at the Lido, especially in winter. I love walking.
VN: Would you say that in your free time, you recharge on your own?
YP: Yes, I’m used to having time to immerse myself in my own world—listening to my podcasts, my music, reading my books… I always need those moments just for myself.
VN: Especially because your work puts you in constant contact with people.
YP: Exactly. In my job, I see so many new faces—it’s wonderful, but it can also be exhausting. When a customer becomes a regular, everything changes. Working only with complete strangers can be tiring. Especially when conversations reveal just how much misinformation there is—it can be really disheartening.
People often ask me: “Besides St Mark’s, is there anything else to see in the city? Are there other monuments?” And I tell them that they’re already standing on one. That the monument is the city itself. Very few arrive with any real knowledge about Venice. And I wonder: aren’t you even a little curious to know more? Someone once said something that stuck with me: we need to go back to being travellers, not tourists. That’s exactly it.
VN: In your opinion, what does the city urgently need?
YP: Clear communication about where people actually are. And the courage to make bold choices.
When someone arrives in Venice, they should be left speechless—and that already happens. But they should also immediately understand how to respect it. It wouldn’t take much: a striking installation at the station exit, engaging information that, in five minutes, helps people grasp the essence of the city. We need to show visitors how to respect this gem.
Once, three tourists—young ones, too—left their plastic cup and ice cream container on the ground just outside Kooch before coming in. I simply asked if they would do the same in their own city and of course I asked them to leave my shop, because if you don’t respect Venice, you’re not welcome at Kooch.
In 2020, I remember an installation at the Architecture Biennale: a map of Venice recreated on broken tiles. As you walked over it, the tiles shattered even more. You tried to step lightly to avoid causing more damage, but it was impossible. That work stayed with me—it got under my skin. Every time I walk through Venice, I feel like I’m standing on that artwork, sensing its fragility. And I wonder: why don’t we place something similar at the station exit? Sure, some people would enjoy breaking it even further, but it would send a powerful message: this city is fragile and cannot be treated carelessly.
And during major events like the Biennale, we need high-level collaborations that place Venice at the centre of global communication, creating a strong, recognisable identity for the city.
For example, during Vinitaly, every shop in Verona has something related to wine. Even if you’re not in the industry, you immediately realise that something is happening. That doesn’t happen in Venice. The Biennale feels disconnected from the city—only 10% of visitors even know it’s going on. And yet, it’s the first and most important Biennale in the world!
VN: So, what’s needed is the desire to do things properly.
YP: Exactly. And also, to show citizens where the money goes—like the entrance fee to the city. That money should be reinvested in services, in improving the quality of life. Venice mustn’t remain stuck—it needs to evolve. If the city grows in an organic way, people will change along with it. And so will its visitors.
What’s needed is vision.
