Originally published on Global Voices

Sara Qashghai, photographed with one of her intricate Pateh pieces, 2024. Photo courtesy of the artist.

Sara Soleimani Ghashghai’s work with Pateh, a traditional Iranian needlework art, offers a fresh and contemporary interpretation of a centuries-old craft. Pateh, distinct to the city of Kerman in southeastern Iran, is a form of embroidery where wool, silk, and sometimes gold threads stitch intricate designs, often of flowers, birds, and vibrant patterns. 

Yet, through her mastery of seven distinct sewing techniques, Qashghai transcends traditional motifs, weaving not just images but complex narratives that convey emotions and stories with remarkable depth. By pushing the boundaries of this ancient art form, Sara elevates Pateh into a medium for sophisticated storytelling, communicating her feelings, reflections, and powerful social messages in a way that feels both intimate and universally resonant.

This art dates back centuries and has roots in the Persian Safavid era, with the earliest known examples from 1868. It has long been a way for the people of Kerman to bring the colors of nature into their homes, compensating for the lack of greenery in the arid desert landscape.

Sara Qashghai, ‘Say Her Name,’ 2023. Pateh Douzi on fabric. 80 x 100 cm (31.5 x 39.4 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

Qashghai’s journey into Pateh began after studying historical preservation and fine arts. She completed her bachelor’s in historic preservation and pursued her higher education in painting. Qashghai worked as a restorer of antique wooden objects for over a decade, but eight years ago, she shifted her focus to Pateh. Her work gained recognition when the Aran Gallery in Tehran began showcasing her pieces. Since then, she has exhibited widely, including in prestigious Los Angeles and San Diego galleries. Her work is featured at the Advocartsy Gallery in Los Angeles and the Mingei Museum in San Diego. Her exhibitions abroad highlight her commitment to elevating Pateh on the global art stage while staying true to its cultural roots.

Sara Qashghai, ‘Memories,’ 2023. Pateh Douzi on fabric. 55.5 x 116.5 cm (21.9 x 45.9 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

In an interview with Global Voices, Qashghai discusses her unique artistic journey, which blends creativity with cultural preservation.

Excerpts from the interview follow:

Sara Qashghai, ‘Humans and Anthropoids in a Dance of Liberty,’ 2023. Pateh Douzi on fabric. Size: 128 x 65 cm (50.4 x 25.6 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

Sara Qashghai (SQ): My works evolved from handicrafts to art through my unique approach to technique based on two main factors. First, while this craft once earned recognition in global museums, rising material costs and mass production led to diminished quality with repetitive designs. I focus on using high-quality materials and creative techniques. Second, Iranian women, particularly nomadic ones, have historically used wool to create beauty in everyday life — through carpets, kilims, Gabbeh and Pateh.

Sara Qashghai, ‘Farewell,’ 2023. Pateh Douzi on fabric. 50 x 110 cm (19.7 x 43.3 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

Through the help of my artisans, I express emotions, thoughts, hopes, and dreams using thread. The threads reflect the mood of the piece — soft and close together to convey calm or spread apart, rough and expressive to show anger or frustration. Each stitch and color choice has its own meaning. In the past, I directed all stitching techniques, but now, the emotions of my artisans — who have experienced violence and injustice — naturally influence the work, creating a powerful collaboration.

For example, in my piece on Mahsa Amini, the harsh stitches and colors conveyed a deep sense of bitterness and violence. The threads, sometimes harsh like a noose or delicate like flower petals, help me tell my story. Technique and theme are equally important. In “Niloofar in the Swamp,” I portray the Iranian woman as a resilient water lily growing in harsh conditions. The threads can symbolize different elements —war, peace, or even angels — ultimately conveying my hope for peace and victory.

Sara Qashghai, ‘Till You Are Unaware of Body and Soul, How Can You Know the Beloved’s Heart,’ inspired by The Conference of the Birds by Attar, 2024. Pateh Douzi on Wool. 200 x 100 cm (78.7 x 39.4 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

SQ: I don’t consciously choose the themes; I am deeply influenced by events, memories, and experiences around me, as well as how society and people respond to these changes. I believe an artist cannot be untouched by social transformations. Therefore, the themes of my work are inspired by my feelings and the events around me.

OM: How does collaboration with local artists and showcasing your work globally impact the revival of these arts?

SQ: Unfortunately, due to economic challenges and high production costs, Kerman Pateh and materials are experiencing a noticeable decline, leading artisans to replicate previous designs. When artists like myself enter the scene, focusing on material selection, injecting financial support, and applying creativity, they significantly revitalize the themes and techniques, contributing to the resurgence of this art form.

 Sara Qashghai, ‘Mothers and Children of the Middle East,’ 2023. Pateh Douzi on fabric. Size: 182 x 67 cm (71.5 x 26.4 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

SQ: My process typically begins with an idea reflecting my concerns and the issues facing my community at that time. I collaborate with local artisans, making it a collective, feminine effort. Initially, I would paint the design on paper and transfer it to fabric. Now, I draw directly on the fabric, sometimes sketching multiple ideas and combining them spontaneously. Half of the design is improvised for some works, and I always create color sketches to guide my thread selections before adding intuitive stitches.

OM: What is the perception of your work in Iran, and are there other artists using similar techniques for their artistic expression? How does it differ from your experience abroad?

Sara: I can confidently say that no one in Iran has woven their imagination with Kerman Pateh as I have. In Kerman, this technique is typically viewed as a handicraft with designs that have undergone minimal changes for nearly a century. I have not seen anyone else use this technique since my work. However, I have encountered some pieces in museums near San Diego that employed sewing similar to mine. Still, they did not match the diversity of Kerman Pateh, which features seven distinct and fascinating stitching techniques — something even specialists in American museums have noted.

Sara Qashghai, ‘Astonished, She Said, “The Army of Iran Has Come,”‘ Inspired by ‘Women in Shahnameh‘ by Ferdowsi, 2024. Pateh Douzi on Wool. Size: 300 x 100 cm (118.1 x 39.4 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: To what extent can you freely express your ideas and balance between conveying a message and artistic expression, ensuring your work doesn’t become merely propagandistic?

SQ: When I create and begin sketching, I become so immersed in the narrative that I simply draw whatever comes to my mind and heart, influenced by my emotions and experiences. I do not think about it becoming propagandistic; if it happens, it’s entirely unintentional. I believe that even if it were to occur, there would be an authenticity that transcends mere slogans.

Sara Qashghai, ‘Memories,’ 2023. Pateh Douzi on fabric. 55.5 x 116.5 cm (21.9 x 45.9 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: Who are some artists within and outside Iran that inspire your work?

SQ: In some pieces, I have been heavily influenced by poets and artists from Iran, particularly the themes in the works of classical Iranian poets. For instance, images from “Shahnameh” by Ferdowsi, “The Conference of the Birds” by Attar, and “Kelileh o Demneh” have had a profound impact on me. Regarding Western artists, I draw inspiration from Cézanne, Matisse, and Degas, whose works I adore. Of course, there are many others, as I love exploring galleries and museums and have a strong visual memory.

Sara Qashghai, ‘Wondering in the Land and See,’ 2024. Pateh Douzi on Wool. 200 x 100 cm (78.7 x 39.4 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Portrait of artist Alexis Peskine. The photo was taken by Thomas Babeau and used with permission.

Alexis Peskine is a visionary artist whose work seamlessly fuses materiality with metaphor, invoking both aesthetic grace and profound cultural resonance. Peskine's distinctive technique employs nails hammered into wooden surfaces, creating a tactile dialogue between destruction and construction.

His work, which often explores the complexities of Afro-descendant identity, embodies a raw yet harmonious intersection of spirituality, historical memory, and collective consciousness. Peskine’s art transcends the confines of portraiture, offering instead a visual language that speaks to the collective soul, capturing the nuances of strength, vulnerability, and transformation.

Born in 1979 in Paris into a family rich with cultural and artistic influence, Peskine’s identity is shaped by his Afro-Brazilian heritage and his French-Lithuanian roots. His father, an architect, and his grandfather, a carpenter from the island of Itaparica in the state of Bahia in Brazil, who raised Peskin's mother in Salvador, Bahia, instilled in him a deep appreciation for craftsmanship, while his mother’s Afro-Brazilian lineage connected him to the spiritual practices and cultural legacies of the African diaspora.

Raised in a household in Issy-les-Moulineaux, a city in southwestern Paris that revered art, Peskine was encouraged to develop his creative voice, drawing upon the stories and experiences of his lineage. His work is, therefore, not just an aesthetic pursuit but an ongoing exploration of justice, healing, and spiritual awakening.

Alexis Peskine and assistant at work gilding nail heads, October Gallery. Photo: Jonathan Greet.

Peskine’s formal education at Howard University and the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA) in the United States laid the foundation for his technical expertise. Yet, his artistic vision has expanded far beyond the classroom. Currently based in Paris, he continues to evolve as a dynamic presence in the global art scene. His recent solo exhibition, “Forest Figures,” at October Gallery in London (October 3 – November 9, 2024), marked a significant moment in his career, showcasing a body of work that blends spiritual introspection with a radical exploration of form.

In an interview with Global Voices, Peskine delves into the evolution of his practice, the influence of his familial and cultural background, and the shifting focus of his recent work — from politically charged to spiritually resonant. Through his work, Peskine offers a bold visual language that seeks not only to represent but to heal, bridging the material and immaterial realms with every stroke of the nail.

Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Alexis Peskine, ‘Power,’ 2017. Moon gold leaf on nails, earth, coffee, water, and acrylic on wood. 195 x 250 cm (76 x 98 in). ©Alexis Peskine. Majed Halawi collection. Photo courtesy of the artist and October Gallery.

Omid Memarian (OM): Your work often incorporates nails hammered into wooden surfaces. Can you explain the technical process behind this technique and how you developed it over time?

Alexis Peskine (AP): I first considered using nails at Howard University. My mixed media teacher, Professor Sorrels Adewale, encouraged us to think about materials as metaphors. My work has always centered on the Afro-descendant experience, influenced by my upbringing in France, Afro-Brazilian heritage, and time spent in various Black American cities and 33 African countries.

Initially drawn to silkscreen printmaking, I experimented with dot patterns to explore the historical significance of our people. My interest in nails grew after learning about the Minkisi Nkondi power figures from the Congo, sculptures adorned with nails. This concept of destruction and creation resonated with me. When I arrived at the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), I was inspired by a wooden board left behind by the previous occupant and began using nails in 2004.

My process starts with a photograph, which I translate into dot patterns using computer software, mimicking the values of gray through dots of different sizes. I reverse the typical process by using a black silhouette with white dots to represent light areas, creating portraits illuminated by natural sunlight.

Alexis Peskine, ‘Moto wa Uhanini,’ 2020. Orange gold leaf, nails, Havana Ochre, curcuma, earth, and white hibiscus on lumber core wood, 122 x 122 cm (48 ×48 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: How has your childhood and upbringing influenced the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

AP: My father is French and Lithuanian, while my mother is Afro-Brazilian. My grandfather, born in St. Petersburg, Russia, survived a concentration camp in France. These experiences, along with my Brazilian roots, shaped my values. I grew up in a family of artists and creators: my great-grandmother worked in a hardware store, my grandfather was a carpenter, and my father is an architect. My artistic inclinations were encouraged from a young age.

These influences instilled a deep sense of justice and fairness in me, which I channel into my work. It’s made me sensitive to the world around me, shaping how I express my thoughts through art.

Alexis Peskine, ‘Orí,’ 2024. Basil, Vessie green pigment, lacquer paint, lemon gold leaf, and nails on wood, 175 x 154 x 9 cm (69 × 60 in). (AP126) Photo courtesy of October Gallery.

OM: The first experience is beauty and harmony when we see your work. How does this complex concept resonate with your audiences?

AP: My goal is to represent both softness and strength, sensibility and abundance — qualities that reflect our people. The power in my work isn’t about domination; it’s a softer, more nuanced form — an aura rather than an aggressive force. This resonates with viewers because it reflects the spirit of those portrayed, not just portraits of individuals but representations of a collective soul. The subjects give their energy to the work, which connects with the viewers.

Alexis Peskine, ‘Akutjhe’ (‘Let it Burn’), 2020. Gold leaf, nails, clay, hibiscus and coffee on lumber core wood, 150 x 150 cm (59 1/10 × 59 1/10 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: You address complex social and political issues. How do you balance the technical precision of your pieces with the emotional and political messages they convey?

AP: My early work was intellectual and political, but in the last decade, my focus shifted toward art's spiritual and energetic aspects. While politics affects us all, I believe my recent work transcends immediate issues. It connects to something timeless, aiming for balance, harmony, and peace. What viewers feel from the work goes beyond politics and reaches into a deeper, more universal realm of experience.

Alexis Peskine, ‘Safara’ (‘Fire/Hell’), 2020, Gold leaf, nails, coffee and earth on lumber core wood 150 × 110 × 10 cm (59 1/10 × 43 3/10 × 3 9/10 in). Photo courtesy of October Gallery.

OM: Can you tell me which artists or movements have had the most significant influence on your work?

AP: My first influence was my family. My parents encouraged my artistic pursuits, and my aunt, who ran an industrial design company, gave me a strong design foundation. At Howard, I was introduced to figures like Aaron Douglas, Jacob Lawrence and writers like Toni Morrison. The Negritude movement deeply resonated with me. I realized I wasn’t alone in my journey as an Afro-descendant artist.

Artists like Basquiat, Kara Walker, Hank Willis Thomas, and my friends — Zak Ové, Fahamu Pécou, and Zana Masombuka — have influenced me. Conversations and exhibitions with them have shaped my perspective. My brothers, who are involved in music and film, have also been a major influence. We critique one another's work, pushing each other to grow.

OM: I think art schools in the U.S. tend to be a bit kinder when critiquing work.

AP: At Howard and MICA, critiques were harsh, even from classmates who didn’t always understand the references in my work. This helped me learn to accept feedback, discern its value, and understand that critique is part of growth as an artist.

Alexis Peskine, ‘Aljana Moons IV,’ 2015. Edition of 5 plus 1 artist's proof. Archival pigment print on Hahnemühle Photo Rag 308 gsm paper mounted on Dibond, 82.5 x 154 cm (32.4 × 60 in). (AP022). Photo courtesy of October Gallery.

OM: How do you decide what themes to depict in your work? If it’s a portrait, how do you choose the subject? What drives your choice of technique, or do you prefer sculpture?

AP: My studio is small, so I take a different approach from artists who work nonstop. Instead, I walk and let my spirit guide me, absorbing ideas and making mental notes. I create bodies of work rather than individual pieces, expressing my feelings at specific points in my life.

For example, “Forest Figures” came after my residency in rural Cameroon, where I faced a life-threatening experience. This event sparked a need for peace and healing. The work evolved from the more political “Fire Figures,” which reflected my feelings of revolt during the George Floyd protests, to the more spiritual “Forest Figures,” which explore healing and reconnection with nature.

Left: Alexis Peskine, ‘Kékéréké,’ 2024. White and black paint, archival varnish, 24 k, gold leaf and nails on wood, 150 x 110 cm (59 1/10 × 43 3/10 in). Right: ‘Séetal, ‘2024. White and black paint, archival varnish, 24 k gold leaf, and nails on wood, 150 × 110 cm (59 1/10 × 43 3/10 in). Photo courtesy of October Gallery.

OM: The art world has become complicated with art fairs, galleries, exhibitions, and money involved. What’s your advice to emerging artists looking to find their voice in the contemporary art world?

AP: Always look inward and pay attention to how you feel and what you want to express. Don’t hesitate to explore what you love and understand yourself. Early on, I wanted to develop my own visual language, and I admired artists who created distinct, resonating works.

Create with purity — don’t focus on commercial concerns while you’re making art. Once your work is done, find ways to make it visible. Social media today makes it easier than ever to share your art worldwide, reaching people who will connect with your expression.

Alexis Peskine in front of his artworks at October Gallery in London, 2022. Photo by Elisabeth Lalouschek, October Gallery’s art director.

While having a gallery is beneficial, as I learned through my experience with October Gallery, it's not the only way. When I started, I walked around with a portfolio, went to galleries and art fairs, and tried to get my work seen. Ultimately, gallery representation helps, but you can create your own path.

Success in art comes down to drive, curiosity, and a willingness to ask questions. Teachers don’t always need to be formally recognized. If you have a mentor, whether in school or outside, appreciate those who help you along the way.

Learning to talk about your work is essential — whether you're in school or not. Being able to articulate your vision is as important as the art itself. If you can’t do it, find someone who can write or talk about it for you.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Korosh Ghazimorad, ‘Breathing with Nature,’ 2024. Mixed media on canvas, 120 x 80 cm (47 x 31 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

In contemporary Iranian art, Korosh Ghazimorad, 55, is a leading artist known for his unique approach to blending traditional calligraphy with modern artistic expressions.

With a degree in wood industry and paper engineering and certifications from Iran’s Calligraphy Association, he has spent decades merging established techniques with innovative forms. 

His work embodies a unique synergy of historical reverence and innovative spirit, as he masterfully blends classical styles with contemporary forms, most notably through the development of the Sarir calligraphy style. As a seasoned educator, he has imparted his knowledge in calligraphy and typography for over 25 years at esteemed institutions, nurturing the next generation of artists.

A commitment to graphic design and art direction marks Ghazimorad’s professional journey. He has played significant roles in various high-circulation newspapers and in curating exhibitions for renowned Iranian artists. His artistic influence extends beyond national borders, with notable works in prestigious public collections, such as the Museum Funf Kontinente in Munich, Germany.

As a board member of the Iranian Graphic Designers’ Association and a jury member for journalism competitions, he has consistently championed originality and artistic design, reinforcing his dedication to elevating visual arts standards in Iran and beyond.

Iranian artist Korosh Ghazimorad working at his studio in Tehran. Photo courtesy of the artist.

In an interview with Global Voices, Ghazimorad shares insights into his artistic philosophy, exploring the themes of cultural identity and the sensory experience of letters in his work. 

He discusses his innovative techniques in utilizing pen and ink, which convey emotions that resonate deeply with viewers. 

Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Omid Memarian (OM): Your work uniquely combines traditional calligraphy with abstract forms. How do you define your artistic style, and what distinguishes it from traditional calligraphic practices?

Korosh Ghazimorad (KG): My style merges traditional calligraphy with modern abstract forms, allowing me to express the essence of classical art through a contemporary lens. Traditional calligraphy serves as my foundation, while abstract and free forms infuse new life into the lines. This approach transcends mere writing, evolving into a sensory and spiritual experience where movement and line embody energy. Here, the line is detached from its original meaning and repurposed as a tool for conveying emotions and more profound concepts. I aim for an expression that challenges the viewer's mind, inviting them to reflect beyond the surface meanings of the lines while preserving the authenticity of calligraphic art.

Korosh Ghazimorad, ‘Silent Words,’ 2020. Acrylic on canvas, 180 x 200 cm (70 x 78 in). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: What themes and concepts do you explore in your works, and what do you hope audiences will take away from the experience?

KGH: In my work, I focus on the classical and the sensory elements. The classical section, which includes my Sarir style, features a distinct penmanship and letter inclination that differ from traditional calligraphy. This section emphasizes cultural themes and profound concepts like authenticity, identity, and human values in relation to the past. The sensory section focuses on the energy and sensation of letters and the interplay of positive and negative spaces. Through these abstract forms, I aim to depict the enduring essence of culture. I hope audiences connect with the depth of my content, discover their own interpretations, and reflect on the links between past and present, fostering a personal connection with my work.

Korosh Ghazimorad, ‘Branches of Being,’ 2024. Four pieces, mixed media on canvas, 400 x 150 cm(158 x 59 in). Image courtesy of the artist.

KGH: My innovative method using the colapen nib has garnered varied and largely positive feedback within the Iranian art community and beyond. Artists and critics have embraced this approach, viewing it as a fresh and distinctive avenue in modern calligraphy. Internationally, this approach has been received well, blending traditional elements with abstract forms. Audiences outside Iran experience a different emotional resonance through my work, recognizing a shared cultural language amidst the lines and movements. This enthusiasm indicates that art, particularly calligraphy, can create a bridge between cultures, conveying emotions without the need for translation.

Korosh Ghazimorad, Untitled, 2013, acrylic and gold leaf on canvas, 236 x 183 cm. (92.9 x 72 in.) Image courtesy of artist.

OM: Tehran boasts a rich and dynamic art community. Following your recent exhibition in November, what insights do you wish to share about the current art landscape in Iran?

KG: Tehran's art community possesses a unique dynamism that has evolved despite various constraints, attracting many art enthusiasts with a blend of traditional and modern influences. Observing the works of young artists, I see a vibrant energy; despite challenges, they continue to engage creatively in their artistic pursuits, shining both domestically and internationally. In Tehran, there is a strong inclination towards creating works with social and cultural messages. Young Iranian artists are adopting new tools and techniques while maintaining their connection to cultural roots. This interplay between the past and future creates a distinctive art scene in Iran, enabling its voice to resonate globally.

Korosh Ghazimorad, ‘Tree of Vitality,’ 2021. Ink on cardboard, 21 x 29.5 cm(8 x 11.5 in). Image courtesy of the artist.

OM: Considering the popularity of calligraphy in the Middle East, especially in Arab countries, how has your work been recognized in the region?

KG: Calligraphy holds a special place in Middle Eastern culture, particularly in Arab countries. My work integrates traditional and modern calligraphy and has been well-received regionally. Many enthusiasts view my approach in exhibitions and events across the Middle East as innovative, reflecting the authenticity of calligraphy and a symbol of transformation within the art form. The positive feedback from Arab countries indicates a desire among artists and audiences to experience calligraphy in new ways, using it as a tool for expressing complex emotions. This reception facilitates cultural exchange and artistic dialogue that transcends linguistic barriers, showcasing the shared cultural spirit between Iran and the Arab world.

Korosh Ghazimorad, Whispers of the Woods, 2021. Acrylic on Canvas, 150x 100 cm(59 x 40 in). Image courtesy of the artist.

OM: As a prominent graphic designer in Iran, how has your background in graphic design influenced your calligraphy and artistic expression?

KG: Graphic design has significantly impacted my calligraphy and artistic expression. It has provided me with a structured perspective on organizing visual elements, which is less common in traditional calligraphy. This experience enables me to design my calligraphic works with a focus on composition and the effective use of space, enhancing the message's impact. Graphic design has also familiarized me with concepts like color, contrast, and harmony, which I creatively incorporate into my work. This integration allows me to elevate my art beyond classical forms, facilitating a deeper and more lasting connection with viewers.

Korosh Ghazimorad, The Sound of Infinity, 2020. Nitro cellulosic on cardboard, 70x 100 cm (27.5 x 39.5 in). Image courtesy of the artist.

OM: Your journey in calligraphy spans several decades. How do you envision its future, particularly in relation to contemporary art and technology?

KG: After four decades in calligraphy, I believe the future lies in its increasing integration with contemporary art and technology. Calligraphy, rooted in culture and history, can now leverage new technologies and digital tools, especially artificial intelligence, to create innovative works. This technological integration allows emerging artists to present calligraphy in novel ways and interactively engage with audiences. Furthermore, this connection ensures that calligraphy remains a living, evolving art, appealing to new generations and the rest of the world. I envision the future of calligraphy as a blend of tradition and modernity, using emerging technologies to foster new creative expressions, which can rejuvenate the art and establish it as a popular and innovative form globally.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Portrait of Géraldine Tobe ©Studio Vanssay. Photo courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris.

“I needed to go beyond brushes and traditional painting. Smoke is unpredictable, creating forms I can't entirely control and representing this connection between the material and the immaterial.” Géraldine Tobe’s words encapsulate her audacious approach to art, where the elusive nature of smoke becomes a bridge between the physical and the spiritual. Her technique transcends conventional boundaries, allowing smoke's unpredictable, ephemeral essence to mirror the deeper, intangible forces she seeks to explore through her work.

Born in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo, Tobe has transformed trauma into a deeply personal expression, using smoke as both medium and metaphor. Accused of witchcraft as a child and subjected to violent exorcism, Tobe channels personal suffering into powerful artworks that explore ancestral beliefs, colonial religion, and the collective pain of Congolese women, intertwining spiritual and historical narratives.

Her technique of using oil lamp smoke is both symbolic and technically innovative. The ethereal shapes formed by the smoke embody a fragile balance between destruction and creation, representing trauma and memory in their fleeting presence. This approach has garnered praise for its emotional and symbolic depth.

Géraldine Tobe, ‘Vanité de vanité,’ 2022. Smoke on canvas. 130 x 170 cm (51 x 67 in). Photo courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris.

Tobe's work attracted particular attention during the 2018 Dakar Biennial. It has also been the subject of solo exhibitions in Brussels, Kinshasa, and Madagascar. In September 2024, her first solo exhibition in France — “Dans la fumée” (“In the smoke”) — was held at the AFIKARIS Gallery. Her most recent work will be part of the upcoming exhibition “The True Size of Africa” at the Völklinger Hütte in Germany, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

“Creating with fire might sound conflicting, but she had to destroy to recreate and find her very unique way of doing art,” says Michaëla Hadji-Minaglou, gallery manager and lead curator at AFIKARIS in Paris. “She didn’t listen to those who told her to stick to painting. This is why her art is unique: the result of her perseverance and abnegation.”

In an interview with Global Voices, Tobe spoke about the therapeutic power of art, her experiences growing up in Congo, and how her unique technique allows her to explore themes of resilience, memory, and healing.

Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Omid Memarian (OM): You’ve spoken about how your childhood, marked by accusations of witchcraft and violent exorcism, shaped you. How did those experiences influence your path as an artist, and how do they manifest in your work today?

Géraldine Tobe (GT): My childhood was indeed marked by painful moments. This trauma became central to my journey as an artist and person because it pushed me to transform that pain into strength. My art became a means of resilience and healing. These experiences manifest in my work through a mystical and spiritual approach to suffering. Smoke allows me to express what words cannot, functioning as a form of therapy and openness. When we create, we share the expression of our soul.

Géraldine Tobe, ‘Vanité de vanité,’ 2022. Smoke on canvas, 130 x 170 cm (51 x 67 in). Photo courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris.

OM: Can you share your perspective on the current art scene in Congo?

GT: The Congolese art scene is booming. There’s a wealth of creativity, with young artists questioning traditional stories and contemporary realities. International audiences should understand that Congolese artists are not limited to depicting suffering or violence; they also explore themes of beauty, resistance, and the complexity of identity. We have stories that go beyond clichés.

OM: There’s been a surge in global exhibitions spotlighting African artists. What fuels this newfound interest in African art, and how does it impact shared narratives?

GT: There’s growing awareness that African art has been under-represented and undervalued for decades. Audiences and institutions now recognize the diversity and depth that African artists bring. This interest stems from rediscovering historical and contemporary narratives, with artists challenging colonial perspectives. This shift is significant because it allows marginalized voices to express their history and vision of the world.

Exhibition view of Géraldine Tobe’s solo show ‘Dans la fumée,’ AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris. September 2024. Photo: Studio Vanssay, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris

OM: Your work explores ancestral beliefs, colonial religion, and personal suffering. How do your experiences inform the themes and emotional power of your art?

GT: As a Congolese woman, I carry a collective memory marked by colonization alongside deep spiritual beliefs from my culture. My work is adorned with symbols like scarification marks, which in ancestral society carried teachings and represented the divine. My work addresses suffering but also focuses on healing. It’s a tribute to women's resilience and ability to transform pain into strength. Ancestral beliefs inspire me to link the past with the present, exploring tensions between modernity and tradition.

OM: Do you find the process of creating art therapeutic? 

GT: Absolutely. Creating art is therapy for me. The use of smoke, which I began in 2012, embodies both ephemerality and eternity. Smoke represents destruction and healing. Each work is like a ritual, allowing me to revisit and transform my traumas into something beautiful. This process has helped me access emotions that I might not have understood without art.

OM: Your technique of painting with oil lamp smoke is unique. How did this concept emerge, and how do you approach it in terms of technique and symbolism?

GT: This technique came from my quest for artistic freedom. I needed to go beyond traditional painting. Smoke is unpredictable and represents a connection between the material and immaterial. It symbolizes both destruction and rebirth, a metaphor for life. Technically, it requires patience and precision to guide the smoke while leaving room for spontaneity. Symbolically, smoke embodies memory, spirits, and purification, all central themes in my work.

Géraldine Tobe. ‘Vanité de vanité,’ 2022. Smoke on canvas 170 x 130 cm (67×51 in). Photo courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris.

OM: How has your work been received in Kinshasa and across Congo? 

GT: Initially, my work provoked a lot of discussion, particularly because I explored sensitive themes like witchcraft, which is often taboo. Acceptance took time. However, exhibiting at the Kinshasa and Dakar Biennials opened up opportunities. My work arouses curiosity, primarily due to the originality of the technique. It’s seen as challenging traditional norms and offering new perspectives on our past and future.

OM: How do you balance the message with ensuring the art remains the focus?

GT: I consider myself a committed artist rather than an activist. I aim to provoke thought and dialogue while raising awareness. I believe art should, first and foremost, be a visual and emotional experience. If a message is too explicit, it can lose its impact. Art should allow viewers to interpret it individually. That’s why I leave an element of ambiguity in my work. I want to convey strong ideas, but I also want the viewer to find their own meaning.

Exhibition view of Géraldine Tobe’s solo show ‘Dans la fumée,’ AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris. September 2024. Photo: Studio Vanssay, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris

OM: What are you currently working on, and how does this new body of work reflect your personal experiences or broader societal issues?

GT: I’m currently in residence at the Käte Hamburger Research Centre at Saarland University in Germany, working on a project related to cultural practices of repair. This is in collaboration with the Völklingen Museum for the upcoming group exhibition “The True Size of Africa.” My project pays homage to the deceased workers of the Völklinger Hütte factory by reviving their memory through smoke. This project is deeply personal because it reflects themes of recognition and oblivion. By linking the factory's history with that of African people, I’m drawing connections between workers’ struggles and colonial suffering. The factory now symbolizes resilience and repair, themes that are dear to me.

OM: How do current global affairs influence your creative process?

GT: I’m very sensitive to what’s happening in the world — issues of injustice and suffering. Artists absorb what surrounds them, and global events inevitably impact my work. We live in a time of great uncertainty, politically, environmentally, and socially. My work reflects these tensions, capturing the energy of the times while offering a space for reflection and resistance.

Géraldine Tobe, ‘Royaume des Damnés,’ 2021. Smoke on canvas, 200 x 170 cm (79 x 67 in). Photo courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery, Paris.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Mifta Zeleke conducting research at the National Museum of Ethiopia. Courtesy of EAMAN. Photo by Ashenafi Mestika.

“People often think African art is just about tradition or folklore, but it’s far more complex — it's a critical part of the global conversation,” says Mifta Zeleke, a curator whose work reshapes perceptions of Ethiopian contemporary art.

Zeleke, 39, has spent the last 15 years deeply engaged with Ethiopia's art scene as a curator, writer, and instructor at Addis Ababa University‘s Alle School of Fine Art and Design, one of the oldest art schools on the continent. He is a father of three and the founder of the Guramayne Art Center, an organization that supports and amplifies the work of young and emerging artists.

With a commitment to bridging local and global artistic dialogues, Zeleke has curated exhibitions that address pressing social and political themes. His recent exhibitions include a show featuring the work of Mulugeta Tafesse, a prominent Ethiopian artist based in Belgium, which critiqued capitalism and recent political developments in Ethiopia. Reflecting on the vital role of the Ethiopian diaspora, Zeleke explains, “If we want to expand the potential of Ethiopian art, the growth must come from within, not from the outside.” 

Mulugeta Tafesse Exhibition, Addis Ababa Modern Art Museum, 2023. Photo: Omid Memarian, used with permission.

In 2023, during my visit to Addis Ababa, Mifta graciously guided me through the Alle School of Fine Art and Design, offering a glimpse into the heart of Ethiopia’s artistic heritage. He invited me to several gallery openings, including the much-anticipated exhibition of the renowned Mulugeta Tafesse, which was met with immense enthusiasm and admiration from the art community. We wandered through vibrant studios, engaging with artists whose work reflected both tradition and innovation. In a truly special moment, Mifta unlocked the doors to the school’s art repository — a treasure trove of hundreds of breathtaking works, old and new, capturing the depth and magnificence of Ethiopia’s creative legacy.

In an interview with Global Voices, Zeleke discussed the contributions and challenges of Ethiopian artists in the diaspora, the need for stronger institutional foundations for the arts in Ethiopia, the impact of international art fairs like the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair, and the evolving relationship between Ethiopia’s art scene and the global art market.

Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Alle School of Fine Art and Design, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Photo: Omid Memarian, used with permission.

Omid Memarian (OM): Ethiopian art has a long history, but what has driven the rise of prominent Ethiopian artists on the global stage over the past two decades?

Mifta Zeleke (MZ): Ethiopia's strong tradition of art education is key. The Alle School of Fine Art and Design, formerly Addis Ababa Fine Art School, was established in 1957. Since its early years, it has been entirely run by Ethiopian artists and educators, focusing on teaching formal skills and the language of art. About 20 years ago, the school joined Addis Ababa University, developing a more inclusive curriculum that integrated global perspectives on art.

Faculty members, particularly those who joined in the '90s after studying abroad, helped shift from a traditional skill-based focus to more contemporary approaches. This allowed the school to engage with modern and contemporary art, creating a diverse teaching environment. Artist groups like Dimension Group, New Art Space-NAS Gedam, Habesha Art Studio, and Art Village (2006–2013) played crucial roles in shaping Ethiopian contemporary art. These collectives, foreign cultural institutions, and curators like Elizabeth W. Georgis were instrumental in pushing Ethiopian art onto the global stage.

The National Museum, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Photos: Omid Memarian, used with permission.

OM: The popularization of African art globally has impacted various art scenes. How has this surge affected Ethiopian art, especially among young artists?

MZ: We must evaluate whether this surge has benefited Ethiopian art. While the global spotlight on African art has helped some countries connect with international platforms, Ethiopia has not fully gained from this momentum. Ethiopian artists have worked hard to build their careers, often needing more external help. Whether this surge has led to more vital art institutions or meaningful exchanges in Ethiopia remains to be seen.

For many African countries, exposure through platforms like biennales has allowed artists to break into international markets. However, Ethiopia’s growth results from local artists, curators, and galleries pushing boundaries. Ethiopia hasn't benefited as much from the global surge, and the art scene here continues to develop primarily through internal efforts.

The National Museum, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Photos: Omid Memarian, used with permission.

OM: What should people know about Ethiopian art that they might not already understand, ideologically, technically, or culturally?

MZ: Modernist artists laid the foundation for contemporary Ethiopian art. These modernists, along with artists from the diaspora who have returned or stayed connected to the scene, play a significant role. Despite access to education and critical platforms, many Ethiopian artists still need to be recognized due to a lack of connections with international curators and galleries.

There’s an extraordinary pool of talent here, especially among artists deeply rooted in local traditions. These artists have immense potential, but many still lack access to larger platforms. Ethiopian art's current global visibility represents only a fraction of its potential. With more resources and exposure, Ethiopian artists could profoundly impact African and international art.

L-R Omid Memarian, Mulugeta Tafesse and Mifta Zeleke at Addis Ababa University's Alle School of Fine Art and Design, 2023. Photo courtesy Omid Memarian.

OM: You travel often and encounter perceptions about African and Ethiopian art. What do you think are the biggest misperceptions?

MZ: One of the most pervasive misperceptions is that African art is often viewed as a monolithic entity. Africa has 54 countries, each with diverse and rich artistic traditions, but these complexities often need to be simplified. Labels like “African art” are misleading and reinforce this generalization. Similarly, African art is usually seen through an exotic or sensational lens, overshadowing the profound intellectual and political contributions that modernist African artists have made to nation-building and independence movements.

For example, exhibitions like Magiciens de la Terre at the Centre Pompidou in 1989 attempted to bring African and non-Western art into the mainstream but reinforced stereotypes about African art as solely figurative or traditional. This is a limited view of African art’s diversity.

Mifta Zeleke conducting research at the National Museum of Ethiopia. Courtesy of EAMAN. Photo by Ashenafi Mestika. Photo: Courtesy of Mifta Zeleke.

OM: As a curator, what challenges and opportunities do you encounter in Ethiopia?

MZ: The challenges are systemic. Ethiopia has one strong art school but needs more critical infrastructure, such as dedicated contemporary art museums. The National Museum, while necessary, houses a wide range of collections from archaeology to sociology, with little focus on contemporary art. The Entoto Technical and Vocational School has contributed to the scene, but overall, Ethiopia’s universities do not have the robust art programs necessary to support a growing contemporary art scene.

The lack of a national art policy or institutional resources also significantly hampers curatorial work. Ethiopia’s first-ever pavilion at the 2024 Venice Biennial, organized by a European gallery without involving local artists or institutions, highlights these issues. The process missed an opportunity to establish stronger links between the Ethiopian art scene and the global art world, reinforcing the need for institutional critique and greater local involvement in shaping Ethiopia’s artistic future.

These challenges present opportunities, as well. Ethiopia’s vibrant artistic community, filled with artists who push boundaries, allows curators to fill gaps and create meaningful platforms. With more robust institutional support, there is immense potential to connect Ethiopian art with global networks.

Mulugeta Tafesse at his exhibition at the Modern Art Museum Gebre Kristos Desta Center, 2023. Photo by Ashenafi Mestika. Courtesy of Mifta Zeleke.

OM: How do Ethiopian artists, curators, and collectors in the diaspora connect with and contribute to the local art scene?

MZ: The absence of formal institutions that facilitate these connections limits the impact of diaspora contributions. However, artists like Julie Mehretu, Mulugeta Tafesse, and Aida Muluneh have made significant strides. Julie’s 2016 exhibition drew international attention, while Aida’s “Addis Foto Fest” has fostered the growth of talented photographers. Mulugeta Tafesse’s teaching and exhibitions have also provided strong foundations for emerging artists.

Many diaspora artists have had limited engagement with the local scene in recent years. The Ethiopian art community needs the contributions of its diaspora to grow. I've worked to bring artists like Engidaget Legesse, Mulugeta Tafesse, and Dereje Demissie back to Ethiopia to create platforms for collaboration. My efforts to re-establish the Guramayne Art Center aim to bridge the gap between the local art scene and the global art world. 

Mifta Zeleke conducting research at the Modern Art Museum Gebre Kristos Desta Center. Courtesy of EAMAN. Photo by Ashenafi Mestika. Courtesy of Mifta Zeleke.

OM: What impact has the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair, held in Marrakech, London, and New York, had on introducing Ethiopian artists to the global art scene?

MZ: My first experience with 1-54 was in 2015 when I co-represented Merikokeb Berhanu in collaboration with Art LabAfrica. While the reception was strong, it wasn’t as successful as we had hoped. At that time, Ethiopian and African artists were lesser known, but 1-54 has since become a major platform for African art, increasing the visibility of artists like Merikokeb Berhanu, whose works are now part of prominent collections.

1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair, May 1-4, 2024, New York. Photo: Omid Memarian, used with permission.

It’s exciting that 1-54 came to Marrakech recently, but expanding to more African countries would create a stronger impact. Kenya, for example, is becoming a hub for contemporary East African art. Hosting such fairs in Ghana, Senegal, or South Africa could help address the challenges many African artists face in gaining global recognition. While it may be difficult to host such fairs in Ethiopia at the moment, other African countries could benefit from these events.

Overall, 1-54 has been an impactful platform that continues to contribute to the development of contemporary African art.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Homa Ebrahimpour at her studio in the northeastern city of Mashhad, Iran. Photo courtesy of the artist.

Homa Ebrahimpour, a ceramic and sculpture artist from Mashhad, Iran, is part of a growing movement of artists challenging the country's cultural and political limitations on creative expression. Her work, which explores the female body and addresses societal taboos, has gained new resonance in the wake of the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement.

The movement, sparked by the death of Mahsa Amini in September 2022, has deeply influenced public perception of women's rights and social issues, and it has given artists like Ebrahimpour more courage to address subjects that are still heavily censored.

“After the ‘Woman, Life, Freedom’ movement, a great deal of awareness spread through society,” Ebrahimpour told Global Voices. “It feels like an awakening after a long lethargy. Many taboos are being broken, and I have become more determined to continue working and presenting my art, even if it's mostly in virtual spaces for now.”

Digital photography, Homa Ebrahimpour, 20 x 30 cm | 8 x 12 inches, 2021, courtesy of the artist.

The movement has profoundly impacted Ebrahimpour’s approach, encouraging her to create and share works that she had previously hidden, including sculptures and paintings that explore the female form. Her art, which remains grounded in themes of body, freedom, and identity, is part of an underground or alternative art scene in Iran, where many artists continue to create despite restrictions.

Through her work, Ebrahimpour defies the societal red lines surrounding the depiction of women, creating a visual language of resistance and redefining the possibilities for artistic freedom in Iran.

In an interview with Global Voices, Homa discussed the challenges of being an artist in Iran, censorship, and the limitations imposed by Iran's socio-political environment on artistic expression.

Excerpts from the interview follow:

Omid Memarian (OM): How did you come to choose ceramics and sculpture, among other art forms?

Homa Ebrahimpour (HE): I came to ceramics quite late, perhaps at the right time. Since childhood, I used to paint, and later I started photography. At 31, I accidentally found myself in a traditional ceramics workshop. The direct connection I felt with what I was creating, without the mediation of paint or tools, appealed to me. And the peace I felt after finishing each piece was unique. More recently, I’ve realized that the sense of God-like creation I experience when making sculptures is what makes it so enjoyable for me.

Ceramic sculpture, Homa Ebrahimpour, 22 x 20 x 14 cm (8.7 x 7.9 x 5.5 in), 2021. Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: How much has the environment in which you live influenced the medium you choose to express your emotions and thoughts, especially given the restrictions on freedom of expression, particularly for women, in Iran's socio-political space?

HE: Mashhad is a religious city. We don't have a cultural space or an art movement. In fact, there is no place where you can see sculptures or paintings. If there is a museum, it only displays religious works. I even started ceramics in a workshop that only made pigeons and religious symbols, which didn’t influence my perspective or choices. In such an environment, which is incomparable to anywhere else in Iran where artists either move to Tehran or emigrate, I create sculptures of the human body, even more forbidden — the female body. I can't exhibit, display, or even sell them.

OM: How does the issue of censorship or self-censorship impact your daily calculations when deciding what to create or not to create?

HE: When you're born and raised in a society where censorship is an inseparable part of your life — in culture, family, government, and society — you're expected to censor who you really are, your desires, emotions, thoughts, and even your body, to fit their expectations. It’s challenging for my generation to free ourselves from this system entirely. I think the fear that has always accompanied us and has been instilled in us is still with us. We are still afraid.

Ceramic sculpture, Homa Ebrahimpour, 45 x 20 x 25 cm (17.7 x 11 x 8.7 in), 2023. Photo courtesy of the artist.

However, it’s very different for the new generation. They live their own lives and absolutely refuse to succumb to censorship or coercion. It’s this generation that demands change and doesn’t bow to the government.

OM: Are there specific genres that you can't engage in and which, if pursued, would jeopardize your career as an artist?

HE: Depicting the female body, especially in the nude form as I do in my works, is itself the endpoint for my artistic path and the biggest challenge. But I continue to do it, not thinking too much about the future of my career.

Another issue is addressing the problems and limitations of women or, generally, any civil matters in society. That’s automatically labeled as political, and in the current situation, it comes with a lot of consequences unless you work as an anonymous artist.

Ceramic sculpture, Homa Ebrahimpour, 32 x 15 x 12 cm (12.6 x 5.9 x 4.7 in), 2024. Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: When did your interest in exploring the complexities of the human body, particularly women, first emerge in your work, and how have people reacted?

HE: My curiosity started in childhood. I had a sketchbook in which I drew nude images. After my family's concerns, I realized these subjects were forbidden, and they remained dormant for a long time.

Later, in photography, I was drawn to it again. I did nude photography in the studio where I worked, but because I didn’t have a permit, the studio's equipment was confiscated. I was lucky that my photos weren’t taken in the system they seized, but my friend ended up with a serious legal case, which made me abandon the idea.

It wasn’t until 2019 that I resumed the work. The reactions were harsh and disheartening. Besides the government, the public viewed nudes as porn. In Iran, when a woman works with nude art, it has every meaning but art. For example, I had paintings on my room’s walls, and an electrician who had been coming to our house for a long time, upon seeing them, felt entitled to harass me, thinking that since I painted nudes, I must be seeking open relationships, anywhere and anytime! Or, when I posted on social media, I received sexual requests!

Ceramic sculpture, Homa Ebrahimpour, 15 x 15 x 25 cm (6 x 6 x 10 in), 2021. Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: Are we witnessing an underground or alternative art scene in Iran, given the restrictions on depicting nudity, religion, politics, and women?

HE: I can give you an example. There was a time when music in Mashhad faced similar conditions. Singing and playing music in public was considered a crime. Some musicians in Mashhad created an underground space called “The Dungeon,” where they performed, even sold tickets, and held concerts. Out of this space came figures like Mohsen Namjoo, Abdolreza Behrouzfar, Navid Arbabi, and others. I think this unintended underground art movement will happen for every artistic spectrum, and eventually, the art will emerge from within to the outside.

OM: How have major economic problems in Iran, especially inflation, resource shortages, and economic injustice, impacted the art market?

HE: For me, economic and livelihood concerns overshadow my ability to focus on art. Art isn’t my top priority, and the same is true for many around me unless they have family support or multiple jobs. In Tehran, some high-priced sales and successful artists exist, but this doesn’t reflect the broader Iranian art market. The scarcity of galleries outside Tehran, the challenges for emerging artists, and financial insecurity have led to widespread discouragement, causing some to reconsider their artistic pursuits.

Ceramic sculpture, Homa Ebrahimpour, 33 x 12 x 13 cm (13 x 4.7 x 5.1 in), 2021. Photo courtesy of the artist.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Salifou Lindou ‘L'exode et La Famille #5,’ 2022. Pastel on canvas 41 3/10 × 68 9/10 in | 105 × 175 cm, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery.

Salifou Lindou Fouanta, born in Foumban, Cameroon, grew up deeply immersed in his culture under the guidance of his civil servant father. In childhood, his artistic journey began with clay and colors, sparking a lifelong creative passion. As a teenager, Lindou's curiosity led him to collect Western art magazines, explore traditional objects, and visit museums and craft shops. Accompanying his father, he studied masks and statuettes, learning their history from the Foumban Art Museum curator.

Salifou Lindou ‘Politicians 55,’ 2023. Pastel on paper mounted on canvas, framed 39 2/5 × 51 1/5 in | 100 × 130 cm, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery.

Omid Memarian (OM): You were born in the art-rich city of Foumban and have lived in Douala since 1992. How did these cities shape your interest in art?

Salifou Lindou (SL): Foumban has always been a vibrant cultural center. My royal heritage, with a grandmother who was a princess and a relative from the royal palace, gave me unique access to the art and culture of the Bamoun people. This early exposure included meeting the Sultan, King Njimolû Seidou, and visiting his private apartments, which made the museum and its artifacts easily accessible to me. At 14, I was motivated to paint portraits of my grandparents, the King of Njoya, and even the Sultan himself, which deeply rooted my passion for art. This early engagement with Bamoun ancestral artifacts profoundly influenced my artistic development.

When I moved to Douala in the early '90s, I found a small yet inspiring art community, despite the lack of galleries. Artists held joint exhibitions at the Centre Culturel Français, which was encouraging. I connected with seasoned artists like Koko Kommegne, whose advice on art and life was invaluable. Douala’s cosmopolitan nature and access to Western art magazines, like L'œil and Beaux Arts Magazine, allowed me to blend my traditional influences with global art practices — this openness to new ideas enriched my artistic vision.

Salifou Lindou ‘L'exode et La Famille,’ 2019. Pastel on paper 100 × 180 in | 254 × 457.2 cm, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery.

OM: In the absence of national art schools in Cameroon, you benefited from French and German “cultural diplomacy” in the '90s. How has art education in Cameroon evolved since then?

SL: The French and German cultural institutions, such as the Goethe Institute and the Institut Français, were crucial in promoting art through workshops and public exhibitions. They facilitated cultural exchanges that introduced us to international art practices. Today, Cameroon has more art schools nationwide, offering university-level education and opportunities for young artists. Many of these artists are now part of the international art scene, exhibiting abroad and working with galleries. However, local galleries still lack the promotional mechanisms seen in the West.

Salifou Lindou ‘La Bergère #4,’ 2020. Pastel on paper 51 1/5 × 59 1/10 in | 130 × 150 cm, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery.

OM:  How have your interactions with global artists impacted your work and perspective?

SL: Traveling and meeting artists worldwide has been profoundly enriching. Engaging with different cultures and artistic practices has broadened my perspective. Participating in Biennial symposia and other international events allowed me to bring my local experiences into a global context. This exposure to diverse artistic disciplines and academic approaches deepened my understanding of art. I’ve learned to translate traditional techniques into contemporary contexts and integrate local and global influences into my work.

OM: Creating art that resonates across different cultures is essential to you. What universal themes or stories do you explore in your work?

SL: I focus on political and social issues that are relevant globally. For instance, my work on the NOSO (North-Southwest) war addresses themes of displacement and conflict, reflecting worldwide matters. The exodus and uprooting caused by such conflicts are universal experiences, transcending local contexts. I strive to depict these issues with a local flavor, making them relatable to audiences everywhere. My political art, often created with pastels, critiques corruption and human rights abuses. Politics and social issues are universal, which helps my work resonate with a global audience.

Salifou Lindou ‘Politiciens #33,’ 2021. Pastel on paper 56 7/10 × 59 1/10 in | 144 × 150 cm, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery.

OM: How has the status of contemporary art in Cameroon changed over the past 35 years since you began your professional career?

SL: Contemporary art in Cameroon still struggles to gain proper recognition and support. Despite some progress, such as establishing art schools and increased international exposure for young artists, local support remains insufficient. No major galleries or museums are dedicated to promoting and nurturing artists long-term.  There is a need for more significant investment in the arts to foster creativity and support artistic projects.

OM: Your work often features a mix of chaos and harmony, with lines and curves creating engaging imagery. How did you develop this distinctive style, and what does it mean to you?

SL: I view art as a reflection of life's contradictions. Just as life blends positives and negatives, my work embodies this duality. I incorporate elements of Yin and Yang, where opposites intersect and create emotional resonance. My “tangled lines” technique represents this conflict, creating a visual shock that adds depth and intensity. Whether working with pastels, canvas, or metal, I start with layers of color and reveal textures to evoke emotional responses. This approach allows me to explore human experience's complexity and convey strength and vulnerability.

Portrait of Salifou Lindou, Afikaris Lindou ©Studio Vanssay (HD)

OM: How do pieces like ‘Politicians,’ ‘Family,’ and ‘La Bergère’ reflect your views on societal and political environments?

SL: My work is deeply connected to my surroundings’ social and political realities. For example, ‘Politicians’ uses exaggerated poses and expressions to critique political figures and corruption. ‘L’exode et la famille’ (family) and ‘La Bergère’ draw from both local traditions and Western artistic influences, blending cultural elements to address universal themes. Inspired by the purchase of a presidential plane and subsequent corruption, my piece ‘The Albatross’ uses a hybrid sculpture to express my indignation. This blend of local and global influences in my work helps me address pressing issues and engage with a broader audience.

Salifou Lindou ‘Tariq et Alamine à L'atelier,’ 2023. Pastel, acrylic, posca and collage on canvas 35 2/5 × 51 1/5 × 1 1/5 in | 90 × 130 × 3 cm, courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery.

OM: Your work has been described as a “choreography of love” despite its complex imagery. What drives this passion and energy?

SL: The term “choreography of love” is interesting, though I see my work as exploring the dual nature of human existence — strength and fragility. I aim to express the paradox of being, capturing individuals’ resilience and vulnerability. My characters often reflect this duality, showcasing physical strength and underlying fragility. This approach highlights the complexities of human experience and adds depth to my work. By combining political and existential themes with emotional intensity, I strive to create art that resonates deeply and reflects the realities of our world.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

‘La branche de la liberté,’ Saïdou Dicko, 2018. Painted photography. 80 x 120 cm/31 x 47 in. Courtesy of Artco Gallery and the artist.

Embarking on a journey through the realm of contemporary art, one encounters the remarkable talent of Saïdou Dicko — a visionary artist who effortlessly merges the cultural riches of his country, Burkina Faso, with a contemporary artistic sensibility. Hailing from the picturesque landscapes of Déou in northern Burkina Faso, Dicko has captivated audiences around the globe with his awe-inspiring work.

Drawing inspiration from his early years as a shepherd, Dicko's artistic prowess blossoms against the backdrop of Sahelian landscapes. Today, his evocative paintings, photographs, and drawings emanate a profound nostalgia, inviting viewers on an introspective voyage through their cherished memories.

Michaëla Hadji-Minaglou, gallery manager of AFIKARIS in Paris and an independent art curator who has recently presented Dicko's groundbreaking artwork at the prestigious 1-54 African Contemporary Art Fair in New York, is deeply moved by the universal appeal of Dicko's oeuvre, and attests to his ability to transcend cultural boundaries.

“It speaks to everyone and calls for joy and peace,” said Hadji-Minaglou, who is focused on the African art scene with the will to deconstruct stereotypes and convey the artists’ messages. “I’m always impressed by how the audience receives the poetry of Dicko’s painted photographs and drawings. They recall souvenirs and the tenderness of childhood.”

Dicko's artistic practice defies categorization, effortlessly blending traditional West African influences with a contemporary artistic vocabulary. The result is a visual language that fosters dialogue and challenges preconceptions. 

‘Recycling Princess Dior Bag ACT2 T Opéra de Sydney,’ Saïdou Dicko, 2023. Painted photography. Unique piece. 90 x120 cm/35 x 47 in. Courtesy of the artist and AFIKARIS Gallery.

Saïdou Dicko's work has been displayed in renowned institutions such as Paris Photo, Institut des Cultures d'Islam, AIPAD, the Association of International Photography Art Dealers (AIPAD), and Dakar Biennial. 

Growing up as a shepherd in Burkina Faso, Dicko found inspiration in the interplay of light and shadow within the Sahelian landscapes. This fascination with shadows eventually led him to incorporate them into his artwork. By covering the skin of his subjects with black ink, Dicko transforms them into captivating shadows, inviting viewers to engage their imaginations, and offering a fresh perspective on the universal human experience.

In an interview with Global Voices, Dicko generously shares insights into his creative process, reflects on the global attention his art has attracted, and speaks about the profound messages embedded within his masterpieces. 

Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Saidou Dicko, May 2022. Photo London. Courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery.

Omid Memarian (OM): From your photos, we learn that you are fascinated with shadows. Your 2018 series, “The Shadowed People,” is based around conversations with a subject that has become one of the dominant characteristics of your works. What’s your relationship with shadows and how was this created and developed in you and your work? 

Saïdou Dicko (SD): My primary inspiration is the shadow. The shadow awakened in me the desire to make art by seeking to transcribe it graphically. My work also pays tribute to my origins and my childhood. These are essential sources of inspiration for me. In my work, I share the pleasant memories I have of when I was a young shepherd. Through my work, I share the emotions I felt in those landscapes, as well as the discoveries and moments of wonder I experienced there. It's also for these reasons that I pay tribute to the generosity of this land, this nature, and these landscapes: so poor and yet so generous. It's essential for me to share the beauty of these places. My work is a mixture of all these things.

I like the shadow because the shadow is neutral. The shadow is my childhood. The shadow has guided me in art. I like the imaginary side of the shadow.

‘Les chaussures jaunes,’ Saïdou Dicko, 2022. Watercolor on paper. 30×40 cm/12 x 16 in. Courtesy of the artist.

OM: Children are present in many of your artworks or the main subject. Where does that come from? And how is it connected to your visual and intellectual journey?

SD: I am a happy child, so I try to share this joy and beauty that surrounds us, sometimes with a complex subject with a bit of humor. My gaze is that of a happy child. That’s why children have a great place in my work because children reflect the future, joy, carelessness, curiosity, sharing… Children = past, present, and future.

OM: When did you start taking pictures and, after that, paint? How did you transform into an artist, and what impacted you to pursue this path in life? 

SD: When I was a child, I was a shepherd. It was watching the shadows of my flock being drawn on the ground that inspired me to become an artist. They fascinated me. That's how I started drawing, to reproduce them on any medium I encountered. 

I don't consider myself a photographer but an artist who uses the medium of photography. I started photography as an artistic practice around 2006. At first, I only photographed the shadows of my models. I like the imaginary, childlike side of shadows. I captured the shadows that appeared on the walls and floors, depending on the background. At a certain point, I felt limited because the sun didn't shine on every wall. There are backgrounds that I like but where the shadow doesn't go. The next logical step in my work was to start photographing people. From there, I said to myself: why not turn them into shadows? So I started painting the bodies to turn them into shadows. That was in 2009, and this series was exhibited for the first time in 2017.

Art underlines the poetry that lies hidden in the most seemingly banal moments. As an artist, I make this poetry visible so it never leaves us. Art brings hope.

‘Comfortable In Business Class In Qatar Airways,’ Saidou Dicko, 2021. Painted photography 90×120 cm/35 x 47 in. Courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery and the artist

OM: From your 2014 series, THE SHADOW THIEF, go to your 2018 series, THE SHADOWED PEOPLE, we see a visible departure from realism to a more abstract visual environment. What’s been the artistic dive behind this shift, if any?

SD: For me, “The Shadowed People 2017” is the continuation of the series
“Le voleur d'ombres 2006,” where I photographed only the shadows, and now I photograph characters that I transform into shadows, applying black paint to their bodies.

OM: How do you decide to use a particular medium — photography, video, painting, or installation?

SD: It comes naturally. At first, I drew the shadows, and I thought, why not photograph them? After the photos, I made videos. Then I integrated the videos into the installations.

‘VIP MEETING TMR R SOLEIL,’ 2022. Painted photography. 90x120cm/35 x 47 in. Series: Painted Photographs. Courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery and the artist.

OM: How much do you follow the work of other African artists? 

SD: I'm very close to other artists from the continent. I follow their work on social media and go to their exhibitions when I can. We often talk about our work. As an artist, it's crucial to support each other by giving advice and facilitating meetings within our network. I co-founded the “Rendez-vous d'artistes” group with other artists. This group aims to create encounters and exchanges between the artists living in Paris. As part of this, we organize monthly events. It's an opportunity to gather and discuss the latest artistic news. 

OM: What’s your take on annual fairs like the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair? 

SD: Fairs like the 1-54 contribute significantly to the development of the African scene and highlight the artistic diversity among artists of the continent. 1-54 teams are doing a great job, and they communicate so well about the event.

‘Comfortable in business class’ Ouaga Paris 2021, Saidou Dicko, 2021. Plastic on traditional organic cotton weaving, made in Burkina Faso 73 x 100 cm/28 x 40 in. Courtesy of AFIKARIS Gallery and the artist.

OM: There has been a lot of attention to African art in the past decade. Great artists have emerged and continue to shine internationally. How has this attention from both the market and the media affected the work you do?

SD: I am thrilled to see artists from the continent and those from the diaspora shine internationally because the power of their work deserves it. The continent is bursting with incredible talent and voices that carry important messages. It's great to see them being recognized internationally. I do not want this to affect my work, but rather, for greater visibility for my fellow artists and me.

Thanks to Yasmine Mechbal of Loft Gallery in Casablanca and Michaëla Hadji-Minaglou (AFIKARIS Gallery) for providing access and translation from French to English.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Clothes Line Series. Acrylic on canvas.130 x150 cm (51 in x 59 in), 2011. Courtesy of Zeynab Movahed

In September 2022, Mahsa Amini’s death in Iran sparked nationwide protests in the biggest public outcry since 2009. Amini, a 22-year-old woman, lost her life in police custody for not wearing a “proper hijab.” She became an icon and symbol for many — especially Iranian women artists who have seized the moment to speak about their struggles and concerns through their art.

Zeynab Movahed, 41, is one of those artists whose paintings open a window to the complexities of life as a woman in Iran. Her work has been shared widely to communicate the ongoing fight for equal rights in a country that can be described as a “gender-apartheid” state, despite the fact that a large number of its women are highly educated.

Movahed started painting when she was a child and began taking classes in 1999 when she was 17. Since then, painting has become a significant part of her life. Three years later, she entered Tehran University's Art and Architecture School, where she later received her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in painting. Despite all the shortcomings and frustrations of attending art school in Iran, the school opened her eyes to a series of positive developments, including learning about leading artists, books, and new experiences.  This education helped her find her professional path.

Since graduating, she has had 11 solo exhibitions and participated in more than 60 group exhibitions worldwide. Her work has been displayed in Tehran, Kuwait, New York, Lahore U.S., the U.K., France, and Greece, among others.

She cites her major influences as Robert Rauschenberg, Mark Rothko, Andrew Wyeth, and Edward Hopper, although they are all from different schools of art, but she says, “Right now, contemporary young Iranian artists’ work inspires me and makes me feel confident about what I do.”

Since 2016, Movahed has taught figurative painting in Tehran and has trained more than 150 students.

Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Enclosed Garden Series. Oil on canvas. 120 x120 cm (47 in x 47 in), 2017. Courtesy of Zeynab Movahed

Omid Memarian (OM): How much is your everyday life reflected in your paintings? Do those from your early exhibitions to the latest one in New York in April 2022 mark different periods, beliefs, or concerns? 

Zeynab Movahed (ZM): I believe so. From the first series to the latest, there are references to specific times in my life and my lived experience. Indeed, the society I live in has directly impacted my life and particularly my work, given my different struggles as an Iranian woman in my country.

The fears that were instilled in us about women's clothing started in elementary school. Over time, these beliefs faded, and I, as a woman, and not just a painter, found a free and even more courageous presence in my paintings, which is directly related to my lived experiences at different stages in my life — not only about women's clothing but also various other issues, both in my own life and the lives of other women. I needed to articulate these concerns and struggles in my paintings. So when you look at my work and my life, you see it’s sequential.

‘You are awake while we slumber.’ Oil and acrylic on canvas.100 cm x130 cm (51 in x 59 in), 2015. Courtesy of Zeynab Movahed.

OM: Rooster and crow are the main subjects of paintings in two of the series of your works. What do these symbolize?

ZM: In my collection, “We Sleeping and You Awake,” the rooster symbolizes a man in a patriarchal society who shows off his power and aggression with a bully-like awe in an altogether delicate and feminine atmosphere. In the paintings, you see that he is pleased with a submissive and traditional woman, while a woman, regardless of the threats, seeks to find a way out. Somehow the rooster is ridiculed in that tender and peaceful atmosphere.

In the next period, the crow, due to its different character and at the same time living in the society, can be very similar to human society. In this series of works, the influx of crows in the picture and around the woman symbolizes a stratum of our current society. They impose many dos and don'ts on the woman, but she is indifferent to them and selects the lifestyle she wants.

OM: What spaces can you experience in your painting that you might not be able to experience as a woman?

ZM: Not only as a woman but also as a painter (who can be a man, too), the field of painting provides many possibilities for the artist. Painting is my personal territory. I create any image I want. In many periods, I expressed all the femininity of my being, whether it is anger, rebellion, satisfaction, hardship, or imposed injustice. Emotions and qualities that I had no room to explore in real life.

In a society like Iran, where misogyny still exists, both from the government and the society, the issue of women is essential, and we cannot be apathetic to it.

A clear example of this trend is the honor killings of recent years and the murder of Mahsa Amini in September 2022, which led to nationwide protests. She was killed just for just being a woman. These incidents find their way in one way or the other into the creative process of a conscious artist.

Unstable Condition Series. Oil on canvas. 130 x150 cm (51 in x 59 in), 2018. Courtesy of Zeynab Movahed.

OM: How are the worlds you create in your paintings received among audiences with different cultural, historical, and geographical backgrounds?

ZM: The audience is different in every country. Women identify more with my work in Iran and the Middle East. In the West, my work is interesting to audiences. They see courage in what I do as an Iranian woman. People want to know how women are treated in Iran, and artworks from Iranian women are an opening to that understanding. Beyond concept, no matter the location, my technique is appreciated.

OM:  Your work was exhibited at last year's Chicago Art Expo, which featured nearly 200 galleries from around the world. There are also hundreds of galleries in Iran. Are Iranian galleries present at such events? 

Several Iranian artists participated in the Chicago Expo on behalf of foreign galleries, but none from Iran participated. Participating in these events is very expensive for Iranian galleries, particularly as the Iranian currency has lost much of its value in the past few years. But some of Iran’s top galleries have been present in significant art fairs from the U.S. to Dubai to Istanbul. Certainly, it does not represent everything happening in the visual arts field in Iran. But still, it’s a step forward that they can change the stereotypes about art in Iran. I believe so many talented artists in the country can present their works abroad.

Enclosed Garden Series. Oil on canvas. 130 x150 cm (51 in x 59 in), 2016. Courtesy of Zeynab Movahed.

OM: You had a solo exhibition in New York in 2022. What are the similarities and differences between those works and those of your previous collections?

ZM: Unlike my previous collections, where the subject was crucial, in my recent collection, the image itself and visual elements are given priority. Images that are integrated and reflected in the glass are far from their original nature, and with fragmentation and repetition, we are confronted with new images.

In my previous work, the women appeared in private indoor spaces, and the work was done with a flat and monochrome background. But, in my new body of work, the viewer is faced with layered spaces in which there is no certainty. Incidentally, this is the concept of the collection: the stability and instability of life and all its moments.

A similarity between these works and my previous ones is the presence of women, and especially myself, in the images. But in the newer works, the women have left the previous interior spaces and have become present in society.

Unstable Conditions Series. Oil on canvas. 100 x 130 cm (51 in x 59 in), 2019. Courtesy of Zeynab Movahed.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

‘The Fragility of Peace,’ 2019 by Arghavan Khosravi. Acrylic and photo transfer on found wood block; printed fabric and cotton canvas mounted on wood panel, 40 x 57 in. (101 x 145 cm). Photo courtesy of the artist.

The Currier Museum of Art in Manchester, New Hampshire, is showcasing new works created over the last few years by Iranian artist Arghavan Khosravi, followed by another exhibition at the Venice Biennale 2022. It is the first-ever solo museum exhibition of her flourishing career.

Khosravi was born in Shahr-e-Kord, Iran, in 1984 and moved to the U.S. in 2015. She quickly emerged in the front row of the U.S. art scene with her multi-faceted, rich, and eye-dazzling works that tactfully bridge European Renaissance and Persian miniature traditions of painting. 

While aesthetically sophisticated, her use of visual metaphors, historical references, and reactions to current social narratives, provide a labyrinthine world that leaves its audience with much to decode and appreciate.

One does not need to be Iranian to relate to the sense of uncertainty and repression woven into her paintings. Khosravi explains how, by obscuring the identities of the women's figures featured in her pieces, the viewer is allowed to imagine themselves in each situation, regardless of their cultural background. 

Arghavan Khosravi earned an MFA in painting from the Rhode Island School of Design in 2018. She completed the studio art program at Brandeis University in 2016, and holds an MFA in Illustration from the University of Tehran (2008) and a BFA in Graphic Design from Tehran Azad University (2005). 

In an interview with Global Voices, Khosravi explains how the circuitous storytelling nature of Persian miniatures has influenced her work, and how she has been able to use metaphor to capture the Iranian experience of living in a patriarchal society constantly at the brink of war.

Arghavan Khosravi working at her studio. Photo by Josephine Sittenfeld, courtesy of the artist.

Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Omid Memarian (OM): Your three-dimensional works will be exhibited at the Rockefeller Center in New York later this year, as part of the 2022 Art in Focus program by the Art Production Fund. How did you decide to add a third dimension to your artwork? 

Arghavan Khosravi (AK): My experimentation with three-dimensional works started from a series of paintings in which I used shaped panels. The idea of shaped panels came from looking at Persian miniature paintings. Those paintings almost always were painted to accompany a text and were part of a book. So there was one rectangle which was the paper, and then the artist drew another picture inside that frame. There are some moments in these works where the artist decided to have certain elements of the painting grow out of the picture; whether it’s part of the architectural space in the painting, the landscape, or even the figures.

I was interested in adopting this idea and using it in my own way. So, I decided to appropriate some of these architectural spaces in the miniature paintings and make shaped wood panels based on them, to emphasize the geometry of the architectural elements and give the illusion of depth to these otherwise flattened spaces (mainly because of their stacked perspective).

The moment I used a shaped panel, rather than the usual rectangle, the paintings became more like a 3D object. This led me to another series of works, in which I used multiple panels to make a painting. This gave me the opportunity to play with different depths for each panel, which made the work more sculptural. I next thought of integrating wood cutouts or found objects (such as rope, elastic or leather cord, lock, chain, etc.) in these pieces. I was also interested in the idea of painting a 2D surface in a way that looks three-dimensional and then juxtaposing it with an actual 3D space or object. I liked how this juxtaposition invites the viewer to look closer at each piece and spend more time figuring out which part is which.

‘Black Rain,’ 2021, by Arghavan Khosravi. Acrylic and cement on cotton canvas wrapped over shaped wood panel, wood cutout, elastic cord, 91 5/8 x 105 1/4 x 11 in (232.7 x 267.3 x 27.9 cm). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: Like in most of your artworks, women have a dominant presence in your 2021 exhibition, “In Between Places.” What is different about these sculptural paintings in contrast to your previous bodies of work?

AK: In almost all of my paintings, I am depicting women. Maybe because in all of my paintings, I’m reflecting on my memories and life experiences in Iran. In those memories, the institutional and cultural barriers that constrained women's participation in the public sphere are very prominent. In the “In-Between Places” series, I was interested in incorporating a visual element that is consistent in almost all of the works. This visual element was the vertical rectangular panels with a cropped image of a female portrait or figure. The cropped portraits obscure the identity of these women and they become more like an example or representative of a larger group of people, rather than an individual person. Thus, the audience could identify each of these women through their own imagination or imagine themselves in each situation.

‘Compulsory Halo,’ 2019 by Arghavan Khosravi, Acrylic on found wood block printed fabric (which is a praying mat) and cotton canvas mounted on wood panel, 47.7 × 45 × 2 in (121 × 114 × 5 cm).  Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: You studied graphic design and illustration back in Iran. How did your Iranian art education shape the work you do now?

AK: In Iran, we had to decide very early (second year of high school) about our high school major, which would later limit our choices for the college major. At that point, although I was very interested in art and pretty good at it, 15-year-old me thought that art was something I should pursue on the side so I decided to choose mathematics to eventually become an engineer or something like that. Later on, in the last year of high school, I realized that I would like to pursue art as my career but still felt that fine art was something that I might not be able to build a career with and be financially dependent on. So, I decided to study graphic design which has both aspects of fine and applied art.

In graphic design, I learned about composition, color, and visual communication in general, which today are helpful to my painting practice. I think the skills and experiences I had in graphic design led me to approach painting from a slightly different perspective than if I was trained to be a painter in a more conventional way. So to some extent, it helped me develop my own painting and creative process. The same goes for illustration; it gave me a set of skills that are still present in my paintings, for example, the dominance of narrative and visual storytelling. So at this point, although I landed on painting later in my life, I don’t regret my choices and if I had the chance to go back in time, I would probably make similar decisions.

‘History Is A State Of Mind,’ 2018 by Arghavan Khosravi. Acrylic and silver leaf on found woven patterned textile and linen on wood panel, 24 x 20 in. (60 x 50 cm) Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: In your painting, “On Being a Woman,” there is a labyrinth of symbolism to unfold. What is the story behind it? Do you see yourself in this piece?

AK: In this piece, I was thinking about growing up and living in a patriarchal society. Under such circumstances, women are treated as if they are always doing something wrong and should be restricted within a boundary that the patriarchal (or religious) structure is imposing on them — like criminals. For instance, I remember I was once arrested on the streets of Tehran because the hijab I was forced to wear wasn't covering enough. I’m sure there are thousands of other women who share a similar experience. Placing the black rectangle in front of the figure's eyes in the painting is reflective of these concepts. It’s a familiar visual element associated with publishing criminal faces in the media.

The other metaphor I used in this painting is the colorful landscape. I often use these green and colorful landscapes as a symbol of hope, an ideal place, a utopia. (It is a metaphor you can find in Persian literature, too.) In these works where I’m thinking about women's rights issues and patriarchal societies, you can guess what I mean by an ideal place. But in this piece, the lively landscape is separated from the viewer with a curtain that has almost collapsed or has been torn down. You see a shadow behind the curtain and a figure’s hand, which suggests someone is standing behind the curtain and looking at us, but her face is missing. By situating the symbology behind the landscape, you can interpret more of each of these visual metaphors, within that given context.

OM: In “The Suspension,” we see a missile pointed at a woman’s face. Another woman is lying on her knees over a body, both figures pointed downward on a steep slope. This painting evokes the “rock and a hard place” predicament of the Iranian people whereby weapons, a means touted as contributing to the country’s security, are actually having the opposite effect and harming women, in particular.

AK: That is a very interesting and thoughtful read. In this piece, I was thinking about the feeling of uncertainty. I made this piece after months of home quarantine during the pandemic. Thus, the initial idea started from there but it also reflects on the current situation in Iran. Over the past few years, or even decades, Iranians have felt like they’re on the brink of war most of the time. For me, the feeling was like having a missile suspended in front of you and having no idea when it will start moving.

The Suspension,’ 2021 by Arghavan Khosravi. Acrylic and cement on cotton canvas wrapped over shaped wood panel, wood cutout, 57 1/4 x 46 3/4 x 2 in (145.4 x 118.7 x 5.1 cm). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: How has immigration to the U.S. impacted your art — both in terms of form and technique, as well as the subject matter you focus on?

AK: I came to the U.S. to study painting in graduate school. Before that, painting was never my main focus; it was something I would do in my spare time after my day job. Since I came here, painting became the center of my focus and my professional life totally changed. Every day I realize how right this decision was — both to immigrate here, where I can express myself freely without being concerned about any sort of censorship, and also to become a painter. Before that, in both graphic design and illustration, there had always been a client or publisher I had to listen to, and at the end of the day what I made only conveyed whatever message or ideas they wanted me to say.

On top of that, there was the censorship imposed by the government which did not leave me much room for self-expression. It was too much for me because my ambition was to express myself freely and say whatever I want to say in my work. That was the most satisfying thing I felt when I came to the US and switched to painting. During these years, during graduate school, I could design my own creative process and painting techniques which have been evolving ever since.

‘The Limbo,’ 2018 by Arghavan Khosravi. Acrylic and metallic spray paint on raw bass wood panel, 24 x 36 in. ( 60 x 90 cm). Photo courtesy of the artist.

OM: Anyone looking at your extensive body of work can see that you are, beyond a sophisticated artist, also a storyteller. In this way, your work is evocative of Persian miniatures where the viewer must explore layers of meaning and interconnected elements throughout the paintings to understand the embedded, circular stories. What is the source of this storytelling style?

AK: Your observation is exactly on point and it’s very nice to hear that. Miniature painting, and more specifically Persian miniature painting, is one of my main sources of inspiration; whether it’s the way architecture is depicted in those paintings, the approach toward depicting language, the mesmerizing colors, or the way the figures’ form of expression is visible in their body language and poses, rather than in their face.

One of the other fascinating characteristics of these works, as you mentioned too, is that they have usually been made to accompany a story. I like to have a similar approach in my own work. I would like to load the paintings with symbols, visual metaphors, and codes that are layered in a way that hopefully invite the viewer to take a closer look and spend more time with the piece. It also allows the works to be accessible to different audiences coming from different walks of life and cultural backgrounds.

Self-censorship Series 1, 2018 by Arghavan Khosravi. Acrylic and plexiglass on linen canvas on wood panel. 12 x 12 in. (30 x 30 cm) Photo courtesy of the artist.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Youssef Nabil, Self-portrait, Essaouira, 2011. Hand-colored gelatin silver print, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Nathalie Obadia, Paris/Brussels

The Palazzo Grassi Museum in Venice, Italy, is hosting an exhibition of more than 120 photographs and three films by the renowned Egyptian artist, Youssef Nabil, until January 10, 2021. “Once Upon a Dream,” curated by Matthieu Humery and Jean-Jacques Aillagon, “gathers together more than 120 works that trace the artist's whole career.”

Born in Egypt in 1972, Nabil is one of the world's most iconic photographers and artists, whose works have been featured in exhibitions and museums worldwide in the past decade. Nabil paints on black-and-white photos and creates compositions that depict his subjects as unattainable. His technique mixes painting and photography, inspired by hand-painted movie posters of the 1940s and 1950s, and is reminiscent of the pre-digital world.

Nabil's photographs are a combination of nostalgia and idealism, deconstruction and beauty, reality and illusion, and ultimately, the product of the photographer's sensitive intervention in shaping the final work. In the process of forming his work, painting is as important as photography. He says that each of his photographs is the product of his personal connection with the subject—a relationship that differs from one photo to another and which ultimately makes every photo different from another.

Nabil eventually turned to making films. In an interview with Global Voices, he explains his use of this new medium for artistic expression, his photography, and his relationship with Egypt.

Excerpts from the interview follow:

Youssef Nabil at his exhibition at Palazzo Grassi Museum in Venice, Italy, September 2020. Photo courtesy of the artist, ©Matteo De Fina

Omid Memarian: You are well known for your photography and your portrait-paintings, in particular. You have also made three films, Arabian Happy Ending (2016), I Saved My Belly Dancer (2015), and You Never Left (2010). What does making a movie give you, as a medium, that you don’t get from photography?

Youssef Nabil: In my mind, I’m always making a film when I’m doing my photography. I always prepare in a way that I’m telling a story. I take care of every detail. I want the photos to feel like scenes taken from a film. So films have been the inspiration behind my photography and the reason I started taking pictures in the first place. Even technically, the painting on my photography comes from the cinema, from the old hand-painted movie posters, portraits of movie stars, and Technicolor films. I wanted this vintage feeling to be in my photography, with a contemporary approach. I never wanted to use color film. We are talking about a time before the digital era. In the early 90s, everybody used color film, and I still wanted to shoot in black and white and use the same old photography technique for painting. So moving from photography to films was a natural progression. It was something that had to come. Now I’m thinking of doing a long feature.

Youssef Nabil, Marina Abramović, New York, 2011. Hand-colored gelatin silver print, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Nathalie Obadia, Paris/Brussels

OM: How did you start doing portrait photography?

YN: They are the people I wanted to meet: all the actors and actresses are iconic figures I grew up watching on TV and in the cinema. I just wanted to meet these people because I have this significant awareness of the moment, an awareness of the time people die, as those did before us and the ones after us. I discovered this at a very young age, and for me, the camera was maybe the only medium that could freeze a moment and make it eternal. Whether they were actors or my friends and members of my family or even myself, for me, it’s an encounter, a meeting, a moment with people I might meet once, and whatever is left is the work we did together.

OM: You grew up in Egypt and left in 2003 when you moved to Paris for an art residency, and then lived in New York from 2006 until 2018. How has your upbringing affected your art, mainly your uniquely hand-painted portraits?

YN: All my work, whether it's the technique or the subjects, comes from my personal experience. What inspired me to paint my photos came from Egypt. When I was a kid growing up, I used to sit in the back of my family's car. My favorite thing was to spot and watch all the movie billboards along the way. Cairo was big in cinema. We called it “Hollywood on the Nile.” I grew up watching all those movie posters in the streets, all hand-painted. At our house, we also had a lot of hand-painted family portraits. I wanted to keep that in my work. It comes from the experience that I was in touch with and what life offered me over there.

I wanted to study art or cinema, but for two years, every art school in Egypt rejected me. It was a difficult time for me, so I decided to make my own art. I called my friends from school, and I borrowed a camera and a few years later I wanted to paint the black and white pictures that I took of my friends. Being inspired by old films, I refused to use color films and learned how to paint black and white prints. I had to learn the technique from the old and last remaining studio “retouchers,” as they were called. I wanted my work to look like a painting. I loved the combination of photography and painting. Of course, I took all that with me from Egypt to New York. It came naturally, not something I decided to do.

Youssef Nabil, Self-portrait With Roots, Los Angeles, 2008. Hand-colored gelatin silver print, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Nathalie Obadia, Paris/Brussels

OM: How do you choose which color to use for a photo?

YN: It's a very personal and spontaneous decision. I like a certain degree of the color blue, and I use it a lot in my work, and from that, a lot of people now can tell it's my work. And the same with the skin color or a particular red that I like and I use a lot. All decisions that I make are very personal.

OM: All three of your movies deal with social issues of our time in a troubled region: from speaking of sexuality to exploring the feeling of “leaving and longing, many years after you left Egypt, to freedom. What has been the reaction of the art world to raising these issues in your work? Has this also affected how you do your photography now?

YN: When I talk about personal feelings or personal experiences, concerns, and the culture I come from, I always try to link it on a universal level. So everyone can relate to it. In “I Saved My Belly Dancer,” I talked about this art being always attacked indirectly by some people in the Middle East because they say, it’s immoral. The film is more about what you want to save in your memory to live with you, even if it’s no longer a part of reality. In my case, I chose to speak about a belly dancer. It could be someone you love that is no longer a part of your life or memories from childhood in your country that do not exist in the country you choose to live in. So for me, it was about memory. In “You Never Left,” I’m talking about the idea of when you decide to leave home and go somewhere else, your country never leaves you. I felt a mini death happening to me, and I had to be born again in a new place, and I think anyone who decides to choose a new place as a home can relate to it.

Youssef Nabil, Your Life Was Just A Dream, 2019. Hand-colored gelatin silver print, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Nathalie Obadia, Paris/Brussels

OM: In your photos, you somehow remove the element of time and reality and take them to a unique space that seems to belong to our memories. What’s your thought process in creating such qualities?

YN: I never plant it. Some things come from me, my character, my life, how I see people, how I express myself, how I want the message to be felt and seen, and all the things that I cannot put into words. That’s why I take pictures. That is my vision of the world I want to share. That’s probably why I don’t make people laugh or why I photograph myself from the back. I don’t decide these things. Even with paintings, how can you choose when the work is done? When it says what you wanted to say. So I make decisions in a very natural and spontaneous way.

Youssef Nabil, Catherine Deneuve, Paris, 2010. Hand-colored gelatin silver print, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Nathalie Obadia, Paris/ Brussels

OM: Which artists have the most influence on your work? And how have they shaped your artistic experience and the way you look at art?

YN: It’s definitely cinema that shaped my vision. Old movies. Whether Egyptian, European, or American. I grew up in the 80s in Cairo. That was before the internet, cable TV, and mobile phones. Later on, I learned about other artists, especially in New York, like Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Keith Haring. I was very interested in what was going on with the American art movement in the 80s. Especially Andy Warhol, but I don’t want to say that he is my inspiration. In the 90s I went to New York and discovered more artists; Frida Kahlo’s first biography book was just out in March 1993, and I was reading that in New York and I was very touched, moved, and fascinated by her story because she was mainly turning her pain into art, she was only making art related to her personal life. I love Jean-Michel Basquiat. I love every artist whose work is personal—no matter their medium or what they do. I just need to feel that there is something personal.

Palazzo Grassi and Punta Della Dogana are the Pinault Collection‘s contemporary art museums in Venice, Italy.

Written by Omid Memarian

Originally published on Global Voices

Red, 2020, Oil on Linen, 48 x 60 inches, courtesy of the artist and Kasmin Gallery

Ali Banisadr’s MATRIX 185 exhibition at the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art is the Iranian-American artist’s first solo museum exhibition in the US. The exhibition opened on October 22, 2020, and will run through February 14, 2021.

Ten paintings and two prints by Banisadr join a selection of works from the Wadsworth collection chosen by the artist, as well as a video collage that Banisadr created to show additional works from the museum’s collection. The visual and narrative content of his works is shaped by his exposure to war, pop culture, cinema, graphic novels and European painting. He told The Met that he paints the sounds and sights of war.

Banisadr was born in Tehran in 1976, and moved to the United States when he was 12, during the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988). In 2000, he moved to New York, earning his Bachelor of Fine Arts from the School of Visual Arts, and later his Masters from the New York Academy of Art. 

At 44, he is one of the most promising and successful artists in the US, and his paintings are collected by major museums around the world, including The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, Centre Pompidou in Paris, and The British Museum in London.

The Caravan, 2020, Oil on Linen, 66 x 88 inches, courtesy of the artist and Kasmin Gallery

Banisadr’s paintings are aesthetically beautiful and conceptually mesmerizing and multilayered. They invite the viewer to visit an imaginary world with familiar and unfamiliar elements that create a labyrinth of meaning, form and color. His paintings might also be reminiscent of giants like Francisco Goya, Pieter Bruegel and Hieronymus Bosch, although in many ways his energy, symbolic language, environments and characters, as well as the cryptic and coded world he creates, make him stand alone. He creates a magical combination of harmony and chaos that keeps the viewer outside the door, and invites a personal and unique interpretation. 

Excerpts from the interview follow:  

Omid Memarian: You work on one painting at a time. Why and how does that work?

Ali Banisadr: When I begin a new painting, it becomes a very involved process. Once I start a painting, we open up a dialogue that leads to a lot of research, reading, looking at art works in relation to the painting in progress, etc. My mind becomes very much occupied by the painting and if I opened another dialogue with another painting, it would just become overwhelming.

OM: You spent your childhood in Iran and moved to San Diego when you were 12 years old. How did your experiences in Iran affect what you did later, particularly in pursuing art, painting, and life in the US?

AB: It's hard to say. Of course, everything you experience in some way affects your work. One thing I can say is that it is helpful to be able to think about things through the lenses of two different cultures at once. Instead of having just one point of view, you can listen to different voices which may sometimes be in opposition. I feel it's a healthy way to understand the world and I've always liked the idea of multiple points of view. There is never just one way or a single answer.

The Prophet, 2020, Oil on Linen, 66×88 inches

OM: In 2000, you moved to New York to study at the School of Visual Arts, and later you received your Masters in Fine Arts from New York Academy of Art. How did school change or shape your vision and contribute to your creativity and work?

AB: When I went to school I was ready to learn as much as I could. I was thirsty for it because I had spent a lot of time experimenting on my own to get an understanding of what lies inside of myself and what it wants. Then I just had to learn some structure to be able to unveil it.

OM: You are one of the most talented and also successful current artists in the US, and your works have been exhibited/collected by major museums/collectors. How has this level of success affected your work? 

AB: When I am painting, my goal is to turn off my rational thinking—”the voices of others,” as Guston has said—and to think in a different way—visual thinking. So I don't think these external forces factor into my practice of painting.

OM: What’s your definition of success for art and artists?

AB: Each work should be better than the last one; each work should teach me new things.

Only Breath, 2020, Oil on Linen, 16 x 20 inches, courtesy of the artist and Kasmin Gallery

OM: How do you describe your technique and style of storytelling in your paintings in relation to others whom you might have studied or been influenced by?

AB: In this case, I would just refer to the paintings themselves. It is a hard thing for me to try to break down words; one has to simply look at the paintings, and all those traces of past, present and future can reveal themselves, but they come and go like dreams, not easy to grasp and pin down.

OM: How about the Iranian 19th-century tradition of coffee-house painting? How much did you know about this tradition when growing up and after? Was it part of your visual imagination at all? 

AB: It is a very interesting way to be able to tell a story; what I like about it is that they are worlds within worlds. You can have the same person shown in the story when they are young and then when they are old. It's a bit like a time machine, which I appreciate and think about within my own work.

OM: Good music and novels have been two of your sources of inspiration. How have they found a way into your painting?

AB: Music goes inside of my body and it turns into visual worlds. Novels and poetry can also provoke powerful imagery but also create a musical orchestra. Films can have a combination of sounds and imagery, but also movement. They are all a point of reference that comes and goes as I am painting. Since I don't use any references, they sort of become a part of my visual vocabulary to refer to when I am working.

OM: What’s your intellectual and creative process in setting the scene that makes every painting share common characteristics and, in particular, the highest level of symbolism?

AB: Each time I start working, it's like a dive into the abyss and the unknown. When I am not painting, I am doing a lot of research based on the content I am interested in at the time—this can be triggered by a current event topic, but I am not just satisfied with that immediate topic. I like to research its history, see echoes of it in the past, in books written about the subject, art which was made about the subject, so, in a way, I fall into a rabbit hole of research with each painting and these contents may or may not work their way into the painting.

Fields of Energy, 2019, Oil on Linen, 66 x 88 inches, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac

OM: In an interview, you recently said, “I want my paintings to have that feeling of metamorphosis, where you're looking at things becoming something else. Because that's the truest mirror of imagination and memory and dreams—things are always changing.” How did such a philosophy grow within you, and what elements helped shape it? 

AB: I was always interested in how imagination, memory, dreams and hallucinations work. All these elements have shaped our world and connect us with things that go beyond our rational thinking. This fascinates me.

OM: What is the title of your 2019 painting, Thought Police, refer to?

AB: The title refers to George Orwell's 1984 novel which I have been thinking alot about lately, such a prophetic novel, especially for our time!

Ali Banisadr has also curated part of the Wadsworth's collection (Goya, William Blake, Hiroshige, Max Ernst, etc). He has a solo show coming up at the Benaki Museum in Athens, Greece, from November 3 until January 30, 2021, and also has an upcoming monograph, published by Rizzoli, to be released next spring, to coincide with an exhibition at Kasmin Gallery in New York.

Photo Credits: Jeffrey Sturges and Adam Reich 

Written by Omid Memarian

 Forest. Full Moon. ink on hand made paper, 155x300cm, 2012

Turkish artist Selma Gürbüz is fascinated with shadows.

“Shadow is strength. Shadow is invincible. Nothing can overpower the shadow. Shadows follow you; they change,” said Gürbüz in an interview with Global Voices.

Gürbüz was born in 1960 in Istanbul, where she currently works. She graduated from Marmara University Faculty of Fine Arts in 1984 following two years at Exeter College of Art Design. Since her first exhibition in 1986, Gürbüz has been part of numerous solo and group exhibitions in both in Turkey and abroad.

Gürbüz's works create worlds from imaginary creatures, ghosts, and threads drawn from The 1001 Nights, and draw inspiration from history. While her works might seem disconnected from the outside world or current events, they are fundamentally concerned with issues such as race, women, love, identity, and nature.

Excerpts from the interview follow.

Omid Memarian: How do you see the current position of Turkish contemporary art in the broader global scene? Have art events such as the Istanbul Biennale boosted the visibility of local artists? 

Selma Gürbüz: Economic and political instability in Turkey have long affected the local art world. Collectors’ interest has slightly declined compared to previous years. However, I see this as temporary. A number of our important artists continue to produce works that make waves in the global art world. So, the interest that was shown in the works of Turkish artists both nationally and internationally remains. The Istanbul Biennale is one of the most important such events anywhere in the world.

Arter, a non-profit initiative that brings together artists and audiences in celebration of today’s art in all its forms and disciplines, relocated to a new venue last year. This new space boasts 18,000 square meters of indoor area and houses, exhibition galleries, terrace, performance halls, learning areas, library, conservation laboratory, arts bookstore, and a café.

The Odunpazarı Modern Museum opened in the city of Eskişehir. The Istanbul Modern Museum will soon move to a new, much larger building. There is no doubt that all these developments will greatly benefit the visibility and production of contemporary art within Turkey.

The COVID-19 pandemic has had a considerable impact on the art world, internationally and within Turkey. International organizations will continue to be adversely affected, including through the impact on international travel, and therefore I think it is important that countries show more support and take an interest in their own artists, helping them to overcome these difficulties. The art markets will localize for a few years and this, in turn, will give a different kind of motivation to artists.

Maybe you feel like it, oil on canvas, 155x230cm. 2016

OM: The color black is dominant in many of your works. You have even been called “the painter of black magic, black crows, black people, fairies and eyes.” What's your connection to this color? 

SG: Black, for me, is fundamentally, shadow. In life, I've always enjoyed looking at shadows. My discovery of shadows is influenced not only by my interest in the shadow theater of my own country but also of the Far East, such as China, Japan, and Indonesia. Some of these shadow plays are quite vocal in their political discourse.

My first piece of shadow theater was an installation I prepared for the Kuandu Biennale in Taiwan. The papier mâché figures I created moved among themselves and I projected their reflection onto the wall. As well as their own movements, they threw black shadows onto the walls. Their movements transformed into an erotic theater piece.

Later, I prepared other shadow plays for an exhibition of mine in Yokohama in Japan. In these plays I was also there within the shadows. It was a difficult piece. I was in front of the curtain this time, with the shadow puppets in my hands. They were animal puppets, roosters, ravens and suchlike. Along with my puppets, I entered into a performance that resembled a battle, an actual physical fight. It turned into a play in which the ostensible struggle was between such emotions as jealousy, passion, and vulnerability. In time, these black shadows made it into my paintings. Shadow means strength. Shadow is invincible. Nothing can overpower shadow. Shadows follow you; they change. Along with the movement of light itself, the position and form of shadow also changes. Shadow can change the shape of an object. Shadow lends length. That which is real does not change, but its shadow can change. Shadow is a two-dimensional representation. It shows us ourselves.

Woman with Roosters, oil on canvas, 155x230cm. 2011

OM: Women have a very strong presence in many of your works. What type of women do you speak about in your works, and what do they mean to you?  

SG: I usually portray myself in my depictions of the figures of women in my paintings. The vulnerability, courage, caprices, and smiles of my female figures are reflections of my own feelings. They are the innocent figures of an undefined time. They are vulnerable. They are flirty. Instead of being in dialogue with the viewer, the viewer can instead form a strange closeness with them. They are mystical and naïve while also being courageous and intelligent. They have been trained in the ways of both the east and the west. Each one has a different story in my world. And I'm not talking here about a story as a product of fiction. These, instead, are stories that play out in an impromptu fashion; stories that have broken through into the free movement of the imagination. Every story gives birth to a new one and they all have this element of discipline and sustainability. For them, nature is extremely important, they feel the yearning for nature. They miss nature. These women see nature in its tiniest details, they study it, paint it, and wish to be consumed by it: to be lost in nature. It is this courage that gives them the power to be free.

Dance in the Forest, Ink on handmade paper, 61×118 1/10 in, 2013.

OM: Many of your paintings look like the work of a storyteller. How do you develop your stories and how do they end up as paintings? 

SG: It starts with a mental picture. Then I ponder on which images I can use to compose that vision within a painting, and the kind of dramatic effect it will have. I have often felt that people who look at my paintings can read them like a story and that I have somehow enabled them to do so. But we have to distinguish here between this kind of storytelling and the compositional coherence of a literary author and the written tales that they build up through their layers, the gradation that takes place from start to finish as they compose drafts, erase, and rewrite.

In my creative process, the continuation of a spontaneous flow is clearly visible. I open up the doors to impromptu creation. There is nothing in my pictures that I cover up with something else. For example, I'd never say, “this part hasn't turned out quite as I'd have liked, so I'll change the paper.” Whatever I do is represented there. This is an idiosyncrasy that makes me, me. But at the same time, this can be a drag. The process requires the highest degree of concentration. What's more, I have to know from the outset exactly what I want. Then again, that's not to say that I will sit in front of a painting having toiled and performed every calculation. I like to leave myself to be free. My free form associations can cause the painting to flow in a new direction. And I feel it's these surprises that make a painting a painting.

OM: Do current events impact your work and creativity? 

SG: I don't make political paintings. I don't sit in front of a piece of work and feel the pressure of daily politics. The themes of the paintings, the subjects and contents are separate and are not influenced by everyday events in life or current developments. And therefore I can't really say that I feel subject to a definite effect coming directly from that context. However, I am affected indirectly, there's no doubt. And not only as an artist, I am affected first and foremost as a person. The disappointments I suffer in the outside world due to events that occur tend to turn me deeper into my own inner world. This is not a form of submission but can be better thought of as a stronger impulse to bring out the artistic powers. I say that I do not get directly affected, and then I suddenly remember a painting I made some three years ago.  In the name of defending the rights and freedoms of those people who are oppressed in so many places in the world I painted a Statue of Freedom. The Statue of Freedom was only symbolic here of course. And to look at that painting again now in light of what is currently happening in the United States gives rise to new readings of it in totally new contexts and I personally find that very interesting. 

Left: Ad Gloriam, ink on hand made paper, 220×120 cm. 2016. Middle: “Faced with Myself”, Archival Pigment Print 17/30 ed., 83x42cm,2012. Right: Serpentine. ink on hand made paper, 240x122cm, 2011.

OM: You were born, grew up, and live in Istanbul, Turkey, a country with a rich history and culture. How can one explore references to your roots and cultural identity in your works?

SG: Istanbul was the capital city of three huge empires: the Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman Empires. It has a vast, rich, history and culture that very few other world cities can challenge. Istanbul's rich identity results from a synthesis of “east” and “west”. When you take a walk on the historical peninsula of Istanbul you can see Ottoman miniatures, Byzantine mosaics, historical mosques and churches all of which are hundreds of years old, in just one day. Being born and brought up in a city such as this has had very direct effects on my art. For example, the Ottoman hunting miniatures or the paintings of Byzantine saints are only a few of the subjects I have portrayed. At the same time, the lands of Anatolia, which countless civilizations have made their home throughout history, are a place of incredibly rich mythology. Some of the references I go back to frequently for my paintings are those such as Kybele, the goddess figure whose roots we find in the Hittite and Phrygian civilizations. In addition to this, I love to return to universal myths, such as those of Adam and Eve or Medusa. I always find that I discover new points of view, new aspects, every time I go back to them.

Night. Sleeping Beauties. ink on hand made paper, 155x300cm, 2011

OM: What are you working on now and when we will see a new body of work? Will your new body of work be the continuation of your previous work?

SG: Two years ago I visited Tanzania with my friend Burak Acar. We went on safari in the Serengeti and took videos and photographs for a whole week. Africa opened new doors of inspiration to me. I've been working in Africa for a very long time. In November 2020 I will launch my new solo exhibition at the Istanbul Modern. In the exhibition my paintings and sculptures inspired by Africa will be exhibited. Alongside these we'll be setting up various video installations showing the films that we took whilst in the Serengeti.  At the moment I am directing a team and we're working to get it all ready. I am really excited about this. 

Written by Omid Memarian

Lalla Essaydi, Harem #2, 2009. 71 × 88 in 180.4 × 223.5 cm.

Moroccan artist Lalla Essaydi, 64, is well known for her dazzling, multidimensional staged photographs, which in spite of their simplicity, masterfully capture and challenge the complexities of social structures, women's identities and cultural traditions. 

Essaydi‘s artworks not only reinvent visual traditions; they also “invoke the western fascination with the odalisque, the veil, and, of course, the harem, as expressed in Orientalist painting.”

“My work speaks primarily in terms of Moroccan identity, but visual identifiers such as the veil, harem, ornate ornamentation, and sumptuous color also resonate with other regions in the Muslim and Arabic worlds where the place of women has historically been marked by limited expression and constrained individuality,” Essaydi said in an interview with Global Voices. 

Raised in Morocco, Essaydi has lived in Saudi Arabia and France and is currently based in Boston. She has exhibited at the National Museum of African Art in Washington, D.C., the Art Institute of Chicago, the Fries Museum in the Netherlands, among others.

Essaydi is a poet of architecture, the female body, and color. Where letters overwhelm her composition, the bold presence of women and the veiled apprehension in their eyes disrupt all equations of beauty.

Excerpts from the interview follow.

Moroccan artist, Lalla Essaydi. Photo courtesy of the artist.

Omid Memarian: Over the past two decades you have been creating striking artworks that conceptually challenge social structures and comment on power and authority. How did you find and develop this visual language? 

Laila Essaydi: My approach to art in general, and my relation to Islamic art in particular, is deeply rooted in my personal experience. As a Moroccan-born artist who has lived in New York, Boston, and Marrakesh and who travels frequently to the Arab world, I have become deeply aware of how the cultures of the “Orient” and “Occident” view one another. In particular, I have become increasingly aware of the impact of the Western gaze on Arab culture. 

Although Orientalism most often suggests a 19th-century European vision of the East, as a set of assumptions it lives on today: both in the gaze of the West and in the way Arab societies continue to internalize and respond to that gaze. In its early form, Orientalism was a literal “vision,” finding expression in the work of Western painters who traveled to the “exotic” East in search of cultures more colorful than their own, I have used it as a point of departure in much of my own work—in both painting and photography.

The imagery I found in Orientalist painting has resonated with me in tricky ways and ultimately helped me situate my own experience in a powerful visual language.

In my photography, I explore this space, whether mental or physical, and interrogate its role in gender identity-making, while engaging with centuries of cultural heritage and artistic practices. For instance, my images of women, embedded in Islamic architecture, recognize and represent an alternative to similar spaces, as imagined for women, in painting and photography, from within the Arab and Muslim worlds. My fusion of calligraphy (a sacred art traditionally reserved for men) and henna (an adornment worn and applied only by women) similarly reproduces artistic traditions and practices common in everyday life in Islamic cultures while transgressing gender roles and the boundaries between private and public spaces.

Lalla Essaydi, Harem #1, 2009

OM: You were born and raised in Morocco, spent 19 years in Saudi Arabia, moved to Paris and studied there and finally landed in the U.S., studied, and lived there. How has this geographical path impacted your art, your perception of women, and their presence in your photos? 

LE: My work is inspired by personal history. The many territories that converge in my work are not only geographical ones but territories of the imagination, shaped, above all, by childhood and memory—by these invisible influences. My work cannot be reduced to Orientalist discourse. Orientalism has given me a lens through which to focus on the converging territories of my work and through which to see more clearly the influence of Western imagination in the Eastern ways of conceptualizing the self. At a more personal level, my creative practice is a means through which I can reinvent and position myself in different times and cultural contexts.

At the same time, I also celebrate the cultural richness of Morocco, the Middle East and North African countries. Although I tend to think of my work as, first and foremost, being about the experience of women, I would say that these elements are also significant. They do not happen incidentally but are part of the inherent qualities that I bring to my vision and my work.

Lalla Essaydi, Bullets Revisited #37, 2014.

OM: How did earning a BFA and MFA from Tufts University and the School of Museum of Fine Art contribute to your career and artistic transformation? Was the education something you expected?

LE: I enrolled in the Museum School because I wanted to return to Morocco and be able to pursue my hobby with greater knowledge and skill. Instead, I found my life’s work.

I learned that some of the most important things in our lives happen unexpectedly. We take a class in painting and discover an entire new world at our fingertips: waiting to be grasped. We take a class in painting and find art history, and installation, photography and so much more. We look for a glass of water and find an ocean, calling to us. And we answer the call. 

I never dreamed I would spend seven years in this environment, immersing myself in everything the School had to offer, and learning more than I had ever imagined was possible.  

This was, and is, a school of artists, designed by and for artists: where students are free to choose what they want to learn. It only offers elective modules, and there are no mandatory classes. When we realize the riches that are available, we want to absorb everything.

At first I was overwhelmed. I was one of those students who roamed the corridors of the School late at night, peering into the empty rooms, with their silent trappings of whatever medium was taught there. 

Eventually, the School taught me a second lesson. With all these opportunities and this great array of artistic riches, with this enormous freedom to choose, comes responsibility.

Responsibility first means discipline, and setting priorities, followed by learning new skills and techniques. And then comes self-direction, as we learn and understand new ways of thinking about art, and the ambition to do something important with our lives.  

My career offered me something else, something I did not expect. This very public environment offered me a private space, something I had never had at home. It offered me a space where I was free to express my thoughts in private, without the inhibiting knowledge that they were available for all to see. This enabled me to explore and bring to the fore aspects of my own interior life I hadn’t even known were there.

While I knew that creating art is an intensely personal experience, I also learned that it happens only with the help of a lot of gifted and dedicated people: people who teach and guide, people who encourage and nurture, people who inspire you to keep reaching to create what is excellent and beautiful and true. You can tell, I loved the School. 

Lalla Essaydi. Les Femmes du Maroc: La Grande Odalisque, 2008

OM: Women and their private space in the Arab world are central to your series “Harem” and other work. Where did this curiosity and focus come from and sow has it changed over time? 

LE: My work reaches beyond Islamic culture as it also invokes the Western fascination with the odalisque, the veil, and, of course, the harem as it is expressed in Orientalist painting. Orientalism has long been a source of fascination for me. My background in art is in painting, and it is as a painter that I began my investigation into Orientalism. My study led me to a much deeper understanding of the painting space so beautifully addressed by Orientalist painters in thrall to Arab décor. From its terrific prominence in these paintings, this décor made me keenly aware of the importance of interior space in Arab/Islamic culture. And finally, of course, I became aware of the patterns of cultural domination and predatory sexual fantasy encoded in Orientalist painting. 

Memarian: Your artworks incorporate multiple layers, a beautiful and colorful layer on the outside, and inviting mixed layers of calligraphy, henna, ceramic, and also models. The latter rests on the edge of cliché, but it also creates a lively and mystical visual labyrinth. What is it like to navigate this fine line? 

Essaydi: It is important for me that my work be beautiful. While it is received very differently in Western and Arab contexts, its aesthetic is appreciated in both. More critical for me, however, is that the photographs achieve a balance between their political, historical and aesthetic content, as well as make a statement on art.

But the fact that I have sometimes been critiqued for, on the one hand, perpetuating expectations and stereotypes rather than refuting them and, on the other, for exposing that which should remain private, indicates that responses to my work are highly subjective, context-specific and likely culturally informed. Tempered by the ambiguity of the work’s literal meaning, perhaps defaulting to the most accessible and intuitive reaction: perception of the stereotype. Nevertheless, with deliberate subtlety, my work introduces alternative, challenging perspectives on canonical 19th-century Orientalist paintings. As a female artist from the regions depicted, mine is an historically repressed voice that “complicates any neat framing of the canon.” Drawing on similar visual devices, I try to engage it in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable dialogue, and re-situates the Orientalist genre in the history of art.

Harem Revisited #34, 2012

OM: In a 2012 interview you said that your models “see themselves as part of a small feminist movement.” While “freedom” is one of your main concerns, and many of your works seem to reconstruct traditions, how does this contradictory formula have such a liberating result? 

LE: My work may seem to “reconstruct traditions,” but in fact I am trying to create a new understanding.

The liberating result comes because in many ways, performance is an intrinsic element of my photographs, evident in the figures’ careful composition, in the physical act of writing and, more importantly, in the intensity of the sitters’ embodied presence that also renders them subjects rather than objects. 

Through writing, I lay bare personal thoughts, memory, and experiences that belong to me and the women featured as individuals within a broader narrative. Though my work speaks primarily in terms of Moroccan identity, visual identifiers such as the veil, harem, ornate ornamentation, and sumptuous color also resonate with other regions in the Muslim and Arabic worlds where the place of women has historically been marked by limited expression and constrained individuality.  

While my work evokes the region’s traditional aesthetics and social practices, I insert a dimension that complicates them: a personal narrative that takes form in the written word. In volumes upon volumes of text, these women voice critical reflections on and interrogations of memories, all captured within the space of my photographs. At the same time, I write about historical representations of Moroccan, Arabic, Muslim, and African women. To understand my work, then, one must examine long-standing preconceptions held by diverse peoples over time, as well as by myself.

Lalla Essaydi, Bullets, Jackson Fine Art. February 3 – April 15, 2017

Written by Omid Memarian

Rachid Koraichi solo exhibition, 2016. Credit: Aicon Gallery

Paris-based Algerian artist Rachid Koraichi, 73, is known around the world for his use of numbers, letters, mystical symbols and signs in his artworks. He is also an outspoken critic of the challenges people regularly face in the Middle East and North Africa, from racism to immigration to poverty. 

“We cannot sit still and work in a bubble without thinking about our environment and what surrounds us,” said Koraichi in an interview with Global Voices. “There is still enormous suffering in many countries.”

In 2019, in response to devastating waves of migrants losing their lives in search of a better life, he created a cemetery in Tunisia called “Jardin d’Afrique” (“Garden of Africa”), to serve “as a burial site and memorial for migrants who have died in the Mediterranean Sea.” Dozens of drowning victims have already been buried in the cemetery. 

Koraichi’s worldview is heavily influenced by Sufism, poetry, philosophy and Quranic verses, and his works have been exhibited throughout the world for decades, from solo exhibitions in New York to art fairs such as Frieze and the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair.

Rachid Koraichi, from the series A Nation In Exile.

A painter, sculptor and calligrapher, Koraichi's work incorporates poems and quotes from Sufi mystics such as Rumi and Al-Arabi and Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish and creates a mysterious and moving universe that offers the audience the chance to enjoy its beauty, regardless of the riddle the words may, for many, pose.

I express my appreciation to Dheeya Somaiya of Aicon Art for making this interview possible. Excerpts from the interview follow: 

Omid Memarian: What is your strongest inspiration, something that has driven you to create art for decades, whether sculptures, paintings, or ceramics?  

Rachid Koraichi: I have realized the dream of my own mother. My mother drew a lot, even as a young girl. She received France's grand prize for drawing (at that time Algeria was a French colony). I have evolved in this direction, often under her gaze. When I was working, she would stand behind me and see where I was at, how things were going, how the canvas was developing and so on. For me, it was this sense of my mother looking over my shoulder that was very important.

It was really a continuation of what she would have liked to do in her youth and perhaps in her adult life, something she could not achieve for many reasons. She had to stop her studies after she got married. She had a lot of children, which actually meant she was not able to do what she wanted to do.

When I picture my mother, I always see her cooking for the whole family, then she moves and stands behind me, looking at a painting I have been working on for a few days, all without saying a word. She leaves and, from time to time, she comes back again. I still feel her eyes on my back, without realizing it; the tenderness, the affection and the desire for her son to make art.

Rachid Koraichi, Madrid, 2018. Credit: Aicon Gallery.

OM: Mahmoud Darwish, the renowned Palestinian poet, has a very strong presence in your oeuvre, including your exhibition, “Path of Roses/Beirut’s Poem/A Nation in Exile.” What's your connection to him and his poems? And how he has persistently been a part of your visual vocabulary?

RK: The bond and connection with Mahmoud Darwish goes back several decades. Certainly, Mahmoud Darwish is a significant poet of the Palestinian cause, which has also proved to be a great cause for people across the Arab world, the Islamic world, and people in all countries who seek peace and true decolonization, because today the history of Palestine poses questions for all of us about its past, its present and certainly its future. 

When Mahmoud Darwish died, a three-day period of national mourning was announced—which is rare in a state that barely exists as a defined territory, especially for a poet. This speaks to his profound importance.

Mahmoud left Beirut and settled in Tunisia where he was allocated a house in Sidi Bou Said. That's where I had a workshop. This house belonged to my friend, the painter Ali Belaada. He was an artist and a great man. We were neighbors. Mahmoud liked to cook but I did not, so that was the beginning of what became a strong bond. We saw each other every day, we spent the afternoons and evenings together, and then one day I said to him: “Listen Mahmoud, as long as you're here, as long as I'm here, let’s create as much as we can together, take things forward, reflect on them.”

What interests me in Mahmoud Darwish is his writing: the moment, the story, the pulse that triggered the writing of the poetic text. It was not about illustration—I'm not an illustrator, I'm a visual artist. 

I also connected with Mahmoud Darwish over Jalaluddin Rumi who was the spiritual father of Dariush. There was work around his spirituality related to dance and music, and this in particular countered the Islamists who forbade radio, television, music, dance and the arts. Rumi is a great Islamic mystic, who anchored his philosophy and thought. Dance as an element is a fundamental axis of his philosophy and mysticism. 

Rachid Koraïchi, Three Banners Installation. Credit: Aicon Gallery

OM: What is the role of artists, particularly those who have access to global platforms in both shaping and shifting narratives to confront major issues of our time, such as immigration, racism and intolerance/injustice? 

RK: We cannot sit still and work in a bubble without thinking about our environment and what surrounds us. There is still enormous suffering in many countries.

Look at the experience of independence: unfortunately almost all countries that revolted against Western colonization found themselves under the dictator's boot in their own country. 

It is serious. Before, we had a clear cause for which we struggled. Many were even willing to die for it. But today, we see our leaders plunder their countries and their people. We cannot sit idly by and accept this. Look at Algeria: after seven years of horrific wars, we wanted a level of existence that they did not give us. Our leaders continued to behave almost like dictators, torturers, occupiers. Maybe things will change; the world has changed and we hope things will be different. 

Today we see clearly the acts of racism that are still happening in North America, we see very well acts of racism from one tribe to another in Africa, and how one tribal leader raises his population against their neighbors. Today, in many countries, we live as if we had learned nothing from the history of our continent. 

We artists are questioned, we are obliged by our conscience, to take a stand, it is impossible to remain inactive and do nothing.

Rachid Koraichi onstallation. Credit: Aicon Gallery.

OM: Words, numbers, symbols and signs are some of the major elements that you draw and visualize in an aesthetically beautiful and sophisticated harmonic way. What’s your connection to the numbers and words in your works? 

RK: I think that numbers chart the paths of our existence. From conception to birth, to life, to the beginning of life: this is a journey that is peculiar to us. The Arabs have invented quite a few things, including the famous Arabic numerals with which we work, the talismans and the elements found in the architecture of texts or talismans have always been the basis of pattern structure of drawings and paintings. It is this form of magic that is not black magic or simply magic, it is really an algebraic, mathematical, philosophical and also mystical reflection that comes from the mystery, the mystery of writing, the mystery of the figure.  

I have always been interested in the writing of letters, the writing of words, in composition that becomes almost minimalist. It may be a form of cannibalism: of all that the eye sees, the things on which the gaze arises. After all, there is the evolution and reflection that the brain makes and that also our sensitivity and our way of digesting and seeing what all that can give and how to pass it to the other.  

African art has nourished all civilizations, all cultures. Artists like Picasso, Matisse and many others drew heavily and deeply into African art. Because this land is generous, it is fertile, it is truly great. Really we owe a vote of thanks to this wonderful continent that allows us not only to exist but also to give lessons, even if some people want to push us into the corner as we are sitting at the back of the class. We are not sitting in the last row of the class. We are the first in the class, except we saw our cultures looted, and we fade from time to time. Unfortunately, in our continent we let others really loot us quietly and at all levels.  

Rachid Koraichi. From the series Salome. Credit: Aicon Gallery.

OM: As cultural/religious symbols and also calligraphy are dominant in your artworks, how, in your opinion, is your work communicated to an audience who might have a different cultural and historical background?

RK: I think that all humans can decode aesthetic and beautiful things. When I see myself in the exhibitions on the Mayans and the Incas, the Egyptians, African art and others, the audiences are mixed. An object has a value and life, it’s loaded and it’s not just a matter of aesthetic beauty.  

People all come with their life stories, with their formations, their cultures, their backgrounds, and try to apprehend things. Maybe we do not all apprehend them in the same way, but I believe that every human has a certain sensitivity and uses it. 

I think about the history of art in passing time, that makes a work continue to exist or disappear on its own. It goes back to the time of Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci or others who came before them and even the people of prehistory, when they drew on the cave walls, they did not think for a moment that it would last centuries or millennia. 

People did things for the sake of beauty, but it was also a time when they were in a desert or were in a cave, and they wanted a playful way of painting on the walls. Even today, you will see children pick up pens and draw on the wall or table of the house. 

Written by Omid Memarian