ReportWire

Tag: Art Basel Qatar

  • In Qatar’s Zekreet Desert, Sheikh Mohammed Rashid Al-Thani Welcomes All

    [ad_1]

    Rahaal unfolded across three pavilions (an exhibition space, a salon and a library) in the historic nature reserve of Zekreet, Qatar, just miles from Richard Serra’s monumental East–West/West–East. Photo: Sebastian Boettcher

    Sometimes there are stories so extraordinary they feel more like a romance. The one we’re about to tell, in particular, closely mirrors what Paolo Coelho described in his memorable book The Alchemist, where the protagonist leaves the Western world to embark on an improbable journey into the desert in a process of unlearning and rediscovery. As in Coelho’s narrative, this journey is less about the destination than about attunement and finding meaning through movement, disorientation and pause.

    In Qatar, in a tent in the middle of the desert—yet not far from Richard Serra’s monolithic installation East–West/West–East (which became an Instagram must for Art Basel Qatar visitors) and only about an hour’s drive from Olafur Eliasson’s monument for cosmic connection—an unexpected exhibition invites visitors to rediscover a contemplative relationship with nature. It posits the universality of this need across cultures and latitudes through work by a diverse group of artists from different parts of the world. They speak very different visual languages, yet all draw inspiration from the earth.

    At the heart of the initiative is Sheikh Mohammed Rashid Al-Thani, one of the youngest member of the ruling Al-Thani family, who now resides in New York, where he founded the Institute of Arab and Islamic Art (IAIA). He, along with acclaimed designer William Cooper founder of William White, conceived Rahaal, a temporary nomadic museum unfolding across three pavilions erected in the historic nature reserve of Zekreet, Qatar, and mounted the show, which is on through February 21, 2026.

    “It was very important to be in a place that genuinely speaks to the idea of community-building around nature,” Mohammed Rashid Al-Thani told Observer when we met in the desert. Getting to Rahaal is no simple matter—our driver got lost a couple of times, despite having been there a few days earlier, as the desert itself is in continuous motion. When we finally arrived, more than an hour late, Rashid Al-Thani welcomed us casually, smiling, inviting us into the majjii pavilion to sit on colorful cushions covered in Moray textiles he had arranged to create a large, welcoming sofa. Almost immediately, his staff served coffee and tea with dates.

    Portrait of William Cooper and Mohammed Rashid Al-Thani standing inside the majlis pavilion at Rahaal.Portrait of William Cooper and Mohammed Rashid Al-Thani standing inside the majlis pavilion at Rahaal.
    William Cooper and Mohammed Rashid Al-Thani. Photo: Sebastian Boettcher

    The idea for Rahaal came to Rashid Al-Thani after seeing William Cooper’s New York studio—a room entirely wrapped in shirting fabric and cotton, creating an atmosphere both contemporary and deeply resonant. That use of fabric carried a powerful sense of familiarity for Rashid Al-Thani, evoking regional traditions in which textiles aren’t confined to interiors but extend outward, most visibly in tents covered in wool. The shared aesthetic inspired a playful imaginative exercise between them in which they envisioned a traveler from New York journeying to the small nation of Qatar. “Imagine they take this journey by water through Europe, via Istanbul, and onward toward the Gulf, culminating in a desert crossing,” Rashid Al-Thani illustrated. Passing through the Saudi border at Zekreet, the travelers pause to rest, asking if they can stop there. “Of course,” an Arab answers.

    “That’s what Arabs do; we build community around nature,” Rashid Al-Thani  explained. “That’s how the idea came together. As you drive here, you see encampments everywhere. It doesn’t matter who you are—every single person I know in this country understands that instinct.”

    He added that many families in Qatar still keep a tent in the desert, and people are accustomed to driving out to gather and meet there on weekends. “If you know that someone has a tent, you know you can go there—you can join anytime, without formal invitation.” While today permits are required to build one, the desert itself is still largely understood as a shared space. There is no absolute ownership. The project takes its name from the Rahaal (رحّال), which translates as traveler or nomad—someone who moves across land rather than settling in one place, a desert figure accustomed to crossing vast, open landscapes. “When they saw a tent, they saw a community. They saw a place to rest, a place of refuge. That is what we wanted for people coming to the country: to feel there is a temporary place of connection.”

    Qatar, now one of the world’s major global stopover hubs, still embodies this idea of continuous transit. What often gets lost, however, is the opportunity to connect with the place itself while passing through. “People arrive, visit the major museums and leave without sensing it,” Rashid Al-Thani reflected. “What we wanted was for visitors to experience what you’re experiencing now—the same feeling you would have in my parents’ home or any other tent or family home in the desert.”

    Traditionally, those tents were always open, welcoming people and expanding into temporary communities. “It creates a deep sense of connection. It can be formal or informal, private or public—it depends on the person and the occasion,” he said, noting how in the Western world, that dimension often doesn’t exist anymore, as hospitality has become something separate, often associated with spaces outside the home. This is particularly felt in big cities, particularly after the disappearance of “third spaces” that once facilitated fluid transitions between private and social life.

    Seating area inside Rahaal’s majlis pavilion, with low modular sofas upholstered in red, teal and purple fabrics.Seating area inside Rahaal’s majlis pavilion, with low modular sofas upholstered in red, teal and purple fabrics.
    Rahaal was conceived as a site where nature, culture and art converge. Photo: Sebastian Boettcher

    Drawing from the traditions of Qatar’s essentially nomadic culture and the heritage of the majlis, Rahaal was conceived first and foremost as a platform for human connection and multicultural encounter, both between people and with nature. It is a site where nature, culture and art converge as part of a single, transformative experience that reflects centuries of Arab rituals rooted in community-building, shaped around natural cycles and rhythms.

    That sense of openness—of arriving without announcement—is what Rashid Al-Thani and Cooper sought to capture with Rahaal. He recalls that just earlier, Perrotin had stopped by and asked whether he knew they were coming. The answer was no, but they were welcomed all the same. “What mattered was that people were received generously. That was the core idea,” he said, noting how different this is from the cultural paradigm in the U.S. In New York, hospitality exists, but Rashid Al-Thani misses the immediacy of hospitality in his culture, where it’s not a courteous performance but deeply embedded in ancient traditions.

    For this reason, he has tried to recreate it in his own home in the West Village. “I tell my friends, ‘Just call me. I’m there. My coffee is ready. My tea is ready. My dates are ready.’ And now they actually do it every weekend,” he shared. “They call and say, ‘We’re in the West Village—can we come by?’” For him, the answer is always yes. “I wake up, prepare the coffee and tea, set out six cups, and whoever comes has a home—a place of refuge, even if just for that moment. That’s what we hoped to translate here.”

    The central pavilion, Al Ma’rad, hosts the inaugural show, “Anywhere Is My Land,” curated by Rashid Al-Thani with work by contemporary artists from diverse geographies, all imagining landscape not as a depiction of place but as fragments of memory carried within the traveler—seen, altered and remembered in motion. The notion of constant movement informed the exhibition’s title, inspired by Antonio Díaz’s series Anywhere Is My Land, created while he was in exile in Italy. “The idea of land, and where you find it, becomes very powerful—especially here, where land is understood as a common space,” Rashid Al-Thani reflected.

    Interior view of Rahaal’s exhibition pavilion, with artworks hung salon-style on fabric-lined walls beneath a tented ceiling.Interior view of Rahaal’s exhibition pavilion, with artworks hung salon-style on fabric-lined walls beneath a tented ceiling.
    Al Ma’rad served as the central pavilion of Rahaal, hosting its inaugural exhibition “Anywhere is My Land.” Photo: Sebastian Boettcher

    Featuring both established and emerging artists, the exhibition leaves viewers with a sense of feeling at home—even in the desert—through the possibility of reconnecting with natural scenes that resonate differently with each person’s background and memories. Collectively, the works affirm the universality of humanity’s need for contemplation of nature as a way to reattune to the most primordial truths of our existence within a broader cosmic order. All hanging, Salon-style, in a vibrant constellation against the fabric-lined walls, the works on view range from the poetic, endless starry night of Vija Celmins and material collaborative connections with the prime elements of Arte Povera masters Giuseppe Penone and Pier Paolo Calzolari, to the lyrical, more abstract, synthetic visions of artists from the region such as Etel Adnan and Huguette Caland, and the archaic, archetypal reappearances of Simone Fattal, among other names.

    “Everything in life feels so linear. Even museums are linear: you move from one point to the next,” Rashid Al-Thani explained. “The desert interrupts that. It forces you to think differently. Sometimes it gives you a moment of reflection. Sometimes you find yourself only when you’re lost. I know it sounds very poetic, but every time I come here—except maybe once, when I went straight through—I feel like I lose my way, but I find something else.” It is from this specific relationship with the desert—one that requires humility and receptivity in the face of nature’s infinite and overwhelming force—that the development of astronomy in Islamic civilization emerged. It was born from the need to locate oneself and find direction, because Arabs were always on the move.

    In this sense, Rashid Al-Thani may have found an even more resonant interpretation of “Becoming,” deeply rooted in a place and its traditions, but openly encouraging all those in transit through Qatar to exit their Western culture-shaped comfort zone and “get off the road,” get to the desert and embrace the culture.

    The response, not only from people visiting Art Basel Qatar but also from locals, has been incredibly telling. “Someone messaged me and said, ‘I’ve been here for 15 years, and I’ve never experienced something like this.’ That kind of response is exactly what we were hoping for,” he said. “If anything is going to change how people perceive one another, it has to be through connection.” It was that search for connection that brought him to art in the first place, and it’s a deeply humanist approach that he has embraced.

    The majlis pavilion at Rahaal, featuring striped textile walls, display tables and objects arranged for gathering and conversation.The majlis pavilion at Rahaal, featuring striped textile walls, display tables and objects arranged for gathering and conversation.
    Despite the fast paced development of modern architectural hubs in the Arab world, ties to past traditions remain strong. Photo: Sebastian Boettcher

    Since its founding in 2017, his Institute of Arab and Islamic Art has been focused on changing the perception people have of Islamic and Arab culture by creating occasions for meaningful encounters through the showcasing of contemporary and historical art from the Arab and Islamic worlds. “I felt a growing exhaustion being boxed in as ‘the Arab.’ I wanted people not to be scared when they encountered someone like me,” Rashid Al-Thani  said, recalling how, when he moved in 2014, fear and misunderstanding toward Islamic culture were very present in the U.S., fueled by a political agenda.

    “It is about normalizing what it means to be Arab or Muslim by placing it within a broader contemporary practice, whether that’s design, art or architecture,” he said. “Without those moments of connection we shared, my perspective might never have reached a wider audience, and the same is true for his. But connection is absolutely central to both of us. It’s what we’re deeply invested in, and I believe it’s precisely what has made this project successful.”

    Over close to a decade in New York, the IAIA has helped facilitate broader international recognition of several key figures of Arab art, including Ibrahim El-Salahi, Behjat Sadr and the now-rising Huguette Caland, among others. The IAIA presents both exhibitions and site-specific interventions, each thoroughly researched and curated to open up complex narratives about art from the Arab and Islamic worlds. The institute highlights historically significant artists who have been underrepresented in global contemporary art discourse and aims to challenge stereotypes about Arab and Muslim cultural production.

    To encourage spontaneous encounters with Islamic culture, the IAIA launched its inaugural Public Art program last fall with Big Rumi, a sculpture by Ghada Amer, marking the artist’s first public art installation in the United States. On view through March at 421 6th Avenue in New York, its latticework is shaped in space by the repetition of the Arabic quote attributed to the 13th-century mystic poet Rumi, which, translated into English, reads: “You are what you seek” or “What you seek is seeking you.”

    As U.S. institutions increasingly turn their attention toward the Islamic segments of America’s multicultural population, works previously exhibited by the IAIA have entered the collections of major museums, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In a world—and a country—ever more divided, Arab culture, from the rise of the Gulf to the election of New York’s first Muslim mayor, is increasingly central to public discourse, the IAIA’s mission and Rashid Al-Thani’s welcoming approach to exhibiting art feel not only timely but deeply resonant.

    Snow-covered public sculpture installed on a New York City street, with pedestrians, cars and the Lower Manhattan skyline visible in the background.Snow-covered public sculpture installed on a New York City street, with pedestrians, cars and the Lower Manhattan skyline visible in the background.
    IAIA recently launched its inaugural Public Art program with a sculpture by Ghada Amer, Big Rumi, on view on 421 6th Avenue in New York through March 2026. Courtesy Institute of Arab and Islamic Art

    More Arts Interviews

    In Qatar’s Zekreet Desert, Sheikh Mohammed Rashid Al-Thani Welcomes All

    [ad_2]

    Elisa Carollo

    Source link

  • Aiza Ahmed Exposes the Fragile Theater Behind the Male Gaze

    [ad_1]

    Installation view: “Aiza Ahmed: The Music Room” at Sargent’s Daughters. Photo: Nicholas Knight, courtesy of Sargent’s Daughters, New York

    In a year defined by market calibration—especially on the ultra-contemporary front—very few young artists have truly emerged. One of the rare exceptions is 28-year-old Pakistani and New York-based artist Aiza Ahmed, who in 2025 achieved rapid, sustained recognition across two key regions: the art world’s center in New York and the rapidly expanding cultural ecosystem of the Gulf. Her enthusiastically received debut solo at Sargent’s Daughters closed only weeks ago, yet she is already preparing for the inaugural edition of Art Basel’s Qatar in February, where she will be one of the youngest artists featured in the fair’s curated exhibition format led by artist Wael Shawky. Although she completed a year-long residency at Silver Art Projects, Ahmed has temporarily traded her downtown Manhattan studio views for the MENA region’s most prestigious residency at the Fire Station in Doha, also directed by Shawky. She spoke with Observer from that studio, where she is working on the major installation she is preparing for her next milestone moment in Doha.

    This continual movement between countries and cultures is not new to Ahmed, whose life has been shaped by constant geographical crossings. Her grandparents were originally from Calcutta but left India for Pakistan after the 1947 Partition, beginning a migratory trajectory that has threaded through the family ever since. Born in 1997 in Lahore, she spent a brief period in Karachi before relocating to London with her family at a young age. Ahmed spent her adolescence in Dubai before moving to the U.S. for her undergraduate studies at Cornell, followed by an MFA in painting at RISD. Now a decade into living in the States, she acknowledges that her life—and by extension, her art—has been defined by inhabiting the in-between, switching between cultural contexts governed by different social codes. That instability has sharpened her acute spirit of observation of the humanity around her, from which all her work originates.

    Upon entering her solo at Sargent’s Daughters, what stands out is not only the maturity of her visual lexicon but also the clarity of her world-building instinct. Ahmed moves fluidly and inventively across mediums, shaping entire narrative spaces from the moment she traces a face or draws the psychological contour of a figure, then expands that gesture outward into the room as a potentially ever-evolving story.

    Aiza Ahmed sits on the floor of her studio surrounded by large paintings, works on paper and cut-out painted figures leaning against the walls.Aiza Ahmed sits on the floor of her studio surrounded by large paintings, works on paper and cut-out painted figures leaning against the walls.
    Aiza Ahmed in her studio. Photo: Leo Ng

    “I’ve been drawing and working with my hands for as long as I can remember,” Ahmed tells Observer. Her parents say she was always making things or engaged in some kind of craft. But it was around year seven or eight—early in high school—that her interest began to take real shape. “I had a favorite art teacher who I credit so much—she supported me from the beginning and would leave little notes in my journals, encouraging me. They were just drawings I used to do, but she really saw something in them,” she recalls. “I also recently found these caricatures I made when I was about ten, these political cartoons, and looking at them now, I can see the threads. The seeds were already there—this instinct for humor, for drawing the line.”

    Ahmed’s style, in fact, isn’t straightforwardly figurative. Her figures remain suspended in an unfinished state—between dimensions, between figuration and something surreal or even abstract—rooted more in the emotional and psychological space of her characters than in the synthesized volume of their bodies. At the same time, her sharp, confident line work grounds the compositions in a tradition that evokes comics, political satire and caricature. As seen in the work of French satirical artist Honoré Daumier or the German George Grosz, Ahmed’s caricatural style exaggerates posture, expression and behavior with a few quick, incisive strokes, distilling personality or social type into its most telling gestures. She readily acknowledges her connection to this lineage. “I’m really drawn to the face. I feel like I’m a keen observer of people, especially having lived between so many worlds and having to assimilate—from Pakistan to London to Dubai to the U.S.” she reflects. Across all those moves, she adapted in an ongoing process of code-switching—first observing, then imitating, learning to fit in without losing sight of who she was or where she came from.

    Drawing gives Ahmed a space for unfiltered, intuitive expression—a way of seeing that precedes the expectations of society or culture. “When I draw, it’s quick and raw,” she explains. “It’s the first mark that comes out. I don’t erase. It’s whatever is coming through me in a stream-of-consciousness way.”

    A gallery installation featuring a large brown painting and a pink-and-white painting, with a standing cut-out figure positioned in the center of the room.A gallery installation featuring a large brown painting and a pink-and-white painting, with a standing cut-out figure positioned in the center of the room.
    Ahemed’s practice contends with borders, migrations, public histories, and private archives within diasporic identities originating from the Indian Subcontinent. Photo: Nicholas Knight, courtesy of Sargent’s Daughters, New York

    Notably, most of the characters Ahmed brings to the stage are men—often exaggerated in their grotesque appearances and postures, whimsically distorted in their grinning or perverse expressions, or revealed in moments of fragile vulnerability beneath a masculine performance of power.

    The artist admits she only recently realized that, over time, she has consistently drawn or painted male figures. “I didn’t notice it at first, but recently I was like, okay, in my studio it’s just all these men of different types and me,” she reflects. Earlier in her graduate studies at RISD, she had been thinking a lot about uncles, she adds. “My whole practice is me trying to trace where I come from, the ancestry I didn’t know, the histories and displacement of my own country that I wasn’t taught until really late in my upbringing.” In more recent series, however, something has shifted—or perhaps she has simply become more aware of the deeper reasons behind her recurring male subjects.

    Growing up, and even after she left Pakistan, she returned every summer to visit grandparents, aunts and cousins. During those visits, she became attuned to what she calls the grammar of men. “In public spaces, all you see are men. Women are usually inside, or covered,” she recalls, noting how her visual field was filled with authority, corruption and performance. Even after moving to New York, she found the dynamic not so different—only more indirect. “I can’t walk from point A to point B without feeling the male gaze. It’s uncomfortable. It’s charged. At first, I thought it was just Pakistan, but it’s everywhere I go.”

    Portraying men, then, becomes a kind of role reversal. “As a young woman, I’m looking at men. In art history, it was usually the opposite: men looking at women, and no one questioned it,” she reflects. Still, she admits she sometimes feels sorry for her subjects. “The way I draw these border guards, they look clunky, short, stout, almost fragile. And then I’m like, wait, why do I feel sorry for them? It’s all very layered,” she acknowledges.

    Ahmed enacts, through her art, a sharp human and cultural diagnosis—exposing the hypocrisies and paradoxes embedded in socially coded, gendered behaviors. With her cartoonish figures, she deciphers patterns of authority and performance. Aiza Ahmed observes society as a system shaped by power dynamics—and claims art as a space to imagine different ones.

    A large blue painting filled with fragmented drawn figures is displayed on a gallery wall, accompanied by a standing cut-out figure positioned on the floor in front of it.A large blue painting filled with fragmented drawn figures is displayed on a gallery wall, accompanied by a standing cut-out figure positioned on the floor in front of it.
    Ahmed constructs theatrical narratives that unsettle fixed ideas of nationhood, masculinity, and belonging. Photo: Nicholas Knight, courtesy of Sargent’s Daughters, New York

    When asked if she remembers being particularly drawn to political satire in newspapers or to the language of comics more broadly, she says she probably was not looking at anything specific. “I used to read the newspaper because my father would tell me to—just to know what was happening in the world,” she says, recalling how she often found it difficult and would flip straight to the illustrated sections. “It’s funny—I never connected that until now. Maybe that planted something,” she acknowledges, adding that she loved Roald Dahl and Quentin Blake and grew up watching a lot of Disney. “The Disney aesthetic really shaped me,” she reflects, describing how she recently discovered a Disney encyclopedia series in an antique shop in Doha. “One volume was called Great Leaders. It listed all these men and maybe two women—like Queen Victoria. It was fascinating, and the illustrations were unlike anything I’d seen,” she says. The find feels serendipitous, almost luminous, given the direction her work is now taking.

    The fact that Ahmed constantly oscillates between caustic social indictment and a playfully theatrical or carnivalesque register pushes the grotesque into the realm of the fantastical and hallucinatory. As James Ensor once did, Ahmed’s line exaggerates expression to the point of derangement, using humor, absurdity and the grotesque to surface moral and psychological undercurrents, as well as the paradoxical fragility at the heart of today’s crisis of masculinity and the masculine-led world these performances of power seek to uphold. Applying the inverse of a more gentle, compassionate feminine playfulness, Ahmed’s work unsettles fixed ideas of nationhood, masculinity and belonging.

    After all, it is playfulness and humor that often allow satire to resonate. They soften the critique just enough for the viewer to enter, while sharpening the underlying point. The best satire lets you laugh and wince at the same time.

    This is why Aiza Ahmed’s work often takes on a theatrical presence, as she stages human drama within the space, suspended in dreamlike atmospheres. This was particularly evident in her solo debut with Sargent’s Daughters. Drawing its title, “The Music Room,” from Jalsaghar (The Music Room), Satyajit Ray’s mesmerizing 1958 film, Ahmed translated the movie into spatial terms through a multimedia installation of shifting characters rendered in monumental paintings and wooden cut-out figures. An original composition by historian, composer and guitarist Ria Modak further shaped the mise-en-scène, transforming the gallery into both a soundscape and a theater where these narratives unfolded with unsettling resonance in the present.

    Evoking the film’s psychological portrait of India’s zamindar class, propped up under British colonial rule before facing dissolution amid land reforms and shifting politics in the mid-20th century, the music room here similarly becomes a stage for hollow rituals of nostalgia and masculine display. Ahmed’s figures appear as ghostly presences, drawn with raw, essential lines that balance humor and pallor, exposing the paradoxes and slow decay of any myth of masculinity. Crucially, in another act of inversion, she imagines a music room authored by women, turning their gaze back onto patriarchal and colonial power.

    A similar impulse shaped her Spring Break Art Show presentation last May, where she first drew wider attention with a booth curated by Indira A. Abiskaroon, a curatorial assistant at the Brooklyn Museum. There, Ahmed reimagined the Wagah-Attari border ceremony, a daily ritual established in 1959 that draws thousands to watch soldiers from India and Pakistan march, gesture and parade as mirrored adversaries in a choreography that has long fascinated her for its oscillation between fury and restraint, rivalry and camaraderie.

    A theatrical installation with bright pink velvet curtains framing cut-out caricature soldiers and a red carpet leading to a painted backdrop of marching figures.A theatrical installation with bright pink velvet curtains framing cut-out caricature soldiers and a red carpet leading to a painted backdrop of marching figures.
    Installation view: Aiza Ahmed’s “Border Play” at SPRING/BREAK Art Show in 2025. Photo: Leo Ng

    In her installation, she amplified the spectacle to expose its built-in theatricality: bugle calls and Kishore Kumar’s bright vocals led visitors through hot pink drapes and onto a red carpet flanked by wooden soldiers, toward an imagined stage where painted and sculpted figures performed their own exaggerated version of the ritual. Within this draped, cardboard mise-en-scène, the soldiers’ postures, uniforms and expressions became social masks—revealing not only the codes through which authority and masculinity are enacted, but also the fragility those performances attempt to conceal. Her presentation at Art Basel Qatar will continue this narrative; she is currently working on new paintings, a suspended muslin work and a series of wooden cut-out soldiers for the installation.

    Ahmed’s visual and narrative approach is not far from the narrative strategies used in commedia dell’arte, which established the idea of fixed “characters” representing social types, each defined by a mask and exaggerated behavioral code—or pantomime, which strips these roles even further, reducing gesture to language and expression to narrative. Ahmed’s suspended storylines operate in a similar register. Much like in Pirandello’s work, she uses playful role-playing and seemingly naive humor to generate immediate empathy while simultaneously revealing the fragile, absurd theater of human existence and the drama of identity.

    Thus far, Ahmed acknowledges, two main sources have shaped the origins of her work. One is her personal observation of societal rituals—weddings, funerals and ceremonies that exist in a liminal space between the public and the private, where she has been both observer and participant. The other is the India-Pakistan border, which she has studied in depth. Still, she notes, the overarching theme that continues to emerge is the spectrum of masculinity and the attempt to understand its psyche. What is going on in their heads—and how has that interiority hardened into a social rule that has long shaped a shared sense of reality?

    When asked if her work is political, Ahmed says that every action can be a political act. “Even if you don’t voice it, you’re making a statement. Being a brown woman is already a political act. There are endless layers you can add to that,” she argues. And endless, too, are the dimensions in which Ahmed’s powerful imagination can evolve, as she continues to translate her both empathic and critical observations of the world around her.

    More Arts Interviews

    Aiza Ahmed Exposes the Fragile Theater Behind the Male Gaze

    [ad_2]

    Elisa Carollo

    Source link