Posted in Motivations, Reflection, Writing

Artist or Writer?

Recently, I tuned into Artists That Write, a fascinating session hosted by We Are Axis, featuring Roy Claire Potter, Roo Dhissou, and Madinah Farhannah. Listening to them discuss their practices and read their work was both inspiring and thought-provoking. It’s always exciting to hear how other artists navigate the overlap between visual art and writing—a space I feel I occupy but have never fully claimed.

I’ve always loved writing, but I hesitate to call myself a “proper writer.” Writing feels more like another medium to me, something I play with and manipulate, much like clay or paint. I resist the constraints of inherited rules about “how” one should write, preferring instead to follow my intuition. As an artist, I’m not aiming for polished prose or perfect grammar; I’m exploring, experimenting, and communicating without borders.

Roy Claire Potter’s reflections particularly resonated with me. They spoke about being more interested in methods and how you make things rather than what you make, which aligns so closely with my own approach. Roy shared insights into a piece they created ten years ago, Mental Furniture, which involved a broken manual typewriter. I’m intrigued to read the book tied to that work and to delve deeper into their methods.

Another standout moment was when Roy talked about The Wastes—how they felt they contained a book within themselves, not one born of studying creative writing but one emerging directly from studio practice. This struck a chord with me. It affirmed the idea that writing, for some artists, is an extension of making rather than an entirely separate discipline.

Roy said something I’ll carry with me: “Text is a cultural thing. Films are text. Fashion is text. Images are text.” It reframed my understanding of writing and language, validating the idea that words are just one form of communication among many. As someone who constantly plays with meaning and form, this was a liberating thought.

For me, writing will always be a tool of exploration—an extension of my practice, unbound by conventions. I’m not a writer who writes like a writer. I’m an artist who writes like an artist.

Posted in Reflection, Visit, Writing

Finding Focus: The Wastes

Last week, I attended the book launch for The Wastes, a novella by Roy Claire Potter. Potter was joined by guest artists David Jacques, Roo Dhissou, and Harriet Morley at Dead Ink Books in Liverpool. It was a wonderful evening celebrating the work of an artist and writer whose practice profoundly influenced my own during my BA studies. I liked Roy Claire’s ability to weave humour and insight into their reflections on everyday working-class life. In The Wastes, this approach shines through as memories ripple across the narrative, creating a vivid and relatable journey for the reader.

Experiencing the book and the discussions around it gave me a renewed sense of direction for my MA in Fine Art. I’ve realised that writing and participatory art are central to my practice, and I want to explore these areas with greater intention. Roy Claire’s work reminded me how powerful text can be—not just as a medium for communication but as a way to build connections.

Moving forward, I’m determined to channel more energy into developing my writing alongside my participatory projects. This means refining my approach to storytelling and reflection while exploring ways to integrate these elements into interactive art-making. I want to experiment, learn by doing, and create a structured plan to support my growth in both areas.

Attending the book launch wasn’t just about celebrating a great piece of writing—it was a reminder of my purpose and aspirations. Writing and participatory art are more than tools in my practice; they are at the core of how I want to connect with others and create art that resonates.

Posted in Reflection

Asemic

After an inspiring conversation with my MA coursemate, Josh Well, on asemic writing, I felt compelled to revisit a research project I undertook three years ago. This project delved into the intriguing realms of semic and asemic writing, semiotics theory, and examples of art that explore these ideas. My 2021 project, Blah Blah Blah Banner, sits within this dialogue, exploring the relationship between form and meaning in text and language. Through tutorials, workshops, and experiments with different materials, I examined how artists use text within art and the rich distinctions between semic and asemic writing.

Semiotics, the study of signs, opens up the boundless potential for experimenting with words and symbols. Art historian Anne D’Alleva reminds us that “signs can take many different forms” (D’Alleva, 2012, p.26), showing that meaning is both created and perceived. Here, semic writing refers to symbols or representations that carry meaning, while asemic writing is purely visual, existing outside formal language or communication.

The power of asemic writing lies in its ability to transcend direct interpretation. Research by Tim Gaze describes asemic writing as any form resembling writing but unreadable to viewers, often evoking primal marks like children’s scribbles or ancient cave art. My initial encounters with asemic forms reminded me of the unfamiliarity of a foreign language—an idea I explored deeply in Blah Blah Blah Banner. Here, asemic “poems” embrace visuality without linguistic meaning, inviting viewers to interpret solely through form.

From this project, I came to realise that asemic text can convey a universal sense of expression, allowing the imagination to interpret across languages and cultures. Language may ground us, but asemic writing frees us… Each brushstroke a wordless, universal rhythm.

Posted in Exhibitions, Reflection

A Reflection on Culture, Unity, and Peace

This summer, I had the opportunity to showcase Al-Mayida (The Dining Table) at Birkenhead Central Library, an installation exploring the universal and symbolic significance of the dining table. And recently, the work was selected for Hypha Studios and Dispensary Gallery’s group show in Wrexham, adding a new layer of meaning by placing it in dialogue with other multidisciplinary pieces in a 15,000-square-foot exhibition space. With its vibrant, community-centered focus, Al-Mayida became a platform for discussing culture, peace, and the shared human experience of gathering. Moving the installation from Birkenhead Library to the larger venue in Wrexham taught me to consider how an artwork’s message and impact evolve with changes in environment and scale.

The dining table holds a unique, cross-cultural significance, serving as a setting for family meals, heartfelt conversations, and shared memories. With Al-Mayida, I aimed to capture these moments by creating an immersive, interactive experience that emphasises gathering, storytelling, and unity. Drawing from a blend of artistic mediums—ceramics, textiles, and Arabic calligraphy—the installation celebrates the act of coming together, inviting audiences to reflect on what it means to share a meal, both literally and symbolically.

On the final day of Al-Mayida, I introduced a dinner set, with each item inscribed with the Arabic word for peace—سلام (Salam). “Peace,” as a concept and a word, transcends borders, symbolising our shared humanity and fostering dialogue around unity and understanding. This white ceramic set, with its minimalist design, carries a calm, contemplative energy, resonating with the installation’s message of harmony.

As a closing touch to the exhibition, I crafted three large plates inscribed with references to the Sykes-Picot Agreement, the 1916 colonial pact that divided the Middle East into spheres of influence and reshaped its geopolitical landscape. This historical reference acknowledged the dining table not only as a place for personal stories but also as a platform for global reflection. These plates became symbols of resilience, encouraging visitors to consider how history shapes our identities, our relationships, and our ongoing quest for self-determination.

The presence of these plates alongside the Salam ceramic set introduces a compelling tension—a juxtaposition between the ideals of peace and unity and the complex legacies of political history. I hope these pieces spark conversations about the ways past injustices continue to impact the present, inspiring a shared commitment to a more peaceful future.

Reflecting on Al-Mayida, I see a pathway forward that embraces community involvement, broadens cultural exploration, and deepens historical reflection. This work has laid the foundation for a practice rooted in dialogue, shared experience, and the powerful simplicity of gathering around a table.

Posted in Tutorials 2024/2025

Reflecting on My 1-1 Tutorial with Jonathan: Navigating My MA Journey

This week I had a meaningful 1-1 tutorial with Jonathan, my mentor and program leader, where we explored some key themes about my practice, my personal journey through the MA course, and what I aim to achieve. It felt like an opportunity to articulate where I stand, what’s driving me, and the challenges I face both as an artist and an individual in this phase of learning and growth.

Understanding My Strengths and Struggles

One of the core topics I touched upon was my relationship with my practice and how I feel about myself in the process. I’ve come to recognise that my strength lies in my sensitivity to my surroundings, which deeply influences my work. This sensitivity fuels a duty and responsibility to respond to the world, but I also know that it can sometimes slow me down. That sense of being attuned to everything around me means I can easily be overwhelmed, especially when I’m stressed.

However, I also realise that this sensitivity is an asset—it makes my work honest, grounded, and connected to the social and political contexts that inspire me. Even when my practice slows, it’s because I’m thinking deeply, processing, and making space for genuine ideas to emerge. I’ve learned to trust that.

Embracing Experimentation and the Joy of “Wrongness”

One of the things Jonathan and I discussed was my openness to experimentation. I’m tolerant when it comes to the technical side of my work—I love to play with any medium that comes my way. There’s something liberating about embracing “wrongness,” about leaning into mistakes and seeing where they take me. I like surprises in the process, and I’ve found that those surprises often lead to new insights or shifts in my work that I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise.

But no matter the medium or method, there’s always a thread of honesty in my concepts. They consistently reflect the social and political themes that matter to me. The work might take different shapes or directions, but the core is always about addressing or engaging with the world in a real and meaningful way.

Mapping the Next Steps

I know I need to design a roadmap—one that helps me navigate where I want to go with my social sculpture practice and what will truly feed my hunger for growth in this area. I have so many ideas simmering, and I want to channel them in a structured way, giving myself the best chance to explore new depths in my work. I believe having a map, a vision for where I want to go, will help me find that balance between responding to the world around me and moving forward with intention.

In the end, this tutorial left me feeling more clear about my strengths and more prepared to tackle the next phase of my MA. There’s always room for growth, and I’m excited to see where this exploration takes me.

Posted in Reflection

Failure

I struggled to start my MA blog, even though I have so many things to say. I’m learning and enjoying every minute of it, and I also feel lucky and honoured to be among a group of talented artists.
Last week, Jonathan asked us to experiment with failure and how we can allow mistakes to happen in our practice—how, through accepting mistakes and failures, they can become new opportunities and successes.

I made a short film to experiment and learn because I still see filmmaking as my weakest skill.
Weirdly, during the process, I stopped and ended the film with an image of Gaza’s latest fires. I felt I couldn’t finish what I was doing. But this also captured the feeling I was seeking. There’s something within me that’s preventing me from working the way I want and enjoying my art as I usually do. My work usually carries a sense of humour. Now, I realise I have a deep feeling of loss and guilt. I’m grieving for our humanity, and one year feels like a heavy burden.
Here’s a link to my short film Water: https://youtu.be/1OncD3MNXiY?si=ZwQMCftbvF5BnnHY.

And below is me reposting an old post from September 2020. Back then, I asked, “Oh, the past, are you still here?” Four years later, my answer remains: yes.

Oh, the past, are you still here?

Today I visited the Don McCullin Exhibition at Tate Liverpool. For the first time, my eyes did not shed tears in front of those tragic images. My eyes are usually beyond my control, but today they remained dry, and my throat was tight. A voice from deep within called out, “Oh, the past, are you still here?” What have I done to myself today? Or what have you done, Mr. Don McCullin?

Two hundred photographs from around the world, all the pain from west to east. It’s incredible how a blind object with one eye can capture what our own eyes cannot see.

What is the difference between yesterday and today? How many countries are still suffering? How many people are homeless? Have their numbers increased? Oh Iraq, are you any better? Oh Palestine, are you still alive? Oh Lebanon, tell me, how is your Beirut? Oh Africa, are you still hungry? Oh Europe, how are your homes? Many questions swirled in my mind, and many images resurfaced from my unconscious memory, voices calling from the past.

16/09/2020

 

Posted in 2020/2021 Blog

Fear by Khalil Gibran.

It is said that before entering the sea 
a river trembles with fear. 

She looks back at the path she has traveled, 
from the peaks of the mountains, 
the long winding road crossing forests and villages. 

And in front of her, 
she sees an ocean so vast, 
that to enter 
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever. 

But there is no other way. 
The river can not go back. 

Nobody can go back. 
To go back is impossible in existence. 

The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear disappear,
because that’s where the river will know
it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.