communication – Karema

2025-2026, Books, collaboration, Moon, Reading, Social Sculpture, Writing

Second Edition- MA Show and Future plan

Posted on May 23, 2026May 24, 2026 by KM

Holding the second edition feels incredibly special and precious. I can see years of effort gathered within its pages. Looking through the photographs and reading people’s letters has been deeply emotional, and it also makes me long for the years when we sent personal handwritten letters instead of quick text messages.

Perhaps this is why I still treasure the letters from my own childhood, safely kept in a small box. They are funny, emotional, and incredibly valuable to me, especially when I think about where everyone has ended up in life and how relationships shift and change over time. Handwritten letters hold traces of people that digital communication often loses.

Mixed of letters from 90s and early 2000-2003

As an artist with hyperactivity, and as someone who uses art as a survival tool, I made two interconnected bodies of work: a book and a tea set. I feel there’s something comforting and timeless about reading books while drinking a cup of tea.

Dear Moon is the main work I have developed over the last two years, and I believe it should be the piece I present in the final exhibition. More than a book, it has become a form of social sculpture, a collective artwork shaped through care, participation, and exchange. It includes the names of 57 participants alongside anonymous contributions and my own letters woven throughout the pages. I eventually removed my name from each individual page because it felt unnecessary to repeat it so many times, especially when my presence already exists throughout the project as its organiser, editor, and contributor.

The book is 184 pages long, rich with different stories, voices, languages, and histories. Some texts date back to 1974, while others were written as recently as May 2026. Several contributors chose to write in their home languages, which adds another layer of intimacy and authenticity to the work. People continue to engage with the project and send new letters whenever I exhibit the letter box, allowing the project to remain alive rather than fixed or complete.

This year, I also spent much more time refining my moon photography, both while taking the photographs and later through editing, especially in relation to light and colour. The images feel more resolved and intentional now, and together with the letters they create a stronger emotional atmosphere. For these reasons, I feel Dear Moon deserves to be shown at Central Saint Martins. I’ll display two copies of the book on two different stands at different heights, one lower for accessibility and one at a standard height. I’ll also include the black letter box with paper and pens.

Copies of the book will also be available to borrow through Sefton Libraries in Crosby, Bootle, and Netherton. I also have a digital version prepared, although I’m still undecided about uploading it to my website. Part of me feels I should wait until every participant has received their physical copy first.

I’m also planning a shared reading session at Bootle Library this summer, where contributors from Liverpool will be invited to read and celebrate their work together. I hope Chris Day, the eldest participant, will attend and share the beautiful story she wrote about the moon in 1974. Another participant I would love to attend is Belinda Ludlow, another mature participant who studied English Literature some time ago. She told me she has always found it difficult to publish her writing because she tends to approach it from a highly analytical perspective. Hopefully, her letter to the moon will become the first step towards restarting her writing journey.

What I love most about Dear Moon is that it carries a genuine sense of community, care, and mutual respect. It reminds me that art can hold people together across generations, languages, and experiences.

Next month, I’ll deliver a Dear Moon workshop as part of the come back programme, in collaboration with the Arab British Centre and Longsight Art Space in Manchester. This will be the first Dear Moon workshop outside Liverpool.

https://www.arabbritishcentre.org.uk/whatson/as-we-are-creative-exchange-day-the-comeback/

The programme supports adults who have taken long breaks from creative practice, or who always wished they had the opportunity to study art. My workshop will focus on building connections, encouraging confidence, and demonstrating that art does not require expensive materials or complicated equipment. Art begins with stories, and every person carries a story worth telling.

Another meaningful part of this experience was being asked by the Arab British Centre to create a very short 30 seconds video for social media. Their request was inspired by something I had spoken about previously: how, after having children, I rediscovered creativity by making art personal rather than treating it as a chore, something meaningful that didn’t depend on money or expensive materials.

At first, I thought, “This is even harder than the 3 minute video Jonathan asked us to make” I asked a filmmaker friend whether 30 seconds could truly hold a story, and she replied “Plenty of time!”

So, the first thing I did was write my words and record my voice so I could understand the rhythm and timing. I removed unnecessary sentences and focused only on the essence of what I wanted to communicate. Afterwards, I asked a friend to help me film footage at St George’s Hall.

I made the video in Arabic because the programme hopes to reach Arab participants, but I also included English subtitles so everyone could feel welcome and included. The process felt surprisingly natural, and I realised how much the short film assignments from the course had prepared me for this experience. It showed me how learning within an educational structure can become a practical tool in the real world.

Also, in July, I’ll be running a family creative session as part of the Liverpool Arab Arts Festival 2026.

Looking ahead, I can already see Dear Moon continuing to grow through more workshops, new letters, exchanges, and future collaborations. In particular, I’m planning to publish Dear Friend in 2027, a book that will carry replies from the moon.

I’ll also be co-producing Turkish Day at the library in December 2026 and helping organise a Community Iftar at the library in February 2027.

So rather than feeling like the end of the MA, it feels like the beginning of a much longer conversation, where all this knowledge can continue to grow and live within my work and everyday life.

With lots of gratitude,

karema 😊

2025-2026, curation, Visit

Macklean and Kleeman

Posted on May 20, 2026May 23, 2026 by KM

Went to visit FACT today. Jonathan recommended this exhibition by Rachel Maclean. I had heard of Rachel Maclean a long time ago, but then completely forgot about her, maybe because I had only experienced her work through Instagram. But seeing the work in person was completely different, a much deeper and more powerful experience.

It was incredible. The story, the switching between the screens and the lights, the sculptures, and the sound all made you feel part of the installation. Moving from one room to another, following sounds and light, your whole body became involved. Everything asked you to stay alert because you did not want to miss anything. I’m so grateful for this experience. It made me realise how much difference there is when you experience an artist’s work in person, and also how much curation and installation can add to the work itself. You are building an experience, not just showing a piece of work.

After that I went to work, and on my way home I stopped by the Walker Art Gallery. It was the last hour before the Walker closed, so I went to see the new group exhibition called Gender Stories, especially to see Charlie Kleeman. Charlie took part in The Right Map exhibitions and made large installations in the Port Sunlight stables. Last week they texted me saying they were coming to Liverpool, then we met after they had finished installing their work.. Charlie told me they had been invited to take part because one of the curators saw their work at The Right Map, last year.

Kleeman installation at Port Sunlight’s Stable 2025

I felt so proud and happy! Charlie lives in Glasgow, and the only time they had come to Liverpool before was last year for The Right Map. Charlie took part through Rory Macbeth. We did not know each other before then. I loved their work immediately, it’s so cool and unusual. What makes me happiest is that, through the exhibitions I organised last year, I did not just make connections and learn how to create a small programme, but that some artists also benefited from that experience afterwards, like Charlie.

This also made me think about something Jonathan has mentioned many times. A curator might see your work and then, after months or even years, contact you because they remembered and liked it. Having an easy way to contact artists and keeping your work updated and visible is really important.

And finally, in the same room, I noticed three teapots from different times and places, each made by different artists and each carrying a different story. What I loved was that they all had a connection to women, either made by women or telling stories about women. I loved them so much, and they made me love my new teapot even more, because now I realise this isn’t the first time a woman has wanted to tell a story through a teapot!

2025-2026, Colonial history, curation, Exhibitions, Reading, Reflection, Research

Coding Spaces and Archipelagic Thinking

Posted on May 6, 2026May 6, 2026 by KM

Yesterday we had an interesting discussion about coding exhibition spaces and curating. Jonathan shared some texts by Edouard Glissant and his ideas about continental and archipelagic thinking. We discussed global dialogue, where cultures meet and exchange with one another, and how these ideas could be applied within curating. We also questioned the difference between algorithmic and human curating.

My mind felt crowded with thoughts, words clashing against one another. Writing about it helped me untangle those ideas and find the right words..

So,

1- Continental and Archipelagic Thinking

First, I did not know about Edouard Glissant until Jonathan mentioned him. Before writing this, I did some research and discovered that Glissant attended the same school as Fanon during a similar period. I also found that Glissant was influenced by Aimé Césaire, the poet and politician who held important political positions in Martinique and was one of the founders of the Négritude movement.

What I found strange, however, was the name of the capital, Fort-de-France. The name feels heavily colonial and military in origin, and it made me question how much it represents the mixture and complexity of Caribbean identity that Glissant writes about. If Caribbean identity is shaped through creolisation, relation, and cultural mixture, why do many places still carry the language and structures of colonial power?

Returning to Glissant’s theory, it can sound idealistic unless we also discuss unequal power structures. What happens when one culture dominates the exchange? And who is speaking for whom?

I believe archipelagic thinking requires a degree of equality in power, position, and knowledge in order for genuine exchange to happen. People need to feel safe and respected enough to welcome openness, relation, and dialogue.

At times, I feel that Glissant’s ideas emerge from a context where it is easier to imagine archipelagic relationships, islands existing beside one another, sharing histories of colonialism, displacement, and struggle. However, in reality, relationships between places are rarely equal. If one nation or culture has greater resources, political influence, or economic power, it will inevitably shape the exchange more strongly than the other. Examples such as the UK and Ireland or Indonesia and the Philippines show how unequal power can influence cultural dialogue.

Because of this, I believe there is a responsibility not only to be welcoming and open, but also to avoid placing ourselves in vulnerable positions through a lack of knowledge, experience, or access. On a larger scale, this relates to power, science, dignity, and human rights. Without awareness, exchange can easily become influence or control by those who already hold authority.

How can this be applied to curating? For me, curating should involve both knowledge and empowerment. The curator should develop enough understanding and experience to support the work responsibly, while also empowering artists and contributors so that exchange becomes mutual rather than hierarchical. True dialogue cannot happen when one side only gives and the other only receives.

2- Algorithms and Human Curating

When thinking about algorithms and human curating, I believe that even AI is ultimately shaped by humans. Algorithms are built from data that is created, selected, and controlled by people, often within commercial or business systems. Because of this, algorithms tend to respond to behaviour patterns and visual preferences rather than deeper emotional or ethical understanding.

Algorithms are designed to please, predict, and reinforce engagement. They often agree with existing behaviours rather than challenge them, unless introducing something new becomes commercially useful. They cannot fully understand emotional complexity, vulnerability, or the human condition in a particular moment.

Human curators, however, allow space for emotion, ethics, care, and mistakes. Whether curating an exhibition, a book, a workshop, or a conversation, human curation carries sensitivity toward people and context. At the same time, curating also reflects the organisers themselves, their intentions, politics, feelings, and what they want to communicate through the work.

Curators are often the first audience to encounter an artwork, and that first encounter is important for both the artist and the curator. Curatorial work therefore carries significant responsibility. However, I believe curating should happen alongside the artist and the artwork, not over them. Also, it’s important to first experience the artwork on its own terms before being influenced by the artist’s explanation, while still maintaining a respectful and collaborative relationship.

Reflecting on all of this takes me back through the journey of the last two years, curating spaces, books, workshops, and even this blog. Technology has an important role in making processes easier, but humans still carry the responsibility of shaping narratives and telling stories.

Finally, archipelagic thinking may be an attempt to create ethical relations despite unequal histories and structures. And, from a curatorial perspective, curators must consider the needs of the artwork, including care, health and safety, protection, and the conditions the work requires within a space. Exchange between curator and artist is essential, because curators cannot exist without artists and contributors!

2025-2026, Books, collaboration, Exhibitions, Moon, Social Sculpture, Writing

Dear Moon,

Posted on April 20, 2026 by KM

When I arrived in the UK, everything felt strange and new, but your face was the only one that remained old and familiar…

Today, I led a moon workshop at St George’s Hall, after weeks of preparing for the upcoming exhibition Home and Away, organised by artist Mariana Sequera. The project explores ideas of home, displacement, and migration. It’s a concepts that seem simple at first, but quickly unfold into something more complex the moment you invite others in.

Recently, images from Artemis II showing the Moon’s far side, pulled me back to the letters. I found myself rereading them, and with that came a quiet but firm feeling: it’s time to finish the book, and to stop collecting more.

While sharing the open call for Home and Away and encouraging people to participate, I noticed how easily themes like displacement are interpreted in narrow ways. There is often an assumption that such experiences belong only to certain groups, and not to others. This made me reflect on how art spaces frame experience, and how belonging is often defined, sometimes invisibly within those frames.

Since last year, I’ve chosen not to rush the second Dear Moon book. I’ve learned that timing is not separate from the work. Showing something in the wrong moment or context can mean it’s overlooked, or misunderstood. This awareness is shaped by my position as a woman, a mother, and a Muslim, identities that are often underestimated, even by those close to me.

I’m learning to resist two opposing pressures: the demand to remain constantly visible, and the quiet acceptance of being marginalised. Somewhere between these, Dear Moon has become a space of its own. Writing to the Moon creates a particular kind of room, it allows for distance, but also intimacy. The letters themselves hold so much. They open memory, reflection, and connection. There is something therapeutic in that, but I try not to reduce it to therapy alone. Each contribution carries its own layers.

C, a retired nurse, shared a story she wrote in the 1970s, along with a receipt showing she was paid £8 when it was broadcast on Miri Mawar, a programme on Welsh HTV. Including her work now brings different times into conversation with each other, raising questions about value, recognition, and whose voices are remembered. In contrast, A’s drawing of the Moon’s phases offers another way of understanding participation. As a child with severe physical and learning difficulties, his contribution gently disrupts expectations of what artistic expression should look like. The Moon’s cycles, appearing and disappearing feel like a quiet reflection on resilience and change.

Through all of this, I’ve started to think of trust as a material within the work. People are not just contributing content..they are offering something personal. That comes with responsibility: to hold these contributions with care. As the book nears completion, I feel both excited and uncertain. I want to hold it, but Im still thinking about how to share it. In previous exhibitions, Dear Moon often felt unresolved, shaped by time pressure, or by divided attention.

2025-2026, collaboration, Project, Reading, Social Sculpture, Writing

March Shared Reading

Posted on March 15, 2026 by KM

We recently started a new group in my programme called International Shared Reading, with the support of The Reader. Instead of taking the training myself, I recommended two women from my group an assistant from Afghanistan and a volunteer from Portugal to take the paid training and co-lead the sessions alongside my co-producer, while I support them where needed. I believe that our strength comes from building a strong team rather than individual effort.

As part of the preparations for our upcoming Iftar gathering, I led a special reading session. It created a space to ask questions and learn more about Ramadan. We read a poem together, spoke about prayer, and people asked many questions about fasting and other related topics. Questions are welcome, they help clarify misunderstandings. When I went home that evening, I kept thinking about our conversation. Later, a volunteer sent a beautiful message in our group chat thanking me for the session.

The next day I decided to create small blessing or affirmation cards for our guests, inspired by the poem we read together. I Hope You Make It, a poem by Maxine Meixner, is written in a simple and beautiful way. The words can reach people without challenging them with difficult language. I spent the day writing my simple prayers and preparing the cards so I could finish them at the library the next day.

The cards are simple and decorated with flowers. I chose lavender because it has a gentle, calming scent. In a way, the cards became a small social sculpture, something guests could take with them, carrying the memory of the Iftar after they leave.

2025-2026, Books, Reading, Translation, Writing

Wanderer (2009)

Posted on March 6, 2026March 17, 2026 by KM

Wanderer (2009) by Rory Macbeth is an English translation of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, produced without knowledge of the German language. To understand the context of this post, it’s helpful to read the previous one.

German capitalises all nouns. When Kafka writes “den Augen” “the eyes”, Macbeth’s translation becomes “towards Augen”, as if Augen were a geographical location. This is not a mistranslation in the traditional sense; rather, it is a relocation of meaning. The work does not simply translate German into English. Instead, it appears to misread or mishear it, treating certain German nouns as destinations and following sound rather than semantic fidelity. In doing so, it produces something that feels both derivative and entirely new.

This method continues throughout. Kafka’s “sein Zimmer, ein richtiges”, translated into English as “his room, a proper human room”, becomes in Macbeth’s version “since summer, the rich man”, an apparent phonetic drift. At several points, Gregor’s sister’s name, Grete, is also translated as “great”. For example, Kafka’s “Komm, Grete” appears in Macbeth’s version as “Commandant! Great!” while the standard English translation reads “Grete, come”. These shifts suggest that Macbeth is not translating through grammar but by ear, treating German as sound material to be sculpted into English.

As the text progresses, one can sense a shift from guessing through sound to asserting narrative intention. At first, the work reads like a linguistic experiment, a kind of phonetic dérive. Gradually, however, something changes. The more one reads, the more an independent narrative begins to solidify; it begins to feel like the writer claiming territory. Wanderer begins to detach itself from The Metamorphosis. Betty starts to echo, but not duplicate, Grete. Threads remain visible, yet they no longer bind the text to its origin. By the end of the story, the authorial voice becomes unmistakable, and Wanderer tests how far transformation can go before it becomes authorship. Macbeth’s restrained conclusion expands into something vast, and the writer steps forward!

This raises the question of where translation ends and authorship begins. In Translation by Sophie J. Williamson (p. 43), a selected passage from Walter Benjamin’s essay The Task of the Translator states that “a translation issues from the original — not so much from its life as from its afterlife”. Benjamin’s idea of translation as a text’s afterlife helps illuminate what is at stake here, yet Macbeth also seems to exceed this model. Benjamin suggests that translation renews the original by revealing the hidden kinship between languages, allowing the text to unfold further in time. Translation, for him, is not reproduction but continuation, a stage in the original’s ongoing life.

2025-2026, Books, Reading, Reflection, Social Sculpture, Writing

Gogol, Kafka and Macbeth

Posted on March 5, 2026 by KM

This post introduces the next, which will focus on Wanderer (2009) by Rory Macbeth, an English translation of The Metamorphosis produced without knowledge of the German language. Instead of translating through grammar or meaning, Macbeth works by visually and phonetically interpreting the German text and reconstructing it into English. The result is a work that exists somewhere between translation and authorship.

It’s important to briefly touch on The Metamorphosis (1915) by Franz Kafka before writing about Wanderer, and I’ll also use this opportunity to mention The Overcoat (1842) by Nikolai Gogol. I referred to Gogol’s story in our session when we discussed avoiding direct expressions of trauma during Zoe’s presentation. For me, Kafka and Gogol employ absurdity and a kind of quiet defeatism as narrative strategies through which trauma is expressed indirectly.

The Metamorphosis is a small text, yet incredibly heavy in its existential weight. The narrative begins with an unexplained event, Gregor Samsa’s transformation into a giant insect, presented without cause or preamble. Instead of questioning the transformation itself, the narrative quickly shifts to the practical consequences of his condition. His family who once depended entirely on his income, gradually begin to see him less as a son or brother and more as a burden. One gradually senses that the true transformation is not merely physical but human and moral. The story is existential in its questioning, absurd in its world, surreal in its structure, and deeply social in its critique…

Akaky Akakievich, the protagonist of The Overcoat, lives a lonely, repetitive life and struggles to make even minor changes. It takes him a long time to save enough money to buy a new coat, but when he finally does, the simple act of wearing something new gives him confidence and a glimpse of happiness. This joy is short lived… The coat is stolen on his way home! He desperately tries to retrieve it, fails, falls ill, and dies shortly afterwards. In the end, his ghost wanders the city stealing coats from others. The story oscillates between the real and the surreal, it’s sad, absurd, brief, yet emotionally expansive. It’s often seen as an early example of the absurd bureaucratic protagonist and is believed to have influenced many writers. For me, it’s enough to recall Dostoevsky’s saying “We all came out from Gogol’s The Overcoat”.

The Overcoat and The Metamorphosis are both essential reading for lovers of short fiction. They present deliberately ordinary protagonists, characters who almost disappear rather than dominate the plot, humans positioned at a humble level far removed from heroic or supernatural figures. These are stories that sometimes make you want to step inside the page and shake the character awake. In Gogol’s story, the narrator also seems strangely unconcerned with certain details or histories of events. A similar feeling emerges in Kafka.. What happened to Gregor Samsa is, in some sense, not important. Although he lives believing he is essential to his family, they ultimately continue without him, and his perceived importance dissolves.

This becomes significant for me when thinking about Wanderer. I sense something familiar here, perhaps one leading to the other, at least in my perception. Just as the lives of Akaky and Gregor seem strangely insignificant within their own stories, the linguistic accuracy of the text also becomes strangely insignificant in Macbeth’s work. Regardless of the original context or linguistic accuracy, the act of translation itself becomes conceptually aligned with the story. This also resonates with my own interest in communication and miscommunication as a form of social sculpture, where meaning is shaped collectively rather than fixed.. It raises questions about what is essential and what is not. What carries meaning? What survives translation? What do we choose to care about, and who decides this?

2025-2026, Reflection, Research, Tutorials 2025-26, Uncategorized

1-1 Tutorial 11th February

Posted on March 1, 2026 by KM

I took some time to reflect on this tutorial because I was so busy. I also needed to read more carefully, as these kinds of tutorials do not end when they finish; they tend to open further questions and lead me into deeper reading.

In this tutorial I had with Jonathan, we spoke about learning and what learning really means. We reflected on the assimilation and accommodation post, and on the idea that learning is not for display but for use. It should transform how you live. It needs to be functional, active, and embodied.

We also discussed translation and whether my practice is, in itself, a process of translation. I have been thinking that everything I do is a form of translation. There is a language I carry, a language of thoughts and ideas, constructed from the data my brain collects. This data is my lived experience: encounters with people, spaces, and time. Yet data alone is not enough, it must be translated into meaning, and meaning must then be translated into thought and action.

I can’t think about this without turning to Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology. What interests me most is his insistence that perception is not a detached mental operation but something embodied, something that happens through our being in the world. Our understanding is not separate from our living, it’s shaped through the body’s continuous engagement with its environment.

Language itself offers a powerful example of this phenomenology. Language is collaborative, it’s formed through shared experiences within a community, shaped by surroundings and histories. Using Arabic as an example, because it’s my mother tongue, Arabic is built on a root and pattern system. Most Arabic words derive from a root of three consonants (rarely four). This structure allows the language to remain generative: new words can emerge as long as they remain faithful to the semantic core of the root.

Here are two examples one scientific and one poetic, the word حاسوب (computer) and حاسبة (calculator) both derive from the root ح س ب, meaning “to calculate”, similar to how “computer” and “calculator” trace back to Latin roots. Second one is حب (love), from the root ح ب ب, associated with seeds. Although I have not encountered this interpretation formally in literature, I’m drawn to the poetic possibility that “I love you” could be understood as “I carry/have a seed for you” a seed that has the potential to grow… For me, this aligns with the lived experience of love not as a finished/ready object, but as something cultivated and sustained. Here the language demonstrates embodied perception. Meaning does not emerge abstractly; it grows from how the body, historically and culturally, encounters the world.

Colour offers another compelling example. We identify colours based on how our brains interpret light wavelengths. Yet colour is not an intrinsic property of objects. A green card is not “green” in itself, it absorbs most wavelengths and reflects the one we perceive as green. What we call colour is the result of an interaction between light, object, and perceiver. From a phenomenological perspective, colour is relational. It exists in the encounter. Different animals perceive different spectra, therefore, the world of colour shifts depending on the perceiving body. In this sense, colour is not a fixed external fact but an event that occurs within perception.

This becomes even more complex when considering visual impairment… A relative has Stargardt disease, and many people assume that eye disease results in darkness or emptiness. But in his case the brain uses surrounding visual information (often background colour) to fill in gaps where central vision is weakened. This is not simply a defect, it’s evidence of the brain’s active participation in constructing perception. Perception is not produced by the eyes alone; it’s a whole body phenomenon. The body is not a passive receiver of data; it’s an intelligent, adaptive system constantly negotiating meaning. What my relative experiences demonstrates that perception is collaborative between eye, brain, memory, environment, and prior experience.

This also raises further questions for me: how does the brain decide which colour to use to fill a gap? Why that tone rather than another? These questions do not weaken the phenomenological argument; rather, they reveal how perception is both structured and creative. The body does not merely record reality, it actively composes it. There is undeniably a relational dynamic shaping human perception. At the same time, there is an astonishing intelligence within the body itself a continuous, largely unconscious orchestration. The heart beats, the lungs breathe, cells regenerate, all without instruction from conscious thought… In recognising this, I feel both philosophical and spiritual awe, and all I can say is: glory to the One who created this body.

Finally, I return to learning. Learning is about becoming informed and being able to decode what was previously inaccessible. Ideally, learning should help solve a problem, generate new questions, or bring you closer to an answer. Yet the information we receive is always filtered through perception, our minds process what they are capable of processing and what feels significant within our lived experience.

2025-2026, collaboration, curation, Experiments, Motivations, Research, Social Sculpture, Visit

Free Workshops

Posted on February 11, 2026March 5, 2026 by KM

Last Sunday, I spent a rewarding day with Ghost Art School and creatives from October Salon (a new collective in Preston led byHannah Browne). My aim was to organise a free workshops day, focused on sharing knowledge and skills without the need for materials or money. I offered an introductory session in British Sign Language (BSL), while Liverpool-based artists Tom Kelly and Tom Doubtfire generously shared aspects of their practices. Hannah provided the space in Preston, making the event possible through collaboration rather than institutional support.

The day had several clear intentions. Firstly, I wanted to gather with peers and begin the year in a meaningful, collaborative way, learning together and exchanging knowledge. Secondly, the event allowed us to engage with October Salon, an emerging creative group, and to demonstrate what can happen through collective artistic practice.

The programme began with Tom Doubtfire leading a discussion on the role of the artist and the relationship between art and activism. His reflections centred on disturbance, sustainability, sacrifice, and focus. The group discussed what it means for art to be disturbing, what sustainable practice might look like, how much we are willing to sacrifice and the importance of setting limits, also how to remain focused on our aims.

This was followed by my one-hour introduction to BSL. My motivation for teaching BSL stems from both personal conviction and historical awareness. The language was banned in the United Kingdom between 1880 and 1970, and despite its cultural and social importance, it still receives limited funding in education. BSL was officially recognised as a language in 2003 and granted legal status in 2022, yet it is still not included in the GCSE curriculum. In this context, teaching BSL freely can be understood as a quiet form of activism! Challenging ableism, questioning unequal access to culture, and sharing knowledge rather than gatekeeping it.

BSL is also highly visual and expressive, connecting strongly with creative disciplines. It can influence performance, filmmaking, choreography, and storytelling, functioning not only as a language but also as an artistic medium. More broadly, offering knowledge without payment can be seen as a response to the increasing commercialisation of the arts. It reminds us that generosity and collective growth still hold value.

The day concluded with a workshop led by Tom Kelly, which provided a joyful ending. His approach to clowning demonstrated that it’s not simply about being silly, but about exploring human emotions through humour and vulnerability. Through simple games and spontaneous interaction, the group communicated naturally, without preparation. There was a strong sense of care, kindness, and mutual respect among participants.

The structure of the day loosely echoed Joseph Beuys’ idea of the Free International University, an artist-led model of education independent from institutions and grounded in dialogue and shared learning. By offering knowledge freely and prioritising exchange over production, the gathering became less about outcomes and more about shaping a temporary community through participation.

For me, the impact of this day was more meaningful than any individual artwork I’ve made recently. It highlighted the importance of shared time, laughter, and informal learning within creative communities. It felt like an encouraging and significant beginning for the group, grounded in connection rather than productivity alone

2025-2026, Books, Reading, Reflection, Research, Translation, Writing

Translation #2

Posted on January 6, 2026 by KM

After reading Translation, I found myself asking what I would add if I were given the chance to contribute more pages to the book. Three came to mind: Omar Bahabri the translator, Arnaud Balard’s Deaf Flag, Adriano Celentano’s Prisencolinensinainciusol, and Wanderer by Rory Macbeth particularly after What Is a Minor Literature?//1986 by Deleuze and Guattari page.

The first story is a Yemeni tale set during the period of British occupation in southern Yemen. Omar Bahabri was a Yemeni tea merchant who spoke English through his work with foreign traders. At a time when the British struggled to communicate with the local population due to the lack of Arabic translators, Omar was called upon to help. The British asked him to translate pamphlets intended to win the trust and loyalty of the Yemeni people. Omar translated their demands into Arabic, and pamphlets were printed and distributed by aircraft across the country.

Some time later, a British general visited Aden to inspect the situation. He was familiar with Arabic, so he picked up a handful of the pamphlets and read them. He asked the officer in charge about their purpose and was told they were meant to encourage public support for British rule. The officer explained that the pamphlets called on people to join the Allies and support them. The general replied that the pamphlets read “Buy the finest tea from Omar Bahabri” . And here only reference I found in English: https://www.jstor.org/stable/48752006

Whether the story is true or not is hardly important here. What matters is how brilliantly it portrays the fate of outsiders who believe they can exploit local language and people for their own ends, only to find those intentions quietly undermined in favour of distinctly Yemeni interests. It also led me to reflect on the fact that the British occupied Aden for 128 years, from 1839 to 1967, yet hardly any of them learned Arabic. From this, it becomes easier to understand why the French aggressively imposed their language in colonised territories, and how English was forced upon Indigenous populations in North America, Australia, and New Zealand. This reinforces my belief that language is essential to the survival of culture and heritage.

Photos credit: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/photos/aden-colony

Thinking about this story alongside Translation, I realised that what draws me in is not accuracy, but refusal. Translation here is not a neutral act. It becomes a space of misalignment, humour, survival, and agency. Language appears to serve power, while quietly redirecting it elsewhere.

So yes, I already know what my next ceramic piece will be.. A tea set! A familiar site of hospitality, negotiation, and politeness. Cups that sit between people, holding conversation, holding silence or things that are never quite said…