Since October, I’ve been immersed in the making of Dear Moon. What began as a simple idea grew into something layered and full of meaning. Over these months, I’ve learnt so much, not just about putting together a book, but about myself. The skills I’ve had to call on managing, organising, communicating, publishing, sharing all came with challenges. I had to practise patience.. I had to listen. And more than anything, I had to trust the process!
There were many moments when I didn’t know exactly where it was heading, but I allowed myself to follow the rhythm of the work, and something beautiful came through. I’m especially grateful that the work is expanding being read, being held and I’ve been watching it with a sort of quiet pride.
Still, I have to be honest. Sharing Dear Moon in public spaces hasn’t felt completely right. I tried presenting it in a vibrant setting, but I could feel the book asking for something else, something slower, more still. It asks the reader to sit, pause, and take time. And that’s hard to find in environments filled with movement.
So, although I didn’t quite succeed in the way I had imagined, I don’t see it as failure. Instead, I see it as another learning. The challenge now is to explore different ways a book like this can live in public space. How do I present it in a way that honours its pace and stillness? How can I guide people toward it gently, instead of expecting it to compete for attention?
I’m still learning, and I’m open. I’m proud of Dear Moon, and I know it will keep finding its way as long as I keep listening.
Working on Dear Moon has been one of the most personal and expansive projects I’ve ever taken on. While the words came slowly, shaped by honesty and quiet reflection, the visual form of the book took a different kind of journey, one that became stronger and more meaningful through collaboration.
I had the pleasure of working with Jiayi and GG, two recent MA Graphic Design graduates from the university. They took on the challenge of designing Dear Moon and brought their own vision to it. Where I had initially imagined something simple, quiet, and almost invisible in its design letting the words do all the work they brought something else entirely: depth, elegance, and boldness in aesthetic.
Their design sensibility was so different from mine. I approached the book with simplicity, wanting to preserve the gentle rhythm of the letters and photographs without interruption. I didn’t want the visuals to overpower the messages within. But what Jiayi and GG brought was not overpowering it was enhancing. They introduced a poetic visual language: deep blues, moonscapes that speak for themselves, layout choices that echo the movement of tides and emotion. They weren’t just decorating; they were interpreting.
Looking at the final book now, I see a true collaboration. It’s no longer just a collection of letters; it’s a designed experience. A conversation between stillness and form.
Collaborating in this way has taught me the value of letting go. Of sharing creative control. Of trusting others to hold your work with care and transform it with love and intention. I feel Dear Moon is stronger because of this process, and I’m grateful to Jiayi and GG for reminding me how powerful cross-disciplinary work can be.
I recently received my first review (which I see as feedback) in Art in Liverpool, written by Patrick Kirk-Smith, about my Al-Mayida installation as part of the Drudenhaus Collective at Bridewell Studios & Gallery. Seeing my work in print, positioned within a broader reflection on history, conflict, and artistic response—has given me space to consider how this moment connects with my ongoing practice.
He writes:
“In the centre of the main room at Bridewell Studios & Gallery is a table, set for two, with plates reading ‘Sykes-Picot 1916’. It offers little by way of introduction, and even less of an invitation. No chairs. No spare crockery. Just two places, set for Sir Mark Sykes and François Georges-Picot, who in 1916 drew up boundaries for the division of the Ottoman Empire without regard for the citizens of any of the new countries they were dividing…”
This review captures the essence of Al-Mayida, how history’s decisions linger in the present, shaping lives and political realities.
As I navigate my MA, this review serves as both encouragement and reflection. It affirms that my work is engaging with complex socio-political themes in a way that resonates beyond the gallery. It also challenges me to refine my approach, how can I sharpen these conversations while maintaining the poetic, unsettling subtlety that Al-Mayida holds?
The Drudenhaus Collective’s fundraising for Medical Aid for Palestine (MAP) adds another layer to this. Art, for me, has always been a site of action as much as expression. This project reinforces my belief that creative practice can exist in solidarity, bringing history into the present not just for reflection, but for tangible impact.
Our last session of Art for Earth’s Sake Peer Learning, was a powerful experience exploring the intersection of creativity, sustainability, and community action.
Key Highlights:
1- Leading by Example: We discussed how artists can practise sustainably, acting as role models for others by reducing their carbon footprint and promoting eco-friendly approaches. This includes minimising the use of fossil fuels and exploring innovative tools such as digital carbon offset initiatives like Ecology.
2- Art as a Vehicle for Transition: Art has the power to shape people’s decisions and inspire social and environmental change. We explored how slow, mindful processes can create space for reflection and dialogue about the future we want to build.
3- The Role of Heart and Mind: It’s not just about being an artist but about raising awareness and fostering learning. We emphasised the importance of balancing rational thinking with heartfelt creativity to address environmental.
We took inspiration from artists such as Rebecca Chesney and Anthony Hall, and projects like the Soil Exhibition in Somerset. Additionally, ideas from thinkers like Stephen Covey’s “Three Spheres of Influence” helped us focus on what we can control, what we can influence, and what we need to let go of as individuals and as a collective.
We are encouraged to continue organising events, engaging the community, and taking part in initiatives like the Engage. By working together, we can use art as a catalyst for positive change in the world.
Stephen Covey’s concept of the Three Spheres of Influence is a framework that helps individuals focus their energy on what they can truly affect. This idea is derived from his book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. The three spheres, also known as the Circles of Concern, Influence, and Control, are a way to prioritise actions and efforts effectively. The Three Spheres Explained:
1. Circle of Concern:
This represents everything you care about, including external issues such as climate change, world events, and things you have no direct control over. While it’s important to be aware of these issues, focusing too much energy here can lead to feelings of helplessness.
2. Circle of Influence:
This sphere includes aspects you can influence, such as your local community, workplace, and people around you. By focusing efforts here, you can make a meaningful impact even if you can’t solve global issues. This is where actions like raising awareness, inspiring others, and leading by example can make a difference.
3. Circle of Control:
This is the smallest sphere, encompassing only what you can directly control, your own actions, decisions, mindset, and responses. By focusing on this sphere, you ensure that your efforts are grounded in what you can actually change.
By prioritising your focus on the Circle of Control and the Circle of Influence rather than the Circle of Concern, you can channel your energy more productively, avoid burnout, and create more positive impact. This approach is particularly valuable in projects related to sustainability and social change, where large-scale problems can feel overwhelming.
In the context of “Art for Earth’s Sake” understanding these spheres can help artists and activists focus on what they can do, such as creating art that inspires action, practising sustainability in their own work, and building local community initiatives that promote change.
Yesterday, I had a 1-1 tutorial with Jonathan, and it was a great opportunity to think aloud about my practice and research. It helped me reflect on where I’m, what comes next, and how I want to present my work in the interim show. More importantly, it allowed me to articulate the intentions behind my work—what I’m truly trying to communicate through it.
At the moment, I’m working on collecting all the moon letters people have submitted into a book, which I see as a sculpture—not just because of the process involved, but also due to the layers I’ve applied throughout its creation. Here, I wanted to make a book—not just a representation of one, but a real, physical book as a sculptural form. I wasn’t trying to turn a book into a sculpture; rather, I wanted to sculpt a book itself. This distinction has been crucial for me, and I feel I’ve achieved a lot through this approach.
The process remains ongoing—collecting letters, designing the book, and considering communication in both content and form. The creative process has pushed me in new ways and opening many doors.
Jonathan shared some useful links to researchers and artists, including Donna Haraway, Claire Bishop and Lucy & Jorge Orta. He also gave valuable advice on selecting the right paper type for the book, its cover, and how different inks could react on specific papers.
We also discussed different ways the book could be displayed, which made me think more deeply about its presence in a space and how the audience will engage with it—what I could add or take away. This reaffirmed that my work is not just about making an object; it’s about layering meaning, process, and interaction.
Today, I led a session at Bootle Library with my usual cultural group of ladies, joined by my colleagues from Rule of Threes, a representative from Liverpool Biennial, and artists from Darch Collective. It was a special gathering, as we’ll be contributing to their work for Liverpool Biennial: Bedrock 2025.
The session had a wonderful turnout, and I received 15 more letters for The Moon Letters project. I’m so grateful to everyone who has taken the time to contribute, and I can’t wait for the moment when I finally hold the book in my hands.
There’s something deeply personal about letters. I find myself attached to each one, treating them as precious objects. They arrive in different ways: through messages, emails, and in person. Each carrying unique thoughts, emotions, and perspectives. People respond in their own way, and I appreciate every word, every feeling that has been shared.
This project is becoming more than just a collection of letters, and I’m excited to see where it leads and to share these stories with a wider audience.
The first session of Art for Earth’s Sake by Engage:
Peer Learning Programme was both inspiring and thought-provoking. This initiative, designed by Engage members, brings together diverse voices to explore how visual arts can respond to the pressing environmental and ecological crises of our time. The online session created a dynamic space for connection, exchange, and collective learning.
Art has long served as a powerful medium for addressing complex issues. During the session, we reflected on how art can function as a “place” — a vital space for connection, communication, and fostering belonging. This concept resonated deeply with me. As an artist, I believe meaningful change begins when we create spaces for open dialogue and shared experiences.
Today’s headlines—be it Gaza burning under human conflict or wildfires ravaging Los Angeles—serve as stark reminders of our interconnected crises. Climate change, political instability, and violence are all deeply entwined. As humans, we bear the responsibility to make a difference, no matter how small. Saying “no” to war, violence, and greed is critical before the Earth pushes back. This realisation drove me to join this programme, especially as a producer working with refugees and students eager to learn about socially engaged art around themes of politics, migration, and the environment.
A recent discussion at Liverpool’s “ghost art school,” which I co-organised, reminded me of the importance of shared spaces. A fellow artist remarked, “Living is a way of research.” I would add that living with others—and fostering environments where people feel safe and free—is essential for authentic collaboration and growth.
One of the most compelling topics from the session was ecocentrism—a philosophy that centres Earth and its ecosystems rather than humanity alone. This approach challenges the anthropocentric mindset dominating contemporary thought.
Ecocentrism is not a modern idea; it has been integral to indigenous cultures for millennia, embedded in their traditions and laws. This was a moment of profound clarity for me. To genuinely tackle the climate crisis, we must transition from a human-centred worldview to an Earth-centred one.
The session also showcased artist-led projects that weave ecological concerns with social engagement. One example was Scotland’s Deveron Projects, which has been creatively connecting people with the land for over 30 years. Initiatives like their “soil spa” and a dance project inspired by the land demonstrate art’s capacity to reconnect us with nature in meaningful ways.
This session reaffirmed my belief in art’s ability to inspire dialogue and action. By embracing ecocentric perspectives and fostering collaboration, we can address the ecological crisis holistically and inclusively.
In my ongoing exploration of social sculpture, Letters to the Moon stands as a testament to how art can shape social spaces through collaboration. Rooted in Joseph Beuys’ concept that everyone is an artist and society itself is a work of art, this project reflects the interconnectedness between individuals and their collective contributions.
The project is inherently collaborative. By engaging artists and the public, I aimed to dissolve barriers between “individual” and “community” artmaking. Each submission becomes part of a greater whole—like letters sent to a shared destination, carrying unique perspectives yet contributing to a collective narrative.
This process mirrors my research interest in social sculpture: how creative practice can transform not just physical objects, but relationships and shared understanding. Letters to the Moon creates a social space where people from diverse backgrounds, ages, abilities, and styles co-exist, their works forming an invisible conversation with one another.
At its core, my work often explores the complexities of communication. In Letters to the Moon, the art itself becomes a form of communication—visual “letters” that reflect feelings, thoughts, and experiences. By curating these individual voices into a unified book, I aim to highlight how creative gestures, when shared, can transcend the limits of language and hierarchy.
Social sculpture is about more than the artwork itself; it is about the relationships, processes, and transformations that occur along the way. Through Letters to the Moon, I have witnessed how this project fosters a sense of belonging, participation, and emotional resonance. It invites artists to engage in a collaborative process and, in doing so, creates an artwork that is as much about the process as the final outcome.
Photo credit: Donald Takeshita-guyDear Moon,
I know why you are called the Moon–because you say ‘mo’ and ‘on’. By Arwa (6 yrs old)
Letters to the Moon is a social sculpture that explores how art can connect diverse experiences, emotions, and perspectives, fostering meaningful dialogue between art and the wider public.
To bring this vision to life, I invited family, friends, artists from Creative Peers, members of Ghost Art School, MA classmates, and the public. Donald kindly extended the invitation and offered people some brown paper bags to write their letters on. This act of kindness touched me and made these letters more special as they are handwritten. Each participant receives a unique moon photograph, carefully selected from a collection of 670 images I have captured since 2018.
The responses have been both inspiring and humbling. People with distinctive styles and personal voices have contributed works that reflect a broad range of emotions and narratives. A key aim of this project is to ensure that people outside the art world feel encouraged to take part, breaking down the barriers that can make creative engagement feel intimidating.
This project, while still ongoing, has already reminded me of the importance of artistic variety and community. While numbers have been promising, I hope they will continue to grow as more people see themselves reflected in this vision. I look forward to the next steps—curating these works, weaving them into a book, and creating something that speaks to the complexity of art as both a personal and collective process.
Karema 