An artist between
languages.

I work in black and white because colour can lie. Texture cannot.

I was born between languages and now make work from a studio in the UAE — a country that holds a different version of the same desert my grandmother once described to me. The pieces begin as drawings of things I cannot photograph: the weight of a prayer bead in someone’s hand, the fall of cloth across a body that is no longer there, the rhythm of a verse half‑remembered from childhood. I render them in plaster and acrylic and let the surface decide what survives.

My work sits in the space between sculpture and painting. Most of what I make is wrong twice before it is right once. I am not interested in finishing pieces. I am interested in finding out what the material wants to say when I stop arguing with it.

I think about what travels with you when you move from one country to another, and what doesn’t. The pieces are not Iranian, not Emirati, not Welsh. They are mine. I hope they feel like that — like they belong to whoever stands in front of them long enough to listen.