Artist Statement

I build physical ceramic spaces that do not sit inside glass cases, but invite the viewer to have a seat, sip a cup of tea, light a candle, and join me in a journey to learn about my heritage. As an Arab-American living in Minneapolis who has never been able to visit my family in Syria, my art reconciles the disconnect between my roots and my home.

In my work, I reimagine iconic Syrian brass lamps into ceramic lanterns. When my parents and I call my family in Syria, my Amatee often complains, “mafi kaharaba,” which means “there is no electricity” in Arabic. Leaders in Syria turn off power in homes as a form of oppression. My ceramic lanterns hold many spaces for candles, providing the gift of light in homes without electricity.

I also intertwine botanical imagery from Minneapolis and Damascus by sculpting and carving native plants from the two cities onto a tea set and furniture. The plants I represent include the Damask rose, a symbol of resilience and Syrian heritage used in cooking and medicines, olive trees, symbols of peace, and jasmine, which represents love and hospitality in Syrian culture. From Minneapolis, I chose my favorite plants that I see walking through my neighborhood–purple coneflower, meadow blazing star, and wood lilies. I am lucky to have grown up in one of the greenest cities in the country, but my family in Damascus is not so blessed, with less than 1% of the ground shaded by trees. However, the people of Damascus still gather in the few pockets of greenery their city provides, especially during power outages. My play tea set aims to create an imaginary green space for two children, one from Minneapolis and one from Damascus, inviting conversation between the two cultures and between the two sides of myself.