Interview With Ahmad Makary

by Alexandra Mansilla

Exploring Artists' Vulnerability At Sikka. Interview With Ahmad Makary

28 Jan 2025

Ahmad Makary is the mastermind behind The Workshop DXB, your go-to screenprinting studio in Dubai. For those who, for some reason, haven’t checked it out yet, it is a space where anyone can bring their creative ideas to life, from small-scale prints to large-format projects. Ahmad isn’t just a studio founder — he is also an artist, creative director, curator, and, as some call him, a disruptor (we will find out why).

This year, Ahmad takes on the role of curator for House 196 at Sikka, built around the concept of The Anatomy of Vulnerability. When we first saw the overarching theme of the House and the individual concepts of each room (Habit, Hope/Devastations, Authenticity, and more), we were full of questions. Why these ideas? What is the story behind them? So we sat down with Ahmad and, along the way, uncovered some surprising details about him, too.

Save the date: The Sikka Art & Design Festival runs from 31 January to 9 February 2025 at Al Shindagha Historic Neighbourhood.

— Hi Ahmad! This year, you are the curator of House 196 at Sikka. We’ll talk more about that later, but first, I would like to ask about your artistic journey. How did it all begin?

— I come from a Lebanese family and was raised in Beirut, spending most of my formative years in the Hamra neighbourhood. Hamra was considered a cool place back then, where artists and creators gathered, so I spent a lot of time there.

I work primarily in arts and music. Back in Beirut, we started by throwing underground parties, first focused on metal music, then shifting to hardcore electronic music. However, the situation in Beirut forced me to move, so I relocated to Dubai after graduation.

In Dubai, I started as a graphic designer, aligning with my formal education in design and visual communication. However, I have never enjoyed corporate jobs, so I pursued creative projects on the side. I took up tattooing for four years, but when it began to strain my back, I decided to explore something else — screen printing, a skill I first picked up as a broke metal kid creating merch for bands.

So, I revisited screen printing and advanced my skills, eventually opening my own workshop. What began as a screen printing studio evolved into a space for curatorial and experiential projects. In 2014, I introduced live screen printing to Dubai, and we handled a large amount of events a year. This eventually expanded into larger-scale curatorial projects, like Sikka, which I have been involved with for three consecutive years.

— Wait, you used to tattoo? Did you ever ink yourself?

— Yes, I did! Unfortunately, my left thigh is covered with some really bad tattoos. Like, truly horrible ones. Are you sure you want me to tell you about them?

— Sure!

— Okay! So, one of my tattoos says, “I hate people.” Actually, I love people, but it is still one of my favourites because of the story behind it. We weren’t in the clearest frame of mind back then, and a bunch of people were involved in doing it. It was like this chaotic assembly line — just a machine going across my skin, with random people continuing one word after another. It is terrible, but I love what it represents.

Beneath that is another layer of chaos. When I first got my tattoo machine, I practised on myself without any formal training. I created a square of random-coloured ink patches, which I later tried to cover with a Japanese mask. Let’s just say it doesn’t look much like a mask.

I don’t want to remove them, though. They are bad, but they remind me of specific moments in my life. All my tattoos are tied to memories or events — travel, experiences, milestones. So, I don’t regret them at all.

— Great story! So, among the words used to describe you, I saw “creative director”, “curator”, “artist”, and “disruptor”. Why “disruptor”?

— I always like to go against what is happening right now.

For example, at Sikka, at House 196, what I am trying to do is bring together different subcultures that don’t usually have the same platform as more traditionally accepted forms in the city. I want to give them an equal stage and see what happens. What happens when you bring a musician, a visual artist, and a fashion designer into the same space? How do they exist together? How do they coexist?

Making that happen usually involves a lot of disruption. It brings together people from different backgrounds with different approaches to creativity and life, forcing them to engage and have a dialogue. That is where I see disruption as a powerful tool.

Even in my personal art, which I don’t release much of, there is a lot of disruption. It is politically incorrect, full of satire and dark humour. I like to play on the edge — not too safe, but not too extreme either.

— You founded The Workshop Dxb in 2012. Was it something completely new for Dubai?

— Back then, in Dubai, it was something completely new — only commercial screen printers existed. I wanted to preserve the true art of screen printing. As an artist drawn to DIY projects and creating with my hands, that passion sparked the idea for The Workshop Dxb.

We named it The Workshop Dxb because it wasn’t just about screen printing initially — we aimed to include woodwork, ceramics, and other crafts. Over time, though, we dove deeper into screen printing and decided to focus on that.

My goal was to reframe screen printing in Dubai — not just as a commercial production method but as an art form. I wanted to showcase its artistic value, producing high-quality editions for artists and experimenting with unique techniques rarely seen.

Even now, our studio isn’t just about producing our own work — we collaborate curatorially with small, emerging brands. We work with those launching fabrics or papers, deliberately avoiding big corporate clients to maintain our identity as a creative production studio rather than a factory.

It is a challenge, especially in a costly city like Dubai, to balance what is brand-acceptable with staying true to our creative vision. But we have managed for years and are now taking it further by moving into a larger space in Al Quoz. If all goes to plan, the new spot will be ready in March.

The new space will allow people to use the equipment and develop their screen printing skills. We already run educational workshops, but this next step focuses on accessibility. For instance, someone moving to Dubai who used to screen print back home can now access the necessary equipment and resources here. It is all about empowering screen printers and creatives to continue their craft and grow their skills under the umbrella of The Workshop Dxb.

— Do you remember any work created by someone who came to your space that really impressed you? Something weird or just really interesting?

— Well, I am in the middle of something weird right now. It is a pretty unique project. There is this artist named Noah Perelini from New Zealand. He recently joined my team, and he’s working with me in the shop while also creating his own art pieces. He has this amazing way of diving deep into the essence of screen printing. His work zooms in on the details and experiments in ways I have never seen before.

Right now, he is printing on acrylic sheets, layering ten different levels of acrylic to create a single piece of artwork. The layers stack to form a stunning, multidimensional effect. It is such a cool, experimental project.

We have done plenty of other experiments, too. For instance, we have worked with what we call “all-over prints,” where we take a small print and go crazy, covering entire fabrics — buttons, zippers, everything.

About five years ago, we took on a massive yardage printing project. We had a canvas roll — probably more than 37 meters long — and we printed it all as a pattern. Then, we cut it up and wrapped palm trees with it. These kinds of fun projects are the type where you would never think of using screen printing for something like that. But somehow, we always find a way!

Photo: Ahmad's personal archive

— So, at Sikka 2023, you created an installation called Chromatic Preservation. Can you tell me more about it? It is absolutely amazing! But I have to say, it reminded me a bit of the Squid Game series.

— Haha! Chromatic Tapestry is actually influenced by the Mexican architect Luis Barragán. I suppose Squid Game was also inspired by his work — if you look closely, there are a lot of similarities in the use of colours and the way they are blocked across different levels.

The first time I walked into that building was during the first year we did Sikka as a full house. I had participated before as an artist, but this was my first full curatorial project. When they reached out and showed me the house, I was captivated by the building’s façade. It was so beautiful that I didn’t want to alter its shapes or geometry in any way. I just wanted to make those elements appear brighter and better.

Initially, I thought about painting it, but since it is a heritage house, that wasn’t allowed. Instead, I found a way to replicate the effect using fabrics. Now, when people look at the pictures, they can’t believe it is fabric — they think it is painted. The fabric doesn’t even wrap around; it is only stretched across one side. Getting it stretched perfectly, without wrinkles, and attaching it to the corners was a tough job, but it was worth it.

The geometry of the project was inspired by Barragán. At the time, I was deeply immersed in his work and thought it made perfect sense to create a homage to Mexican culture while blending it with Dubai’s context.

You can see that I used colours like pink, yellow, and teal — most of the flat colours Luis Barragán is known for.

Before you even reached that colourful wall, there was an entryway covered in very dark fabrics. The idea was to create contrast — you couldn’t see what was behind it. So, after the viewers walked through that dark "forest" of fabrics, where it was super dim and disorienting, I wanted to give them then a sense of relief, almost like a breath of fresh air.

The moment they stepped through that darkness, they would suddenly be surrounded by these bright, vibrant lights shining all around. It was all about creating that transition — a journey from darkness into light.

For perspective, before this Sikka project, I had just returned to Dubai after spending two years in Barcelona. During my time there, I delved into architecture and explored Latin American influences, especially in interiors, architecture, and installations. This project felt like a way to bring that journey full circle — connecting my time in Barcelona to my new phase in Dubai.

Photo: Arthur du Peuty

— Now, Sikka 2025. The concept of the House 196, which you are curating, is “The Anatomy of Vulnerability.” Why that theme?

— I wanted to reflect on my own journey. Right now, I am in a place where I am deeply internalising my emotions and feelings, trying to develop greater awareness around them. I have noticed a lot of discrepancies in how emotions are communicated depending on where I have lived. For example, my interactions in Spain were very different from how I communicated in Lebanon, and both are quite different from how I navigate relationships in Dubai. Each culture manifests emotions differently, and that is something I wanted to explore here.

In the House, everyone comes from different parts of the world — some are newcomers, some have been here longer — but they all bring unique perspectives. For me, it is essential to confront these differences. As an Arab, expressing emotions, feelings, or vulnerabilities isn’t always seen as "normal," especially for men. Showing weakness is often discouraged, but I don’t agree with that mindset. I think it is crucial to be aware of these emotions, share them, and navigate the chaos that comes with vulnerability.

Through this project, I wanted to bring my personal experience into the House while learning from the artists I am collaborating with. How does someone from Canada deal with vulnerability? How does someone from New Zealand or Spain approach it? By bringing these perspectives together, we can confront these questions and push forward together.

House 196, work in progress. Photo: Wassim Makary

— In the House, there are several rooms, each with its own concept — like Hope/Devastation, Apologies, Intimidation, Anxiety, Resilience, and more. Why did you choose these themes? How were these themes chosen, and how are they linked to the artists working in these rooms?

— I spoke to each artist at length about the overarching subject and wanted to understand what phase they are in right now and what they aim to represent. For example, Fatspatrol wanted to explore the theme of hope and devastation. While their specific art piece inside the House doesn’t directly carry that title, the concept of the room reflects it.

Take the "Habit" theme, for instance. Nightjar Coffee is here as part of that concept, focusing on routines and rituals. Another room, "Apologies," hosts educational workshops — like songwriting or even sessions about apologising, whether to your pet, your mother, or your partner. Each workshop is unique, reflecting the diversity of emotions tied to the theme.

My own piece, the skate ramp “Veiled Tension”, focuses on language and its layered meanings. In Arabic, certain words, like Habibi, can carry very different connotations depending on tone or context. While Habibi is generally a positive word, it can also reflect something entirely different depending on how it is used. I wanted to take these words with double meanings and overexpose them to highlight issues like toxicity in the region. It is about encouraging authenticity — owning what you truly think and feel, rather than defaulting to phrases like Habibi without real meaning.

House 196, work in progress. Photo: Wassim Makary

— So, these words will cover the entire surface of the installation, right?

— Exactly. I am planning to create a very minimal skate ramp covered in classic Arabic calligraphy. The idea is that as people skateboard on it, they’ll scratch and wear away the calligraphy over time. By the end, all those words will be destroyed.

— And what about the Anxiety Room? If I were a visitor, I think I would feel both intrigued and a little scared to go inside. Could you tell us more about what is happening there?

— The Anxiety Room is designed to help you feel comfortable with anxiety. When we invite you in, the idea is to embrace and engage with it rather than fear it.

This installation is by Gerard Rechdan, a Filipino-Lebanese artist. He works a lot with audiovisual elements, experimental video projections, and sound. For this piece, he is creating a sound box using everyday objects. For example, one element might be a bicycle wheel, representing the anxiety of riding bicycles in Dubai, where there aren’t dedicated bike lanes. You spin the wheel, and it generates a drone sound — more like noise music than traditional music.

The concept is to take elements from our daily lives that often trigger anxiety and turn them into something playful and interactive. Instead of resisting or fearing anxiety, the room invites you to accept it, engage with it, and normalise it. That is the core of Gerard’s vision: transforming anxiety into something creative and embraced rather than overwhelming.

by Alexandra Mansilla

Exploring Artists' Vulnerability At Sikka. Interview With Ahmad Makary

28 Jan 2025

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by Alexandra Mansilla

Exploring Artists' Vulnerability At Sikka. Interview With Ahmad Makary

28 Jan 2025

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