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ArtInterviewPeople

by Barbara Yakimchuk

Razan Seikaly: “I Have Met So Many Artists Who Deserve To Be Showcased”

14 Mar 2025

Razan Seikaly, a Jordanian woman, turned her home into a living gallery — a space where art and culture thrive. The second floor remains her family’s sanctuary, while the first is dedicated to her greatest passion. Fastoun Gallery is not about commerce; it is a testament to love and creativity, showcasing artists who inspired Razan and those she believed in, with their works reflecting how adversity often fuels creativity.
How did this space come to life? When did a hobby become her life’s purpose? And which piece will she never part with? The answers unfold through the stories of the gallery’s artists. Dive in below!
— Let us start from the very beginning – your childhood and early love for art. Was this something influenced by your parents? Where are you originally from?
— I am Jordanian, with a Palestinian father and a Jordanian mother. I have called Dubai home for 15 years. When friends and family visit from Jordan our home, they often say, "This place carries the same soul as your parents' house."
My appreciation for the arts started in my home in Amman, Jordan. My mother, Lina, was always rearranging furniture, blending contemporary elements with vintage pieces. She had an eye for the unseen, a deep care for aesthetics, and a conscious effort not to follow trends blindly. That left a lasting impression on me. I became curious — why are some artworks or objects valued more than others? What stories do they carry? And why do some stories remain untold? That curiosity led me to explore the connections between objects, people, and experiences. I wanted my home to be a place for misfit stories.
— Your gallery has existed for a long time. But what were you doing before starting it?
— A bit of everything! Before moving to Dubai, I worked for a long time in Kuwait with Its Sheikh Majed Al Sabah’s Villa Moda Lifestyle, housing luxury stores such as Prada, Fendi, Goyard, Bottega Veneta, and others. It was a sleek, all-glass shopping mall focused solely on luxury. But there was an open space in the middle, and that is where I came in — I curated exhibitions for international jewelry designers and artists.
After Kuwait, I moved to Dubai and worked with The Rug Company, a British brand that collaborates with fashion and interior designers to create hand-knotted carpets from Nepal. That experience deepened my love for craftsmanship and quality. I have always been drawn to beautiful things — not necessarily expensive ones, but pieces with meaning.
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— So, you were always collecting pieces?
— Absolutely! Even before I had my own place, I was buying and storing things. If I found something special while traveling, I would keep it. My eyes sparkle when I see something beautiful, and I just think of how I want to bring it back home with me. But for me, objects are not about trends or resale value. I don't buy things thinking of their future worth — I buy them because they speak to me.
— And now, everything has come together in your home?
— Exactly. When we got married, we first lived in a two-bedroom apartment. As we moved to bigger spaces, I finally had room to display all the pieces I had collected over the years. My husband would ask, “Where did this come from?: and I would say, “Oh, I bought that years ago, long before we met!”
Now, people walk in and say everything matches so well, but in reality, each piece was bought separately, purely on instinct. My home is not about following a specific design style — it is about storytelling. Every object holds a memory, a place, a feeling. It is a living timeline of experiences rather than just a collection of things. My home is like a living culture, a film of my life.
— But keeping things in your home is one thing — how did that lead to exhibiting in your home?
— While I was working for the Rug Company, I was also trying to conceive. It was a stressful period, and I decided to take a step back and focus on my personal life. When I got pregnant, I dedicated myself fully to raising my child. It was not easy — I had complications — so when something takes that long to happen, you cherish it even more.
Once my daughter started nursery school, I found myself with a little more time. I had always worked, ever since I was young — whether it was helping my parents in their restaurant in Jordan or working on campus during university. That is when I started thinking — what am I truly passionate about?
I realised I struggled to find meaningful gifts for friends and family. Gifting is such a big tradition in so many cultures, yet I did not want to just buy something mass-produced. I wanted gifts that carried a story. That is when it clicked — maybe I was not the only one feeling this way. Maybe there was a gap in the market. So, I began curating unique, story-driven objects for gifting.
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— Does every single item you sell have a story behind it, or sometimes it is purely about aesthetics?
— Both. Every piece has a history, a heritage, a narrative. It is not just about looking good — it is about what it represents. I started small, curating my collection and renting out a shop. Then one day, my husband and I took our daughter to Design Days at d3. That is when everything changed.
As I was walking through the market, I came across a table selling ceramics. At the time, I had never really owned a ceramic piece — at least, not one that felt intentional. These two objects immediately caught my eye. But at that exact moment, my daughter was crying, and my husband was saying, “We have to go now.” Still, I felt such a deep emotional connection to the pieces that I just could not leave without them. I quickly bought them and asked for the artists’ names, thinking I would love to connect with them later. When I got home, I could not stop thinking about them. I wondered if I could reach out, learn more about their work.
— Who were these artists?
— Their names were Karine and Valerie. One of them had just moved to Dubai from Beirut. She was a producer in the film industry but had just arrived and did not know anyone. Dubai can be tough when you are older and trying to find work.
One day she decided to take a pottery class at Al Jalila Center. The moment she touched clay, she told me it was like discovering her true passion. She had never done anything artistic before, but pottery just clicked.
For me, it is always about the story behind things. I told them, “I love your story. I love how you found your passion. Let us work together.” At first, they were just making random pieces. But I saw their potential and said, “Why do you not start producing pieces for me? I will buy them, resell them, and in the meantime, we will share your story.” That is how it all began.
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— You originally collected pieces just for yourself. And when it clicked — “Okay, I’m starting a gallery”? What made you decide to turn it into a commercial project?
— I knew I was ready to invite people into my space when I realised I did not want anyone to experience the same intimidation I once felt when visiting galleries. I was never defined as an artist or an art collector — I am simply an art enthusiast.
Galleries should feel accessible to everyone. They should be spaces where people can open their hearts and minds, truly connecting with the artwork or craft. It is not about the pressure to purchase; it is about being present with a piece for a moment in time. Throughout my journey, I have met so many underrepresented artists who deserve to be showcased. My home became a space where their work not only lived but was also nurtured. I started sharing their stories with visitors, and eventually, I invited the artists themselves to speak about their work. That is how real connections were built.
— Were not you afraid that others might not believe in these artists the way you did?
— Not at all. And honestly, that is just how I work. I don't create to please people — I curate my collection based on what I love and what resonates with me.
Some people have suggested that I should showcase different styles to appeal to a broader audience. But I do not care about that. My collection reflects my vision. If someone else appreciates it, great. But I will not change my choices just to fit a trend.
— Were there any items you simply could not part with?
— Honestly, they are all hard to part with! In the beginning, I really struggled with selling. I would buy pieces from the artists, but when someone wanted to purchase them, I just could not let go. If someone showed interest in a piece I loved, I could find myself saying, “Oh, sorry, it is sold.” I had such a deep emotional connection to these objects. But one day my husband finally asked, “Are you opening a business or just hoarding?” That is when I realised I needed to rethink my approach. I did not want to just buy and sell — I wanted to collaborate with the artists in a way that felt more meaningful.
Over time, we started working together more intentionally, discussing designs and processes, making it a true partnership rather than just a transaction.
But if I had to pick one piece that is extra special and I am not ready to let go even now, it would be the ceramic mirrors hanging in my living room. Almost every guest who walks in instinctively takes a selfie through them. They have become part of the space, part of the experience. More than anything, they remind me of the community we have built —the energy, the conversations, the connections. And when I see people sharing those photos on Instagram, it makes me happy because, in a way, they are also amplifying the artist’s work, carrying their story forward.
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— How did the name of your home gallery come about?
— My father, Raja, has always been known for giving affectionate nicknames to family members. Mine was “Fastoon” from birth. I asked him, What does it mean? and he said, "Nothing, I just saw a cute little girl and decided it was Fastoon". He gave all of us random names — my sister is Pompous and my younger brother is Flusco and later turned into Abu Raj. Years later, I found out "Festoon" actually has a meaning — it refers to decorations, garlands. It felt like a hidden message, a sign. It just felt right.
— How do your exhibitions usually work?
— I usually have them for over two days. The first evening is the opening, from 5 to 8 pm, with music, catering, and an open, relaxed atmosphere where people can walk around, touch the pieces, and have conversations. It happens several times a year, and each year, I bring in new artists.
In 2023, for example, I invited two incredible sisters from Beirut who come from a family of jewelers. Their collection was inspired by Gaudí, the Spanish architect. I also showcased a friend from Jordan who turns raw crystals into jewelry. People loved it — those pieces sold instantly. Women love jewellery.
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— Can you tell me more about the artists you represent? How many are there now?
— There are well over 15 artists today, with three more in the pipeline that I will be announcing soon.
— You have mentioned that each artist has a unique story. Can you share one that captivated you the most?
— It all started with Ahmad Jallouk, an unknown Jordanian craftsman who created sculptural glass vessels from broken bottles — working in the back of his lingerie shop in downtown Amman. Yes, his atelier was tucked behind his main business, a lingerie store.
Ahmad started collecting broken glass — bottles, light bulbs, anything he could find — and began handcrafting them into beautiful glass pieces. Ahmad opened his shop in the 1970s, and when economic conditions worsened, what struck me most was his decision to persevere. I had the privilege of buying his entire glass collection while he was still alive. Sadly, he passed away in 2020.
The pieces were simple, but knowing the journey behind them made them special. That was the moment I realised this was more than just glassware — it was about storytelling.
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Another artist that I love so much is Valerie Vincent. She is French but lived in Lebanon for almost her entire life. Her Burnt Trees series is a haunting metaphor for what was left of Beirut after the 2020 explosion—a stark reminder of the consequences of corruption and incompetence. That is why they are black, symbolizing how the blast infiltrated the soil, turning everything dark.
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— When you say there is a story behind it, I can really feel it.
Everyone has one. Take Ahmad Nawash — born in Jerusalem in 1934, he was a pioneering Palestinian artist known for his raw, emotional storytelling through art. Over the years, he exhibited in Amman, Baghdad, Jerusalem, and Paris, gaining recognition across the Arab world and beyond.
His art was deeply personal. His paintings captured the contradictions of life — beauty and chaos, innocence and loss. At the heart of his work was a profound sense of humanity. He once told me stories about his childhood, his fears, and his resilience. Through his art, he did the same for everyone — sharing emotions, struggles, and untold stories. Even in moments of despair, his work carried an honesty that still resonates long after his passing.
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Another one is Nessma Djouhri, an Algerian artist based in Dubai. After working in an art gallery, she returned to her practice and has spent the past six years shaping her own artistic voice.
Her work is not just about making ceramics — it is about preserving fragments of history, reimagining them, and offering a glimpse into a world outside of time. This theme is deeply connected to her background. She told me that her journey into ceramics began in 2015 after a visit to the Musée Ardo in Algiers. That experience sparked a fascination with fictional relics — objects that seem to hold history, yet exist outside of it.
Nessma’s visual language is also influenced by Saharan cave paintings and the imaginary landscapes beyond them. Through her pieces, she explores social connections, the stories objects tell, and how their purpose evolves over time.
Both artists, in their own way, bring the past into the present — keeping memories alive through their work.
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