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InterviewSportCinemaPeople

by Alexandra Mansilla

‘A Piece Of Wood Changed My Life’: The Story Of Mark Issa

30 May 2025

Photo: Nikita Kliukvin

If you have spent any time around the skateboarding scene in the UAE, you have definitely heard the name Mark Issa. He has been skating pretty much forever. These days, he is on a board less often — mostly because filmmaking has taken over — but it is still not unusual to catch him with a camera in one hand and a skateboard under his feet.
For Mark, it all started with skateboarding.
His first money. Real friendships — the kind that stick. His first trips abroad (somehow, as a teenager, he managed to travel the world just to skate). And eventually, the camera — and later, his production company, mrkstudios. Skateboarding led him to cinematography, not the other way around.
His story is full of unexpected encounters — people who, by pure chance, ended up shaping the path he is on today. But it hasn’t all been smooth or easy. What was his life really like back then? What is it now? Let’s hear it from him.
— Hello Mark! I would love to start with something Karim Nassar (Nawstique) said about you: “He’s one of the most talented skateboarders I’ve seen in person. He literally figures tricks out live. Fifteen minutes and he’s got it.” Any thoughts on that? And when and how did skateboarding become part of your life?
— First off, I would love to give a big shoutout to Karim. He is someone I truly care about and really look up to — even though I have known him my whole life. He has done so much and changed the game in so many ways. Honestly, I think he’s one of the smoothest skateboarders I have ever seen.
I still remember us skating at DFC skatepark; it was always me and Karim, going back to back. Every time I took the bus from Abu Dhabi to Dubai, I would spend the entire day skating in that park with him. The stair set, the Eurogap, the hip — just the two of us, one session after another, all day long.
What is mad is that, even now, we are still doing the same thing. Fifteen years later, it is still just me and Karim skating together 99% of the time. That is something I genuinely appreciate about him — what we have through skating has never faded.
Now, time for my story!
I have been skating for a really long time — over two decades now, which feels insane to say. And there is a story behind how it all started.
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Photo: Maysam Faraj

One day, my friend Karim Safa messaged me and said, “Hey Mark, you wanna go skating?” I was six or seven at the time, using my mum’s old Nokia because I didn’t have a phone of my own (back then, we didn’t have much). And I remember replying something like, “No, mate, skating’s for losers.” That is genuinely how we thought at the time.
Eventually, I gave it a go. I didn’t even have a skateboard — I borrowed one from Karim. We went to this spot where skaters always hung out. And those first 10–15 minutes completely changed my life. I met people that day who are still my lifelong friends.
From there, it just took off naturally. I picked it up quite quickly just by watching. I have always had this thing — if I see someone do something, I can grasp it fast. I just get the physics of it. Within a week, I was already figuring out the basics, without asking anyone for help. I didn’t want to bother people, so I just observed their shoulders, foot placement, and how they moved. After a week, I was already landing a clean ollie, which was pretty challenging back then.
From that point on, I skated every single day for around 14 years straight.
The reason I picked up technical tricks so quickly was because of one person who completely changed the way I saw skateboarding: Ibrahim Wadhai. In my eyes, he is the best skater to ever come out of the Middle East.
When we started skating together, he was already miles ahead of everyone else, mentally and technically. He was pulling off mad tricks, flipping into and out of moves at a time when you couldn’t even Google how to ollie. He was genuinely ahead of his time.
I spent a lot of time skating with Ibrahim, and everything I know came from watching him. He never directly taught me — he didn’t need to. I learned just by studying how he moved. Eventually, we became best mates for years.
— So you have been in the skateboarding scene for two decades, and you started really young. I imagine there were a few key moments that completely turned your life upside down.
— Oh yes, there are a few. The first one is definitely a story I will never forget.
When I was younger, there was a skateboarding competition here called Red Bull Manny Mania — an international contest focused on manuals, where you ride on just two wheels. One skater from each country would go to the finals in New York City.
Manuals were something I really loved, and I ended up winning twice — in 2012 and 2015 — in the Middle East. That got me to the finals in New York, and both times my mum came with me.
The first time I went, I probably placed dead last. But I didn’t care. I was just so proud to be part of something on that scale. I was skating in front of people I grew up watching on VHS and YouTube. And they were clapping when I landed tricks. Like — what is happening right now? It felt like I was dreaming.
Then came 2015 — the second time. Now I was skating with people like Brandon Biebel, Joey Brezinski — legends. I was hanging out with them at the hotel, skating the same course, living in the moment. It was unreal.
During the qualifiers, each skater does a run. After everyone had skated, the announcer started reading the names of those who qualified for the finals. One by one: this guy’s name, that guy’s name… and then, finally — “MARK ISSA! With the highest qualification score today, he skated so well!”
I cry every time I think about that moment. Because no one from the Middle East had ever heard those words before. I got to hear them. Me. A kid from Abu Dhabi. There. In front of all those skaters.
Even if I never experience something like that again, it doesn’t matter — because I had that moment. That one. That is all I needed. I didn’t even care what happened after. Just hearing them say my name like that, knowing I was seen — that was enough.
I placed eighth out of 32 countries. Eighth. That is insane.
— Wow, what a story! Just had a random question pop into my head — since you were so deep into skateboarding, does that mean school wasn’t really your thing back then?
— Oh yes, I wasn’t… a great student. I was hyperactive, always wanting to do my own thing.
It was also tough because I am fully dyslexic. My brain just doesn’t process things the same way, and honestly, I think that is part of what makes me creative.
Whenever I had exams, I would get an extra two or three hours and a teacher sitting next to me. I couldn’t take in information like other students. Learning wasn’t “normal” for me.
Eventually, I hit a wall — I failed grade nine and got kicked out of school. No school wanted to take me. That is when I realised, okay, I need to get my stuff together.
Looking back, I know exactly why I failed: I was only focused on skateboarding. That was the dream — going pro. Every kid had that dream back then. I didn’t care about school at all. Even if I had the answers before the test, I would still fail. My brain just wasn’t in it.
— Still, even though school was a tough time, I have noticed that you often dream about going back to your childhood. Why?
— I look back at those times and think about how life used to be, and honestly, I kind of wish I could relive it all now, at this age. I am always reminiscing. I miss the smell of the air back then. The energy. The way people talked. The way they did things.
Back then, we had one thing, and one thing only — skateboarding and friendship. That was enough. That was everything.
I hate the fact that I am almost 30. I don’t like the feeling of getting older. It has always been really important for me to feel like a kid again.
I am a full introvert and very selective about who I let into my life. But the ones I do let in — I love them to death. Every single one of my close friends makes me feel like that kid again. And that is something I hold onto.
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Photo: Conny Mirbach

— You are not just a skateboarder — you are also a cinematographer, and you run your own production company, mrkstudios. You create amazing videos! Can you tell me how it all started?
— There is a story behind it all — and, of course, it started with skateboarding.
We always had a camera around. Someone in the crew was filming, always. Back then, we didn’t call it “filmmaking” or “content” — we were just skaters who loved documenting what we were doing. It was part of the lifestyle. We would post clips, hoping someone might see them, maybe share them. We just wanted to be seen. Skating and filming went hand in hand.
Then came the stickers. And yes — believe me — these two parts are connected.
At the time, I was supported by a brand overseas, and they used to send me loads of stickers. People loved them, so I started selling them. I even started making stencils — spray-painting graphics onto people’s boards.
And I started saving.
Eventually, I made a couple of thousand dirhams and used that money to buy my first camera. I was around 11 or 12. I bought it from my friend Ahmed, who still skates, by the way. It was second-hand and cost about 10,000 dirhams, which was a lot at the time.
Once I had that camera, I didn’t stop filming. My friends, our sessions — everything.
By the time I was in grade 9 or 10, I already knew what I wanted to do. I told my teachers, “I’m going to be a filmmaker.” They laughed. But I was serious.
I ended up enrolling in a programme at the New York Film Academy in Abu Dhabi. It was fine, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick with it. They offered to send me to California for university, then to New York. But I didn’t feel it. I wasn’t drawn to Cali. So I walked away.
Next, I went to Barcelona to study fashion marketing. But it wasn’t my thing, either. Honestly, all I wanted to do was skate. That is what I did — day in, day out. Skating with friends, filming, skating again.
About a year and a half in, I called my mum and said, “I’m coming back tomorrow.” And I meant it. The next day, I packed everything, gave my furniture to my Palestinian friend, and left. Just like that. One day. That is all it took.
When I got home, my mum said, “Why don’t you study filmmaking in Toronto?” I thought — yeah, maybe that is the move. One of my old friends was also living there, which helped tip the balance. We made it happen. I got accepted.
I ended up staying in Canada for four years, and that is when I knew for sure: I was going to be a cinematographer.
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Photo: Nikita Kliukvin

— Canada is a whole different world — different everything. How was it?
— Moving to Canada was a culture shock. It was just a whole different world from what I was used to. I studied there and graduated with high honours. I did my thing. I hustled.
When I got to film school, I had this instinct — I always communicated with the teachers that no one liked. I would go straight to those people because I started to realise — those are the ones with real connections.
I would end up becoming close with someone like the dean. And that relationship opened doors. In fact, one time the dean got kicked out of the school — and he literally told me, “I’m taking you with me.” And he did.
He gave me access to things most people don’t get until much later. I was only a year and a half into school, and I was already on sets that other students only dreamed about. Travis Scott. Miguel. Blac Chyna. All of that. I started getting callbacks. Being on those sets at such a young age was surreal. And that experience shaped me.
That is when I really started paying attention. Watching how the cinematographers worked, how the shots were built, and how the edits came together. I thought, “That’s the style I want. That’s how I want to shoot.” That is where the spark for my own visual style came from.
But in Toronto, there was also a problem: they never gave me a Social Insurance Number, so I wasn’t allowed to work. I still think it had something to do with me being Arab or Lebanese — who knows? I wasn’t allowed to earn anything legally. My parents had to cover everything out of their savings. It was a lot.
Even though I couldn’t work officially, I started connecting with people in the industry — people others looked up to. I ended up on set with Director X, which was wild. I was part of his team, learning, absorbing, and watching how the industry really worked.
Eventually, at 22, I moved back to the Middle East — but I already had the Canadian mindset. The experience, the work ethic, the way of seeing things — it was all about not being afraid to express yourself, to have the freedom to do things your way unapologetically. It shifted how I approached everything.
When I came back, I will be honest — I was a super cocky kid. I walked around with confidence, even though deep down I had no idea what I was doing. I just acted like I did. You could say I kind of “cheated the system” a bit — bluffed my way into rooms by showing up with presence and energy.
I got lucky, and about a year later, I started working at a production company. That is when I realised that being able to talk — actually to connect with clients and make them feel understood — was just as important as having a strong showreel. I didn’t have much to show at the time, but I had presence. I could communicate.
After that, I went freelance and started calling myself markissafilms — and that name stuck with me for about five years.
At 23, I landed my first big-paying job. It felt surreal. It happened thanks to a friend who changed my life — Jad Hakim, a very talented musician. He lived in my building, and we would always hang out and listen to music at his place.
He was working at a big company and simply told them, “Trust me, he’s amazing,” without even showing them my work. That moment gave me a shot — and it changed everything. He just believed in me.
So I kept working there for another couple of years until I realised — it was time to do things my own way. That is when I decided to start my own company. And that is how mrkstudios was born.
Most people think I have a lot of people working behind the scenes. I don’t. I am just one guy who knows how to build teams. I do most things myself, but I outsource smart. I bring in people I trust.
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Photo: Nikita Kliukvin

— Every cinematographer has their own approach or style, whatever you want to call it. How would you describe yours?
— Early on, I realised the money was in events. But I didn’t want to just cover events — I wanted to make them feel like stories. Sure, as a production company, you are hired to deliver a project that meets a client’s brief. But in my mind, I was always thinking: How can I overdeliver? How can I make this cinematic?
So I started hiring cinematographers — or sometimes I would teach people how to shoot in a way that made the viewer feel like they were really there. I treated events like scenes from a film. I wanted them to feel less like events and more like lived moments. And clients picked up on that. They started hiring me not for the gear, but for the perspective.
I would describe my approach like this: make something that lives on. Something that still feels alive years later.
I am a filmmaker, sure — but at heart, I am really an editor. That is important because when I shoot, I am already thinking like an editor. Every clip I take, I am planning ahead. I try to shoot smart, so that a single 30-second moment gives me five different cuts in the edit. I have learned how to create continuity and story out of very little time.
And here, I have to thank one person — Tamer Ramadan.
When I first got into filming, after I bought my first camera, I reached out to him. He was an incredible skateboarder and filmer. I looked up to him a lot.
One day, I asked him for editing tips. I was living in Abu Dhabi at the time; he was in Dubai. This was back in the Skype days — no time limits, no restrictions. We would hop on these long calls, share screens, and he would walk me through everything: Why place this clip first? Why this cut? Why that music?
Those calls changed everything. Two, sometimes three hours at a time — just him breaking down the craft. Cutting, storytelling, pacing — even how to film skateboarding properly. Because trust me, even the best directors can’t shoot skating unless they understand its rhythm and language. Tamer taught me that language.
The way I film today, the way I edit — it all comes from those conversations. He gave me his time. He genuinely cared. Not many people do that.
Honestly, Tamer is the reason I film. He is the reason I even have a path. He is that one person who changed my entire trajectory.
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Photo: Nikita Kliukvin

— So these days, are you more of a cinematographer than a skater, right?
— I think so. To answer that question, I have one more story to tell.
Back when I was a kid, I was skating a lot, and people started to know me. I didn’t care, though — I just loved skating.
I entered an X Games contest, won the juniors division, and still have the board signed by all the pros. It meant a lot.
Later, I messaged this guy who had built the X Games skatepark here back in 2006. I barely remembered him, but I wrote, “Hey man, would you fly me out somewhere? I just want to skate around the world.”
And he said yes. Two months later, I went from skating in Abu Dhabi to skating across the U.S. and Europe — California, Germany, New York, Pennsylvania. All expenses paid. I was just a kid, repping his brand, G-Ramps.
I even got invited to skate The Berrics — a dream spot, invite-only. I skated next to legends I grew up watching on VHS. It felt unreal.
I thought I was going to go pro — be the first Arab skater out of the Middle East. But I didn’t understand the politics. It is hard when you are not American. Being Arab didn’t help in that world, even with talent.
Eventually, I saw the dream slipping. So I picked up a camera.
I started filming everyone else. People would joke, “The filmer’s better than the skaters.” I would laugh — “I’m just the filmer. I’ll make you look good.”
And that is how it all shifted. From skater to filmer. Still in the game — just in a different way.
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Photo: Nikita Kliukvin

— The last thing I would love to talk to you about, though definitely not the least, is something that feels really important: your family. You have a brother and a sister, right? Tell me about them, please!
— Yes, my brother is my best friend — and always has been. He is super smart. Like, genius-level smart. The way his brain works… yeah, he is sharp.
We used to skateboard together every single day. And he was getting really good. But eventually, he stopped, drifted toward a different life. And I kept skating. But I will always remember that time. Those early years — me and him, side by side. I have always been proud of him. Proud of what we shared.
My sister — she is honestly one of the smartest and caring people I know. She was always there during the hardest times of my life. Her energy, her presence, it is something that meant a lot to me growing up.
I feel that way about all of them — my mum, my sister, my dad, my brother. I love them more than anything in the world. If they go broke, I go broke with them. That is just how it is. I will support them forever. The same way they have always supported me.
— Aside from school being tough, have you ever gone through something really hard, like mentally or whatever, where your family really stepped in and helped you out?
— I have always been a really emotional person. I get in my feels a lot — still do, honestly. There was a really tough period in my life where the people closest to me truly showed up. I was suicidal for a long time. Like, really — a long time.
There were so many layers to it — relationships falling apart, not becoming the pro skateboarder I dreamed of being, feeling stuck in places where I wasn’t happy. I was deeply depressed for years.
I have always been very emotional. But when the anxiety became severe, the only way I thought I could get relief was through extreme thoughts. I have been in multiple situations where I truly didn't want to live anymore.
My brother saw it. My sister saw it. My parents saw it. My closest friends saw it. I lost 20 kilos. I was barely eating. I was angry, disconnected, and hollow. It was one of the darkest periods of my life.
I was crying every day. Even in Toronto, while I was studying, things got worse. I felt like I was losing my grip on reality — like I was becoming schizophrenic.
At one point, I didn’t believe anything I was doing was real. I have videos of that time. I had to film myself constantly just so I could rewatch the day and convince myself that it actually happened. When I look back, I can’t believe how far I have come. I was truly broken.
I started doubting my identity. I would look at my ID and still not be sure who I was. I would send voice notes to my mom: “Mama, is my name Mark? Am I Mark?”
And she was in the UAE, listening to her son slowly lose his mind thousands of miles away. I can’t even imagine what that was like for her.
I completely lost myself.
One day, I said to myself, "I can't keep living like this. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t change something."
So I started shifting my mindset completely. I got closer to God. I began praying to Jesus. I started to understand that there is a bigger picture — that the pain had a purpose. That everything I was going through was part of a process. That there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Only a few people truly know how dark it got. And I am so grateful for those who stayed. People who still supported me, no matter how angry, broken, or lost I was. They understood.
And one of the biggest reasons I got through those darkest thoughts was my mom. I couldn’t imagine hurting her — I know it would have destroyed her. So I held on. For her. For all my family.
— Wow, family really gives strength, doesn’t it? Sometimes we don’t even realise just how much power that brings. It is like a pillar — always there to hold us up when we are falling, and not letting us fall too far.
— That is true. My mom was incredibly supportive every step of the way. She let me travel the world at a really young age — even without knowing or meeting the guy I was going with. She trusted me. She believed in me.
My dad, on the other hand, was probably more hesitant. He loves me deeply — he is just a very emotional person, and he cares a lot. He was never really a fan of skateboarding. I think it made him nervous. He didn’t even like to watch me skate because he was scared I would get hurt.
But even with all that, he was still proud. Every time I showed up in a newspaper or somewhere in public, it made him so happy. And whenever he would see a skateboarder on the street, he would go, “You know who my son is? Mark Issa!”
And they would end up taking a photo with him and getting all excited. It is hilarious — and honestly, really sweet.