Meet Neda Salmanpour — Iranian Artist That Embodied the Spirit Of Sand

by Alexandra Mansilla

Meet Neda Salmanpour — Iranian Artist That Embodied the Spirit Of Sand

24 Jun 2025

Photo: Inloco Gallery

From the shifting sands of the Mleiha desert to the sleek galleries of contemporary design, Neda Salmanpour is carving her own path — one that blurs the lines between architecture, sculpture, and storytelling. Born in Iran in 1993 and now based in the UAE, Salmanpour is an award-winning architect and product designer whose work moves fluidly across scales and disciplines. Whether she is building furniture, crafting large-scale public installations, or lecturing on design, her approach is rooted in curiosity, geometry, and cultural nuance.

In 2023, she unveiled "Sandscapes", a striking series of sculptural works created from desert sand and engineered for both poetic expression and structural endurance. Commissioned as part of the Useless Palace art intervention organised by Inloco Gallery, the pieces were installed in an abandoned village in the UAE’s Mleiha region. With their humanoid proportions and fluid silhouettes, the sculptures reflect her fascination with the fragility and permanence of natural landscapes, offering a meditation on material, memory, and meaning.

— You grew up in Iran and moved to the UAE. Did that shape your work?

— Absolutely. I grew up in Iran and moved to the UAE during my teenage years, which was a really formative time. The UAE is incredibly multicultural, and that diversity broadened my understanding of people and places in ways I hadn’t expected. You are exposed to so many worldviews at once here. That, combined with my Iranian heritage and memories of growing up around raw nature, shaped how I observe and create. It made me aware of nuance, of how culture, memory, and emotion translate into form.

— What influenced you most as a creator?

— My curiosity, without a doubt. I was always that child collecting stones and leaves, making tiny structures out of mud in the garden. It wasn't about making anything 'useful' or 'artistic,' but just exploring textures and forms. I think that early playfulness has stayed with me. Nature was my first teacher. I learnt about contrast, variation, and surprise just by watching how the seasons changed the same landscape. That kind of early, tactile experience helped me push creative boundaries later on.

Photo: Inloco Gallery

— How do you view the evolution of the public arts initiative?

— It is fun. And more than that, it is a great equaliser. These open calls being accessible to everyone means anyone with a strong enough concept can participate. That is powerful. Over time, you can see that the works being produced are becoming more thoughtful, more contextual. There is a visible evolution in the level of engagement, from both artists and audiences.

— Which role do you think public art plays?

— My intention is to create that "aha" moment — an encounter that disrupts someone’s routine just enough to spark curiosity. The artwork should give people a reason to pause. That sense of engagement is so important, and it isn't something you can demand from a viewer — you have to design for it. If it adds emotional or visual value to a place, then I think it is doing its job.

— Would you call architecture a form of public art? Or is it different?

— You could say so. The boundary between art and design is blurry. Personally, I don’t start a design by thinking about beauty — I focus on performance and purpose. But if the final result isn’t beautiful, something's gone wrong. Buckminster Fuller said something along those lines. For me, beauty emerges from solving problems well. Architecture, like public art, has the ability to move people. It creates atmosphere, emotion, even memory.

Photo: Inloco Gallery

— How do you tailor public art installations to the location? Do you study space beforehand?

— Absolutely. Context is everything in my process. I treat each site as a collaborator. Even when I am not translating literal forms, the history, the materiality, or even the soundscape of a place can influence the direction I take. I always create a brief for myself, like a story or formula, that guides the work. It helps the piece feel grounded, even if it is abstract.

— What was the initial idea behind the Sandscapes?

— Working with Inloco was a dream because there were no limitations. This was my first visual art piece, and it came from a deep fascination with the desert as a living, shifting force. The site was an abandoned farm in Mleiha, and I kept imagining the sand as a slow, patient sculptor. What would the desert create if it had its own artistic agency? That was the starting point. I tried to reflect that idea through curvatures and textures that feel rooted in the landscape but reinterpreted into something futuristic.

— How technically challenging was it to bring that vision to life?

— Very! I spent a lot of time photographing the desert in different light and weather conditions, studying how sand behaves. Then I used those observations to create 3D models. The hardest part was fabrication. I didn’t want the sculpture to be so heavy that it became unmovable, but I also didn’t want to compromise the material integrity. So it is hollow inside to reduce weight, and the shell is made from sand I collected, filtered, and treated myself. It was important to return the sculpture to the same desert site for photography — a full-circle moment.

Sandscapes. Instagram: @nedasa

— What sort of sentiment does working with sand hold for you?

— Sand is such an overlooked material. It is poetic in how it resists permanence. Working with it reminds me that fragility and strength can exist simultaneously. As a creative, I find joy in transforming familiar materials in unfamiliar ways. We aren’t truly original — we remix what we know — but the remixing itself can be powerful. I wanted people to look at sand differently, to see elegance and intention in something usually seen as formless.

— Was Sandscapes also meant to explore fragility? Sand is strong yet fragile.

— Yes, definitely. That duality is central to the piece. People often associate sand with softness and impermanence, but it is also the raw ingredient of glass and concrete. It holds so many contradictions. The sculptures are tall and humanoid in scale — they feel present and sturdy, but there is a delicacy to their surface and a vulnerability in their posture. That tension is what I hoped would resonate.

— To me, the sculptures feel futuristic, even brutalist. Do you like brutalism?

— I love brutalism. It is often misunderstood as cold, but I see it as honest. The textures, the mass, the presence — it is architectural storytelling in raw form. Funny enough, the opportunity to work with Inloco Gallery came from a conversation about brutalism. I was gushing about Soviet-era buildings to someone at an event, and she later connected me to the gallery. That is how my first visual art commission happened.

— Do you consider sustainability important in your work?

— Absolutely. But I approach it differently. For me, sustainability isn't only about using recycled materials. It is about creating something that lasts, emotionally and physically. A well-made object that gets passed down through generations is more sustainable than a trendy eco-product that ends up in a landfill. I think good design is inherently sustainable because it respects resources and endures.

Photo: Inloco Gallery

— Do you hope Sandscapes lasts for years?

— I do. I am always learning and trying to improve the technical quality of my pieces. Each project is a stepping stone. But more than physical durability, I hope it stays with people emotionally. If it leaves a memory, then it is lasting in a meaningful way.

— What do you hope people feel when they see your work?

— I hope they find meaning. That could come from the story behind it, the craftsmanship, the materials — anything that resonates. I design with layers, so there is room for different kinds of connections. Ideally, the work sparks curiosity or quiet reflection. Something that lingers.

— You mentioned we are all part of the zeitgeist. How does that impact your approach?

— I think it is important to recognise that even as individuals, we are part of the cultural wave. We help shape it. Each of us is like a grain of sand contributing to the larger landscape. That perspective makes me feel responsible, like I have something to add, even if it is small. I want to be intentional with what I contribute.

— You talk about art like it is a formula. Does your technical background help?

— Yes, definitely. My background in architectural engineering shaped how I think. To me, everything is about assembling known elements in new ways — just like in chemistry. The novelty isn’t always in the ingredients, but in the structure and sequence. Even emotions can be engineered into a form if you understand the language of space and material.

— So the final hope is to create that butterfly moment?

— Always. I begin by making something that moves me — that is the first spark. If it makes me feel something, there is a good chance it will resonate with someone else. That moment of recognition, of connection — that is what I strive for.

by Alexandra Mansilla