Alymamah Rashed: 'A Body Is the Holder Of One’s Stories'

by Alexandra Mansilla

Alymamah Rashed: 'A Body Is the Holder Of One’s Stories'

21 May 2024

Alymamah Rashed is a Kuwaiti visual artist who focuses on exploring the body. She dedicates her artworks to this theme, always showcasing incredible lines, shapes, and colours. You can always find eyes in her work — sometimes just one, sometimes a bit more, and sometimes a lot. To understand the meaning of her art and learn more about the challenges she has faced, we asked her some questions.

— How did your exploration of the body start? What initially sparked your interest in it?

— I have always found myself compelled by the body because it is the holder of one’s stories. It holds my love, hurt, yearnings, and soul. The body swims within itself to generate itself into a renewed state of existence. The body I paint and reference is always a body that is rooted in the intangible: my emotions, my memories, and my all. What you see on canvas and paper is the intangible presenting itself as something we can identify with rather than call it tangible. The translations that can be birthed are endless. I do not see an ending to it, and I feel like this lifetime is never enough for me to paint every iteration. That makes my relationship towards the body eternal for me, and that is what I hope to gift the viewer; an entryway into their own body as an observer, a healer, and a lover.

— It seems to me that eyes are often the brightest part of your artworks, the part that catches attention immediately. Am I right? Is there any significance behind it?

— The eye is the guard that decides to let you into the story of the body if you allow it. It is the entryway to the self and all that it holds and continues to hold. It does not carry. It is the first embrace initiated between myself and the painting. I believe it holds the roh and it resides in the eye and flows through and into the body. The eye is the beholder of the roh, and through your gaze and mine we are able to enter into the story through it.

Instagram: @aacanvas

— Here is the artwork with a chain of 14 eyes. Why so many?

— This painting is a signifier of time when I moved from grief into a new bloom. Due to a loss I experienced last year, I sat in my grief for 14 days after it happened. I have held my sadness, which is the crows and have released them in order to arrive into a state of stillness and a glimmer of renewed hope towards myself. The chain is a connection point between two states, and it is not compartmentalised or broken because, during the spectrum of healing, I never lost myself. I have always been rooted within myself, and for that, I felt proud of myself, and that was a moment of acknowledgement. It is very rare for me to declare that on canvas; a moment of pride. The chain is a declaration of love towards all states of myself and this experience which I have translated as a loss at the time but have learned to see it as an abundant love. I learned what an abundant love can be and look like through this painting; a love that accepts.

Instagram: @aacanvas

— You and your father used to illustrate and create stories and zines together. Do you remember those zines? What colours were they predominantly? What kind of images did they feature?

— They were absolutely humorous, witty, and lighthearted. We would draw and narrate stories about a rebellious little girl who would steal candy from the grocery store or spill the stew her mother cooked on her head. We actually drew the stew story together, and my aunt loved it so much that she had to have the original copy. They were simple coloured pencil drawings, and the little girl had pigtails or braids, I can’t remember which exactly. We drew the girl mostly in her house. My dad would come up with the funniest stories that he would improvise every single day before I would nap or go to bed. He also took me to a bookstore near my school on Thursdays to buy stories such as Juha, which were centred around humour, storytelling, and folklore. To this day, my dad calls me to improvise a silly story, and that has always influenced me to say my own. His improvisation split into my method of storytelling. The story spills out of me. It is never planned. It might have been contained within me for a long period of time, but I never sketched my work. I like to surprise myself because I trust that my history is all within me. One gesture took me all my life to birth, and faith lies there.

— You and your mom used to paint together, often portraying a woman sitting on a park bench surrounded by tulips, gazing at the sun. Does this image hold any special meaning for you?

— My mom is a romantic and a quiet one. Her flowers, the park bench, and the woman are quiet and delicate. These images are so rooted within me that I find myself belonging to them like my own skin. That is how I love and want to be loved always, just like my mom. It is a clear expression yet somewhat shy, just like a pink tulip. Romance is always present in my work. I paint myself but I am also speaking about someone else at the same time. It can be a specific person, someone I hope to meet, or someone I will never meet.

— What do your parents do?

— My parents are dreamers, hard workers, and the very reason why I am who I am today. They love each other deeply and have worked so hard to raise me and my siblings into our element.

My dad is a writer, and researcher, and has worked in human rights associations. He also delved into the art and creative industry in Kuwait as a consultant at the National Council for Culture, Arts, and Letters in Kuwait. He has the biggest heart and has not only supported me in every way but has also done so for many artists, writers, musicians, and creatives. His empathy inspires me and reminds me what is the purpose of creating: to give to others. My dad was also a refugee during the Iraq invasion and was held captive for months. This experience has also shaped him into a man with patience, perseverance, and integrity. He is the greatest storyteller I will ever know, and I am forever grateful for that.

My mom is a student of life. Her determination inspires me because she is able to lift and build a whole world beyond ours. She taught me what it means to pave my path, to caress my element, to sharpen my strengths, to work on my weaknesses, to hold empathy while being strong, and to shine in my truth. My mom studied economics and worked in the Public Authority for Civil Information in Kuwait. She was diligent and has worked as a manager there for years. She learned IT, programming, and management there from the ground up. My mom also designed traditional Kaftans for years and still does so. She is my greatest second eye. She is my greatest art critic. She has an eye like no other.

Instagram: @aacanvas

— Artists tend to go through various stages in their creative process. Do you have distinct stages? How would you describe them?

— I go through different stages within each work I create since each work is instinctive and led by sensation. However, it starts with an image that is derived from a sensation along with things I have witnessed within my everyday life that I find myself connecting subconsciously to the image. I paint the image immediately in my head, and then I allow myself to elevate the story of the image by letting the first layer rest in my head for a day or sometimes a few hours. I then focus fully on each component of the painting, from the figure, to the symbols and to the space. I immerse myself so deeply, and I sometimes transform into what I am painting and live it. Time stops for me and I feel like I can hold my sensation beyond time. I somehow end up seeing what I am painting during my everyday life while I am working on a particular piece. I like to indulge in this immersion, and I live through it till the very last gesture I make on the canvas. I then take one step back and let the work speak for itself when it is complete. In other words, the piece becomes independent, but I am still holding its hand.

— Growing up, you faced difficulties in school due to bullying. Could you share your experience? How were you bullied, and for what reasons? When did it finally stop? Art became your sweet escape from a difficult reality. What did you paint at that time?

— I have always been the quiet kid in school and have worked on making art during all the art classes I took at the school as well during breaks. I was made fun of for my voice, my curly hair, and simply not fitting in. I have always remained vocally quiet about it, yet within, I knew this was a temporary situation because I would get to choose my environment, my people, and how I would like to express myself. I felt the fire within me, but it was tamed at the time because I was intimidated and fearful of the other kids in school. I am still extremely grateful to have received a fruitful education experience and to have met certain teachers and students who have welcomed me with open arms and have supported my passion. I used to paint figures as well, but they were more futuristic and somewhat cyborgian. I painted everything with the tiniest brush back then, unlike now. The small brush to me was a symbol of my tamed self back then. The cyborgian figures were perhaps evoking a yearning to escape and align myself with who I felt like I was on the inside.

The table turned for me completely once I graduated from high school and applied to art schools in the US. I settled on the School of Visual Arts and I blindly threw myself to New York even though I was absolutely terrified. A voice in me told me to do so, and I knew I had to. My tiny brush was replaced with a giant house paint brush, my canvas paper was turned into a 2-meter canvas, and my soul was singing. I found myself challenged and pivoting daily in every passing second, and even though it was foreign to me, it felt absolutely right, and I nourished it while caressing where I come from. That is how I like to live to this day; savouring my roots and welcoming new experiences. This intent took me to work in galleries, and museums, and to pursue my MFA at Parsons, and before I knew it, I spent seven years in New York.

— Is there any story behind creating these artworks (this and this)?

— These two works are very dear to me because they were my very first monotype paintings and prints. During my second year in grad school, I took a monotype print class with Tom Butter, an incredible artist who worked with printmaking and sculpture. Tom introduced me to monotype printmaking, and it has drastically elevated my painting practice. I treated every print with a space of surprise. I would paint these narratives revolving around a yearning for a lover, a shedding of my past self, and Mohamed Abdulwahab lyrics. I want to paint the screens for two hours and be surprised by the result. That gifted me so much freedom and joy, and have treated the paintings I create to this day with the spirit of the monotypes. I am extremely excited to create a series of monotype paintings in my studio soon since I finally invested in a monotype press.

Instagram: @aacanvas

— This piece, "My Reds Will Grow A Strawberry Field," is amazing. Is it something new you have created? Could you share the story behind the process of creating this artwork?

— This piece emerged out of purging past grief and birthing hope and sweetness. It is about surpassing chaos and it is an ode to myself and in reference to the Palestinian strawberry field. It is an act of solidarity that cherishes the sweetness of the land and the sweetness of its soul. This piece is a four-panel watercolour with dry pastel details. It stages the strawberry growing out of the figures, exploding, and being tied to the homebody. Each body circulates through the other to create a fluctuant process of transformation, lushness, and a sense of ownership of one’s self. This piece held my body physically since I was on top of it when creating it and it requires my whole body to be present. The process itself is the rooting and the happening. Glimpses of it can be seen in the video shared on Tabari Artspace, along with an interview that dives into the intricacies of this piece. This piece sends a message that through your chaos, hurt, and grief, which I see as Red, can grow something beyond itself; a bitterness that birthed sweetness.

"My Reds Will Grow A Strawberry Field" by Alymamah Rashed

— Your studio seems like it is uniquely your own. How would you describe the feelings you experience when you spend time there?

— I am very grateful to have my studio, and it is my main studio for now. I would like to have a secondary studio in the Turkish farmlands in the future. The space dictates the work I would produce and holds the very essence of my practice. My walls are my sketchbook, the beholder of my poetry, and the holders of time. I know where each spill on my floor comes from, and it holds the pieces that left my studio. My studio has a low ceiling, and now I have built a new extension that has a larger one. However, I was able to create 6-meter paintings in my space. I am used to working with restrictions due to working in tiny spaces in New York for seven years. From tiny studio spaces in school to my little apartment, my dorm room, and an under-construction rooftop of an apartment complex. I see these spatial restrictions as expanders because it is almost your space, proving to you how much it can hold. The studio is where I and the visitor will depart from Earth for a while; a beholder of spillages.

— What is the story behind the pattern on the ceiling?

— This mandala was painted by my father’s friend, who is a muralist. My studio space is in my family’s home. The space used to hold all of the machines, heaters, and pipes of our home. My parents renovated it a bit and turned it into storage. Years later, it was turned into a Moroccan Diwaniya, and the mandala was painted then. When I returned from New York I painted in this space, and the patterns of the diwaniya are present in my paintings from 2019. During COVID, I painted the walls white and left the mandala only, the stained glass windows, and the patterns on the built-in bookshelf. The mandala is like an entryway into a state of seclusion. It centres me within the space and holds every event. It is the eye of the studio.

Instagram: @aacanvas

— Could you please share what you are creating now?

— I am currently working on 4-meter panels of leafless trees from Al Ahmadi, painting the fleeting spring of Kuwait from memory on 3-meter canvases, and will shortly be working with my monotype press. I am also working on a few secret projects that will be announced by September and early 2025. I plan to do a few shows and launch a poetry book in 2025. I take each day as it comes, and I take pleasure in receiving unplanned opportunities.

— You also do small sculptures. When did you start to do it?

— I started making sculptures in 2020. They add a sense of movement to my figures, and they are made with my fingertips. Sometimes, they accompany the paintings, and sometimes, they sit quietly in my studio as holders of a story or a particular painting.

— All the sculptures I have seen have these names: “I Will Unveil My Radiance To Enter Your Soul (Take My Arms)”; “I Will Hold You Forever (Infinite Caresses)”; “I Choose To Carry You Above My Body (You Are My Only Home)”. Who is this “You”?

— My “You” is interchangeable and it shifts all the time. Sometimes I am speaking to my higher self, my past self, Allah, or a lover. It shifts and fluctuates to gift you the agency to assign the “you” for yourself as the viewer, the extender of the work. Your “you” and mine elongate the lifetime of the work.

by Alexandra Mansilla