Through a Bahraini Lens: The World According To Ali Al Shehabi

by Barbara Yakimchuk

Through a Bahraini Lens: The World According To Ali Al Shehabi

26 Jul 2025

Ever had that moment? You scroll through a series of photos — they look bold, cool, unique. But then you wonder… What is actually behind them? What is the story? Sometimes, you never really know.

That is never the case with the work of Bahraini photographer Ali Al Shehabi. His images are rich with meaning — instantly recognisable and deeply personal. "As I Lay Between Two Seas", a project dedicated to his homeland (where he hadn’t actually lived until 2020), wasn’t just tender and local — it was also a form of therapy. A turning point in his career — though not the beginning. And definitely not the end.

So, what came before — and what followed? What drives him? And which project does he consider a lifelong one? It is all here, in this honest conversation.

— Ali, tell me — how did it all start? Did you always know you wanted to pursue photography?

— Not at all, actually. For a long time, I had no idea what I wanted to do.

Photography was always kind of in the background — my mum was a photographer when I was growing up. She worked for the airlines, so we travelled a lot, and she always had a camera with her, documenting everything. We still have all these photo albums scattered around the house. I think that is what planted the seed.

But it wasn’t until the summer of 2015 or 2016 that I started exploring it myself. I was a bit lost at the time. I had graduated high school in 2012, and spent the next few years just trying to figure things out. I started a business management degree — dropped out. Then tried petroleum engineering, mostly because my mum pushed me towards it — dropped out of that too.

Eventually, I started playing around with the old analog cameras we had at home. My mum had stopped using them once digital took over, so they were just sitting there. I began taking photos with friends around Dubai. It wasn’t anything serious — just experimenting, mostly on film. But slowly, I fell in love with the process.

That was the real turning point. I had never taken photography seriously before, but I started reading photography magazines, collecting photobooks, and learning how other photographers told stories — whether through everyday moments or bigger, conceptual projects.

That is when I knew I wanted to pursue it properly. Sure, you can teach yourself a lot, but I wanted to be in an environment that would really push me. So I ended up moving to Tokyo to study. I did a media diploma that covered photography, some videography, and a bit of everything — though I never really pursued the graphic design side of it.

"Middle East To The WWW."

— Would you say the core of your work is centered around the Middle East?

— I wouldn’t say so. It kind of started with Middle East and Tokyo projects, but over time, I began shifting focus — doing more personal work, more fashion, and projects that felt closer to home. One of them is with my mother, actually.

I think people often associate my work with the Middle East because of "As I Lay Between Two Seas", which was dedicated to Bahrain. That is probably my biggest project so far. It started when I moved to Bahrain for the first time in 2020. I was born there, but I had lived in Dubai my whole life. When my mum retired from her job in the airline industry, we both moved back.

Growing up, we had visit Bahrain for the holidays, but living there as an adult was a completely different experience. I didn’t really feel like I belonged. It made me realise I had never truly felt homesick before — because I didn’t have a clear sense of where “home” even was. That is what the project became about: that strange in-between feeling, where you are both connected to a place and distant from it at the same time.

Part of it also came from how I used to think about Bahrain. For a long time, I associated it with heavy things — like my dad passing away, or the Arab Spring in 2011, when many people, including family members, were exiled or imprisoned. So I didn’t have the best mental image of it.

But when I moved back, things began to shift. Bahrain is an island — life moves slower there, and that gave me space to take things in and really process everything. "As I Lay Between Two Seas" became about peeling back those layers, figuring out where I fit in, and looking at what family means, what masculinity means, what it feels like to be vulnerable in a place that is supposed to feel like home.

— You mentioned earlier that Bahrain used to feel tied to grief or loss. Do you still feel that now?

— No, not anymore. I think I have moved past that stage. There is a quote I like — “The fate of destruction is also the joy of rebirth.” That is kind of how it feels now. It took time, but there is a sense of calm in it. Like I have finally let go of a lot of things I was holding onto. And that is a good feeling.

"As I Lay Between Two Seas"

— "As I Lay Between Two Seas" is your project dedicated to Bahrain. How did it all come together?

— I received a grant for it through the Magnum Foundation — they run the Arab Documentary Photography Program (ADPP). It is a big deal in the photography world. Every year, over 600 photographers from across the Arab region and North Africa apply, and they only select several. I was lucky enough to be one of them.

That grant gave me the space to fully dive into the project. I got to work closely with professional photographers who mentored me — not just in terms of technique, but conceptually too. They taught me how to build a visual narrative, how to sequence images so they really tell a story.

And through that process, I realised something important: I don’t want to be boxed in. I didn’t want to be seen as just “the Arab culture photographer.” I can do more — I want to explore personal stories, experimental work, fashion, documentary. That project was a real turning point.

— How do you come up with the stories behind your photos? What is your process before a shoot?

— If I am working on a single image, a lot of the inspiration comes from flipping through photo books or reading articles online. I will look at other photographers’ work and ask myself, "How would I approach this in my own way?"

Sometimes, it is about recreating a memory. There is one image I took outside my grandmother’s house — it is over 100 years old now and falling apart. But I remembered a photo from my childhood taken in that exact same spot, from the same angle. I recreated it to show the contrast over time, but also the connection — that sense of continuity.

I also spend a lot of time going through old family albums. We have loads of them. Sometimes I will come across a photo and think, "I want to reimagine this." It is often tied to a core memory. Like one image I shot of a little boy hugging his mum while she waters the plants — I used my cousin for it. He is the same age I was when I used to cling to my mother while she worked in the garden. It is very personal. My way of holding on to those quiet, emotional moments.

— For many people, especially non-Arabs, Arab culture is often seen as very conservative. How do you approach that when working with people?

— I am not trying to challenge the idea that Arab culture is conservative — because honestly, I do think it is, to a large extent.

I am lucky that my own family isn’t very strict, so I have had the freedom to explore and shoot the way I want. But I am not out here trying to provoke. I don’t stage anything that feels like it crosses a line — like a man in national dress drinking alcohol or something like that. That is just not my style.

I am not trying to stir controversy; I am trying to reflect reality. And that reality includes beauty, intimacy, and complexity — all within the boundaries of our culture.

Some of the photos that might raise eyebrows weren’t even meant to be provocative. They were just me, recreating a memory. Like the image of men lying on a sofa after a long day — that is something I saw all the time growing up. It reminded me of my dad.

I used to come home from school around 4 or 5 pm — I would stay late for clubs — and he had already be back from work, napping on the couch. Always in the underclothes you wear under the kandura. Snoring, scratching himself, completely relaxed. That was exactly what our house in Dubai looked like.

It is actually a funny memory for me — not a sad one. People often assume it is melancholic because it involves my late father, but it is not. I wanted to bring a bit of humour into it. That is how I remember him: human, familiar, real.

"As I Lay Between Two Seas"

— Family seems to play a big role in your work. Your recent series "Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow" is dedicated to your mother. Can you describe her? Who is she, in your eyes?

— My mum is the eldest of nine siblings. She is the daughter of a fisherman — so she is strong, probably even tough. But also one of the most positive, forward-moving people I have ever known.

She has survived cancer twice — once in 1998, and again in 2018. She always says, "You never know when it is your last day." And she lives like she means it. She genuinely tries to live every day to the fullest.

That shaped us. My dad passed away when I was around 14 or 15. We were just kids. And she stepped into both roles — mum and dad — without ever making us feel like anything was missing.

Back then, I was in high school, going through that rebellious, selfish phase. I didn’t really grasp what she was carrying. But now, looking back, I see it so clearly — the strength it took, the way she held everything together. It made me and my brother grow up fast — probably before we were ready. You know how they say boys mature at 30? We didn’t have that luxury. She made sure we understood life early.

— Wonderful. Tell me more about this project.

— "Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow" is my most recent project — and I already know it is going to be a lifelong one. I don’t think it will ever really be finished. It will probably end the day my mum passes away.

The idea started with our family photo albums. We have a closet full of them. Each one is labelled — my brother and I each have our own albums, our childhoods are fully documented. But my mum? She has barely in any of them. She was always the one behind the camera.

One day I realised: we never really captured her. Her quiet moments, her years passing, the way she just is. She has spent her whole life recording our memories — and no one was doing the same for her. I felt like that had to change.

So I started taking photos of her. Nothing staged. Just her being herself — sitting in the garden, drinking tea, feeding the cats. She had cancer, so she wears wigs now and doesn’t show her bald head. But I photograph that too. All of it. It is all part of who she is.

"Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow"

— I understand why you launched the project — but how did it actually begin? Was it something you planned, or did it unfold more naturally?

— It actually started pretty randomly — on a hot summer’s day last year.

I had just wrapped up "As I Lay Between Two Seas" and completed all the work tied to the grant. Suddenly, I found myself without a project. And I realised I didn’t want to go back to taking one-off photos just for the sake of it. I knew I loved long-term, deeply personal projects — something with real weight and time behind it.

So I started asking myself: what is next? What story could I spend months — maybe even years — exploring?

A few weeks later, I was cleaning my room and came across our old family photo albums. There were loads of photos of me and my brother. Plenty of my dad too — because my mum was always the one behind the camera. But hardly any of her.

That is when it clicked. There was someone missing from the frame. A whole presence that had quietly shaped everything — yet she was barely visible in the archive of our lives. And I thought: maybe this is the story. But it couldn’t just be “nice photos of Mum.” I didn’t want to romanticise it. I wanted something honest — maybe even messy. I wanted it to feel real.

At first, I thought I would just take simple portraits. But then I stopped myself — that wasn’t enough. I wanted the project to be spontaneous, a bit chaotic, emotional — just like life really is. So I started photographing her as she is, wherever she is. At home, in the garden, surrounded by stray cats, drinking tea, through reflections, or little objects that feel like her.

Eventually, the title came to me. I don’t remember exactly how — it came from something I used to say to her as a kid. In Arabic, it was “don’t go without me.” But when I translated it into English, "Don’t Go Without Me" didn’t feel right — too flat. So I reworded it: "Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow". It sounded softer. A little mysterious. People don’t immediately know who it is about — but once they see the work, they feel it.

— It sounds incredibly personal. Have there been moments when your own photography made you cry?

— Yeah, 100%. Writing the project description for "Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow" got me emotional — I actually teared up while typing.

Because I was thinking back over the past 30 years of my life, and everything I have shared with my mum. You realise how fast time moves… but also how slow certain moments feel in your memory.

I decided to shoot the whole thing in black and white. It just felt right. There is something raw about it — it strips everything down. You don’t know what year the photos are from, you just feel them. I wanted them to carry emotion more than information. Less about the “where” or “when,” and more about the feeling you get when you look at them.

"Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow"

— Let’s move to something a little different. Can you tell me about the "Photos a la chair" series you were part of?

— Yes, definitely. It is a really unique project — and very local.

"Photos a la chair" is a community-based series led by my mentor, photographer Camile Zakharia, and an architect named Al Karimi. It usually runs between October and April, when the weather in Bahrain is cooler. Each edition is a collaboration with a different artist. Camile and Al Karimi stay on as the leads, but every artist brings their own vision — so no two editions are ever the same. You will see each set marked with its edition number and the featured artist’s name — like “Photos on the Chair 29.”

— And which edition were you part of?

— I was the featured artist for Edition 19 — I think that was in 2023. I had actually been attending since Edition 11 back in 2019, so when Camile and Al Karimi asked me to lead one myself, it really felt like a full-circle moment.

Every photographer brings their own story — and mine started by the sea. As mentioned before, my brother and I grew up as “airline kids” — our mum worked for Gulf Air, so we would fly for free. One of the things that stuck with us was seafood. It sounds funny, but it was a big part of our family life. Bahrain is known for its seafood — the fish, the shrimp — and even when we were living in Dubai, my mum would fly us back just to visit the fish market. We woul land in the morning, shop for seafood, and fly back in the evening. That is how deep the connection ran.

— And what about that dome-like metal structure in the photos — what is it?

— Ah yes — that is a gargur. It is a traditional fish trap, made from light metal wire. You bait it, drop it in the water, and fish swim in — it is very common here.

But I didn’t want to use it in its standard form. I wanted it to feel more sculptural — more like an object of memory than just a fishing tool. So I took this huge piece of wood and hammered the gargur until it bent into an abstract shape. It became this curved, elegant frame.

I liked the idea of reshaping something functional into something poetic — a metaphor for reshaping memory itself.

Once the setup was done — the gargurs in place, fishing boats in the background — we put out the open call. That is how "Photos a la chair" always works: you design your set, and then it is open to everyone. Free, no booking needed. Just show up.

And people did — hundreds, actually. Some came in groups, some alone, some just passing by and curious. It started in the afternoon and went on into the night. Usually, these sessions last about three hours, but ours kept going. It was beautiful — loose, joyful, spontaneous.

"Photos a la chair"

— Out of all the shoots you have done, which one means the most to you?

— I would say "As I Lay Between Two Seas" is still the most personal.

It wasn’t just about documenting culture or subcultures — it was about my family. About me, really. It helped me understand where I come from, what shaped me, and what “home” actually means.

— What would your dream shoot be?

— I would love to shoot Abdullah Bilkhair. He is a legendary Emirati singer, but more than that — he is bold, flamboyant, and full of amazing energy. He wears the most outrageous kanduras — every colour and texture you can imagine. I just feel like it would be such a fun, joyful shoot.

— There is a saying that photographers don’t like being photographed. Is that true for you?

— You know what — it kind of is. I don’t have many photos of myself. But it is not because I am shy. I am not shy at all.

For me, it is more about who is behind the camera. If I trust the person and really like their work, I would be happy to let them photograph me. So it is not a hard no — it just has to feel genuine.

by Barbara Yakimchuk