An Artist Who Documents the City. Salmah Al Mansoori

by Alexandra Mansilla

An Artist Who Documents the City. Interview With Salmah Al Mansoori

10 Jul 2024

Salmah Al Mansoori was born in Ghayathi, Aldhafra, in 2001 and later moved to Abu Dhabi to study art. Initially, almost no one believed in her or understood her aspiration to be an artist, so she had to prove them wrong. And she did!

Salmah has an extraordinary level of curiosity that enables her to notice things hidden from most people's eyes. She visits abandoned places, trying to understand why they were left behind. She captures these places with her phone and then translates them onto paper. In all her works, she dives into microscopic details, exploring new artistic techniques and uncovering new worlds.

Special thanks to Mara Firetti, Céline Azem and the Firetti Contemporary team for making this interview possible.

— Salmah, you were born in Ghayathi, Aldhafra. Could you tell me more about your childhood?

— Ghayathi is a city that is three hours away from Abu Dhabi, closer to the Saudi border. I have lived here my whole life, about 18 years before I decided to pursue art professionally. Getting a degree and becoming an artist was a big step, and at the beginning, no one believed in me because I was the only one from this city to break the norms and pursue something different. I had been accepted into very prestigious universities with various majors, but I kept thinking about which major would truly invest my soul and life in. I knew I wanted to do something creative and be surrounded by creative people, and this became my sole purpose in life and my calling instead of just a side hobby.

I moved to Abu Dhabi with the support of my uncle. Initially, even he didn't understand what I was going through or aiming for. Everyone thought I was crazy. They said, "If you're going to move, move for something worth it." I told them, "I understand you don't get it, but let me do my own thing."

During my education, my background was in visual arts. Each semester, I would take three to four courses varying in mediums, from printmaking to photography, video, painting, drawing, sculpture, and mixed media. There were so many courses. I remember having to pause after my first or second year to reflect on what I had done so far. I started noticing that because of the weekly road trips between my city and Abu Dhabi, coming back to my family as the only daughter to my mother, I experienced a cultural shock. Living in a very family-oriented city and then going to a big city where I was free to pursue my career and education was a stark contrast. The road trips, my education, and being isolated during COVID made me see my hometown from an outsider's perspective.

Because of the weekly trips, I started to question things. That cultural shock of living in two different environments was eye-opening. I noticed I was documenting the city, as there were no records of its development or why people moved out of the first houses or why they were being demolished. I took walks, documenting with my phone, collecting materials and experiences.

While documenting the city, I brought many objects to my house, and my mom said, "Are you crazy? Are you collecting trash? That's so nasty."

Some of these items are still in my mom's storage room or my studio. She says I have filled her storage room with trash and garbage. But I tell her, "This is investing in the future. You don't understand now, but you will later."

Demolished (2021–2023) by Salmah Al Mansoori

— Was that project, "Demolished," at Firetti Contemporary dedicated to those places?

— Exactly. I visited one of the first housing projects in the area and saw people moving out to better houses but leaving behind a lot of cultural associations, objects, and architectural designs. It made me question why they were moving out and what happened to these families. I would come back home, print three to four images, and create a series of paintings based on those images, expressing the questions and energy I absorbed from those places.

I frequently visited my childhood house and questioned why I was always drawn back there. I moved to another house in the same city, but I kept returning. Through my senior thesis research, I built a connection with my childhood, my late grandparents, and my extended family, who had all moved away. This process allowed me to document my life and understand who I was and the people I grew up with.

I discovered my grandparents' collections, which I never knew about. My grandfather, a Bedouin who moved between Saudi Arabia and the UAE, had metal boxes filled with tools and mementoes. My grandmother collected handbags, wallets, medical cards, ID cards, and family photos. Going through their collections helped me know them on a personal level, beyond the memories of visiting my grandmother in the hospital.

— You mentioned your mom. What does she do?

— My mom used to work at a school, but now she's retired to take care of her mother. She also suffers from polio, which surprises people because they think it doesn't happen anymore. My mom contracted polio when she was three years old after having a severe fever. She received the vaccine too late, which affected her leg.

My mom has always been a role model for me. She was incredibly independent and determined. In our small area, education wasn't a big priority, especially for women, but she fought for it. There's a story I grew up hearing: when she graduated high school, she went to Sheikh Zayed to advocate for higher education in the western region. At that time, many people would finish high school and either stay at home, get married and have kids. But my mom wanted to continue her education. Thanks to her efforts, people in our area had more opportunities to pursue higher diplomas.

She eventually got her higher diploma and worked at a school for about 18 to 19 years. She was always there for our family, especially when I was in kindergarten.

When I decided to pursue art professionally, she was one of my first supporters. She didn't fully understand what I was doing, but she encouraged me to go ahead. When I go on my walks or explore the desert and old houses, she is often with me in the car, guiding me to the best spots and answering my questions. For instance, if I want to collect a big door from an old house, she knows exactly who to talk to and helps me get it. She is the one who knows everyone and everything around here. She is been my rock and my biggest supporter.

I was a forgotten moment (2023) by Salmah Al Mansoori

— Once, you said that art is a way for you to heal from things. I noticed one artwork titled “I Was a Forgotten Moment.” Is it about you or about something else?

— I think it is both. When I talk about my work, especially this project, I was exploring the desert and started noticing a lot of left-behind objects. These items, like a shoe, a fragment of a glass bottle, or a carpet, were essential tools for people camping or just things they discarded. I began collecting these fragments and researching them. They weren't whole objects, just pieces, which made me reflect on myself.

I felt different from the community I grew up in. I was always the girl watching YouTube videos to learn about life outside our city. My ambitions and passions were different. In my community, it was common for people to marry young, have kids soon after high school, or pursue something only available in our region. Moving to the city was a tough decision and not an easy battle. Even my extended family questioned my choice, saying things like, "Are you crazy? Your mom has a disability, and you're going to move to the city to pursue art? Are you just going to paint all day?"

In high school, I was an A student, and if I had pursued a different path, no one would have questioned it. But choosing art meant constant battles to prove people wrong and stand up for myself, even though I couldn't fight everyone. In our close-knit community, everyone knows everyone, and pursuing something different meant everyone would talk about you. I always had this vision of myself at 40, regretting not going into art.

When I talked to my family about pursuing art, I remember the struggle. Even at university, I was a workaholic, holding three to four jobs and striving for a perfect GPA to prove everyone wrong. It was a tough battle, but my passion for art and my curiosity kept me going. I was always fighting something, trying to prove myself, even to people who weren't around me anymore. There was always a fear of making the wrong decision and not succeeding.

I am blessed to have encountered so many supportive people on my journey. For example, the team at Firetti Contemporary and BAWA Gallery believed in me and pushed for my work. Being a full-time artist without support from collectors or collaborations is hard, but having supporters made a huge difference.

Reflecting on myself and my identity through these found objects has been a significant part of my process. My work allows me to explore and express who I am, and I am grateful for the journey and the people who have supported me along the way.

Who I became within these walls (2024) by Salmah Al Mansoori

— You also participated in “The Fifth Wife” Exhibition in Firetti Contemporary. Could you tell me more about these fragments?

— That was the project where I got personally connected to my family members who passed away or to those with whom we are not connected anymore.

Through that project, I decided to use tile pieces from the house. I carefully selected tiles that captured the essence of the home and employed a technique I developed myself, which I later learned is now being taught. This technique, known as photo transfer, involves using printed images with specific mediums. It is a delicate process where the pieces are submerged in water, and the paper is gently rubbed off from the back.

Throughout that process, I was being very careful to remove the layers without ruining the images. I think I did 300 to 400 pieces of tiles in about three months. I had that thing in me: I wanted these pieces to be perfect. I was the only one in the studio; no one else around. As I started to reveal the images, I recalled all of these memories and started laughing. I really enjoyed recalling these memories because it was a happy childhood that made me who I am today.

I really admire how my grandparents raised my uncles, my aunt and my mom. I admired how they put their siblings before themselves and maintained a relationship of always visiting each other. Even if they moved to other cities, they always came back to visit their families and siblings. I admired that even after their parents passed away, they would always gather around at one of the older son's houses, during Eid and Ramadan, and all that family-oriented stuff. I focused on that and documented the different memories I had around the house by collecting different patterns of tiles for that project.

So, I associate those tiles with the space and the memories that happened there. Because I believe that your childhood experiences affect your adult identity. It builds you, because the type of people you're surrounded by influences you growing up. So, that was the project. I connected these tile pieces to objects and belongings, like perfumes that still hold the scent even if it is from 10 or 15 years ago, or intimate bracelets, keys to specific doors, or wallets that were collected.

— I can see a spoon there. Whose spoon was it?

— This piece belonged to my grandfather! All these different things made me feel connected to them on a personal level and helped me understand what happened before.

At one stage of the project, I started to let go of making them perfect pieces, so you can see there are scratches on the tile pieces, which is part of the process. I was okay with not recalling the whole memory. These imperfections became part of it, and that is what I really liked about that project.

— And also, in some variants of this installation I can see the burqa. Who did it belong to?

— It belonged to my grandmother.

Who I Became Within These Walls (2024) by Salmah Al Mansoori

— By the way, you told me only about your mom and other relatives. Where is your dad?

— He isn't present in my life much because he is a Bedouin who moves around a lot. He has a farm in Saudi Arabia with camels and sheep. He loves living there. My parents are separated, but he is always around. He stays on the farm for three to four months at a time and only comes back for about a week. He doesn’t like the lifestyle of today.

— Has his way of life ever attracted you?

— Honestly, growing up, I really hated it. You know, Bedouins have very specific traditions, and I felt blessed to have moved away and received an education, which gave me a broader perspective and a different way of thinking.

As a child, I never understood our family's desert camping trips. They would camp in the desert during the winter for weeks or even a month, with caravans and tents fully equipped with kitchens, bathrooms, electricity, and AC. It was all about bringing the family together, but I found it boring. There was no internet, and we didn't do much except talk and connect with each other.

But now, as I have grown older, I see the value in those trips. What I once saw as a tedious tradition, I now appreciate as a way to connect with family. Earlier this year, in March, I even went camping with my family in Saudi Arabia. My uncle invited me on a road trip, and we spent a week isolated in the desert, and then left for the road trip bonding and exploring different Saudi cities. It was an experience I now cherish and see in a new light.

— You were on a road trip and created a series of works titled “you brought me back to life” focused on different cities in Saudi Arabia. Why did you depict them this way? What cities did you depict? And how did this road trip happen?

— At the beginning of this year, I was having a lot of mental health issues. I was feeling really down and burnt out. I do suffer from depression every once in a while, and it can get really bad sometimes. At that time, I was so burnt out and not being myself because I was overexerting myself, always trying to prove people wrong.

I remember when I graduated from university with something I loved and was passionate about, I wasn't satisfied. I wondered why I wasn't as happy as I thought I would be, even though I graduated with honours in my passion. I only took a month off before starting work immediately, never giving myself a break. I was constantly chasing this fear of not making it as an artist, battling thoughts like, "What if what I believed in is wrong?"

I was working multiple jobs, taking on freelance projects, and pursuing my art practice. There was so much pressure on me to always be perfect and on top of things. I didn't realise that I was suffering from trying to balance helping my family, pursuing my interests, and proving myself. I eventually understood that no one actually cared, and I was fighting battles that didn't exist.

In November, I resigned from all my jobs, including freelance and project-based work. I was really feeling down. Simple tasks like writing an Instagram caption became really hard. So, I stayed home for about three months, barely leaving my room. It was a really tough time mentally. My mom invited me to go to Saudi Arabia for a while, and my uncle invited me on a road trip.

During that trip, I realised how much I missed painting. Midway through, I remember ordering a watercolour set and a sketchbook from an art supply shop. My uncle, who understands my work, took me to some amazing sites in Ha'il, and I felt deeply connected to them. I documented everything with my phone, taking pictures and videos as much as I could.

Photos that Salmah made during the trip

At one point, my uncle's wife commented on my picture-taking, not understanding why I took so many. My uncle explained that I would later create amazing work from them. I always loved documenting new places, as it brings new energy. Throughout the trip, I filled my sketchbook with watercolours, capturing different scenes and moments.

Visiting art-oriented places like Al-Ula, which has residencies and cultural spaces, was rejuvenating. I took my family to these places, starting art conversations with them to educate them about my world. This trip brought new energy and life back into me. I wasn't a sketchbook person before, but I filled it with drawings and paintings during that trip.

When I returned, I looked through all the imagery I had collected. I think I have made over 4,000 images from that trip. The work I created wasn't intended for sale, but Bawa Gallery was interested in selling it. People loved it because it was different from my usual paintings. It came from a different place within me, a place that needed that trip for healing. The last time I used watercolours was back in 2019, so reintroducing them felt natural and without pressure.

You brought me back to life (2024) by Salmah Al Mansoori

— Honestly, these works look like you expressed something that was hidden.

— Yes, and I would also say, as an artist, I have my own unique vision of seeing things. I remember with my “Demolished” series, I aimed to create what I am doing today. When I first worked on that series, it was really hard to deliver what I envisioned in my head. Whenever I see something, I see it as I would paint it, which isn't necessarily in a realistic way.

So, when people ask me, "Oh my God, what is this about?" I often respond with, "Take a guess." I might see something in a particular way, but I am also really interested in what others see through my work. I am presenting an image, but my perception of it may differ from theirs.

— Among the works from that trip I notices the yellow one. What city is it?

— There was a lot of desert around me, and I was travelling between two cities. I am not sure which ones exactly. But I remember using ground-down powder of a plant called sidr and turmeric powder, which gave yellow and green hues. This combination reflected the desert landscape and the plants I saw around me.

— So, that trip healed you.

— Definitely. After that, I came back with a renewed energy and a strong desire to create. I had another exhibition that time in Abu Dhabi, and I told them to remove the pieces I made before the trip because I was producing new works. My body was filled with energy, and I couldn't stop until I completed everything I wanted to do.

By the way, during that trip, my uncle and I had a conversation about how our city, Ghayathi, appeared. He explained that back in the day, people used to move between an oasis called Liwa and the shore. This city is located between these two places in the western region, surrounded by desert. When they found a source of groundwater, they told the president at the time that they had found "Gaith," which meant grace. So, he decided to establish a city there for people to rest during their journeys between the two places. My uncle also mentioned that our house, along with three other families' houses, was one of the first built in this city.

Understanding this made me realise why our family lived in this isolated city surrounded by desert, instead of moving to a bigger city with more opportunities. Ghayathi became a place of rest and grace for the Bedouins, and it turned into a very family-oriented area.

— Do you have any pieces in your archive that you haven't revealed yet?

— The works I have created during that road trip have mostly been shared only on social media. They remain in my sketchbook as a way of expressing what I was experiencing mentally. I have a lot of earlier works from my art practice as well. I remember a series I did before the "Demolished" series that featured figures resembling myself within the pieces.

Recently, I was going through these earlier works with my uncle's wife, and she suggested I should show them. I hesitated because those images depicted a sense of loneliness, reflecting my personal battles and explorations of abandoned spaces. They showed structured places with only buildings and windows — no objects, nothing else — painted in a ghostly style with a specific texture and technique. I wasn't ready to share them with the public because they were so personal, created during a time when I felt quite lonely in my artistic journey.

There are three to four paintings from that period, and I am not sure if I have ever shared them on social media. They remain a deeply personal part of my artistic expression.

— Comparing your early works to your latest ones, what changes do you notice?

— I feel like I have changed a lot because what I am doing today is what I wanted to do years ago, even before I produced the "Demolished" series. But everything comes in time, and I have come to understand that artists develop over time — the way they see things, the way they dedicate time and energy to their work, and how they study it.

The "Demolished" series was very illustrative, focusing on doors, windows, objects, and things like that. When I first painted them, I wanted to create expressionistic abstraction, to embed hidden messages within my work rather than just showing a door, for example. Over time, as I have done residencies and programs like the canopy programme by the NYC Crit Club and "I am NOBODY" residency by BONFIRE, I have had the opportunity to connect with people online, reach different audiences, and receive critiques and feedback. This has allowed me to develop while still exploring my hometown.

My process begins with taking walks, documenting, and then returning to my studio. When it comes to painting, I study the objects or pictures I have taken, drawing numerous sketches before I start painting. I don't limit myself to realism; instead, I interpret and paint them in the way I see them or study these objects, sometimes through images or by picking up the objects themselves.

Art is not just about talent; it requires daily practice, study, and dedication. Through various courses, like the one in New York, I have learned specific techniques and received detailed critiques, which helped me refine my work. The New York art scene, with its rich history in painting, was particularly influential for me.

I have also been working on introducing more colour into my work, pushing myself out of my comfort zone. My work is very intuitive; I don't control the final outcome strictly. I might start with a palette of 10 colours and end up using only two, or vice versa, adding multiple variations of the same colour. This intuitive approach allows my work to evolve organically.

The more I draw, the more I see things differently, and the more I can abstract my elements. It is a process of deconstructing and constructing my own landscapes, stories, and narratives. I enjoy it when people look at my paintings and see different things — someone praying, an animal, a plant — because it shows how diverse interpretations can be. Often, these elements are just fragments of found objects, not necessarily what the viewers perceive, but I love the variety of interpretations my work inspires.

Art became my way of processing and understanding my experiences. If I travel for a few days without my art tools, I start to miss creating because I use my body a lot in my art. Making art is no longer a choice for me; it is essential for my well-being. It is my personal message and my way of sharing my identity and story, whether directly or abstractly.

by Alexandra Mansilla

An Artist Who Documents the City. Interview With Salmah Al Mansoori

10 Jul 2024

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