It feels fair to say that discovering new art and artists has quietly become one of our shared habits. How do I know? You clicked on this — and you are still here.

So, what is on our artistic menu today? Thursday feels like the perfect moment to turn to Arabic artists working with posters — something playful, slightly light, but still capable of speaking to bigger themes.

And rather than just scrolling through something fun and beautiful, let’s go a step further — into how artists use posters to open up the social and the personal, reflecting how people live, feel, and move through the world around them.

Céline Raffy is an Egyptian–Lebanese multidisciplinary designer and illustrator, with posters forming a strong part of her practice. Her work grows out of everyday life — small, personal moments that quietly make their way onto paper. It feels almost like a visual diary, built from fragments of her own experiences — whether it is cutting her hair or wandering through a fish market on a Saturday morning.

But it doesn’t stop at the surface. There is a more introspective layer running through her work, where the posters begin to feel almost therapeutic — a way of working through emotion. Take the figure with the broken mirror: it touches on something quietly difficult, but familiar — losing yourself in love. The reflection is distorted, unstable — less about how others see you, more about how you begin to see yourself.

Andrew Fathalla is an Egyptian art director and graphic designer based in Cairo, whose poster work sits somewhere between commercial design and cultural visual language. His approach is minimal and precise — carefully structured and intentionally restrained. But what matters most is that it is easy to read.

His work often leans into his surroundings. You will spot Cairo landmarks, city details, familiar symbols — subtle hints that place it firmly in Egypt. But it doesn’t just stay there.

His posters still open onto broader themes. Some touch on political awareness, like Eyes on Palestine, while others move into social commentary — such as the vending machine of emojis, quietly pointing to how communication has shifted online, where even emotions feel selected rather than expressed.

Shamma Buhazza is an Emirati graphic designer, and posters are just one part of her wider practice. For her, they act as a creative tool — a way of speaking about what feels important, both personally and culturally.

Some pieces are more intimate — posters that act as quiet tributes to the artists who have shaped her visual language, or reflections on her own sources of inspiration.

Others open out into a broader space, touching on social and even political ideas. One of her works reads almost like a quiet manifesto: “I see a world with no more protests, no more propositions, no more vigils. Just candles for our ancestors — a time we can rest and breathe.” It shifts the focus from action to reflection, from urgency to pause.

Mayar Salama is an Egyptian multidisciplinary designer, urbanist, and illustrator, with a background in architecture and urban studies. That last part really matters here — her work leans less towards pure aesthetics and more towards mapping, observing, and making sense of what is around her.

Her posters build from that way of seeing. They gather fragments of everyday life — small details you would usually miss. But it is easier to show than to explain.

A good example is Attaba Superabundance. It is a lot — almost too much at once. Objects pile up, details overlap, and it all feels slightly overwhelming, but never accidental. It reflects the density of a place like Attaba — a busy central district in Cairo, where everything seems to happen at once.

But it doesn’t stop there. The work opens out into something broader — a familiar question: what happens when everything becomes too much, when there is simply more than you can take in?

Mohamed has become something of an internet favourite — and for good reason. He doesn’t go straight for heavy social commentary, but instead taps into the things we all quietly recognise: relationships, self-awareness, and the strange rhythm of living online.

There is a sense of chaos in his work, but it is the kind that feels intentional. His approach is sharp: familiar artworks and film stills are reworked and dropped into the everyday reality of Arab life. Add a perfectly timed line or phrase, and suddenly it lands — on love, on pace, on the quiet mess of it all.

His world circles around broken hearts and the constant feeling of being out of sync. It is about the small sacrifices we make in love, and the question of whether we do it because we care, or because we want to be cared for.

Some are drawn in by the visuals, others by the words — but it is the combination that stays with you. If you have ever been even slightly heartbroken, this is probably your place.