What shapes an artist’s visual language? It can be many things, but the places they belong to — their sense of home — are rarely the least important.

Zayn Qahtani carries several of these places within her. A Levantine-Bahraini artist with family roots extending as far as Georgia, her upbringing unfolded across different geographies. Yet among them, Bahrain holds a particular weight.

It is where she spent much of her early life, before eventually moving to London — and while its influence doesn't always appear directly, it lingers in the texture of her work. You sense it in the way stories are held rather than stated, in the quiet pull of history beneath the surface. One of those threads reaches back to Dilmun — an ancient trading civilisation that existed between roughly 3000 and 600 BCE.

So this time, we turn our focus to Bahrain — and let Zayn guide us through it, in her own way.

When I think about childhood, the first thing that comes to mind is the burial mounds — which maybe I shouldn’t say, but they really do, because they were the closest thing to my home. A more poetic — and equally true — image from that time, though, would be the Tree of Life.

I used to go there often as a child with my parents, and later found myself returning as an adult, but more intentionally — especially during the summer and winter solstices. There is something very special about being there, with the tree at the centre, and seeing both the sun and the moon in the sky at the same time.

The Tree of Life feels incredibly symbolic to me. It stands alone in the middle of the desert, with no visible source of water and no other life around it, yet it continues to exist. It is around 450 years old, which makes it feel almost miraculous.

In my mind, it is like a wishing tree — a place where life persists against all odds. And when you are there, you feel like you can learn from it, or perhaps borrow a little of that energy.

If you haven’t come across the Dilmun civilization before, you aren't alone — even in Bahrain, it isn’t always widely explored.

At its core, Dilmun was an ancient culture and trading hub, centred in what is now Bahrain. Much of what we know about it comes through its role in trade, connecting the great civilisations of the region. Yet in ancient Sumerian texts, Dilmun is described as also a pure, almost sacred land, sometimes imagined as a kind of paradise.

Today, the way this history is presented can feel somewhat simplified, or at times selectively framed. There is often a strong focus on Enki — the god of water and wisdom — which ties neatly into the region’s unique relationship with freshwater sources. But when you begin to look beyond that, a much broader and more layered picture starts to emerge.

You start to come across figures like Ninhursag, a female deity associated with nature, and Inanna, who held a central place in Sumerian belief systems — almost like a defining, goddess-like presence of that time. Yet in Bahrain’s museums, these same figures are sometimes described simply as “unknown creatures” or even labelled as “monsters”, which feels quite telling. There seems to be a certain hesitation — particularly when it comes to recognising female deities. It isn't something that is explicitly addressed, but it is something you begin to notice over time.

Still, Bahrain holds many physical traces of Dilmun. One of the most significant is Qal'at al-Bahrain — a site layered with history, shaped by different empires over time, but rooted in the Dilmun civilisation. You can still sense how people once lived there.

Another place that stays with me is the Barbar Temple — a partially ruined temple complex with ancient wells and altar-like spaces. Even now, you can feel its structure. If you visit at different times of day, there is a quiet awareness of alignment — the way the moon passes over certain points, for instance. It makes you imagine how the space might once have been used, possibly in relation to Enki and his association with fresh water — something that feels deeply tied to Bahrain itself.

The relationship with water is deeply important in Bahrain. Even the name itself reflects that. “Bahrain” literally means “two seas” in Arabic, pointing not just to its geography, but to a unique natural phenomenon: freshwater springs that exist beneath the seawater. At certain points, you can actually feel bubbles rising beneath your feet, as fresh water pushes up through the salt.

It is a small detail, but it says a great deal — about the land, its history, and the quiet complexity that lies just beneath the surface.

If you want to truly experience Bahraini food, your go-to place should be somewhere in the souq, where they serve a proper Bahraini breakfast. It is something quite specific — not just to Bahrain, but to the Gulf more broadly. If you haven’t experienced the region before, that is where I would start.

So what should you try?

I would start with dishes that feel most particular to the region. For example, there is balaleet — a breakfast that combines sweet and savoury in a way that feels quite unexpected. It is made with vermicelli noodles flavoured with cardamom and saffron, usually topped with eggs.

I would also suggest trying foul — a warm, bean-based dish that I grew up eating — and, of course, traditional Bahraini bread, often referred to as khubz, which is flatter and has its own distinct texture.

Bahrain, overall, feels like a place where inspiration is easy to find. For me, it exists in a few different points. I find it in traditional spaces — pottery workshops, craft studios, places where you can watch artisans working with wood or creating stained-glass doors.

Walking through older neighbourhoods is another thing I always come back to. The beauty lies in the architecture — traditional Bahraini houses are often built around a central courtyard or garden, which isn’t quite what you might expect, and it creates a very particular sense of space.

And then, in terms of nature, there is Karzakan Forest. It isn't a forest in the European sense — much smaller, a bit bushy, almost unexpectedly green — but within Bahrain, it feels quite special, especially considering how much of the landscape is desert.