Individual Stories, Common Threads: Hayat Osamah’s Soft Gates at the Islamic Arts Biennale 2025

By Nada Ammagui

^{Published on February 20th, 2025}

Under the theme And All That Is In Between, the second edition of the Islamic Arts Biennale has opened to visitors through May 25, 2025. Presenting dozens of commissions, a new architectural prize, and historical objects from throughout the Muslim and non-Muslim worlds, the exhibition sprawls across indoor and outdoor spaces at Jeddah’s landmark Hajj Terminal, which has, for centuries, served as a convergence point for hundreds of millions of Muslim pilgrims.

Spread across seven indoor and outdoor spaces, this year’s edition contemplates the vastness of God’s creation and our inability to capture it wholly; rather than attempting to depict the uncapturable, the exhibition examines the multitudinous and multidisciplinary ways that we seek to engage with God’s vast domain, from mathematical conceptions of our place in the universe to an appreciation for the ornate artistry that celebrates God’s Majesty and Divinity.

1. Islamic Arts Biennale 2025, Photo by Marco Cappelletti, courtesy of the Diriyah Biennale Foundation. View of the AlMidhallah exhibition component, the outdoor exhibition spaces, at the Islamic Arts Biennale 2025.

Complementing hundreds of historical objects are contemporary works that were curated and commissioned by Muhannad Shono, a Saudi installation artist whose practice has long explored spirituality and the intangible, often through large scale installations and sculptural works. Responding to the theme And All That Is In Between, Shono’s selections for the IAB center community, care, belonging, and generosity. The works urge viewers to slow down, engage with raw materials like bamboo, palm fronds, and sand, and smell the roses, or in the case of some works, the basil or chrysanthemums.

2. Islamic Arts Biennale 2025, Photo by Marco Cappelletti, courtesy of the Diriyah Biennale Foundation View of the AlMidhallah exhibition component, the outdoor exhibition spaces, at the Islamic Arts Biennale 2025. Left, Fatma Abdulhadi, I wish you in heaven (2025).

While works in Al Midhallah—or the outdoor canopy—explore our relationship to God through the notion of an Islamic garden, commissioned works inside the galleries respond more directly to historical objects with which they are in spatial conversation, including glazed earthenware from Samarkand, Quranic folios, and, notably, the entire Kiswah—or Ka’bah dressing—that adorned one of the world’s most widely recognizable buildings this past year.

3. Islamic Arts Biennale 2025, Photo by Marco Cappelletti, courtesy of the Diriyah Biennale Foundation. View of indoor galleries and the Kiswa on display at the Islamic Arts Biennale. Part of the AlBidayah component of the 2025 Islamic Arts Biennale.

In the Al Bidayah gallery, where the Kiswah and other objects from the Holy Mosque in Makkah are shown, a row of richly-hued and enrobed columns form a flat arched-passageway connecting rooms that explore architectural and material manifestations of piety to ones that ponder the intangible forces of spirituality. Soft Gates (2025), a commission by Riyadh-based photographer and textile artist Hayat Osamah, draws on the material threads that tie together works in the initial Al Bidayah gallery spaces while engaging with the unseen—themes of community and closeness, gathering and giving—further explored in the latter rooms.

For And All That Is In Between, Hayat pays homage to the sights, sounds, and sensibilities that shaped her upbringing in a densely populated but lively neighborhood in Riyadh. Inspired by the contrasts that characterize her neighborhood—like the vibrant, flowy fabrics that drape across harsh, corrugated aluminum sheets—Hayat’s installation celebrates the individual stories that find a home between these edges.

Soft Gates is a tribute to both the aesthetic and emotional warmth embodied in her community, represented in her work by the use of rich, jewel-toned fabrics and their placement as individual pillars, painting a vibrant picture of the place that has occupied her creative imagination for years. Standing proudly alongside one another, these columns-qua-community members encapsulate the broader takeaway of the exhibition: in seeking to conceptualize all that is between the Heavens and the Earth, we encounter the contrasts that comprise the world around us and the gradient of diverse experiences, stories, and realities that live between these margins.

I had the chance to speak to the artist about her practice and inspiration for this new commission.

4. Islamic Arts Biennale 2025, Photo by Marco Cappelletti, courtesy of the Diriyah Biennale Foundation. Installation view of the AlBidayah component of the 2025 Islamic Arts Biennale. Hayat Osamah, Soft Gates (2024), front; Nour Jaouda, Fold up the prayer mat in your flight (2021), back.

In that community, textile is not just a garment; it's much, much more than that. It's presenting oneself, constructing an identity.

Nada Ammagui: Let’s start at the beginning. Could you tell me a bit about yourself as an artist and your background?

Hayat Osamah: If you asked me this question a year or two ago, I would tell you I'm a photographer and filmmaker. I worked full-time for six years as a photographer — three years in private and three years in a semi-governmental medical city. In both worlds, I was a photographer and at the same time I was doing my freelance work, which were the fashion campaigns, fashion photography, magazines, documentaries, and street photography. Some time after COVID, I got into my first residency, which was in AlUla. It was a lens-based residency and I think it was a manifestation of what I’d always felt - that I wanted to say more than what the stills and films were saying. It's like I'm seeing a world that I want to make physical.

This first residency in AlUla provided that environment to reflect on those images, reflect on those stories, and reflect on my way of seeing, and how I can develop it. It was a one-month residency with Cortana On the Move, which was a photo festival actually and then they decided to do a residency. So it was a collaboration between Cortona On the Move and RCU, the Royal Commission for AlUla. It was a beautiful residency, and that’s where I felt like my photography was saying more and more, but I still wanted to do something with my hands, to do something that I can touch.

I [always] wanted to say more than what the stills and films were saying. It's like I'm seeing a world that I want to make physical.

After that, I got into other residencies such as Intermix. Intermix was actually the first residency where I really made those ideas physical. It was the start of all of it. In that project, I wanted to play with textiles. Then, I remembered that my sister Shwikar studied chemistry, so I thought that maybe we could create a biodegradable textile together. I introduced the idea to her and it was kind of a new world to think about for her, even a new way of thinking. And I think for both of us was the start of something. I started working with my sisters a lot — Alanoud is another sister as well and she does the production part. If I want to build something or put something together, she would be that person. In that residency, I realized that we all work very well together.

We created the biodegradable textile, making a costume with palm fiber and a thrifted jacket that I put together. Those three months of the Intermix residency were very expansive; they expanded my way of seeing and my way of thinking. After that, I got into art. So now I can tell you that I'm a multidisciplinary artist. After Intermix, I made an artist book because whenever I do something physical, immediately after that I crave doing something visual. It's like I have to balance them. My artist book was about fragmented memories, memories from my time in the neighborhood that I'm speaking about now in the Islamic Arts Biennale.

I realized that all of my work is really connected on a deeper level in a way that feels like the decision is not mine; I just go with my feelings and they draw a journey for me. Through these few subjects that I'm talking about, I’m getting to know myself.

After the visual book, I made a work for Noor Riyadh, which was the biggest scale work that me and my sisters had done at the time, creating 100 meters of biodegradable material. It was like a small factory. Then, I told my sisters “We are going to work together and I want you both to hire your own teams, on the production side, management, and creating the textile itself.” They hired their friends and trained them for a week. They all worked together for a month to create this scale of biodegradable material, which was, I think, stretching for all of us in terms of skills, way of thinking, and problem-solving. Even their friends were being put in a completely new environment where it's very, very enjoyable. Because they’re friends, they were able to work with them very well.

5. Hayat Osamah, Soft Gates (2024). Installation process. Photo by the artist.

Through these few subjects that I'm talking about, I’m getting to know myself.

6. Hayat Osamah, FRAGMENTS OF TIME, hand-binded book. Screen printed on cotton, transparent and handmade paper. Editions of 3. Courtesy of the artist.

N.A.: How did this practice and experience evolve into your presentation at the IAB?

H.O.: For the Biennale, I wanted to speak about something that also has a personal connection to me, something that can be more like a mirror. I wanted to look at what started my interest in photography, then I realized it was textile because I grew up around the sound of my grandmother’s sewing machine and her sewing dresses for the community in the neighborhood. They would come to her to make them dresses. I grew up around that sound, around fabric, around textile. And in that community, textile is not just a garment; it's much, much more than that. It's presenting oneself, constructing an identity. It's a space where one can be creative with colors and forms. It's like a breath of fresh air in that community. They don’t just use fabric inside their homes or on their bodies, it's also on the facades of homes. When you walk around the neighborhood, these textiles tend to soften harsh edges in a way that is visually beautiful, even if it's raw or random. There is a lot in that randomness.

On the facades, you would walk around and you would rarely see a house with an opening where a lot of light gets in because - even in my grandmother's house - there are no windows. Often, if there are, they would cover them immediately, even from the inside. No sun comes in unless the door opens. From the outside, you would see fabric on the windows, fabric on the doors. The exterior door would be open, then there is fabric, then there's the door that gets you into the house. So there is always fabric in between them and on the facades, in some way or another.

N.A.: Something that you are really known for as a photographer as well is capturing not just fashion, but also the people who wear these garments and that was something that was really important to your practice. What fueled that desire? Is it to capture, like you said, fashion as identity?

H.O.: Of course, because they're inseparable. A part of your identity is what's on your body or the emotions of the colors you're wearing. Sometimes, you feel a certain way and you wear a certain color, and you don't even realize it. It's not like you think, “I'm going to wear yellow because I want to feel a certain way.” And not just that—it's a space to be creative. And I think it is all connected. I see people and how they have that freedom and express themselves, and I kind of find myself through those images. It's a connection between them and what they're wearing, between them and how they're presenting themselves, between them, me—the viewer—and how I’m perceiving or feeling that.

8. Photographs by Hayat Osamah. From top to bottom, left to right: Nazek and Sarah (2019), The Journey (2019), Saud (2020). Courtesy of the artist.

NA: A lot of your photography that readers may be familiar with captures young people, people who are from the artist community, or people who are your friends. Do you feel like photography might have been a way to engage with these individuals in a different way or to highlight their personalities?

H.O.: I think it's a bit of everything you mentioned, because when I started posting my pictures online—I think in 2014 because before that I was doing photography just as a practice in my house with myself and no one saw it. In 2014, I started doing photography as a profession and posting pictures, and then people would start to text me to be photographed and to work together. I would immediately go out and take pictures. That kind of formed a connection that eventually became a community of people that I meet and want to be in front of the camera and to express themselves. I think what I was doing is just providing that space for them to really be themselves, whatever that means to them. It could be someone who's, you know, looking cool, or it could be someone who just wants to be in front of that camera and in a way that is real and in a way that has emotion.

I sometimes get comments from people like, “One thing about your photography is the eyes and the impressions on people’s faces – they have a lot of emotion.” I think that happened because I don't intervene a lot. If it's a fashion campaign or something commercial, that’s different, but even then, I think at some point I managed to capture those emotions and the right moment to show something even in the commercial aspect. But when I do documentary style photography, street photography, or portraits, I’m really not intervening so much. It's the people being comfortable enough in front of that camera to ease up and be themselves.

N.A.: Another part of that practice that also brought a lot of attention to your photography work is that the community that you developed by reputation of the fact that you don't intervene and you let people kind of be their cool, interesting selves started to showcase, I think, a group of people that were maybe kind of underground before. They didn’t really fit the mainstream image of young Saudis at the time, which brought attention to an entirely different side of youth in Saudi, specifically from the art scene. How do you think that reputation developed?

H.O.: I really don't know how that happened, to be very honest with you. Recently, my nieces told me that in schools they were giving them a photography workshop and my name and work showed up. For me, that was an achievement, to be a part of the educational system in a way because to me, this is everything. How did it get to this point? I really have no answer, but I have had a lot of faith, in myself, blindly, and in others. We encounter one another and we complete each other in a way or another. I really don't have a very clear answer to this question, but I think I was really just dedicating myself to this and that's all.

NA: That dedication showed itself in the fact that people wanted to work with you, knowing that they could trust your sense of how to portray them. Because at the end it's like you said you developed an eye and a way of seeing that allowed people to shine rather than leaving a strong imprint of your own. You can tell that they're your photos, but it's not overbearing.

Drawing on this lens you’ve developed, you said that fabric was also really important in the neighborhood where you grew up, along with the sounds of the sewing machine. How did that neighborhood or sense of community feed into your sense of creativity?

H.O.: It gave me an experience that in a million years I could never experience because it was so unique. It was a unique neighborhood and I grew up in it thinking that this was all that existed in the world - that this was the world. The 16 years I was living there prepared me for the outside world, outside of that world. It gave me different materials to work with.

This whole project in the Biennale is a start – it has been a way for me to unpack the concepts of this neighborhood.

N.A.: So then, how did the process begin for the Biennale, from commission to completion?

H.O.: I remember meeting you when I had my initial project prototype. In the process of finding an angle to talk about the neighborhood, I decided on textile because that was the most impactful material, not just on my personal life, but also visually when you’re in the neighborhood and how people engage with it. There are a lot of corrugated aluminum sheets there; this material exists a lot in the neighborhood, so I was interested in how people engage with fabric and soften the aluminum with those fabrics. I really wanted to bring this angle to the Biennale and have people transported emotionally to those memories or experiences – or to engage with it however they feel, of course. They have that space. But it was those corrugated sheets that started the whole thing.

In my initial idea, the use of this pleated fabric was because it imitates the corrugated sheets and it brings a softness to it that I wanted, because the discussion was about how to make something harsh look soft. This was kind of an attempt to achieve that. I felt that it was missing lots of emotions and it wasn’t, I think, fairly visualizing what the neighborhood was about. So then I thought, “Okay, it's colorful; I shouldn’t take away or mute those colors.” I thought about the weddings and wedding traditions in that neighborhood. For example, if I'm having a wedding, I would do something called a Gutta, which is basically where all the females of the neighborhood would come to me and I would say the Gutta is 100 riyal per piece of fabric.

Then, the friends of the bride or her family would take on this mission to go and buy fabric for the whole neighborhood or the people who came. They would write everyone’s name, who paid how much, and what they're getting. As the bride, I select the colors that I want them to wear, and it's divided into three categories: the older generation would wear one color; teenagers through people in their 30s would wear another color; and then kids would wear a third color. Those fabrics have to come from the bride – they give her the money and she buys them – because she chooses something specific. No two weddings happen to have the same colors, and there are a lot of weddings happening every day. It’s a sophisticated system because then if I go to a wedding, I would immediately find my friends by just looking for that color. I don't want to compare these two things, but it reminds me of Hajj, where sometimes groups of people would wear a color so they don't get lost. And I think bringing that system or having that way of thinking is very interesting.

9. Installating Hayat Osamah, Soft Gates (2024), a community process. Photo by the artist.

At the wedding itself, when you zoom out, you would see colors blending in beautifully. It's like a painting, and I felt the artwork should be a painting made of fabric. The inspiration behind the method of rolling the fabric is because in the neighborhood, if people have fabric on the outside door of their house, sometimes they would roll it and then just hang it on the door. It's like it’s revealing something.

At first glance, it's a very rich concept and it was really tough to get a hold of it. That's why this prototype was made and many others after that were made. The conversation with Shono was really challenging me and this is what I like the most, because I wanted to be put in a space where I'm very challenged. It’s an important thing to be challenged and to be put in a space where you're really uncertain and unsure, and to then finally land on something that represents the neighborhood well.

When you zoom out, you would see colors blending in beautifully. It's like a painting, and I felt the artwork should be a painting made of fabric.

10. Hayat Osamah, Soft Gates (2024). Courtesy of the artist.

N.A.: How did you connect this concept or train of thought to the theme of the Biennale?

HO: The theme of Biennale talks about all that's in between and it reminded me of the neighborhood and how there are edges on [either extreme of] things; there is the harshness and there is the extreme softness of the fabric. Then there is all that's in between, which are the stories of the neighborhood and how that community centers itself around being of service for each other. It’s this idea in Islam where you should love for your brother what you love for yourself. That, to me, was really a reflection of the neighborhood. The location that was decided for the artwork to be shown in was chosen because it's like a passage. The artwork is called Soft Gates—in Arabic mamar—because it's like a portal. That mamar wants to transport people to give them those glimpses [of the neighborhood].

It’s this idea in Islam where you should love for your brother what you love for yourself. That, to me, was really a reflection of the neighborhood.

N.A.: What is the primary fabric that is wrapped around the gates themselves?

H.O.: That fabric was purchased for this artwork because for a project of that scale, I wanted something that softened it and I wanted to bring elegance to it. As for those specific colors and specific materials [I chose them] because they shimmer and shine. This is also something I always see in the neighborhood and its community. They have that element of fiction; whenever they wear dresses or put makeup on, it’s always glittery. There’s always that extra touch. So, to me, those fabrics delivered what I wanted to represent and helped create that feeling.

11. Hayat Osamah, Soft Gates (2024). Courtesy of the artist.

N.A.: And the same goes with those rich jewel tones that you chose.

H.O.: It's a beautiful palette of colors, to be honest. It gave me that space. It’s like when you want to paint a painting and you have to go buy paint, you have the entire spectrum of colors and you can really choose how you want to paint your painting and this is how it felt choosing those colors. But I also specifically chose those colors and tones because these are the tones that I see in the neighborhood. With different colors on each pillar, it's like individuals creating a beautiful community together. I wanted to bring that cohesiveness of colors in the neighborhood and the community to be implemented. A part of it was me closing my eyes and remembering the weddings and colors together, specifically the color orders. My memory in that aspect didn't fail me a lot, which I'm thankful for, and was giving me those visuals.

I was also just thinking from the exterior, going from my grandmother's house to another house and visualizing those colors. Apart from that, there was also the visual research that I did when I went there and took photographs of the facades. That was where my color palette came from, and the order [of the colors] is based on, wanting to create something cohesive, then breaking it with certain emotions, and then continuing again, and then breaking it again with emotion. It was like taking the stories and the visual aspects of the neighborhood and turning it into a color order.

The artwork is called Soft Gates—in Arabic mamar—because it's like a portal. That mamar wants to transport people to give them those glimpses [of the neighborhood].

N.A.: As a photographer, I'm sure one thing you're very conscious of is light and how light engages with your subject. Based on where it is in the venue, how do you think light might impact how viewers perceive the work?

H.O.: Light was actually one thing that I was thinking about a lot. Eventually, Luca, who was responsible for lighting, did a great job of it because it was a bit of a challenge. The tone [of the lights] was specifically chosen so it doesn't take away the colors in the works like a warm tone might. It has to be a bit colder to really give space to the colors to emerge.

N.A.: A lot of the artists who were commissioned for the contemporary side are fellow peers and friends of yours. What was it like working alongside them throughout this process?

H.O.: The installation period was 10 days, but it felt like 5 because it was really beautiful to exist in a space where you are just a few steps away from your fellow artists and can really have a conversation, pick each others’ mind, or show one another things in our artworks. Having this exchange with lots of information, to me, is really very important.

N.A.: How did working on this really large scale project impact your practice or introduce new ways of thinking or engaging with your work?

H.O.: I've done many campaigns that are on a big scale, like films, and participated in things that are complex in my profession, and I think that really prepared me to engage with this project. One big aspect, as I told you, is working with my sisters. That was very, very important because we have that communication without even speaking, so that's a blessing.

I think it was kind of seeing if something that's gonna go wrong, you have a flash of it, like messages from the future, and you're like, “Okay, before that happens, how can we work to make it easier?” We created a mockup of the pillars that we dressed with the same color order that we wanted. Those things for me are what was impacting my practice in a way that helps me develop. But also, working with different people from different backgrounds in the world, being able to have that communication, and working well together—that was everything. And we did a brilliant job.

^{The Second Islamic Arts Biennale And All That is in Between is open in Jeddah until May 25, 2025.}

^{Photo by Alanoud Osamah.}

Hayat Osamah (b. 1992, Jeddah, lives and works between Jeddah and Riyadh) is a multidisciplinary artist and has been a self-taught photographer since 2009. Her practice explores self-presentation and manipulation of fabrics. In 2014 she focused on the theme of diversity and started using analogue photography as her main tool of documentation. Osamah worked with international publications such as Vogue, WWD, Harper’s Bazaar Arabia, did the first Farfetch Middle East campaign, and was named artist of the year by GQ Middle East in 2020. Her artistic practice addresses the transience of life and matter, often using biodegradable materials. She exhibited at Noor Riyadh (2023), and was artist-in-residence at Intermix, Riyadh (2023), Masaha residency, Misk Art Institute, Riyadh (2022), and Cortona On the Move, AlUla (2022).

About the writer
Nada Ammagui is a curatorial assistant at the Sharjah Art Foundation and the former associate in arts, culture, and social trends at the Arab Gulf States Institute in Washington. Her interests include artistic and cultural spaces in Gulf countries, particularly the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia, contemporary Arab art, and cultural diplomacy in the region. She has been contributing to Global Art Daily E-Issues since 2021.

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Individual Stories, Common Threads: Hayat Osamah’s Soft Gates at the Islamic Arts Biennale 2025

In that community, textile is not just a garment; it's much, much more than that. It's presenting oneself, constructing an identity.

I [always] wanted to say more than what the stills and films were saying. It's like I'm seeing a world that I want to make physical.

Through these few subjects that I'm talking about, I’m getting to know myself.

When you zoom out, you would see colors blending in beautifully. It's like a painting, and I felt the artwork should be a painting made of fabric.

It’s this idea in Islam where you should love for your brother what you love for yourself. That, to me, was really a reflection of the neighborhood.

The artwork is called Soft Gates—in Arabic mamar—because it's like a portal. That mamar wants to transport people to give them those glimpses [of the neighborhood].

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🎙️GAD Talk Series –– Season 1 2020

About ––

Interviews ––

Open Call ––

Newsletter ––

Chronological Archive ––

🔍 Legal

Individual Stories, Common Threads: Hayat Osamah’s Soft Gates at the Islamic Arts Biennale 2025

In that community, textile is not just a garment; it's much, much more than that. It's presenting oneself, constructing an identity.

I [always] wanted to say more than what the stills and films were saying. It's like I'm seeing a world that I want to make physical.

Through these few subjects that I'm talking about, I’m getting to know myself.

When you zoom out, you would see colors blending in beautifully. It's like a painting, and I felt the artwork should be a painting made of fabric.

It’s this idea in Islam where you should love for your brother what you love for yourself. That, to me, was really a reflection of the neighborhood.

The artwork is called Soft Gates—in Arabic mamar—because it's like a portal. That mamar wants to transport people to give them those glimpses [of the neighborhood].

︎︎︎Previous Next︎

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E-Issue 08 –– SEL
Summer 2024

E-08++
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Spring 2023

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Fall/Winter 2022-23

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